Criticism...Take it or leave it?

Part of personal growth is reflecting on your patterns of behaviors, seeing things from the perspectives of others and accepting criticism. But how can you tell when you should take criticism to heart or tell the person to take their criticism and shove it? 

Here are a few questions to ask yourself when faced with the challenge 

1.   Who said it? 
Is it someone who you respect? Who respects you? If you can’t answer “yes” to both, then it really doesn’t matter because it may not be constructive. If you don’t have a relationship (personal or professional) with that person where you feel valued, then their opinions shouldn’t be valued.

2.  What is their motivation?

Is it to help you grow in some capacity? Is it because you may be negatively impacting others and they want you to see it?   OR   Is it to diminish you?  To insult or embarrass you? To make you pause on your path to greatness because they are envious? Receiving criticism isn’t easy, and it can hurt the ego. However, ask yourself, does it hurt because it’s true, or because the person is a HATER? (NOT EVERYONE IS A HATER.)

3.  What is the frequency?

If you hear the same criticisms from different people, in different areas of your life,  repeatedly over a course of time, there may be some truth in the criticism and it may be time for you to pause and reflect. As you reflect, refer to your responses to questions 1 and 2. If 5 different people say it every day, and they don’t respect you or their motivation is SHADY, they can shove it. On the other hand, if it comes from a few who value you and want the best for you, it may be time to grow.

Body Image Revisited

The body image saga continues.  If you’ve read my memoir then you know that starting as early as 11 years old I struggled with body image.  I thought I was had finally conquered it in mid twenties, even if I was close to 250 pounds. I mean I deemed myself the Queen of Self -Esteem! For about 10 years after that, I was in a really good place. I had mastered posing so that the camera hit all of the right angles. I had come to love all of my flaws, finally accepting my lumps and bumps, and really focusing on what I loved about my body. Then 2015 came and I’d have to come to accept a new body. Just as I’m starting accept the fact that I have no feeling in my breasts (which I have now decided to call NOOBS -new boobs), and get happy that the foot and a half long scar across my abdomen is fading,  my incisional hernia enlarges and that’s ALL am able to see. I’m cognizant  of it all day long. Aside from the extreme physical discomfort, I find myself double checking mirrors and buying shirts that disguise the massive bulge protruding from my right lower quadrant. I haven't been this self-conscious when getting dressed in so long, it feels awkward. But it’s really because I do in fact feel self-conscious. And why? I  have yet to understand why this insecurity has crept back in my psyche. I mean before the surgery I gained like 50 pounds, and after the surgery I walked around for 6 months with no nipples or areolas? Why am I tripping?  I had no answer, so last week I decided to get back in the gym ( I have to keep it extremely light until and even months after my next surgery). It made a world of difference, because after one session, I was reminded of just how powerful and amazing my body is. Each chest press made me feel more and appreciative of my body and its journey. It reminded me that this shit is temporary and aesthetic. What matters is keeping it healthy for its next healing challenge! Here we go!

Sex is H.E.R.S

Let’s talk about sex. Okay, not so much sex as much as sexual empowerment.

This topic has come up recently since I’ll be hosting an erotic poetry event. As I spoke to people about this at various networking events, some were surprised that I would be a part of such things. I politely explained on more than one occasion that female empowerment is political, psychological, spiritual and definitely physical. As a matter of fact, the older I get the more I strongly I feel about the physical. 

I remember  valuing my virginity as a teenager. I held onto it until I was almost 18.  Once my 5-year relationship was over, I was determined to limit my number of partners to the number of fingers I had on one hand. When I surpassed that, I remember lying to men who asked how many I had been with so as not taint the image they had of me. Then I grew a little older, and while I had not reached my toes yet in terms of numbers, when I was honest about the number of partners I had, it was held over my head consistently. 

Why is it that women are made to feel that their value is somehow lessened by the number of men they slept with, casual or not? I had safe sex, great sex, not so great sex, and I don’t believe in regrets. Now I’m not saying women should just throw their “gifts” around in the name of empowerment, but what I am saying is that if you value yourself, and your body,  you're safe, it's consensual  and you get all of your regular screenings, it’s none of anyone’s business who you sleep with. 

Now that I’m close to forty and I pity the next man that even shapes his mouth to ask me how many men I’ve slept with. In the words of Beyoncé: 

Happy Foob Year!

5 days later, here I am wearing the most hideous surgical garment ever. I mean the last ones were ugly, but they were all white and  made no attempt to be cute. However uncomfortable and unattractive this contraption, it does what it’s supposed to, which is support my newly lifted foobs and sewn on fipples.

 I have to say this surgery was a breeze compared to the last two. Aside from the fact that we had our first snow/sleet/ice storm the night before, which caused my surgeon to arrive 15 minutes late, everything went as planned. At 7:45am the anesthesiologist injected my IV with the feel good stuff. At 11:10 I was awakened by a nurse placing pillows under each side of my arms. She told me I could keep sleeping, which I did for another hour. Then I was ready to get up and go. My fiancée came for me, and other than feeling light headed and dizzy, I felt relieved; no more surgeries, I did it. I was home in time to watch Judge Mathis, which I eventually fell asleep on.  With the help of some narcotics, I slept on and off the rest of the day.  The next day, I was still groggy and my only discomfort were the stitches were underneath the foobs. It felt tight, and itchy, but nothing unbearable.  Because I wanted to celebrate with champagne on New Year’s Eve, I was hell bent on not taking any pain meds at all. So I sucked it up. My reward was spending my holiday surrounded by family, and wearing scarves and sweaters to cover up the bulky surgical tube top. I tried to go the whole week with only sponge baths, but once 2016 came around, I gave in, being sure not to wet my bandages. In two more days I will get to see an updated version of my foobs and fipples. 

