The 34 -year-old talked to the periodical about his family, his children, and the loss of his mother, Princess Diana. William is known for being reserved and has been opening hours more about his mother’s death since he and two brothers, Harry, took on the mental health initiative Heads Together.
Aug. 31 will observe the 20 th commemoration of the shocking death of Princess Diana. Prince William told GQ that despite the time that has passed, his mother’s death still isn’t an easy topic.
” I still find it difficult now because at the time it was so raw ,” William told GQ.” And also it is not like most people’s bereavement, because everyone else are all aware of it, everyone knows the legend, everyone knows her .”
Princess Diana was one of the world’s most public figure while she was alive and after her lamentable extinction in 1997, she became even more of a household name. The automobile disintegrate that killed Diana triggered international scheme speculations and investigations and left her two young sons to mourn in the public eye.
William examined how the surprise affected him in a BBC documentary promoting his Heads Together campaign in April.
” You never get over it, it’s such an unbelievably big moment in their own lives that it never leaves you ,” William told the BBC.” You just memorize to address it .”
The most damaging mentality I have ever had as a business woman and entrepreneur is “No Pain, No gain.”
I wish that somebody would have told me, “Struggling is a choice” when I was building my business three years ago.
Does building a business take time, have a process, take energy, have moments of scarcity followed by exhales of being supported?
Am I here to say, “Start a business, set an intention, and then sit on the couch and you will get a million dollars while watching reruns of Breaking Bad on Netflix?”
However, many of us choose to struggle in our businesses rather than work intelligently.
Here are 8 tips that have helped me to kill the game and not kill myself by doing it all:
1. You Cannot Afford To Not Have An Assistant.
I jumped on a call with a lawyer 6 months ago and when I asked him how his day was he replied, “To be honest, I just started my own practice recently and today I spent 2 hours trying to teach myself how to use this invoicing service. It was frustrating.”
“Lets say for a moment you make $500 USD an hour. My assistant costs me $27 dollars an hour. She could set up your invoicing system in less than an hour, and then it would take her 5 minutes to send an invoice for you. While she does that you could have worked with clients for two hours and made $1000 USD. You would make over $975 USD today by hiring somebody to help you do the things you could teach yourself how to do, but don’t need to do.
The first week I hired my assistant to help me with my emails and work, I went on a day trip to a surf break in California and surfed for 3 hours and took a nap.
She gave me back 10 hours of my life in that week, and the week after, and my invoice at the end of the month was $337 CAD.
2. Of course You Can Teach Yourself, But For Fuck Sakes, Just Hire Somebody.
An artist and friend of mine one said, “Janne, there are mine fields that you will hit as an entrepreneur. And you can either walk across and get blown up or you can hire somebody who knows how to walk across and not get blown up.”
I know so many people who try to teach themselves how to build their own websites.
It takes them eons (weeks or months), and they get discouraged and procrastinate.
My first basic template website cost me $100 USD and it was done in 48 hours.
Hiring people to do the things you suck at, or don’t know how to do is a strength, not a weakness.
Fuck teaching yourself how to do everything—use your time, energy and creativity to do the things you love and are strong at.
3. Get Your Car Detailed And Your House Cleaned.
For a period of “busy” in my business I sucked at boundaries.
I could work for 10-15 hours a day, non stop.
I wouldn’t take time to cook, or eat. My house was a mess. My car was a mess.
I let the landslide of my busy topple over my personal self care and basic needs.
I now pay a service to drop of my lunch and dinner on my doorstep so that I am nourished, healthy and happy no matter how busy my days are.
It costs around $120 USD for the week.
I get my house cleaned twice a month.
I have somebody come to my house and clean my jeep twice a month—I leave the keys in the mailbox and money in the glove box.
It takes time and energy to build a business but your body, health and personal life doesn’t need to pay.
