Lynette Bishop Snell

Being Still

Administrator — Fri, 03 Jul 2020 19:46:21 +0000

Last week, when I turned the now infamous corner of my life, I knew in the back of my mind that I could possibly be courting trouble. To be specific, I placed, as my friend said, a target on my back. And boy, was she right.

No more than twenty-four blissful hours later, I managed to run headlong into a roadblock. It wasn’t huge. It wasn’t life-ending. It was just a speed bump in the middle of the road. And when you are looking backwards while walking forwards, you tend to trip over things right in front of you.

And I tripped.

Imagine watching a movie. The actor walks down a street with a friend, talking animatedly, when suddenly, she trips and almost falls on her face. Time slows, the inevitable delayed momentarily. Low, distorted moans of “Nooooooo!” accompany arms and legs flailing in all directions, her friend watching the train-wreck unfold in front of her, unable to help. Then just as quickly, the actor, able to forestall the graceless fall on her face, regains her balance and manages to stand up. She straightens her clothes and continues on–amidst laughter from her friend.

Now, insert me into that role. I don’t know if I have righted myself completely just yet. I think I might be in the end stages of the slow-motion act of this one-woman show. But while I’m in the midst of the slow motion phase, it certainly brings thing into focus. After all, I have plenty of time to look around at all the things I’m slowly passing by.

My daughter met the new love of my ex’s life last week. It was equally hard for both of us. My daughter had to face the awkwardness of seeing her dad with someone who isn’t her mom, while I had to imagine my daughter seeing her dad with someone who isn’t her mom.

Despite our fears, it went great. Oh who am I kidding? It sucked. But it was okay. My daughter survived, quite well in fact. My pride swelled watching my daughter ride the waves of emotion leading up to the evening. She was so strong. So strong! And I did that. I raised her to be a strong, thoughtful, caring and hopeful woman.

So while the scars in my heart stretched and twisted a bit, nothing broke. Nothing came out. Nothing really hurt. But it hung around. Like a bad smell that just won’t go away, no matter how many candles you light.

I spent the next two days in a weird, fog-like state that was at once confusing and depressing. Two days after the meeting, I came home to a daughter that had been locked out of the house by my granddaughter. Emotions were running high. My daughter was panicked. My granddaughters were hysterical and couldn’t understand how to unlock the door. I got home a few minutes later and unlocked the door.

In her great relief, my daughter scooped her babies into her arms, then proceeded to scold the eldest. Loudly. This grandma couldn’t handle it. And I did something I shouldn’t have: I stuck my nose into her business. Let’s just say my daughter didn’t appreciate my lack of support.

I went upstairs, got into my pajamas and started watching TV. Perhaps some time away would calm her down. Then the lid on Mt. St. Lynette’s Volcano ruptured. My daughter called her dad for the support she felt she wasn’t getting from me. And the love of his life was in the background, supporting my daughter and telling her how right she was to be scared and upset.

Yep. I ruptured. Big time. The last thing I needed to hear was how wonderful she was being to my daughter. I stood up, grabbed my purse and phone, and left the house. I got in my car and just drove.

It wasn’t until several miles later that I realized I was a) in my pajamas, and b) had no socks or shoes on.

I kept driving. I drove for about 30 minutes when I ended up at my friend’s house. Her door is almost always open, regardless of the hour or the state of dress. She welcomed me in with open, socially distanced arms. We did not hug, although it was difficult not to.

This friend of mine–she is my beacon in a storm. She opens my eyes to so many things that I can’t or won’t see, and helps me navigate the murky goo that threatens to reach up and swallow me whole. I sat down in a chair and told her what happened.

“Yep.” She said. “I loved your last post, but I also thought, ‘wow, you just put a target on your back.'”

She was so right.

I remember in the early days of my divorce recovery, in some of my darkest hours, I would avoid anything happy or positive happening in my life, because without fail, the very next day, sorrow, pain and agony would sweep silently up behind me and whip my legs out from underneath me.

I was afraid. I was so afraid to be happy. After writing that post, I truly was happy. I felt free. I felt liberated. I felt alive. I felt hope! It did flutter lightly through my mind, the memory of those dark days of fear of happiness and dread of sorrow. But I pushed it aside. I am much more capable of handling those silent stalkers now than before.

But this one…this one surprised me.

My friend sat with me while I spilled my barefoot guts to her and helped me work through it. Before long we were laughing. And the tweaked scar tissue in my heart began to relax.

