The Project…Past?

During my run of La Cage Aux Folles in spring of 2013, I felt I was desperately sprinting to a finish line before my heart burst - something reminiscent to Stone Fox’s plot line. I panged and pined. I thought, “IS this ‘project’ of me coming to a close?” Or perhaps… the Project was beginning metamorphosis?

It may be I have evolved. Priorities have in fact changed. But what is so interesting to me is why I chose not to broadcast this news at that time and further, why it has take me this long to do so. Why did I choose seclusion? Was I not proud? Or presumably - was it that I did not want to, nor could I even handle the thought of closing the stage door…completely.

That was about 2 years ago. I knew then and still know the answers to those questions, and yet, it is so uncomfortable.

Is it that if I talk about me and my life in the 3rd person or metaphorically that it will hurt less? Or sound less ugly?

Well, honestly…deep breath….here goes…

This whole rebirthing transformative metamorphic process has been very painful. No epidural here. The growth process usually is quite torturous for me. The whole existing daily thing can be a white-hot, branding-like challenge for me.

I have traveled down this path away from theater because I desperately needed to. Just as my excursion to NYC proved to be everything I never wanted it to be, this recent chapter too was disappointing. Not because of the friends I have made and certainly not for the good art I participated in creating, but because I wanted more and reality has continuously nudged me the opposite direction. Nay… shoved, punched, kicked, and dragged.

I desperately wished circumstances were different, but I chose to be realistic and see that I was dealt a different set of cards. With theatre, I was trying to play with a hand that might appear in the future, or for example, I thought I might have an experience like those who have been “Chosen” that aren’t the most pretty or talented, but had “something”. I thought my something was enough. Maybe my something was good enough sometimes to some people, but how harshly we are judged.

It’s really hard to admit you’re not right for something you want so desperately. Like the person you are absolutely head over heels in love with, but they don’t return your sentiment. I guess if it weren’t for wanting I would not have gotten as far as I did in performing. I’m sure some would say I didn’t try hard enough, give it enough time, I took my luck for granted, or any number of other caddy things that hurt, but the truth is far more frustrating for me. I worked really hard. I wanted really bad. So bad in fact that I was willing to destroy myself to get there.

I am not sure where I got the idea that was a good plan – destroying myself, but I am not naturally pretty, thin, or talented. I am not one the camera loves- action or still. The stage embraced me more warmly, but the life does not. I wanted so badly to be a performer, but the performing world is a dark one for me. It is filled with a spirit that is more demanding, controlling, and judging than my fragile esteem can handle. The “world” brings out the very worst torturous thoughts in me in exchange only for brief, intermittent moments experiencing raw joy when in the lights. It’s an addiction. It’s an awful siren song.

Thinking back, I sometimes get really angry at those that said I was gonna go somewhere, that I was “meant to do this.” I have been furious with those who said I was talented and then, not only stood by as I poisoned myself, but supported me doing so.

I have broken myself to be what that world wants me to be - that. I suffered in silence for fear of shame. Because, for a while, me being mangled inside, meant others thought I was good…enough.

I have been through a variety of emotions during my evolution. As I morph, I have hated my body, my voice, my face, and my mind because it isn’t good enough to “make it”. The we in me aren’t strong enough to hack it. I would be a “has been”, but I never WAS. I have compared all I am to others. I watch those that I admire and feel envy and terrible grief. “What about me?!” I scream inside. “Why not me?!?!”

There is no answer.

There is no one.

Frankly, the white-hot reality is -- I am not that. I so desperately tried to fit into a skin of a shadow of a hope that I had, but alas – the skin did not fit. And I’m awkwardly getting to be ok with that. Somewhat.

And then… I think of my son. Blessed be, my son’s eyes pulled me out, up, and away before I drowned in scalding tears. He helps me consider my purpose. My son is my light put inside the soul of another. A light I can touch and feel in the pitch of each day. I am good enough to be his mom. I am good enough to give him life. I am just right in fact. And I see my good in him. He radiates - a symbol of unconditional love.

Next…

I remember the sanctity in my ancient love. Without the gift of John’s unconditional adoration, I would not have this perfect child to love and raise, and a beautiful sanctuary to return to each day. At the end of the day when I feel so little, so unimportant, and so depressed…he flirts and flaunts his love for me. He makes me laugh and he tenderly caresses me on the forehead. Some simple stroke of peace comes.