While my house or jeep is cleaned, I can work and an hour of my time pays for the cleaning for the next month/
This isn’t extravagant or luxurious—this is working intelligently, and knowing how to spend money to lovingly take care of myself.
It also puts money in the bank for two humans every month—win, win, win.
4. Work Intelligently: 80/20 Business Theory.
The 80/20 theory was first introduced by Italian economist Vilfredo Pareto, who in 1906 observed that 80% of Italy’s land was controlled by 20% of its population.
The 80-20 rule is a rule of thumb that states that 80% of outcomes can be attributed to 20% of all causes for a given event. In business, the 80-20 is often used to point out that 80% of a company’s revenue is generated by 20% of its total customers.
Therefor technically 20% of your work/clients can produce 80% of your income.
My take on this, is that many of us do 80% of the work, for 20% of the money.
Many artists and businesses starting out work with a large handful of clients to make a rather small amount of money.
We call it growing pains and “establishing ourselves” and believe there is value in getting our name out there and that “everybody struggles like this while building a business”.
That because you’re a healer or work in wellness you can work for free building experience.
Rewind a few years ago.
I am writing 14-17 articles a month making $50- $100 USD dollars an article.
I believe that I am fucking blessed to be getting paid anything as a writer in an online world, which, has some truth to it for when we moved from print to online publications adopted the belief that followers pay the rent (they don’t, shitheads).
I quit my crutch jobs, and was relying just on my writing income.
Without my serving and interning jobs, I was suddenly making around $600-$1000 CAD a month and couldn’t afford to live in Canada.
So I got creative and decided to sublet my cabin out, and go work at a butterfly garden work exchange in Costa Rica where I could work in exchange for food and board.
Half the time I cleaned up caterpillar poop and hunted geckos in the garden and the other half of the time I worked reception and wrote articles like mad at the front desk.
This allowed me to survive and continue to follow my dreams.
Eventually I was over giving my energy to anything other than my business and decided it had been a good in between but it still wasn’t the answer.
I flew to Colorado on my way home to Canada and had the most important cup of coffee I’ve ever had.
That same day I had that cup of coffee, I had a meeting with an owner of a publication that was cancelled.
In that meeting I was meant to have I was planning on asking to write monogamously for one publication for $1500 USD a month. I thought this amount was generous of them, and I thought this was truly my worth.
Some of my big hits/articles and poems at the time had between 400,000 and 1,000,000 views.
I had no idea what my worth and value was and this chance coffee shifted that for me in a big way.
Over that cup of coffee, I told the woman I was meeting I was charging $50-$100 an article and she spit her coffee out.
“What?” she asked.
I then told her what I was about to pitch this publication.
“Don’t you dare ask for $1500 a month. You are worth a minimum, a minimum of $250 USD an article. Go for a hike, set an intention of how much money you want to make and know that you are everything you need, without anybody to make that happen.”
I hiked a mountain and decided that $4000 a month was thriving for me. It was an unheard of amount of money in my brain—insurmountable at the time and daunting. I almost felt greedy.
I remember standing at the top of this hike with my phone calculator looking at that number.
I decided that I wanted to charge $250-$500 USD an article.
I went home and wrote, “I am supported by what I love. Abundance flows effortlessly into my life. I am worthy of $4000 a month.”
I changed my prices and over that week, I lost all my clients that I had built over the last year.
All of them.
I questioned if I was mad.
I stressed, was filled with anxiety.
Then I got an email from a man asking me to be the voice of his company. It was vague and kind of esoteric and I gave him shit on his third email for not being direct enough with me on what he wanted.
He wanted me to write content for his website.
I asked for $2000 USD a month, to write 4 articles a month (I wanted to ask for a $1000).
Then I signed up with another publication for $1000 USD a month for 4 articles a month.
And a third for 2 articles a month for a year at $500 USD.
I was suddenly, within weeks, making $4000 CAD a month.
I transitioned to 3 clients writing 10 articles a month that gave me my income I was previously making X 4, from writing for 7-9 clients, writing 14-17 articles a month making ¼ of the money.