My poor daughter was so confused. She meant no harm to me or my pathetic emotional state, but knew something had happened. When I returned home, I felt different. I didn’t want to talk to her or anyone else. I knew I had to establish some ground rules with her.

Ground Rules For How Much You Tell Me About Your Dad’s Girlfriend. (available on Amazon soon).

Once I recovered from that volcanic eruption, I realized something important. Stumbling on that road block was good for me. In that slow-motion of me flailing about and trying not to fall, I came face to face with something. I had a choice.

I could either right myself and continue moving forward, or I could fall and let the murky depths reclaim me as their own. I’d be lying if I said the decision was easy. It wasn’t.

The idea of giving up again looked strangely, sadly appealing from that moment of reflection. But then the words “I am done crying over that man” ran through my mind. I remembered – I said those words.

I. SAID. THOSE. WORDS.

So I said them again. And I chose. I chose to be upright. To acknowledge the bump had been there, that it had almost lured me back around the corner to the place I knew so well.

And to give myself grace.

Grace to know that this is not my last speed bump, my last graceless trip and almost fall. I might even fall hard. But the point is to keep looking forward.

One of my favorite hashtags in the universe is from TobyMac and his #SpeakLife inspirational movement. It’s based off his song of the same name, but on Facebook and Instagram, he posts the most amazing quotes on a regular basis. His posts always seemed to be directly tied to my emotional state and hit me when I need it the most. For years, God has used him to speak life into my soul and my heart.

Today, he posted this:

See what I mean? And he used my mantra. “Be Still.” So this is me…watching where I am going. Looking for speed bumps. But most importantly, this is me–

Being still.

The post Being Still appeared first on Lynette Bishop Snell.

Corners

Administrator — Fri, 26 Jun 2020 19:56:13 +0000

So…I did a thing. There was no fanfare. No celebratory colorful explosives. No banners were unfurled. No parades occurred. It just–Happened.

Scroll back about 4 weeks. My daughter was planning the birthday party for her two baby girls. During this planning process it came out that my ex’s new girlfriend would be at the party. Now, for several months, I had been saying openly that “I am fine with him dating. It’s all good. I can even meet her!” But….

When the rubber hit the road, I caved. Hard. Many tears were shed. Many angry, bitter moments occurred. I was furious. Hurt. Betrayed. ANGRY.

How dare she be at the party of MY granddaughters? How dare she try to be a part of the most precious aspect of my life? How dare she???

Fast foward to last Sunday. Calmer nerves had prevailed. Reason had returned. I was, again, OK with her being in the presence of not only my granddaughters and my family but also…ME.

Then, Sunday happened. And everything changed.

She wanted to send balloons to the party. But she didn’t because she didn’t want to ruffle feathers. My daughter told me this. And my daughter loved that she wanted to do that.

And suddenly, I knew.

I knew how important it was for my daughter to want to be happy for her dad. How important it was for my daughter to want me to be happy for her dad.

Monday morning, I sat at my desk at work and knew. I just knew. I knew that I had to tell him.

So I did.

I told him that it was amazing that she wanted to be a part of our daughter’s life, in any way she could. That she wanted to honor the birth of two of the most amazing individuals I’ve ever known. That it meant so much to my daughter that she would even think of doing that.

So on Monday, I told him. I told him I wanted her to know that she should always follow her instincts and if she felt like sending balloons, or whatever, she should. And that by being angry about an act like that, I was denying her and my daughter the joy of giving and receiving. And building a bond.

This one might be THE ONE for him. And my overall desire is to make sure my children are happy.

So if it makes my baby girl happy that she wants to spoil them, then by all that is holy, I want her to do the same.

After I told all of this to him, I sat at my desk facing the very real threat of the UGLY CRY. In public! So I escaped to my office bathroom. And let the tears flow.

Have you ever tried to ugly cry – in silence?

Trust me when I say, it’s even uglier than a normal ugly cry. I needed to sob. OUT LOUD. I needed to sob. Hysterically. And with lots of noise and snot. But I was at work, so — no.

So I cried in silence. And trust me when I say it took ugly to a whole new level. And then just like that, it stopped. I looked in the bathroom mirror and my world changed.

Forever.

Without warning, I said to my reflection, “I am done crying over that man.”

And without a second warning, I said, again, “I am DONE crying over that man!!”

Almost instantly, I was calm. I was able to open the door and walk out of the bathroom and be normal. Cue the lack of fanfare, fireworks and parades.