As I said…priorities have changed.
There are those in my truest soul circle that are proud of me because they know the struggles I have dealt with, but I don’t think anyone truly knows the pain I feel every day, the struggle to stay present, and the challenge it is for me to try. No one knows the sadness I can be consumed by and the fatigue I often feel putting one foot in front of the other. My energy and light depleted. Many days I hate sleeping yet that’s all I want to do. I want to quit. To run away. To hide. The fantasies that can go through my mind daily are so vivid. But boy do I march on. I fight to carry myself with strength and gratitude. I tell myself I can take on anything. I can. I do. I will carry on - in spite of all who doubt or wish ill, including myself. I will play to win with the cards I've been dealt. Pull myself up by my own hair, turn myself inside out and see the world through fresh eyes, right? I don’t need new skin. My soul has grown to fit mine better.

My purpose is a bit foggy, but at least one can see fog. We know scientifically that it exists. Spiritually, smoke carries spirits. The wind will carry me again to the destination for which I am meant to moisten. To add life. At some point, the salty water of my tears gives joy to others. At some point I want to look at all I have done and feel that it is good…enough…

I am working hard on something else now. Working to accept. Me. I am working to see that I have many other talents and abilities that will carry me further than the theater. Something to help me leave a helping legacy. Something that will help me to feel accomplished and proud that I gave back, that I worked to help the souls on Earth without sacrificing my physical and mental well-being. The less I worry about the judgment of others and the more I worry about what I am able give, the more peace I have. My conscience is clear.

I have made mistakes just like the next soul. I have done what I can to right my wrongs and yet, I am certain to make more mistakes. I want to let go of external validation and look to spiritual harmony and peace. It’s possible. It is out there and I intend to reach a new level of awareness. I am transcending. Perhaps this phase of The Project we shall call Phoenix…

Doubt

Each year at the Winter Solstice (Yule) it is tradition to let loose something that has been plaguing you or keeping you from happiness from the previous year and open that space in your soul for something better in the next. Typically, I choose not to share what I am letting go of due to part superstition and part…well, perhaps so I am not held responsible if I can’t let it go.

Recently, I went from feeling very good and very strong, proud of my accomplishments and ability to overcome adversity to, so very quickly, trampled on and unimportant. Constantly questioning my talent, my look, my weight, my skin, my teeth, my age, my ability…my je ne sais quoi…or lack thereof.

It’s amazing how in just over two years of being back in theater I am feeling jaded…already. It’s unbelievable how many people are consumed with minutia and know nothing but superficiality as a way to interact with others. And honestly, back in my “prime” I guess I would have been right there with them. Crazy how quickly I can feel old and beaten down. I’m married. I have a child. I have a job. These things I have worked so hard to obtain and much of the world sees as great accomplishments and yet for these things in the theater community I often feel cast out. No pun intended. The general air of noxious, snobby theater folk has attached itself to the insides of my nostrils and is poisoning my brain. You can also refer to this deadly jade gas as Doubt.

What am I doing? Am I meant for this? Am I a fit? Do I still love this? Is it worth it? Where is this leading? I am experiencing a lack of excitement for the first time. I’m not beaming with pride. Based on some recent experiences I now know I hate being in the shadows. I hate being forgotten. I hate not mattering. I hate playing second fiddle. And the fact that I am makes me think that is where I belong. Some fucked up poetic justice for all those that have hated me and wished ill of me. I feel like I am pushing and yanking and gripping and stomping to make myself seen and matter. To be good enough…story of my life. The Doubt is making me see and hear things and look at myself crooked.


I’m past my prime though I am in the best shape of my life? It’s pathetic and completely discouraging. And I while I watch I realize I don’t have time to wait and see. Because while I do my body gets older, my voice gets tired, and my pockets get emptier and I feel more and more lost. I take the Doubt monster’s hand, it pricks my finger.


How frustrating to be an “almost”. I can sing, but wasn’t given a high belt range. I can dance, but wasn’t given a great extension and ability to leap & turn like one needs to. I can act, but not well enough to get back 10 years. I’m pretty, but not a stand out. I need all sorts of improvements done on my skin, hair, teeth, tits. I’m fit, but not enough to be a model. And hell, my tattoos are my tattoos, but I’m not freaky enough to fit in that niche. Ugh. This horrible limbo I’m in! Vomiting Doubt now.

Someone recently said, “You had your chance and you blew it”. It was sobering. That person was right. Horrid. Maddening as all get out. Nails on a chalkboard to hear. Yes, I screwed up big time in my youth. I made some stupid, horrible choices and I lie in it if not roll around and paint myself up in it daily. Isn’t it punishment enough that I get to see all the people I knew in college and high school become something great while I struggle to get seen in a community theater setting like Phoenix? The word Doubt begins to seep through my pores.