This is my version of the 80/20 theory.
Instead of working with 8 client’s night and day and making peanuts, find your 2 clients/projects that can pay you 80% of the revenue for 20% of the work.
Then, do this often—do it every 3 months, do it every ____ clients.
5. For Fuck Sakes, Change Your Prices As You Grow.
I met a massage therapist on a float plane this week who told me she had been charging the same rates for over 6 years.
“You haven’t even changed them, like, $5?” I asked.
“No, the average rate for massage therapists here is $90-100 dollars.”
“If I told you that there was an acupuncturist that charged $50 an hour, or $250 an hour. Who do you think is better?”
“The one who charges $250.00.”
We are so afraid to charge more than what everybody else is, but we choose our worth and other people pay what they believe they are worth.
And the fucked up thing, is that many of us think that if something is more expensive, that it’s better.
Not always the case, but undervaluing ourselves is not doing ourselves any favours just like not shifting our prices to mirror our experience isn’t either.
When I doubled my rates for my life mentoring program one of my clients replied, “There is no value I can put on the work we have done together. Thank you.”
When you change your rates, you will loose clients. But the people who truly want to work with you will expect to make an investment for they will know your worth.
The question is, do you know your worth? And are you charging it?
6. Work Less. Way Less.
I work 6 days a month mentoring clients for 80% of my income. My work days on those 6 days a month are 4-5 hours long. The rest of the month I write, surf 2 hours a day, do yoga 4 days a week, go on adventures, teach myself how to run my business, work with my team, kiss men with ponytails, wear leather pants and get down to the saxophone.
We are not here to work to work to work to die.
There was a stage in building my business where I hustled and built connections with publications that had large followings and an audience so that when my work went viral, said audience followed me which now leads to revenue with cultural influencer jobs, clients, public speaking opportunities etc. etc. however, I truly believe that I choose to struggle unnecessarily for a few years of that.
I choose that because I grew up wired to believe that good people couldn’t have lots of money, and that artists had to starve and work a second job.
I wish I would have hired an assistant a year and a half ago.
I wish I would have changed my prices eons before I did so I could have just lived in Canada and written from my cabin, instead of vacating to try and survive in the jungle.
It looked exotic and like I was some privileged white bitch getting a sexy tan swimming with turtles drinking fresh coconuts, but in reality—I couldn’t afford first world.
I truly believe that we sometimes choose to struggle by not charging our worth, not having boundaries (taking jobs for less than we are worth), not hiring a team, not delegating, and not investing in ourselves.
Working hard is for assholes who still live in the system—we are building a new system.
7. Fuck Bro Rates. Quit Working For Free
I had a friend who approached me to write for his publication and when we hopped on Skype he asked me, “What are your rates?”
I said, “$450-650 USD an article. But sometimes if I am building a long term relationship with a publication I will charge less.”
He said, “Fuck that, Janne. I don’t want a bro rate. I used to own a shop, and give bro rates all the time. I know that only one bro benefits.”
My friends pay full price for mentoring calls with me. Even a woman who has paid me for the last year pays my full rates to work with me.
People don’t value free shit, and your time also isn’t free.
A story that has always, always stuck in my brain was from one of my business mentors a few years ago.
At one point in his life he was doing body work as a profession. He had one client who was really struggling financially. He could tell that her and her daughter were getting pretty close to having to live out of their car. He would feel extreme guilt whenever she would pay him. One day he called someone in his trade and explained what was happening.
She cut him off mid sentence and said, “Don’t you dare lower your prices for them.”
[ How many of you thought cold, heartless bitch?]
“If you lower your prices you continue to enable them to exist as victims/where they are. You don’t give them an opportunity to grow.”
He didn’t change his prices. He also noted that when she showed up for her sessions, she showed up and had great takeaways from his work. More so than people who had millions in the bank. She derived great value in what she was paying for, likely more so, because she was making sacrifices to be able to show up and do the work.
