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!

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

On Martin Luther King’s Birthday

With the release of the movie Selma, I’ve seen many social media posts of people being surprised by MLK’s adultery. My first thought was that it was no secret. Sure, they didn’t share this with us when we were taught in school, but I really thought folks new about this. My second thought was that he was indeed a man, a human, someone capable of mistakes and intentional wrongdoings. But it’s hard for some to conceive that about this figure, whom we’ve dedicated a national holiday to, whom we built a monument in honor of , whose lines from the “I have Dream” speech are embedded in our memory since elementary school, and  for many the only  positive male African-American figure they were ever taught.

            I mean think about it… this man was thrust into leadership at 26 with the Montgomery Boycott. When he led that march in Selma he was just 36 year old. I am 36 years old today, and there are already times I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders with the responsibility I have to our youth. I could only imagine living under the constant fear of death for my family and myself, to have my home bombed and still have to go and speak to people who look to me for leadership and hope. And I’m sure that sense of power was equally ego-boosting, so much that, yes MLK “hollered back” when women smiled his way, or showed  up at his hotel room. Groupie love isn’t just for musicians and movie stars. These flaws serve to remind us that although we have our weaknesses; we are capable of incredible greatness, a greatness that cannot be erased I am still in awe at not only the strength of him and his wife, but of all the others who trusted his leadership, who believed when there was reason to doubt, who risked their lives and freedom for us.  I dedicated one of my poems called Our Legacy to them:

 “The Legacy you leave starts today,

 And you can say

That you don’t care,

But you are only here

 Because Martin and Malcolm both died

 At the age of 39

For the sake of equality,

 Because millions marched and protested

 In the name of freedom

And now you owe it to them…
toy carry on our legacy.”

What legacy will you leave?