Friday, June 25, 2010


“How could you do this to me? Why don’t you love me? ” I thought to myself. The maitre d’ was taking us to our table, but the man I was with slowed down. He was staring across the room at a woman sitting alone at a table.

I wanted to tell him how humiliated I felt, but I decided not to start an argument. We were in our favorite upscale restaurant and I had hoped for a pleasant evening. But I was so angry that my body was shaking and I could feel tears filling my eyes.

I had been told by friends to learn to accept him because I was not going to change him, but I refused to accept and forgive the roving eyes of the man I was with. My ego wouldn’t let me. I felt I should be the only one in his life, the only one he cared for and the only one he looked at, and this is exactly what I expected, when I was with him.


He knew I was upset and he grabbed my hand. He assured me that all he wanted was for me to see her smile. He told me that it would be nice being around someone who smiled a lot and gave my hand a tight squeeze.

I gathered courage and looked at the woman. I saw a woman who looked happy. When I looked at her, I did see a smile, a nice friendly smile. People walking in the room looked at her. It triggered in me the fact that not only was I unhappy, but it showed on my face.


I was wallowing in self-pity and it wasn’t a pretty picture. It was time to change.

I would catch myself with an angry or sad thought and could feel my lips set tightly in anger, a frown covering my face. I forced myself to smile. I forced myself to relax the muscles in my face. I smiled at nothing and may have looked foolish, but I didn’t care. I discovered that I felt better when I relaxed and smiled, and I wanted to keep that feeling.

I smiled for no reason other than to portray an aura of confidence and happiness. I hadn’t realized the effect a smile can make on one’s face. When someone is smiling everyone else smiles and it lightens everything and everyone around. I practiced. I smiled even when I was alone.

I decided that this is the way I wanted to be perceived. I knew it would take a degree of acting. I knew I would have to smile even though I felt the man I was with wanted to be with someone else.

It took practice because I had been feeling sorry for myself and by appearing sad and dejected others would feel sorry for me. I had made myself a victim. I wanted to be saved. Therefore, I had no power. Now was the time to regain my power and this was the way to do it.


Did this change the way my man felt about me? Did this change his desire to lust for other women? No.

I can change me, but I cannot change anyone else. This lesson has not come easy, though. I continually tried to change the man I was with. And the man I was with continually tried to change me.

There is something liberating when you feel dynamic, powerful, and have a smile on your face. You feel more alive, centered and self-confident.

  •  Are you aware of the way your thoughts affect your feelings and your facial expression?
  • Can you see how changing this would make a difference?
  • Do you try to change others?
  • Do others try to change you?


Thursday, May 13, 2010


We had just gotten married a few days before and had moved into our tiny basement apartment. Each of us had lived with our parents before marriage and had never experienced living individually on our own. I didn’t know what to expect or what was expected of me.

We ate out or brought take-out home for the first few days, but that was becoming expensive and boring. I wanted to cook and have dinner at home. I just had to figure out how to do it.

My thoughts went from meatloaf, to beef roast, to chicken. They all sounded good, but not only did I not know how to cook them, I wasn’t even sure how to pick out meat at the grocery store. I didn’t know what to buy and if I had known, I would not have known how to cook it.

I had never been in the kitchen when my mother prepared a meal and, and as a result, I didn’t know what to do. Meals in my parents home had somehow appeared like magic.


I reached for the phone and dialed my mother’s number. She was an excellent cook, and not afraid to try something new. But, somehow, she had never taught me how to cook a meal. I knew how to make pull-taffy, divinity, fudge, and cookies galore, even a cake or two with seven-minute frosting and pies. All done from scratch, and all mouth-watering, but nothing that would work for dinner.

My mother laughed at me, but I knew she was happy that she could help. From then on, each time I needed to cook a meal, I called her, told her what I was hungry for and what I wanted to cook. I discovered that it was very important to have not only the right food, but also the right pans and utensils. We had received a lot of useful items at our wedding, but not everything I needed.

After getting the grocery list from my mother I would go to the store, buy the items I needed and take them to my home. I would then call and get her explicit step by step instructions, writing them on 3 x 5 cards, sometimes calling her several times. This went on for possibly a month or until I could cook everything I wanted.


My husband liked my cooking except for one very big mistake. I decided to try something different for Sunday dinner. I assumed that since he had been raised on a farm he would like my choice. I had the meat cooking and as he walked in the door, he covered his face with his hands. I was cooking a lamb shoulder and he could not stand the smell.