I sat at my desk. And I worked. I worked! I didn’t cry. No tears dripped from my overwhelmed eyes. No sobs wracked my body. No sorrow overwhelmed me like a wave from the depths of hell. I required no pharmaceuticals to get me through the rest of the day.

I simply worked.

And I was fine.

I realized that I really was OK. I was OK with him being in love with someone who wasn’t me. I was OK with him being IN LOVE.

I. WAS. OK.

I didn’t cry anymore that day. Or the next. Or the one after that. I simply kept living. And suddenly, it hit me.

I had been at a corner for a while — well, maybe years — and suddenly, I had turned that corner.

It was as if I had been standing at this corner for so long that I had taken up residence until I had finally, at last—

turned.

I turned the corner.

I think I had been looking back at how things used to be. At how it was when I was married. And how I was so sad to see it drift away. I held desperately on to what it was and how it was and how it used to be.

When my mother said, “It was so great to see everyone, but it just wasn’t the same,” I finally realized what had been bumping against me for years.

It’s OK to let go. It’s OK to say goodbye to yesterday. But more importantly – to say hello to tomorrow. So — I did a thing.

I said…Hello.

And guess what? I. Am. Fine.

Am I still sad? Yes, of course! Am I going to hold on to yesterday in order to live in the now and tomorrow? No.

I am done crying over that man. I have turned a corner. So watch out…

‘Cause here I come.

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It’s So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday

Administrator — Mon, 22 Jun 2020 04:30:51 +0000

Today was a busy day. My family came together to celebrate my granddaughters’ birthdays. Kiara turned 3 and Naomi turned 1. It was a typical Florida summer day: hot, muggy, hot, sweaty, hot, bright, oh…and hot. Thank goodness for the pool!

By the time presents were unwrapped, we were all melting into colorful puddles of sodden clothing. Regardless, there was not one moment any of us would have missed in order to see the pure, abject joy on KK’s sweet face as she started to grasp that all these toys and presents were for her! Her squeals of delight and happiness lit up the already blazing sunshine of the afternoon. Only a few puffy white clouds covered the sky but only one threatened to dampen the day.

It was a strange group that came together: two separate families, bound by a marriage that dissolved five years ago. Former in-laws that used to vacation together. Two families unified into one loud, crazy, chaotic mass of people for holidays, celebrations and funerals. For 20 years we shared so much. And today we shared once again. We shared despite the divorce, despite some family that have passed on. It was like old times. Almost.

After everyone went home, my mom said, “It was so great to see everyone again. But somehow, it just wasn’t the same.”

No. No it wasn’t the same. And it never will be.

It wasn’t simply the fact that we are divorced. It was so many other things: the lack of hugs and kisses (thanks Covid) in a family defined by physical signs of affection; the prospect of our octogenarian parents being potentially infected by COVID-19; and perhaps the saddest of all: watching dementia rob one of the most lively women I’ve ever known of all her memories.

My daughter came to me just now, crying because MeMa asked someone else who she was at the party. It is never easy to say goodbye to anyone you love, but it seems especially cruel when the one you love is leaving while standing next you.

We all remember the fun times: the crazy granny on her jet ski, the myriad parties and celebrations at The River House, the love, affection and joy that lit up her face whenever we walked into her home. These are precious memories.

Her brain no longer allows her the comfort of carrying these memories, so it becomes our responsibility to capture them, treasure them and pass them on to the next wave of family. These memories are too precious to let go.

There is a song by Boyz II Men that keeps running through my mind. The poignancy of the words grasp at the pieces of my heart tonight and melancholy is threatening.

How do I say goodbye to what we had?
The good times that made us laugh
Outweigh the bad
I thought we’d get to see forever
But forever’s gone away
It’s so hard to say goodbye to yesterday

I don’t know where this road
Is going to lead
All I know is where we’ve been
And what we’ve been through
And if we get to see tomorrow
I hope it’s worth all the wait
It’s hard to say goodbye to yesterday

And I’ll take with me the memories
To be my sunshine after the rain
It’s so hard to say goodbye to yesterday

Yes, yes indeed. It is so hard to say goodbye. I am eternally grateful that I don’t have to wait long for the sunshine. I see it every day in the sweet smiles, the goofy giggles, and the heartfelt hugs my granddaughters are gracious enough to gift me.

It makes saying goodbye to yesterday a bit easier to bear.

The post It’s So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday appeared first on Lynette Bishop Snell.