We’re taught to dream and dream big. We are told we can achieve our dream. Am I that naive still? Why can’t I have my dream?!?!? I have tried to right my wrongs. I have tried to walk the straight and narrow. I have worked hard and shown as brightly as the fire in me will burn. Was it simply not meant to be? All sense has been consumed by the black hole of Doubt.

Therefore I come to this: I don’t know if I’m mentally capable of being in this mess. I don’t know how much longer I can handle the rejection. Not necessarily the rejection by others, but the twisted rejection of myself. I am a harsh judge and jury. Ready to throw the gavel down quickly. I am forever on the stand. Yes, I put myself up on display so others can window-shop, point fingers and criticize then giggle BUT at the same time, I stand outside of myself in disgust and just watch because I am the executioner too. What a disgusting projection of DOUBT I have become.

This sweet little house in Doubt-land is why I could not survive in New York. All the exciting unsureness has gone out the fun house and it’s just plain frightening in Doubt-land, but I don’t know how to leave. I come to a window and look out and see others smiling at me and waving and laughing out in the sunshine. I don’t know how to get to the door and surely jumping out the window is not a safe escape. Maybe when I get the proper Doubt-house turnouts or some other type of fun house armor I can come back and play, but I’m just not “suited” for this. Being in this “play” land is supposed to be fun and it is often, but I dare anyone who comes to visit tell me they never trip, fall and roll around with Doubt. Unfortunately for me, I can’t help but land in the Doubt barbed wire.

There has to come a point when you must stop feeding the monster because it will become Audrey II or Venom and completely consume everything you know and love. It will attach itself to you and feed on everything negative in you until there is nothing left.

I guessDOUBTmaybeDOUBTthrowing a rock at the window is a start. PerhapsDOUBTif I shout loud enough one of those happy folks down there will see me and be able to help?DOUBT

Hopefully it’s not too late…

Title does not = Entitlement.

It’s rampant these days. People everywhere, kids and adults, feeling they are entitled to something because they’ve suffered enough, they’ve worked hard enough, sat on their butts long enough, or they had sex and popped out a baby; therefore, the world owes them something…they deserve something. Recently Entitlement reared its filthy head at me and I felt like I was in a scene from a horror flick. The lack of respect of personal, physical, and life space that some have is absolutely unconscionable to me. For some one in my life or even outside of my life to assume they are entitled to any relationship with me is absurd and that individual knows NOTHING about me. I have never felt so violated, disgusted…poisoned. Like someone had reached inside me and twisted my guts up just to disperse some of the poison running around inside them. It was complete and utter selfish ENTITLEMENT. Those of you that feel entitled to something…those of you that EXPECT things…no wonder your life is full of disappointment, regret, hatred and hurt. No wonder your heart needs a root canal. Why can’t you realize you cannot own another human being? When will you realize you must let go of people? We must let go of others changing. Most people will never change. And even if they do it is foolish to assume you can will it done. Most of us will never get an explanation of why didn’t they…? Why won’t they…? When will they…?. How could they…? We must accept that we cannot have expectations of others and then heaven forbid the cross you bare may get a bit lighter. I am adopted. As a child, I did not know the difference between blood and title. I grew up relating a title to a person and that I should hold those people higher, dearer, and nearer than any others, but then I saw the horrible things people with a title could do to one another. Not to mention the litany of horrid stories in the news about the way “family” treated each other all around the world. What “family” would harm one of their own? What “family” would harm a child? What “family” would hurt their husband or wife? What “family” would turn away from each other? What “family” would take advantage of each other? Hate does not exist in Family. Since becoming an adult I have gained the proper vocabulary to express what I know family to be. Family--people who exhibit family values and love. Family- people who care for you and respect you. Family- people who listen to what’s in your heart and you can trust with that information. Family- people who do not judge. People who listen…really listen not just wait for their turn to speak. People who know what you like and participate in what you like just because they want to be with you. People that sacrifice convenience to show you support. People that risk for you. People that stand up for you. People that honor you. People that can let days, months go by without a word and when you see them it is like no time has past. People that forgive. People that encourage you to strive for what you want and the courage to back your decisions, not to mention their own. People that have ZERO expectations. I have grown very firm in the fact there is no title or blood connection that deems ANYONE family to me. Beyond the title of Mother, beyond the unconditional love one might connect to a Mom, My Mom and I have a mutual respect and understanding. There is selflessness in our relationship. There is a point where my mother and I had to let each other go and say…that person is who is they are and it is not my place to try and change that, cage that, or hamper that spirit. This person who has raised me, and cared for me, and held my hand until I was strong enough to stand on my own and that will immediately take it again when I reach for it. That fine line of being my best friend and my authority figure. My teacher, my mentor that lets my own choices and life be my teacher. But knows just how much push I need. She knows me. She pays attention and remembers. Complimentary, not creepy, excessive or superficial. Never tries to cage me, stop me, clip me, leash me, own me, claim me, or exploit me. Brilliant woman. For these things, I am VERY clear who I call Mother. She has EARNED her title. The fact that there are people in my life who get hurt and angry because I don’t take more time for them or don’t include them or don’t acknowledge them in the way they wish, should look at why. They should look at the relationship they have established with me. Not the relationship they wish to have with me. And if they wish to have a relationship with me they should listen first. Quiet their poisonous minds and pay attention to me. Please note: I have no time for people that are soul suckers. I have no energy in me to give to people who are black holes. I have no place in my calendar for those with an admiring mouth in front of a trapping heart. If one would try to live their life in a place of open heart, open mind, and open ears and they might get a glimpse of “heaven on earth”. A lesson in letting go you will never forget. Because I have let go of expectation I can love more freely and get hurt far less. Please take a tip from me and LET ME GO. Let your love chakra be open. Put it down at the feet of your God. Do what ever it is you need to do to un-entitle yourself or I will grab a hold of your filthy entitled face and do it for you.