I loved lamb. It was a meal my mother made fairly often, so I assumed everyone would love it. Not the case, as I found out. I threw the meat out, opened the windows and aired out the house fixing something else for dinner that did not resemble lamb. After that whenever I had the urge to cook lamb chops or lamb shoulder blades, I did so when I knew my husband would not be home.


My mother is no longer alive, but I have most of the recipes she made and loved. I remember as a little girl helping her add recipes to her many scrap books. I found out later that she had thrown the scrap books away, thinking that since my father was on a low-fat diet she would never again make the food she loved.

Once I had that initial guidance from her, it didn’t take long before I understood all the measurements, oven temperatures and top of stove cooking. I felt confident in getting the best cuts of meat and poultry and picking the best produce.

Cooking became my passion and still is. I love to experiment with flavors and spices. And then there is cooking with yeast. What a wonderful experience, watching the dough rise and eating the homemade bread and yeast rolls. Yes, I continued to make lovely desserts and still made some with my mother as we had done before I married.

As a young mother, I made peach jam and pickled beets with my neighbor and friend. We took the freestone peaches that filled a tree at my house and made and froze peach pies. As a grandma I experimented with different foods for my grandson, mustard squeezed on a slice of American cheese and rolled up. Who needed bread? Eggplant cooked with butter and bread crumbs with a side of pineapple.

Then there were the times I would be at my daughter’s place cooking dinner and everyone would leave the kitchen because I would take over stirring three pots at the same time, and checking the oven and microwave. They would run from the kitchen, laughing and saying, “Look out! Grandmas at it again.”

My second husband liked to cook meats so we would have family and friends to dinner (20 to 30 people). He cooked two or three meats and I prepared all the side dishes. Everyone loved our meals together and on the way out they asked when we would do it again.

Cooking is still a creative outlet for me, a way to get lost in another world.

  • What is your passion?
  • Is there something you want to learn?
  • Do you know someone who can teach you?
  • Memories are made of wonderful life experiences.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010


I walked out of the building feeling elated rather than forced out. What could have turned out to be devastating actually gave me hope for better things to come.

The Vice President of the company I worked for had just laid me off. It was not a surprise, but expected since the day they hired a controller. One of the conditions of his taking the position was that his assistant was to come with him. I was the existing assistant, and he didn’t need two.

I was formally given my exit notice, but the Vice President had more to say.

He told me I could never make the money I wanted by working for someone else, and I would always work under the threat of being laid-off. Being a woman you just can’t make the money you want. He used his wife as an example of a woman who was independent, making her own decisions. His wife had a part time job working in the medical field, but she started her own multi-level jewelry business. By creating her own business she also gained independence and freedom.

His parting words of encouragement were to remember that this is an opportunity to change my life, to start my own business, to become self-reliant and to no longer depend on an employer for an income. I felt that this was a challenge that needed to be taken seriously. Of course, I wanted to make more money.


The words he had spoken would lead me on another path, if I allowed and accepted them. What he had said made sense. I had, up to this point, lived a life of dependency. If I wasn’t dependent on a husband for money, then I was dependent on a job. I had not thought that I could create a business or an income for myself any other way.

For the next few days I racked my brain to come up with some logical business ideas. I needed to figure out what I loved to do. Then the questions started pouring from my mind. What could I do? How would I start a business of my own? Did I have enough experience in any field to begin a business? What did I love so much that I would want to do it? Did I have the courage to begin my own business? I spent a lot of hours and days in my head, but was left without a usable idea.


While I was in this thought mode, one of my neighbors stopped by to say hello, and told me he had a word processor for sale. An old one, but it still worked. I decided to buy it, thinking that I could write.

Writing had never been a dream of mine and never something I even thought of doing. The only time I remembered writing was when I was 10 or 11. We had a project at school. We were told to write a short story and the next day read it out loud to the class. At the appointed time, I proudly stood in front of my class and read my short story. I was thrilled to share it with others and excited when they applauded.

Remembering this, I decided to put the wordprocessor to good use. I wrote the beginnings of three novels, a children’s book and a self-help book.

I contacted an editor who was also a writing teacher and of course a writer himself.

He was impressed with what I wrote and said it was nice to finally talk to someone who actually had the talent to write. He then told me not to attend classes, even his, and not try and edit my writing. He wanted me to write creatively and not stop. He would coach me whenever I felt I needed advice or confirmation that I was doing good and he would charge me a minimal fee. All he wanted me to do, was to write, write, and write.