I want my Bae

Administrator — Fri, 12 Jun 2020 19:01:06 +0000

Remember Linus, the kid from The Peanuts who carried his blue blanket with him everywhere?Â As a kid, I remember watching him and thinking, “Dude.Â That’s weird.”Â Â As a mom, I look at him and think, “Dude, give me that blanket NOW so I can wash it.Â That’s just nasty.Â What the hell were you doing with it anyway??”

A couple Christmases ago, I had grand intentions of making my granddaughter, whom we affectionately call “KK,” a special blanket.Â She was obsessed with kittens at that time, so I purchased a piece of flannel-y type material that was covered with frolicking kittens on a pink background.Â I bought white furry material to make a super soft backing for it.Â Â

Shockingly, (not so much if you really know me), I never got around to making said blanket.Â And both pieces of fabric sat in my craft basket in the corner of my apartment.Â One weekend post-Christmas, my granddaughter discovered the basket.Â She latched onto the pink kitten material and has never let go.Â Fast forward two years and it has become an essential piece of her existence.Â It even has a name:Â “Bae.”Â No idea how she came up with that but it is her special friend.Â No bedtime is complete without Bae.Â No car ride can even be attempted without Bae’s comforting presence.Â Â

Sometimes, in her more vulnerable, tired moments, when she stares off in space, her eyes focused on nothing in particular, I watch her.Â She has a very specific corner that the absently rubs between two fingers.Â She will find that exact corner every time.Â Â

As you can imagine, that thing gets filthy.Â I’m pretty sure it has stood up and walked around the house once or twice on its own.Â And just try sneaking it off to the washer for a quick cycle.Â KK’s spidey sense picks up on its absence almost immediately.Â Thank goodness it dries quickly.Â Â

When Bae finally arrives out of the dryer, warm and clean and smelling delicious, KK snuggles, giggles and hugs Bae and I swear, I just swear that I can almost hear Bae sigh with happiness.Â Bae is so loved and she loves unconditionally in return.Â Â

Wouldn’t you love it if social convention wouldn’t judge you when you bring your own version of Bae with you everywhere?Â Hidden discreetly in your purse.Â A small square tucked into your wallet.Â When no one sees you, when you’re tired, vulnerable, feeling meh and lonely–just sticking your hand in your purse and quietly stroking it’s edge.Â And knowing, simply knowing, that she’s got your back and no matter what’s going on “out there,”Â with her, you can get through the next few minutes.Â Days.Â Â Years.

I am facing a major anniversary.Â In a few days, I will have been single for five years.Â In a few months, I will have been divorced for five years.Â Someone once told me it takes five full years to truly get over a divorce.Â Â

I think I have been clinging to that number for some unknown reason, as if a lifeline to happiness.Â ButÂ it’s not.Â

It’s a journey, not a destination.Â I’ve heard it.Â I’ve repeated it.Â So often, in fact, that one would think it would have sunk in by now.Â It has.Â Mostly.Â Somewhat.

A few weeks ago, I was faced with the very real possibility of having to face my ex’s new love and meeting someone else more important in his life than I am afraid I ever was and know I never will be again.Â I am not ashamed to say it threw me for a bit of a tail spin.

This journey…it never promises to be easy, right?Â I forget that sometimes.Â IÂ want to let it go, but I just can’t.Â Or won’t.

If you start singing right now, know that I’m singing with you.Â I just can’t do it.Â Someone recently said “We’re all adults.Â It’s time to move on.”Â Well guess what?Â You may have moved on fine and dandy.Â That’s wonderful that your journey was so swift and seemingly uneventful.Â Â

But mine wasn’t.Â Isn’t.Â And my journey is just that.Â Â My own.Â

Am I jealous that he has found someone who seems to truly make him happy?Â Boy howdy, am I.Â Â Am I sad that it’s not me?Â Not so much.Â Maybe. just that one, tiny thread.

I guess I want a Bae.Â Just not the old one.Â But I’m afraid to completely let go of the old one, for fear I will have nothing left to hold on to:Â no anger, no resentment, no fear, no jealousy, no hurt.Â Â No excuses.

I think it’s time for a new Bae.

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OK without knowing the WHY

Administrator — Wed, 19 Jun 2019 00:07:33 +0000

So many years ago my journey to this moment started with a stupid dream. It was January 2013. Six years later I am divorced, still single, broke, lonely and fat. I don’t say those things to elicit sympathy. I state them as basic facts.

While I currently feel stagnant and unable to get out of the sticky, sucking mud, it’s not a new feeling for me. I’ve been here before, and the painful truth of life is that once I release myself from the grasp of the muck, I will eventually land in another puddle, just like this one, again.