Maiden...Mother...Crone

The rebirth began one year ago. What an amazing year it has been. My eyes are still sore and foggy since first being opened. It’s odd…that feeling of déjà vu, knowing I have been here before, knowing some things innately somehow. It’s all so new, this skin. I feel like a Shar-pei. It’s gonna take a while to grow into it. I feel wobbly and irritated I can’t control everything. I, like most children, desperately want to run before I can crawl. I try to be patient with myself, my new body & mind, and especially the world around me, but since I cannot shake the experience of my former self I believe all, especially me, should be farther along than this. The fact that others see me as that youth is quite laughable for me. I feel the wisdom of my former self creeping into my gaze and yet I feel the naivety of this newness consume my everything else.

In my last “life” I felt quite certain I was an old soul. I had a certain built in sixth sense, third eye, intuition…call it what you like. When I first read about the stages of goddess in my spiritual books I thought, I am most definitely crone. I felt not that I had arrived, but that I had nothing fresh to bring. I felt defeated and that I had already bloomed. My time had come and gone. Waiting to die. I thought, ‘give myself back to the earth to enable another great spirit to cycle into my place’. I guess that’s why I felt I should play these mature roles. I felt naturally I should play mothers, grown women who had experienced life and the world and were over flowing with wisdom. I felt that I was blessed with a large, lower speaking voice and therefore, born matronly. I wished to heal, help, and educate everyone around me. My last great gift to the world.

So when first out the gate in this “new” body, skin, life…the shade of my former self says, “I am a mother, I am no longer a maiden and I am ready invoke Norma Desmond”. It’s ok, laugh. It’s quite entertaining what became my truth. But then to hear others place me younger….to hear others guess my age…to get into my bones and feel how jovial and vibrant all that is within me…I AM MAIDEN.

But when one reads further one learns that the triple goddess can also be represented by 3 sisters. All at different stages of growth, power, & wisdom. Each has gifts and each depends on the other to create the whole of the female spirit. Goddess. This completely explains the tugging and pulling of emotion and understanding. I am a spirit renewed and thus get to enjoy the vulnerability and naivety of youth. I still feel some bits of whole life experiences, but with questioning, second guessing, hesitation. I can be the nurturer, the caregiver, the bridge, but with unbridled excitement of what’s coming next. Only this time, it can be pure and I can be naked in front of everyone. Judge me if you dare. I don’t care. I know what’s coming next.

The stages of me. Me…on stage.