Shortly after she wasn’t on the streets, and things got better financially.
I believe that sometimes committing to things and pushing ourselves to grow with extra expenses is what creates a context that allows us to thrive and expand.
8. Take 2 Full Days Off A Week.
You know what hustle, hustle, hustle gets you?
Intelligent business owners do not check their emails at 1 am.
They do not sleep with their face attached to their phones because they trust that if they walk away from their business for a few days, nothing will fall apart beyond repair.
We must trust that we have spent time building the embers of the fire of our business and that it is burning so hot that if we leave the house for a moment, or pass somebody else the poking stick that it will be alive when we return.
And that when we come back all we have to do is throw a small log on and it will burst into an even bigger flame.
Not trusting your business is the worst thing you can do.
Take time totally fucking off, and those emails can wait until whenever your “Monday” is.
You Are The Big Break.
In my first year starting my business I had a ridiculously flattering job offer from a big ass company I dreamed about as a kid. It not only was a reputable company that would put me on the map, but it had 5 zeros on the paper when my income as a writer at that point had 4 zeros.
There was one catch—I needed a visa in 10 days.
You know what kind of donkey can pull a visa out of their ass in 10 days?
I slaved and barley slept trying to make it happen talking to immigration lawyers until the wee hours of the AM.
I couldn’t get the visa and I was devastated to give up the gig because I thought it was my big break. Later I would find out from my talent manager that gigs like this one usually come 6-12 months in advance so that one can prepare within a respectful amount of time to make all the shit happen.
This job offer was great, but it didn’t have a loving amount of time for me to be prepared and wasn’t realistic.
I no longer accept last minute job offers that require me to flail, because they aren’t loving.
I don’t care if Oprah emails me to come on her show on a Friday, if I am off my emails—I will get back to her on Monday and if that’s too late for her, well she can find somebody else.
Nobody is the big break— you are the big break.
These are 8 ways I kill the game daily, and some of the story behind how I built my own system—a system that is loving to my well being, boundaries and bank.
I don’t believe you need to work hard to be a success, I believe that you need to work intelligently to be happy and that is a choice you make.
Americas Got Talent contestant Dr. Brandon Rogers died only weeks before his audition occurrence were supposed to breath, Fox News has confirmed.
We are deeply saddened by the sad passing of Dr. Brandon Rogers, who graced the Americas Got Talent stage as a contestant, ” a rep for NBC is to say in a statement. “Our guess are with his family.
The 29 -year-old was sitting in the front passenger bench of a vehicle when it gate-crashed in Maryland early Saturday morning, TMZ reported. Rogers was taken to the hospital, where he died the next day.
Maryland State Troopers responded to the clang around 4:30 a.m. Saturday, the gab place reports.
Rogers was apparently detected on Instagram by “America’s Got Talent” farmers after he posted a video enveloping a Boyz II Men song.
Between the slew of parenting books on the market, nagging mother-in-laws and unsolicited advice from strangers, it’s pretty easy to feel inadequate as a parent these days.
If your child is screaming in public, you spoiled them; if your child is too poised and proper, you’re too strict. Whether you’re breastfeeding, bottle-feeding, going all-organic or all-Lunchable with your kids, it seems there’s always somebody pointing a finger at what you’re doing wrong.
And to top it off, you just never know if the life lessons and character you’ve ingrained in your kids have really sunk in, regardless of whether you’ve checked all the right boxes or not.
With all the pressure surrounding the full-time job that is raising humans, Tara Parker Routzong certainly knows the feeling of failing as a mom because she simply “can’t do it all.”
But it’s in moments like the one that unfolded this weekend with her son, Landon, that she’s reminded she may not be doing such a bad job after all.