Ebbs and flows. The circle of life. Ups and downs.

Call it what you will, it affects me time and time again. Like the old adage, “the only constant in life is change.” Sometimes change comes at a rapid pace and at others it slows down and I find myself drift at sea with no wind in my sails.

Stuck.

And while I’m slogging along in this place, it causes me to stop and think. I look back at the path I’ve just taken which led me here. What turns in the road, what decisions in life, what choices every day did I make that brought me to this exact spot where suddenly, I slowed down to what … look around? Was it beautiful and peaceful at first? Was it a trick to get me to look elsewhere instead of where I was going and I tripped, landing in a spot that would take months, perhaps years to get out of?

Two years ago I was stuck also. I was reeling from the aftershock of my divorce, trying desperately to come up for air and breathe freely again. I wasn’t just stuck then. I was drowning.

Then came a time when I felt wholly un-stuck and lived in a whirlwind of drinking, debauchery and denial. It was exhausting. Fun, but exhausting.

Oh perhaps I moved for a while during that time. I got to the here and now by moving on from that place. But it’s almost as if I’m trapped in a mine field of boggy mines that keep getting me stuck! I hop from one to the other and though in mid-jump I feel light and carefree, I land and WHAM!

Yep. Stuck.

The real problem for me now is I can see the edge of the mine field, whereas four years ago I couldn’t even move. I think seeing the edge is almost as bad as being in the whirlpool of drowning. Because while before I couldn’t even see a way out, now I can and I can’t seem to get there.

It’s like the dreams you have where the phone is ringing and you can’t answer it. Or you need to run and your legs won’t move. I can’t escape the mine field anymore than I could four years ago. Except the mines are now mocking me with one simple question.

Why?

Why? Why did it end the way it did? Why did I make the choices I did? Why am I still alone? Why am I unable to meet anyone to share my life with? Why does my life seem to be draining away? Why do I feel a sense of urgency about doing something…anything…and quick before I die?

Why? WHY? WHY???????

I sit quietly in my bog, laden down with burdens, choices, outcomes, and I wait for an answer. And what should my wondering ears hear?

Silence.

No, not silence. It’s more of a rustle. I look at God and I keep waiting. He just smiles at me, shifts in his seat and slowly shakes his head.

Nope. He’s not gonna tell me.

I have a dear, dear friend who suffered the unimaginable and lost her 4-year old son to a drowning accident many years ago. She tells the story of going to his graveside a few weeks after his death and standing in utter defiance, looking up at the sky and saying “God, I will NOT move until you bring him back. You brought Lazarus back. Now bring back my son!”

She waited, devastation-filled blood pumping angrily through her veins. And waited. And waited. Nothing happened. Until she began to hear a sound breaking through her wall of heartache.

Music. She heard music. She turned and looked up. Someone had placed a wind chime in a tree near her son’s grave. She realized in that moment God had gently touched that wind chime to let her in on a secret: He heard her cries. He heard. But he wasn’t going to answer. Not today. Maybe not ever. After several peaceful moments of listening to the wind chimes, she was able to pull herself together and leave.

She has loved wind chimes ever since. They are a stark reminder of God’s love, God’s presence, but ultimately God’s unwillingness to let her in on the biggest Why of them all…and teaching her to be okay with not knowing.

I ask the Why question a lot less than I used to. But like the wind chime, something reminds me that while I might always be alone, single, broke and fat, and never know why, at least God knows. He has all the answers to every single why I’ve ever asked. And while that is not always easy to take, I can take comfort that he does, in fact, know.

And that will have to be enough, because if I focus on the why’s for too long, I will miss all the wonderful what’s and when’s that are happening all around me every minute of every day: my precious granddaughters. My wonderful children. My family. My job. My friends. I can ask, but I can also learn to accept not ever knowing the answer.

Why? Because I said so. That’s why.

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Restless Soul Syndrome

Administrator — Mon, 11 Feb 2019 06:09:17 +0000

My legs drive me crazy sometimes. After sitting for an extended period of time, the sensation kicks in. I experience an uncontrollable urge to move my legs. I get the creeping sensation that something is moving inside my skin. Not literally moving, not like a horror movie-type moving. It’s more like I can almost feel the cells and nerve endings and blood and veins dancing their mystical, perfect rhythmic dance. But it creeps my legs out. And they react. And then so do I. It’s technical term is RLS or Restless Leg Syndrome. I’ve had it for years and will probably die moving my legs in a frustrated manner.