At this point I’m not even excited about it because I’ve just become more and more accepting of my body no matter what it looks like. Besides, it’s amazing, I mean look at all it’s been through and it continues to heal and allow me to do whatever I set out to!

After the Storm:Foobs & Fipples

I’m beginning to feel like a pro. Wash all the clothes, clean the house, take out button up and zip up clothes (because I won’t be able to reach over my head), pick up my toddler all day (because I won’t be able to do that again for a few weeks) and prep him for mommy recovery again (he is not happy about it and threatened to punch the doctor’s for giving me boo-boos). Before I take my shower tonight I’ll take one last picture of my foobs before I get my fipples. The way my oncology gyno explained it is that he will pretty much do origami with my scar tissue and create semi erect fipples. In order for them to be even, my surgeon will do a freast lift, which means now I will be EXTRA perky.

I know it seems painful, But I have no sensation in my freasts

 Still it will be a couple of more months before Toya the Remix is complete and I finally get my areolas tattooed.  As prepared as I feel, because of course I’ve done the research, I still get nervous about going under. And while I know the pain will be minimal compared to last time, I hate pain and pain meds and being limited physically.  I know it’s temporary. I know it’s worth it, but I still get nervous. Who wouldn’t? And I’m still looking forward to spring when I will be healed much more internally so that I really get back in to my fitness. I mean what do I look like with a flat stomach, perky foobs, but jiggly arms and a flat ass??? And no, this is not me putting myself down. I  have loved my body through all its stages, but since I found out I need more stomach fat in order to have these nice breasts, I had to go through some major changes. Prior to all of this I was killing it at boot camp. I felt strong, powerful, I had some cut in my arms and my backside was getting good and round from thousands of squats. I tried it few weeks ago and I was filled with adrenaline as I pounded the medicine ball to the floor, and did jump squats and planks (I used to do 1 minute, now it’s like 15 seconds). But two days later I was almost incapacitated at work, abs were sore, the muscles underneath my boobs were sore, okay no sore, straight hurting. I had to quit. Okay, not quit, but postpone until 2016.

 I know I’m powerful, I’m still here. But I cannot wait to get back to being the weight lifting beast I was becoming last year around this time!

Storm- a friend gave me a little statue  of her to help me weather "The Storm"

 But wait is exactly what I have to do.  Tomorrow I check in at 6:00 am signing off. Later folks

Art is Complicated

As I scrolled down my news feed all week I knew eventually I would end up writing a blog about this Bill Cosby drama.  I also knew that I had thoughts, but not a clear-cut conclusion. You have conspiracy theorists who feel this is all about deflecting Black attention away from other, more important world and US topics. Others feel it’s another smear campaign against another Black man, or that the “victims” are doing it for the money. Questions have arisen about why victims waited so long, and even who the victims are. Researchers refer to this as RMA ( Rape Myth Acceptance), ideologies about a sexual assault which blames the victims, minimize the incident,  or supports the perpetrator.  This is the reason why even though there are more than an estimated 17 million rapes in the US a year, less than a quarter of them are reported.  Some women choose to suffer silently than to deal with the backlash, people questioning her morality, her dress, her sexual past, her relationship with the perpetrator. And when no one says anything, it sends the message to the perpetrator that it is ok; yielding an even more intense feeling of power and control over victims.

When I think about the how many women continue to come forward, I think about Rosa Parks, and how Coretta Scott King referred to what would become known as the Montgomery Boycott as “Spontaneous Combustion…suddenly everyone had had enough.”  This a movement exploded because it was one incident too many. Sometimes victims of sexual assault or abuse are empowered by others who show courage in stepping forward despite the consequences and speculation. So even if she slept with fifty men prior to, if sex, touching, etc., is not consensual, then it is sexual assault. Period.

I love the artistry of Bill Cosby. But as a fellow artist, it seems that the most genius of artists are usually so because they have major issues.   If you look at the greatest artists in music, paint, print, or stage, you will see they struggle with physical violence, drug use, and/ or an array of mental health issues: Prince, Michael Jackson, Chris Farley, Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes, Freddie Prince, Robin Williams, Virginia Wolfe Whitney Houston, Van Gogh, Tupac,  Ernest Hemingway, Michelangelo, James Brown, Edgar Allen Poe, and the list goes on and on. But we still love their art. Sometimes I think maybe I’m not that great because I’m still sane. (Just kidding, I’m know I’m great!) I digress.

Anyway, I think one of the bigger issues here is this culture has tendency to make  put our  celebrities and pioneers on pedestals, forgetting they  too are flawed, have pasts, and are not who they appear to be in the spotlight. I mean look at the number of people who aren't even celebrities but who pretend on social media, that they are not broke, jobless, deadbeat mothers and fathers. Look at people who pretend their life is so great, their relationship is perfect, and they love themselves when in actuality, they are in an abusive relationship, or an uncommitted relationship, they are lonely, they hate themselves, they are suffering. So why is it that Cosby is not a fake, but so many others are? I am in no way saying that the man is guilty. That is for a judicial system and whatever higher power he may believe in to decide. But it is not our right to pass judgment on his alleged victims.

          I have decided that I will use my artistry, my past pain to teach and lead by example, and share my challenges and my flaws and let the world know I’m flawlessly flawed. Thus this blog, Wonderfully Imperfect and Full of Complexity. And I will still watch every rerun of the Cosby Show that airs, and I will laugh out loud  guilt-free at Theo's bootleg Gordon Gartrail shirt made by Denise, Vanessa getting yelled at for doing the Locomotion in midriff, Saundra owing Claire $79.648 and 22 cents for dropping out of college,  and Rudy's feminist banter with BUD.