The Alabama mom was going through the Chick-fil-A drive-thru to grab a quick bite for lunch when Landon noticed the Florida license plate on the car in front of them. Immediately, his heart broke for the anonymous stranger who he knew must be fleeing Hurricane Irma, and he insisted that they do something about it.
“Landon saw the car in front of us was from Florida (we have been talking about Irma today),” wrote Tara on Facebook. “He declared we were paying for their meal and I agreed.”
We’ve all heard of paying it forward in the drive-thru, but “how do you pay for the car in front of you?” she questioned…
“You run toward their window with a debit card in hand and scare the mess out of them.”
Upon striking up a brief conversation with the man, Tara learned that Landon’s instincts were, in fact, correct:
“The man has left his home in Miami and was passing through to go stay with family in Birmingham. I told him we hoped he returned to his house untouched and that we’d keep him in our thoughts. Landon and I both had tears in our eyes from how appreciative he was.”
The proud mother closed with an all-too-relatable nugget of parenting wisdom that is sending waves of encouragement to mothers across the web:
“I often feel like I’m failing because I can’t do it all, all the time and then things like this happen and remind me that I don’t have to. My most important job is going just fine.” ❤️
Mamas, when you feel like you’re not enough, Tara’s story is a heartwarming reminder that you’re probably doing a much better job than you think you are.
All the praise to this sweet boy for setting an example of kindness that we all can aspire to. Irma may be wreaking havoc, but it’s drive-thru angles like Landon that are a beacon of light in the storm.
The format of this dreadfully dull show is identical to others of the Kardashian empire: interminable panoramas of beings sitting in kitchens not devouring cheese plates
Is there a least qualified reality demonstrate wizard than Rob Kardashian? If you lined up 10 beings from the casting record of A& Es Intervention and Rob Kardashian and had to choose one to base an ongoing television series around, would you ever pick him unless you knew his last name? Isnt this a tragedy? Shouldnt we all be more disturbed?
Sunday darkness debut of the new E! line Rob& Chyna commemorates the yield of the black sheep Kardashian to the public eye. Hes wasted years of his life unwilling to leave his room, which made him to amplification( his words) a grip of weight. He looks little cozy obligating seeing linked with other human beings than the little orphan girl Newt from the movie Aliens. A Los Angeles Dodgers hat covers whats left of the poorest of the poor people thin, unkempt fuzz. His wardrobe consists of T-shirts , nondescript jeans and sneakers. In other words, when I watch this astoundingly depressing platform, I envision myself and what I might become( minus the millions of dollars ).
The first few minutes of Rob& Chyna intend to form us empathize with Rob and his pregnant fiancee Blac Chyna. As an aside, isnt it a little bit horrid that Blac Chyna becomes almost entirely by the name Chyna in the first episode now that the original Chyna the former WWE wrestler has died? Its like rummaging through people jewelry after a funeral.
Regardless of what you call her, Blac Chyna is the actual starring of this present, even if her figure is second on the pavilion. She came up from the world-famous row sororities of Atlanta and grew something of an entrepreneur, at least in the way that we characterize that statement in 2016. She took the Kardashian template of monetizing tabloid notoriety through a sect of personality social media ubiquity, branded concoctions, and now, the final fragment of the mystify, an E! reality franchise. Shes become a major supporting player in the ongoing Kardashian meta-narrative having a baby with the rapper Tyga, who then leaves her for Kylie Jenner, which leads to Chyna connect forces-out with Rob. Whether or not her relationship with Rob is genuine or a calculated effort to increase her paying potential is not for me to decide (* cough its bullshit cough *) but what is is whether or not this TV show is good. Its not.
The Crystal Palace defender Pape Souar will undergo surgery this week after digesting thigh and jaw hurts in a serious vehicle crash
The Crystal Palace supporter Pape Souar will undergo surgery the coming week after tolerating thigh and jaw hurts in a serious auto accident on the M4 motorway on Sunday afternoon. The left-back was taken to hospital by air ambulance but his injuries are not considered to be life-threatening.