The good news is that there is medication. I take mine religiously. I carry extra in my purse just in case I’m not home when my internal “about to be creeped out” alarm clock goes off. It has, quite literally, changed my life. I can sleep without interruption. (Well, at least from RLS.) I am able to relax when I get in bed and not dread what is to come. And the sensation is staved off–at least for another 24 hours until my next dose of medication is required.

Lately, my restlessness has begun spreading. It’s no longer contained to just my legs. It is now infecting my soul.

I’ve always had the travel bug, the wandering spirit that longs for something but is never quite certain exactly what it is that is calling my name. In the past when I’ve been hit with a restless urge, I would find a new job, move to a new apartment, change a relationship, or take up a new craft. I no longer have the freedom to do those things.

This time, I didn’t recognize it for what it was. It has been so long since my soul wasn’t starving to run away, I had almost forgotten what it was like to just be restless. After several weeks of dreading Monday mornings, it finally occurred to me.

I’m restless!

I Googled “quotes about restlessness,” and came across a plethora of options. For example:

“Pay attention to your restlessness. Sometimes it’s God’s way of redirecting you.” — thevinepress.org

“All my life my heart has sought a thing I cannot name.” — Hunter S. Thompson

“Discontent is the first necessity of progress…” — Thomas Edison

“I’m restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again.” — Anais Nin

The list seemed endless. Some quotes were in favor of restlessness, while others hinted that it was a result of the devil’s influence. (Being a restless soul, I’ve pitched my tent in the former camp.)

My favorite quote, however, was the Anais Nin quote. The image of my hair being pulled by the stars is unequivocally intriguing and vastly exciting. The stars are everywhere and see everything! They could literally set me down anywhere! The best part of that quote? “Again.” It has happened many times before, and it doesn’t imply that there will be an end to the process. I get that. I relate to it. That restless spot in my soul stirs in recognition at the idea and lifts its head in greeting.

Suddenly, I realize something: I’m not crazy. And I’m not alone.

Now that I’ve solved the “What,” as in “what the hell is wrong with me?” The next question is equally difficult. “How?” as in “how the hell am I going to fix it?”

I really want to run, but that’s not what this restlessness is about. No. This restlessness is different than others. This one seems to have a purpose. An answer to the “Why?”

I think I know why. It’s just going to take work. A lot of it. My hair is getting longer, and the stars might be pulling me in an entirely new direction. Which means I need to buy a new medication for my restless soul syndrome: motivation.

There’s a point to this restlessness. It becomes more clear to me by the day. Will I be ready when the stars close their grip on my hair to lift me up? I hope so.

I washed my hair just in case.

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Life Stinks

Administrator — Fri, 18 Jan 2019 18:29:38 +0000

You know, it doesn’t really matter what is going on in your world. If it’s driving you crazy, stressing you out, making you cry, then it stinks. All of it.

I have a co-worker recently diagnosed with cancer. My best friend is trying valiantly to mend a broken heart. Another friend feels overwhelmed with single motherhood and all the ins and outs of that special dance.

Personally, I am shocked I don’t have ulcers devouring me from the inside out. Divorce. Financial concerns (i.e., living from paycheck to paycheck). My kids’ futures. My granddaughter’s future. My career path.

It all boils down to one, murky, disgusting miasma of stink.

When I watch one of the variations of “The Grinch,” I look at his unabashed descent into misery and self-loathing, and it’s hard not to identify with him. He is portrayed as such a negative guy. But come on…don’t we all have the Grinch inside of us?

I recently saw a meme that said “People who say ‘either go big or go home’ seriously underestimate my willingness to go home. Like, it’s literally my only goal.”

Right?? Yes! I would so much rather stay home, cocooned in my favorite pj’s of self pity and loneliness, and rejecting all attempts by anyone to get out and do something, much less open the shades and let the sun in.

So what does a girl-grinch do when she’s literally down in the dumps and feeling sorry for herself?

1. Stop saying you’re feeling sorry for yourself.

If it is disrupting your life in anyway, know this, it’s a Big Deal. If it keeps you from living your life to the fullest, it’s a Big Deal. If it keeps you in bed, crying for longer than an afternoon, it’s a Big Deal. Life is hard. It’s messy. It’s smelly. Nothing can erase that plain, simple fact. Acknowledge it. Embrace it. Make your struggles valid. So what if you’re not fighting cancer or a tragic death in your life or some other such “big” event. The end result is the same – depression, loneliness, sorrow, isolation, despair. Don’t shy away from it. That puts too much pressure on you to “try to snap out of it.” Look it straight in the eye and name it.