I felt honored that he said those things to me. Though I had been looking for a new way to earn an income, I never considered this a business opportunity, nor did I think about being paid for the books I wrote. Maybe it is a short attention span, but I did not finish anything I wrote. Even so, I loved to write. I loved the words I had written and at times was even excited at the outcome of the story.


Meanwhile, I was out of a job and without a paycheck and I knew there was no feasible or practical way that the writing I was doing would lead to an income. There was no getting around it, I was very quickly running out of money and I had to do something. At the time, I had it in my head, that I would never go on unemployment. I was completely capable of finding a job and would not make the government pay while I looked.

So, I found a job, went to work and resumed receiving paychecks. Instead of writing I was involved in a job. My writing suffered and nearly ended. It was a pattern I repeated and would repeat many times again.


I would like to say that I’ve had a marvelous revelation, but alas I cannot. I still work for a paycheck which is minimal, dreadful and abusive. I write because I love it and because there are so many thoughts and words I must get out. My writing is a source of happiness as is sharing it with others.

I have learned that far from providing instant gratification, writing does not produce immediate success. It is time consuming and the rewards are not quick. I have to finish (and it can take a very long time) before I am paid.

Changing the way I earn money and the amount of money I earn can only happen if I believe. Believing that I can be the master of my work and the money I earn is essential to moving from dependence to independence.

  • Do you find yourself repeating patterns?
  • Does it seem impossible to change?
  • Have you given up a dream or using a talent to work for a paycheck?
  • Decide how you can make new choices and different choices, even if they are small steps.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010


I sat at the desk looking out the large glass windows toward the street and the shops on the other side. There wasn’t a lot to do, take in payments and answer the phone and neither was busy nor constructive. It was a job in an office and I was doing what the job consisted of. Other than the money I was making I felt as though it was a waste of time. I spent most of my time looking at the clock wishing it was time to go home.

I didn’t have to work. My husband preferred that I stay at home, but that was boring, too. I needed something to do, and something to occupy my time, and this seemed to be it. Or at least it was the only thing I could think of.

At this point in my life I did not have a very good track record. I was still trying to find myself, still trying to decide on a job, and trying to decide what a job was, other than a place to receive a paycheck.

Starting at the age of 16, I had worked in retail sales for two years, worked in the catalog warehouse for a major retail store, and worked in the personnel office at a Federal Agency for a few months. None had been good choices, but they had provided a little experience.


I had found this job about a mile from where we lived which allowed me to walk in good weather, since we only had one car.

I had not worked for a loan company in the past. I was somewhat familiar since we had to get a loan to buy a car, but I soon learned that working for them would be a pragmatic eyeopener.

I’ve always been good at observing, listening and making mental notes. At this job I needed all these resources. I soon discovered how things worked. My bosses needed collateral that was worth more than the loan amount. It seemed that in the back of their minds their first thought was the possibility of a default on the loan, since the interest rates were high there was a good chance the customer would not be able to make their payments, in a timely fashion. The owners made sure that the collateral was the amount they needed, so that they could repossess the item or items.

When I learned this, I knew that we were paying a higher interest on the car we bought, than if we had spent more time searching for a better and cheaper way. That was disheartening


Then a young couple walked in with their child. They spoke at length with the loan officer, as he made notes on a pad of paper. The next step was to hand me the piece of paper with the notes and I was to type the information on a legal contract.

They continued talking to one of the loan officers and they were about ready to sign on the dotted line. The loan officer walked out of the room, to speak with the manager and maybe to give them time to discuss the deal between them. The young couple nervously spoke and argued in an almost inaudible tone. I could tell by watching and hearing as much as I could that they were not sure this was what they wanted, but it was what they needed. They were going to do it.

I walked up to the young couple and told them, don’t do this. Walk away. The interest you are going to pay is very high. They are planning on repossessing the item, because they already have figured out that you won’t be able to make the payments. I chased them away.

Yes, they said, thank you and I was happy to know that I helped someone.


The loan officer had been listening and he ran outside to see if he could catch the couple and bring them back to the office, but it was too late. They were gone.

Needless to say, he was very angry and on the spot he and the manager fired me. And it was a good thing, because otherwise I would have had to quit. I would not want to work in a career or for people that deceived their customers and actually hoped they would fail.

Was I sorry? Absolutely not. I felt the young couple should know the real truth before they made a decision and the loan officer was not telling the whole story.