The other move is not believed to be seriously injured and according to reports did not necessitate hospital treatment.
Pictures from the stage, which evidenced the car on the central booking with debris strewn across the carriageway, between conjunctions two and three, were widely shared on social media.
Crystal Palace issued a statement to say Souar sustained injuries to his thigh and jaw bone and will remain in infirmary. The golf-club are liaising closely with the hospital on his progress and we certainly cared him a speedy improvement. Our anticipates are with Pape and his family at this time.
Fans of Chrissy Teigen were concerned Tuesday night after it was reported that she’d been involved in a hit-and-run car accident. Thankfully, she rose uninjured and because it’s Chrissy Teigen, somehow gave us some good tweets about it.
First, she linked to a particularly dramatic article about the clang from UK tabloid The Daily Star. “Sad news, ” the headline speaks, “Chrissy Teigen has been involved in a touched and ranged auto accident.”
I had always been a healthy girl. I never struggled with any major illness, and the only time I was in a hospital outside of childbirth was to accompany my parents when my little brother needed stitches or had an asthma attack. I rarely took medication because I rarely needed it, and the only knowledge I had about remedies other than baby aspirin and Mercurochrome was from reading the expired boxes of Alka-Seltzer in my dad’s medicine cabinet.
But that was then, before I turned thirty and fell hard and fast in love with a man who would later be diagnosed with Narcissistic Personality Disorder.
It wouldn’t be until sixteen years later that I would escape, and with only a shred of my spirit intact due to the emotional injuries I suffered silently from, injuries that weren’t visible like bruises or broken bones and therefore left me nothing to show in demonstration of my pain. Even today these wounds remind me of their presence if only in muscle memory, remaining as deep scars on my soul that trigger flashbacks and a physical response without warning. These “aftershocks” are a shared characteristic of abuse survivors, as is Complex PTSD, which I was diagnosed with two years after I escaped.
My physical pain began slowly, methodically, and in such direct contrast to my healthy lifestyle that I was oblivious to its power. I lacked the awareness to recognize the trouble when it began in the early years of my marriage, so when it worsened as time passed and my mind was incapable of accepting the truth about my situation, my body rebelled and acted out the only way it knew how:
No one else knew how I suffered, not that I could even understand it and therefore blamed my problems on outside forces (a bad muscle, my weak stomach, childbirth, the gods didn’t like me). At the time, I was unable to make the connection between what was wrong with my body and the mental stress I endured when I suddenly found myself living in the eye of a hurricane (aka: an emotionally abusive relationship), the calm and quiet only an illusion before the next gust of wind would hit.
Projection, gaslighting, hoovering, shaming, normalizing, silent treatments: My mind struggled to keep up, which then forced my body to maintain a “fight or flight” state of being. And while this method may have worked for cavemen, being in this constant mode of hyper-vigilance, one that had begun to interrupt my sleep as well, soon took a devastating toll.
The mirror in my bathroom held not the only reflection of a woman who was broken, but a woman who had been pushed to a place where reality was skewed and feeling crazy was the norm.
When I used to stare deep into the pools of my eyes looking for signs of life, I didn’t correlate the ever-present unrest growing within my heart and soul with the need to always know where a bathroom was. I completely separated the two, which was easy since he — the man I loved beyond measure — always assured me that my physical problems were due to my weak stomach, which wasn’t strong like his. Of course, I couldn’t argue. My entire body felt weak, though I didn’t share that piece of information with him. Nor did I wake him up anymore in the middle of the night as I lay on the floor by the toilet for hours, drifting in and out of sleep, since I couldn’t bear to hear “See, I told you” one more time.