2. Don’t be afraid of what you see.

When you finally do work up the courage to look your Big Deal in the eye and name it, don’t back away. Dig deeper into the abyss. Try to name all its parts. Even the tiny little ones that hide in the back corners. Shine a light on each layer of your onion and give it a title. Take inventory. Make a list on a piece of paper, if need be. Just don’t let anything hide from your accounting of it.

3. Find an outlet.

Maybe it’s painting. Maybe it’s running. Maybe it’s crocheting, reading, kayaking, walking on the beach to pick up seashells and shark’s teeth. Whatever it is, do it. Just know that the Big Deal will come along for the ride. The hope is that one day, you will find there is no more room in the kayak or in your running shoes. It will no longer be a part of the story you read, and you can’t find it on the beach in a cluster of ocean detritus. You will have archived more and more parts of your Big Deal.

4. Share your story.

I started this blog to share my story. I don’t have answers. I don’t have the easy button to fix everything. My life is a shambles most every day of the week. Like I said, I fight stress on an almost hourly basis, just like everyone else. But just having the courage to be vulnerable enough to stand up and say, “Hey, I’m a stinky mess over here!” is the ultimate Big Deal. I have had many people reach out to me, just to say “Thank you. Now I don’t feel so alone and like a total loser.” There is comfort in numbers.

I said I don’t have the answers. I don’t. I just have experience. And lots of it. But I’m not the only one.

Neither are you.

The post Life Stinks appeared first on Lynette Bishop Snell.

Touching the Wound

Administrator — Tue, 15 Jan 2019 18:01:07 +0000

My friend and I have our own secret language. We have reduced complex, emotional experiences down to simple words or phrases. One that is most commonly used is “I touched the wound today.”

How often have you had a wound, whether a bug bite or cut or blister that you just can’t leave alone?

Have you noticed that the more you touch it, mess with it, pick at it, the longer it takes to heal? But isn’t it so satisfying to get the nasty scab off your skin? Disgusting? Yes. For me, however, it fulfills some base animal instinct to mess with it. I work with animals all day long. So many times we have to send them out with the dreaded “cone of shame” to keep them from messing with healing wounds. Why?

So the wound will heal.

Cones are awkward, inconvenient, and frequently damage walls, or the legs of the owners as the pet, their peripheral vision messed up by the cone, barrels through the house. I always tell owners, “don’t give in to the temptation to remove the cone. Trust me, you’ll end up dealing with it much longer if you take it off your pet. Push through the challenge and stick with it until things have healed.”

Interesting advice. I should listen to myself sometimes.

My friend and I read an article a year or so ago that resonated with us so completely, it created this phrase in our secret language. In fact, it seems to form one of the core pillars of the foundation of that language.

I don’t have to know any of the circumstances when I get her text, “I touched the wound…” and she doesn’t have to ask me when she gets my text, “wound touching, party of one, your table is now ready.”

Wouldn’t it be amazing if we could just put a figurative “cone of shame” around our wound and force ourselves to leave it alone? To focus on living instead of the wound. To focus on anything else but the wound.

But that damn wound. It’s so hard to stop touching it. Oh we go for days without mentioning our respective “wounds,” but inevitably something happens, we get a random text from the source of the wound, or we hear something or see something on social media. Whatever the catalyst, the result is always the same.

We touch the wound.

The results are always the same: depression, sorrow, loneliness, anger, hurt, rehashing really old history–the list goes on. I have yet to solve the mystery of wound touching. It’s hard. It’s messy. It’s time consuming. It’s a journey, not a destination.

Do I foresee myself touching my particular wound in the future? Duh. (Have you read my blog?). But when I look back, I realize something. I am touching it much less these days. I still, however, could use that cone of shame sometimes.

Now, don’t expect to see me driving down the road wearing a giant plastic upside down lamp shade around my neck.

If you do, please call the appropriate authorities and get me off the road.

It’s time for my wounds to heal.

The post Touching the Wound appeared first on Lynette Bishop Snell.

Root Vegetables

Administrator — Sun, 13 Jan 2019 07:31:38 +0000

I have a dear friend who refers to the men in her life as various root vegetables. Her ex is “The Turnip.” Someone she cares deeply for is “The Onion.” When she starts referring to someone as “The Carrot,” I will really start to wonder about her choices in life.