These loan officers were concealing facts and concealing the way they do business, but it happens all the time and especially to unsuspecting people who are led by their fears. This scene is similar to situations with mortgage companies convincing people that they can afford homes that they can’t and selling them mortgages that ultimately increase interest rates and monthly payments they cannot afford.


I don’t know what happened to the young couple. Hopefully they did more research or maybe realized that saving money to buy something is the most responsible way to make purchases.

I learned to be more careful with my money. If I need to borrow, car loan or mortgage, I make sure that I understand everything, if not I ask questions. It’s reassuring to have the experience and wisdom to make better choices, even if this experience means working at lousy jobs or making mistakes.

  • Are you wondering why you have your job? Is it the paycheck?
  • Have you ever watched unscrupulous actions of someone you’re doing business with?
  • Have you ever stood up for yourself or someone around you?
  • Are you willing to walk away rather than stay in an uncomfortable or dishonest situation? Even if it means giving up your paycheck?


Tuesday, April 13, 2010


I crouched down in the corner behind my bed hoping they wouldn’t see me. Hoping they had forgotten I was there and could hear everything. My parents were having an explosive and angry argument in the other room. I knew my mother was mad, because her usually soft voice was dominating their conversation. Their voices raised and lowered and the words I heard were related to my mother accusing my father of being with another woman. The significant part of the conversation was at the very end when my mother told him to pack his bag and move out.

My father did move out and it felt as though everything in our home was falling apart. I can only assume that they made up because he came back after only a few days. He never again moved out, but I don’t know if he any more affairs. Regardless of a betrayal they did love each other and remained married for the rest of their lives, maybe because divorce was regarded as something you just didn’t do. After my father died, my mother told me she wished she had divorced my father. I told her that if she had done so, I would have stood by her.


Until my parents had the loud argument and he moved out, I did not understand the full ramification of his behaviors. Sometimes, when my father had an errand to run, he would take me with him. This was exciting to me, since we lived on a small farm and I was always bored. On one particular day he took me to what he called a “greasy spoon” cafĂ©. He told me that it was his favorite place to eat, as it had much better food than the other larger restaurants. Presumably he had been there often, since the waitress behind the counter and he knew each other.

I watched him as he paid a lot of attention to and flirted with the waitress. It made me nervous and uncomfortable and I kept wishing he would stop. When we left the restaurant and headed for home, he told me not to tell my mother. This would be a secret between the two of us.


Had I not had the opportunity to read the books my father gave me, I may not have understood their argument as well as I did. He gave them to me discreetly so that my mother did not see them. He quietly told me not to tell her. It was our secret. It was another secret that he expected me to never reveal. This was okay with me. I enjoyed the books.

I knew they were hidden from my mother not because they were mysteries, but because they contained some sexually explicit parts. She would not have allowed me to read them.

AND THEN...........

It seemed that my father let me in on his secret life because he was treating me as his son. I was supposed to have been a boy, not a girl, and rather than continue to feel bad, my father decided I was going to hang out with him. Then it would seem okay, actually maybe normal for him to divulge his tawdry tendencies. So I was treated to something that was for me, a little strange, but because he was my father, I felt it was okay.


There were many smaller secrets, ones that were insignificant when my father would tease my mother. My father had a bigger than life sense of humor. He was always playing pranks on the unsuspecting around him.

My mother would be putting clean sheets on their bed, tucking in the sides, making sure it was perfect. Trying to hold his laughter in and starting to turn red he would look at whoever may be watching, put his finger to his lips signaling to not speak out. He would then divert her attention away from what she was doing. My mother, used to his sense of humor would turn and pretend to scold him by using his full name. This was a harmless secret.

Then there was the time when my father wanted my mother to ride on the new escalators that were recently installed in our department stores. She was very afraid to ride on them, so my father convinced her by telling her that they took the elevators out of the building and she would have to ride the escalator to get to the second floor. He chuckled, turned red and put his finger to his lips signaling to me not to let her in on the real truth. I felt very bad for her. My father was lying to her and I wanted to tell her the truth. But, I knew my father would be very angry with me if I did not go along with his plan.

She was furious with him as she bravely rode the escalator and in front of eyes as she got off was, yes, a working elevator.


I never told my mother about the books nor did I tell her about the waitress. I wondered if the waitress was the one they were fighting about. Had my father had an affair with her?

There was no reason why I should tell my mother about the waitress, or my suspicions. I was their child and I felt it was not up to me to come between the two of them. Obviously, I didn’t need to, as my mother seemed to have figured it out herself.