My Fight for Lemonade

Welcome to my highly functioning bipolarity. I have been able to thrive without medication for 9 years. NINE years. I have kept a pretty decent balance of mind/body for a loooong time now. No new scars, minimal toxins, a physique that I have maintained in a healthy manner. A strong & happy marriage. A healthy, well balanced child I have raised. A home, a car, a job. I am a functioning and contributing member of society. I am good person with very few enemies. Soooo, what's the problem? Why the disconnect? I don't sit on my butt and beg for others to take care of me. I don't mooch off the backs of others. I don't expect or ask anything from anyone. What is left? Something must be left. I've been given these damn bipolar lemons and I feel like I've tried juicing them, cutting them & squeezing them. Hell, I've tried sticking julienned pieces of my bipolar lemons through a garlic press to make some fucking lemonade and I barely get a drop. WTF?!

How do you push, pull, or pick yourself up? Gather up those lemons & try again? I understand the logistics of it...one foot in front of the other, one thing at a time. BUT- Why does it seem like every process is so damn hard for me and not for others? I'm "slow to develop" is one reason I've been told. Fuck that! Why is it not my turn? I sound like a little kid pouting. Yuck. But seriously, how do you love yourself and accept yourself for who you are when everything, every sign around you tells you you must be better, you must be prettier, you must be skinnier, you must be more talented. You must, you must, you must. More, More, More. It's survival of the fittest, isn't it? Clearly I am not one of the fittest. I'm not nearly as hard as I think I am. I was not able to handle NYC because my emotional/mental state would not allow me. Everything sucked that much more. The smallest rejection sends me spiraling out of control. I immediately want to tear down the world. Eat & drink everything terrible for me, want to ingest anything that will give me even just a moment of comfort. I want to scream at everyone, "What the fuck is so wrong about me?!?!?!" I say terrible things about me. I would do terrible things to me if I were still there...in that dark spiral that I found myself in in NYC. I would not could not in NYC. But here...here I can.

Here I have reasons to keep it together and fight. Here, I have my husband, my security by no bounds. Unabashed love and comfort that makes everything better. Here, I have my son. My son. Even saying it now brings a wave of warmth over me. His energy resuscitates mine. His voice and the light in his eyes smacks my wobbly weakness back straight. I have my mom, and all my amazing family. The purest love without condition. I have fantastic friends that remain even when I disappear into the dark place. It matters that I am depended upon. I depend on all of it more than I care to admit. I'm a fighter that needs a coach, that needs a training team. I have always had my eye on a prize, but when my eyes get beat til they're swollen shut, it's so hard to see. I have to accept I cannot do this alone. I have to rely on my heart and my ears. My sense of touch. From getting knocked around so, I lose sense of space and time. I have to accept that the prize cannot be all that I am. If I let success in this consume me I will crumble. I don't have to suffer in silence. It's okay if I cry, scream, and want to crawl in a hole, lean on the ropes. Just like every time before this I must return to the corner no matter what shape I am in, look at how far I've come and realize it's not over yet. I still have my team in my corner, and fans in the seats. Put the f'ing cold compresses on those eyes, let the energy of the room soak in through my feet and raise me up. Just get up. No matter how much it hurts. Get up Heth'r. GET UP. GET UP!! Eat some lemons and sweat, cry, bleed out some fucking lemonade.

Addiction in Moderation

I'm not quite certain when addiction becomes a component of your make up, but something tells me it begins very early in life. A child has a basic need to be held, listened to-- one is desperate for attention, the child get's it and feels that amazing sensation of fulfillment and satisfaction...comfort. Or perhaps it's the instant gratification we get from putting a puzzle together, building a tower, or the salivating that takes place at the thought of M&M's or a Happy Meal. How does simple satisfaction become a ravenous want for things? For things that can even kill you? And, is that ravenous want when applied to passion a negative?

Isn't that person with extreme passion looked at as a person with ambition and drive? I had a ravenous want to be on Broadway. I had equal and ravenous want for toxicity. I had the bare, naked, human want to be loved and accepted. I had the simple want to feel good and be happy. Why are these needs that all people have wrong? See where this all leads to confusion within a child's mind? Even in an adult mind?

There has to be something right within the world of need or else we would not fight for the things we believe in and work towards the things we want. Why is it that everything that is looked at as an addiction something that is "bad for you"? Sex, drugs, drinking, shopping, hell--don't they deem texting an addiction now? There's a fine line there. I think the very same passion that runs through my veins that is satisfied by being on stage, singing and dancing, is the very same passion that felt satisfied poisoning my veins or from self-mutilation. Joy, fun, excitement, and even sometimes, elation. Isn't there even a scientific explanation, that we are doing whatever we can to release serotonin and endorphins? We've got to gush our system with all these natural chemicals to give us a high and it's wrong to force ourselves to have these unnatural highs, that is, of course, unless they are prescribed, right? Right?