Soon I came to a point where dealing with the physical discomfort became a daily ritual. I never left the house without a bottle of water and a week’s worth of Pepto Bismol, often popping ten to twelve pills in a single day. I kept a bottle in my purse, in my nightstand, and in my car because I never knew when and where it would hit. I became nauseated easily, and on more days than not would have to find a quiet space where I could put my head in between my knees and breathe my way through it. With a stomach that seemed hell bent on imploding in a ball of acid, this affected anything connected to it, which led me to suffer the consequences of never having a healthy bowel movement, including pain so agonizing that sometimes I didn’t leave the house at all because I couldn’t walk.
I had two major panic attacks that sent me to the ER — one in an ambulance, which later caused even more grief when the bill came and I had to endure his criticism for my lack of financial responsibility. For the second attack I drove myself to the hospital and told him please don’t come since I wanted to talk to the doctor alone. But he was there when I arrived, and stayed through all the tests, and spoke for me when the doctor came in to tell me all my vitals were good and there wasn’t anything wrong with me. he asked the doc. They spoke over me as if I weren’t even there. the doctor said.
Afterward I prepared for another lecture, deciding that the next time I’d rather risk death than share how I was feeling with him.
Since I had no knowledge about panic/anxiety attacks and I thought only crazy women had those, I then concluded: I was crazy. It must have been all in my head, even on those occasions when I would have sworn I was having a heart attack: the sharp pain would rocket through my shoulders, my toes would go numb and my hands tingled, I would become dizzy and was sure I’d throw up. And even though I had been trained and certified as a holistic health counselor, even though I didn’t have any kind of heart disease in my family history, even though I exercised daily and watched what I ate, in that moment I was sure the news headline the next day would read “Healthy 42-Year-Old Woman Dead of Massive Heart Attack.”
Doctor after doctor, hospital after hospital, assured me I was okay and that nothing was wrong. I asked my gynecologist, my family doctor, a friend who was a doctor, the ER doctors. Something is wrong with me! Without answers, however, I had no one to blame but myself. So I exercised more, I took up yoga, and I researched healthy eating and food for healing as if I were writing a Master’s thesis, all the while popping Pepto like it was candy on a daily basis.
But then it only got worse.
And nobody knew. They saw the dark circles under my eyes, they saw I was pale and gaunt, they wondered where I had disappeared to since I stayed home more and more, out of the public eye. But how was anyone to know my suffering when I couldn’t figure it out myself? The man I loved brushed it off with labels of “emotional hole,” “needy,” or “high maintenance,” which was how I had begun to label myself. And yet I couldn’t escape this feeling of such a larger pain I was enduring, one that grew in me like a cancer and that I was sure would kill me if I didn’t treat it…if only I knew what it was.
Day after day my soul was eroding in trying to keep standing in the presence of someone who I thought loved me and yet continued to create pain, with each little action another knife picking at an already open wound.
Like when he gave me the silent treatment and ignored me for days, or when he approached me with charm that turned to cruelty when I didn’t give him what he wanted, when I caught him in another lie or found him flirting with another woman, when he used what I had told him in private against me, when he threw me under another bus with our friends or people we knew, when he made himself the hero and me the bad guy with our own children, when he stood over me while I lay in a heap of tears on the floor and used that very moment to verbally kick me while I was down, and then when he knew I couldn’t take anymore and would suddenly shift into a sweet and caring man who loved me so much he could kill me and
I used to wish that with every word that left his mouth, or every time he walked around me as though I weren’t a human being but a piece of furniture, he would hit me instead so that I could look in the mirror and prove There’s a black eye! in order to validate my suffering. Lacking any signs of physical abuse, however, I was left with no other choice than to beg.
First, I begged him: . Please, please leave. This didn’t work so then I turned my begging toward the Universe, usually around the time that I was hiding in my bedroom closet again so the kids wouldn’t hear me cry.
One week after a round of particularly desperate begging to the ceiling of my closet, I received my sign, along with the necessary crashing down on everything I had known to be true. The full details didn’t emerge for months after, but by that time I had enough information to compel me to make a change, as if the Universe knew I would need a serious kick in the ass if I were going to find the strength to leave him.