I became more tolerant and understanding in my observation of the relationships of others and of my own. Of course, there will be arguments, but that does not mean an end to the relationship.

  • List a time you were asked to keep a secret from someone.
  • Did you think it was right or wrong? Did you do it anyway?
  • Did your parents or friends ever have a heated argument?
  • How did you feel?



Tuesday, April 6, 2010


My fingers touched the keys trying to feel some familiarity, but it wasn’t there. There was silence in the parlor of the old Victorian style home of my piano teacher. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me as they waited with great expectation. I began playing. For a moment it felt that everything was okay, until I could hear whispers. I heard the music I was playing and I did not recognize it. My first thought was to run out of the room, but decided I had better finish.

I kept playing hoping that the disaster I was creating was just a dream, but I knew it wasn’t. I felt horrible and ashamed and I hoped I would never see these people again. I wasn’t sure that I could do anything right as my world came tumbling down. “I am so stupid.” I thought.

I had failed in front of my teacher, all the other students and their parents, and, what was worse I was the only one that made such a spectacle. I did not know what to expect from my parents, but I could only imagine their humiliation and shame. I was sure that my teacher was angry, but I would have to deal with her later.

I was eight and my parents wanted me to follow in my sister’s footsteps. My sister was good at playing the piano. Not only did she excel at her lessons, but she could also play by ear. I always knew when she had heard a new tune. She would run in the house, so she would not forget the tune, dash to the piano and play the song . But that was my sister.


When we arrived home after the recital, my parents told me that I had been on the wrong keys through the whole song. As my mother put it, ever so kindly, “That’s okay. All you need to do is sit and look pretty.” I know she wanted to console me. I did not have the talent to play the piano. I let my parents down, humiliated and disappointed them, especially my father. He had bought me several John Phillip Sousa music books thinking that I would actually play them.

It was as though there was nothing left for me to do. My goal may as well have been exactly what my mother said, to sit there and look pretty. I don’t think my parents, after the recital fiasco, believed I could do anything. They never seemed to understand that even if I couldn’t play the piano (after all not everyone can), I could do other things. To them it was the piano or nothing. The one good thing that came out of this was that I never had to play the piano again.


There was no doubt in my mind that my parents felt I was a loss cause. My self-esteem dropped to the lowest point. I knew I was not as good as my sister. My parents had given up hope for me.

At that point I felt rejection and I felt my parents loved my sister more. I would have to find something to prove that I was as good as my sister. But I couldn’t. My parents were not going to let me take dance classes or any other classes so I could show them something that I could do. Something that would make them proud of me.


I soon learned that it would be impossible to make up for the piano recital disaster. My parents had stated how they felt about my ability to play the piano, and the fact that they had wasted a lot of money on the classes I took. I was really in trouble.

I had wanted to show them by taking dance classes that I could do well and that they could be proud of me, but they would not even discuss it.

Three patterns developed from this situation: I could not do what I wanted, the money for anything I wanted would not be available to me, and I did not follow through on anything I started.

I knew I could not change their minds about dance classes, but in junior high school I wanted to try out for cheerleading. My parents seemed to have a very good memory and they reminded me of the piano recital. They also explained that the uniforms, for cheerleading were too expensive.

I had built quite a reputation based on one failed piano recital. They didn’t trust me, they didn’t believe I was worth it--nor did they believe I would follow through.


As I am an adult, making my own choices and decisions I find that these beliefs still have a pivotal effect on my life.

A number of years ago I decided I would take the dance classes that my parents stopped me from taking. I found that I loved to dance and excelled. Then the beliefs must have hit me in the head and heart because I came up with excuses. I decided that I didn’t have the money for the classes and the costumes. That I didn’t have the time for classes and rehearsals. In other words, my beliefs stopped me from finding creative expression and something I was good at.

The same thing happened when I went into Real Estate. I conjured up every bit of logic I could think of that would make me fail. I finally reasoned that I did not want to do it anyway, so why bother. What I should have done was to find another Real Estate Company to work for. One that would train me and had willing agents and mentors.

To prove to myself and others that I can follow through, I stay in demeaning low-paying jobs long after I know I should quit, as I am in the job I have now. It is miserable and the hours have been cut tremendously, but I keep trying to hold on.


It is extremely difficult and unproductive to continue living with the restrictions my parents placed on me. Therefore, to transform and change my doubts, and the unnecessary and debilitating beliefs, I must let go of the stigma surrounding the piano recital.