No, I think it's understanding the side effects of our wants and the possible destruction working too hard and needing too much can get us. We are so desperate in a world of sad and angry people to feel good, to succeed at getting what we want. And if sex makes us feel good--we have a baby boom or we have a plethora of STDs floating about. If being a singer makes us a feel good we have an influx of talent based reality TV shows, or entire generations of kids losing their identity to the fame monster. If eating makes us feel good we have genius chefs creating edible art or we become a fast food nation full of obese poster children. If tobacco feels good we have 400 thousand people die in a year from tobacco related illnesses. If music feels good we have Beethoven. Art-- Van Gogh and Basquiat. There are pros and cons to the extent that we want. EVERYTHING IN MODERATION. To know the boundaries, the limits, what's safe, what's acceptable within you. To eat to live, not live to eat. To appreciate, not devour. To partake, but not take advantage. Sample, don't steal. Experience, don't expel. In my humble opinion, this is how we experience heaven on earth again, and again, and again.

Thanks Body

For almost 32 years now you have put up with some terrible abuse. From almost 3 decades of dancing to years of unhealthy eating habits and unnatural substances...I thank you. Today I give praise to this body who has continued to love me and stick through everything with me despite the horrible things I say about it out loud and in secret. Thank you so very much body for working damn near perfect, for simply getting one foot in front of the other day in and day out.

Thank you feet for withstanding my love for being barefoot and my equal love for 4 inch stiletto shoes. When the time comes for a podiatrist, don't be too proud to tell me and hopefully I won't be too proud to call one for you.

Thank you ankles for withstanding toe shoes and never breaking despite my need to dance and run and fall down A LOT.

Thank you knees, for you have put up with so much pressure and force. Thank you for fighting through the years of pain and swelling and me almost refusing to give you anything to help you work better. I hope the bits of physical therapy and glucosamine condroitin are enough to keep you going for a long time.

Thank you hips for letting me do as much as I have. I'm sorry I curse at you for not being more flexible. I will love you for the flexibility you give. Let's continue to stretch and see where we can go as a team.

Thank you internal organs for the strength to push out the toxins I can't help but put in. Thank you for doing your job. I hope the vitamins & the changes I have made in the past 7 years have made you feel better about working for me. Everyday I am working towards a two way relationship.

Thank you body for allowing me to grow and give birth to a healthy child and recover well. I have forgiven the displacement of my hips & pelvis. He is worth all of it.

Thank you veins for properly transporting blood to every part of my body. Forgive me for the way I talk about your spider variety, I know they hurt for you too.

Thank you hands, fingers, & nails for putting up with so much abuse. Verbally & physically. I am proud of the strength you display and I will do my best to be stronger for you. Nails, no more acrylic...ever. Fingers, I know you need me not wear jewelry and if I do, I will do better about putting on ointment to sooth your anger. Hands, I embrace your power.

Thank you wrists. I am sorry for the scars, but am proud of the healing you have done...in more way than one.

Thank you shoulders and back for continuing to stand tall despite the pain and tension. I am so happy you can tell my husband your needs so clearly. You hold a very important job by displaying a very important mural so your brave communication benefits us both. Eternally grateful.

Thank you teeth for hanging in there. You keep doing well despite the things I have put in my mouth from metal & chemical to things that stain & contain way too much sugar. Keep on doing your thing and I promise I will be able to give you the works someday.

Thank you eyes for putting up with years of me sleeping in my contacts and eye makeup. You taught me my lesson and never again. New glasses get here next week and you get even more time off.

Thanks be to my hair. You have shone bright, literally, with almost every color man could imagine. You have experienced almost every styling tool with great courage. I'm sorry for the times I got angry at you for losing thickness. I understand, I've changed too. We're still great partners. Thank you for your consistent grace and pride. Thank you for trusting me.

Thank you skin. I know I say terrible things about you. I have put you through so much trying to alter you, tanning, creams, make up. I only want to enhance you. I hope the water intake is good along with the vitamins and perfume-free lotion. You are so very strong. We will see a dermatologist soon.

Body, you are the epitome of unconditional love. I realize that you have never let me down. You keep trying, you keep going. I realize we can get through anything together. Today and everyday from here on out I will honor you, love you, and give you the praise you deserve. I cannot promise that there will not be days when you make me angry or I feel you're not doing your part in some way. Please, have patience with me. My intention is not to take you for granted. I know you're doing your best. We're in this together, to the end.