Throughout all the revelations and my own detective work, when all the lies and crimes and women and teenage girls (they were of legal age he said in his defense, as if that somehow made a difference) were out for me to clearly see, I felt as though a switch turned from on to off within me.
Suddenly my focus became myself instead of him. I hadn’t stopped loving him, but the trauma forced me to stop caring about him more than myself. My body went immediately into survival mode, which left little room for anything else but finding shelter for my wounded heart, forcing myself into a physical hibernation so that my systems, my organs, and my soul could finally heal.
Being in an emotionally abusive relationship feels like being sucker punched, then looking around for the one you love to help you get up but discovering he was the one who made you hit the ground in the first place.
It’s a relationship of surprises, of trick doors and funhouse mirrors, in a circus that you don’t remember buying a ticket to but then waking up inside of one day and realizing the one you love is the Ringmaster.
Today I have left that circus far behind. My body was slower to come around than my mind if only because there were remnants of the emotional abuse that had yet to be purged physically. But thanks to meditation, finding the right doctors (yes they actually exist — ), learning and implementing visual healing, forgiving myself and releasing the blame that I had carried for so long, changing the narrative of my life from “I’m crazy and it’s my fault” to “He was abusive and I didn’t deserve it,” I am finally on a road of recovery instead of a path of destruction.
Today I see the depths of suffering I had succumbed to when I used to wish to be hit instead of bearing the invisible pain. Though my bruises were within, they have healed now as bruises tend to do.
Though my open wounds were visible only to me, they have scarred over and have lost almost all of their tenderness, even if I am still reminded of their presence whenever a memory is triggered. Most importantly, it is my stomach that has backed off its incessant attacks so that I am no longer held hostage by medications and making sure I always had a place to hide when the pain hit.
I am still not in a place where I can boast about my health like I could before the abuse. But the bigger part of this picture is that I’m getting there, and that my healing is dependent on continuing this lesson of forgiveness for myself.
I forgive myself for making the mistakes I did, for staying too long, for putting up with too much, since now I know the truth about emotional abuse.
And the truth is that I didn’t deserve to be lied to, manipulated, cheated on, ignored, demeaned, disrespected, any more than I deserved to be hit or given that black eye I used to wish for. Today I see there is no difference between the two; abuse is abuse no matter what form it takes or where the bruises are left.
I’ve also learned that where once I felt shame and guilt for possessing these wounds, now I am filled with love for myself since they are a reminder of the beauty in me that survived. And I owe it to my body, after all the pain it’s endured, to remind myself of that beauty every time I look in the mirror and immediately recognize the woman who stares back at me. She is wise. She is strong.
With his ardours on the surface, Fallon amazed after watching what occurred in Charlottesville how he would explain to his daughters–ages 2 and 4–how so much hatred existed in the world.
“As teenagers grow up, they need people to look up to, be demonstrating what’s right and good, ” Fallon said. “They need parents and schoolteachers, and there is a requirement to managers who appeal to the best in us. The fact that it took the president 2 day to come out and clear betray prejudiceds and white supremacists is shameful. And I think he lastly spoke out because people everywhere countenanced up and said something. It’s important for everyone–especially white people in this country–to speak out against this. Dismissing it is just as bad as supporting it.”
Fallon has been on the receiving end of backlash from reviewers for what they perceived as his persona in normalizing Trump ever since his Trump interview aired almost one year ago. And while Fallon’s statement against white supremacy might not change some of their sentiments, he’s likely speaking to members of his audience that other late-night legions can’t reach.
He praised the people who have been on the right side of biography and called for everyone to do what is right in the face of the kind of fright that’s now openly operating in the U.S.
“We all is a requirement to put against “whats wrong”, acknowledge that intolerance exists, and stand up for all that is right, and civil, and nature, ” he said. “And to show the next generation that we haven’t forgotten how hard people have fought for human rights. We cannot do this. We can’t go back. We can’t go backward.”