I now believe that I can do whatever I want. I follow through when doing what I love. I always have enough money to provide anything that I want. I am deserving. I am worthy. I am good enough.

Writing posts for this blog is the first thing I’ve ever creatively done, enjoyed and followed through on. For me this is a very big accomplishment.

  • When you feel you are unduly criticized or a statement is made that lowers your self-esteem, do you believe yourself or them?
  • Do you lose hope? Do you feel like giving up?
  • Can you remember a time when failure consumed you?
  • Are you willing to accept constructive criticism?

Thursday, April 1, 2010


I started writing for myself about 15 years ago. At that time I had started three novels and a child’s book, contacted a writing instructor and editor and received very positive feedback from him. He was impressed, told me to do nothing but keep writing. I was not to take a class, not even his and not worry about the editing, not at this time anyway. Doing the editing would slow down my creative energy. He met with me a few times, to answer questions I had, and then I quit writing.

I got involved in my job and didn’t find a lot of time to write. When I did start up again, I called him and found out that he was no longer teaching or editing. He had a few writing assignments that he was involved with and building a house for his wife and her son was more than enough to keep him busy.

I sputtered, started and stopped with my writing and never made it into anything concrete. I did finish one novel, but was not really pleased with it, and let it go. I started several non-fiction pieces and even worked on scripts, nothing completed. Actually completing any of my writing meant that I needed to believe that what I was doing was really good. I also had to believe that I could and would give up working at a job. It became a real lack of confidence, even with the positive feedback from my editor.


This time it’s different. I think it is because I feel more in control of what I want to do with my life. I know I have the talent to write, and now I intend to do something with this talent. Writing also has the potential to give me everything I want from freedom, independence, working from my home and setting my own schedule, to the possibility of earning an abundance of money.

I knew all this before, but I think I didn’t believe I could possibly make all this happen. Now I am taking a more realistic look at the way my life has been. It is a continuous line of degrading and miserable low-paying dead-end jobs. What I see is what I get.

In order to make this change I had to, without a doubt, make sure I understood this completely. I had to understand that I will never have what I want by working for someone else, not ever. It has helped that with the job I have now my hours have decreased so that I would not miss the income if I quit tomorrow.


I realize now that whatever I was told about not being enough, or not having what it takes were just words that my father repeated from his past. I understand this because even though my father said unkind things to me he also wanted the best for me. He wanted me to have the work that allowed me independence and wealth. I am willing to let go of the derogatory things he said. There are more than enough positive things that will give me the self-esteem boost I want, and remind me that my father and mother loved me.


I started writing again, because I never completely stopped. I was always making notes and writing in a tablet whether I was driving, at work or putting on make-up. I could continue this way or actually decide to do something with it. I decided that even though I had a full time job, I always woke up very early in the morning. This was the time that the world was quiet and even to this day I still write early in the morning. I’ve found that I am no longer rigidly set to writing just in the morning and will sit down to write anytime of the day.

I’ve made a promise that I will give myself the life I want and in order to do this I have to make changes to the way I think and the way I do things. My choices and the methods in which I plan to make a change are now a way of life for me. I no longer am wishy-washy in my thinking about ending my job, of knowing I will have to adapt to a different way of being paid, by results rather than hourly. It has become a way of believing in me and my abilities.

What do I want? Freedom, independence and wealth. I believe I have all this in being a writer. I believe that I have the courage, power and ability to make this happen for me.

I have had to rework the way I think about me. Instead of a woman who keeps everyone around me happy, I am the woman who makes me happy first of all and still have room for others. I will never have what I want or even what I need by working at a job for someone else. For me to be happy I must have freedom, independence and wealth, but I also must be happy and fulfilled. It is a package deal, but a package that I wrap for me.

A change can never happen if you don’t really want it. I not only want this change to take place I am also willing to do whatever it takes to make it happen. I can make this change only by believing that I deserve to have what I want, and also believing that I am worthy. I now have an editor, who is fabulous, working with me to fine-tune my writing.

Making a change is facilitated by making it a habit that you repeat constantly. I now mentally focus on my writing all day every day. I click on the delete button in my mind extinguishing all thoughts about my job and the people I work with. At this point my writing is in the limelight, brightly beaming and my job is fading into obscurity.

  • What changes have you wanted to make, but never carried through?
  • Think of the messages that may have caused this pattern.
  • Allow yourself to forgive those in your past who may have discouraged you from achieving what you wanted.
  • Take control of the changes you want to make.