But seriously, the moniker that strikes a chord with me is “The Onion.” When speaking with Mr. Onion, my friend will mention something he has said that is confusing to me. When I question her about it, she will simply say, “peeling back another layer.”

Another layer.

Just how many layers does an onion have? Many layers comprise an onion, and each one, obviously, has a purpose. The outer, dry layer is called the tunic. Under the tunic lies the first layer of “onion cells,” a thin, single-cell-width membrane which lies between each layer of the fleshy, “onion leaves” (the part we eat) to protect each layer from outside influences. This order continues all the way to the very heart of the onion: the bulb, which is where the onion germinates and grows.

It got me thinking. Thinking about how very much like onions we humans are. We were created from the dust of the earth (grown in soil), we were yanked out of those cozy environs into the harsh reality of life, in the winter our outer layer becomes dry, crackly and paper-thin, and finally, when anyone cuts us, we make them cry.

An onion is so much more than a mere circle, which has no beginning and no ending. It is vastly complex. Imagine that thin, slimy thing that you peel off before cutting the onion. It’s there to stand as a barrier between layers.

Everyone talks about “building walls” to protect themselves from being hurt, or throwing up barriers to keep people “out.” It usually is mentioned in a negative tone.

I’m beginning to wonder if that’s such a bad thing. I mean, just look at the onion. God created this amazing vegetable as part of his vast menu for humanity. It has a purpose and function. It provides a sort of sustenance and flavor for dishes.

And it makes us cry.

If God created a non-sentient vegetable to have so many protective layers, I wonder if he meant for humans to follow a similar example. Maybe I’m reading too much into the commonalities of humans and onions. But I don’t think so.

Each onion layer stacks on top of another to protect the core…the very nerve center of the onion’s existence…the thing that makes it grow.

Maybe if humans had a few more layers protecting their core, there might be fewer damaged souls in the world. And a lot more healthy, beautiful growth.

Or maybe I just need some vegetable soup.

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Happy New Year

Administrator — Tue, 01 Jan 2019 19:36:42 +0000

How did you spend your New Year’s Eve? At a party with lots of people you barely knew? With lots of drinks, laughter and music? Kissing someone you loved at midnight?

Or did you stay home, alone, in your pj’s, not really caring what the rest of the world did to ring in 2019? Watching TV, perhaps some football games, or reading a book or listening to music?

Me? I stayed home. I had planned to go out, but after a rough morning at work, I came home and found myself quickly installed in my comfy pj’s, drinking more egg nog. I had no desire to go anywhere or do anything. So when my plans fell through, I almost danced a jig. I stayed up until 2:30 a.m. But I never watched one bursting shell of light or watched one twinkling crystal wrapped on a ball as it fell to mark the new year.

In short, I did what I do every night. Not much of anything.

In a way, it was really good. I binged watched a show on Netflix. I actually forgot about midnight until a couple friends texted me. “Oh yeah,” I thought. “It’s New Year’s Eve.”

I kept waiting for the inevitable feelings of doom and gloom to hit me. Sorrow. Loneliness. Self-Pity. But they didn’t come.

Until today.

I slept until 11:30. Ate some cereal and sat down where I left off last night…on the couch in front of the TV. I looked around and realized nothing had changed in the few hours since “last year.”

It struck me. Nothing does change. We expect the New Year to start off with a literal and figurative bang and put undue pressure on ourselves to make things right. Or better. Or perfect.

And by January 7th, when it all has fallen apart, the pressure makes us crack. Suddenly, January becomes the worst month of the year. Depression sets in. The weather gets gloomy and cold, and sitting on the couch in front of the TV binge watching anything seems like a pretty good alternative to whatever plans we had on December 31/January 1.

I saw this meme and it cracked me up.

It’s so true! And you know what? It gives such great freedom. That’s right–FREEDOM! Once I stop putting so much pressure on myself to get my life “in order,” whatever that means, and I realize, hey…just keep doing the same thing as before, life starts to feel less like a pressure cooker and more like a familiar friend.

I don’t need to put everything on January. That month has enough to deal with on it’s own. Should I set goals? Sure, why not. But I don’t have to set them, achieve them and fulfill my deepest ambitions and dreams by January 31st.

So while I sit here on my couch, watching football and binge watching stupid shows on Netflix, I am ok with that. I will get up eventually. Just giving myself the permission to not do it in January has let me relax and enjoy the moment. And guess what? Here I sit, writing my blog. BAM! Take that, New Year’s Resolutions!

Happy New Year. Give yourself freedom.

Then go out and enjoy it.

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