Tag Archives: personal

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UnMask

All throughout my life, I’ve dealt with feelings of low self-esteem and self-worth. I felt undone, incomplete, or insignificant. Along the way, I realized this stemmed from my childhood. I did not ask for it. I certainly did not want it. But with an undeniably painful past and a seemingly questionable future, I muddled through life. I thought a man could save me, but he only tried to make me into his own image! I became his shadow, worshiped the ground he walked on, and was subservient to his every whim. I was truly lost, with no identity, no voice, no me. Yet I held on, not wanting to lose him then. By the way, that’s a perfect example of insecurity: the more easily threatened we are, the more insecure we are.

Beth Moore says, “Insecurity lives in constant terror of loss.” As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been reading Beth Moore’s So Long, Insecurity with the subtitle You’ve Been a Bad Friend to Us. Wish she had written this book 40 years ago! She says that insecurity is not only a woman’s battle. She identifies insecurity as a “profound sense of self-doubt – a deep feeling of uncertainty about our basic worth and our place in the world. The insecure man or woman lives in constant fear of rejection and deep uncertainty about whether his or her own feelings and desires are legitimate.”

I thought about myself as a Christian. Why, from time to time, do I still struggle with insecurities? Why does rejection crush me so? Why do I second-guess everything? Beth reveals an interesting point about herself in her book: “I not only lack security, but I also lack faith. I don’t just doubt myself, I also doubt God about myself.

Now I don’t know about you, but that struck a chord in me!

She goes on to say how some of us never seek healing from God for our insecurities because we feel like we don’t fit the profile. But insecurity’s best cover is perfectionism. Now there’s a mask for you!

What masks are you prone to wear? Looking back, I recall hiding the pain behind my smile.

A woman who has no self-worth or low self-esteem tends to hide behind a mask.

Note: Here’s a poem I came across: Don’t Be Fooled By Me

6 Comments

July 6, 2014 · 6:30 PM

June 18, 2014 · 11:16 PM

Did You Say, “Insecurities”?

So, I’m reading Beth Moore’s So Long, Insecurity. I’m not even past chapter four yet, and find myself re-reading and digesting the words on the pages. She states in her book that we all have insecurities, and most have enough insecurity to hinder us. As I reflect on whether I’ve ever felt insecure, I’m sad to admit that I’m well-acquainted with insecurity.

Beth Moore ties insecurity to a profound sense of self-doubt. Ouch! However, I think I already knew this. How many times have I determined to do something, only to change my mind? How often have I started a task only to lack the courage to move forward? My palms get clammy. My confidence deflates. My resolve wavers. My bravado crumbles. I bet I’m not the only one who struggles with this!

I’m a common woman sharing common problems seeking common solutions on a journey with an uncommon Savior.

The word rejection is also mentioned in the book, and that brings me to ask: Well, who in the world likes to be rejected? To the point where I sometimes think, if you reject me, I’ll go out of my way to prove you wrong—sometimes—despite my own hurt, creating my own misery. I can honestly say, I know my own flaws, or at least I’d like to think so. But the astonishing thing for me is reading what an insecure woman looks like:

She may easily cry, avoid the spotlight, and have a strong desire to make amends, whether it’s her fault or not. If someone gets angry at her, she has a difficult time not thinking or dwelling on it. The insecure woman sometimes feels anxious for no apparent reason; her feelings get hurt when she learns someone doesn’t like her, and she may even fear that her husband might leave her for another.

Talk about a lack of self-worth!

Well, I asked my husband what insecurities he saw in me. (Because after all, I know I have some.) And this is what he answered: The big one is when you feel like you’re not in control. Not having a say in something, and having a tendency to micro-manage. He said this goes back to my early years when others told me what to do and when to do it. What an eye-opener! While this was true during my childhood, it was also true in my first marriage.

Before I became a Christian, I struggled with insecurities, and now as a Christian, I still struggle at times. I learned a long time ago that I’m not perfect, but I’m forgiven. I’ve opened myself up to sharing some of these truths with you because I know they are life’s lessons. I’m still learning, and if there’s a pulse and breath in your being, then you are still learning, too. No one on this earth is perfect or has arrived. I’ve determined to work on my insecurities.

How about you?

15 Comments

Filed under Beth Moore, insecurities

Tagged as Christianity, insecurities, Inspirational, personal, practical, psychology, self-doubt, self-reflections, women

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P.S. I Love You

It’s hard to fathom that we’ve reached a milestone. Come April 6th, we have been married for twenty amazing years.

From the beginning, I knew I could rely on you. For the first time, I didn’t have to face my struggles alone. When you vowed to become my soulmate, you stood up to the plate in becoming a loving and endearing daddy to my children. Although the roads have been bumpy, the ride has been exhilarating.

The route may not always be smooth, but the pathway is attainable because of your steadfastness. With every twist and turn, I find strength as I learn to lean on your shoulders. In your arms, there is a shelter in the midst of the rainstorms and warmth from the frigid winds.

You believed in me before I believed in myself. I am not afraid to be me when I am with you. Your laughter is music to my ears. When I look at you, I see the love in your eyes still twinkling … for me.

I want to thank you, babe, for all the years by my side. I pray that God grants us many more. I appreciate you, admire you, and love you more today than I did yesterday. I thank God for making us one, knowing that together we will weather the storms.

Your soothing voice calms my fears; your gentle touch chases away my tears.
Your strength is my abiding force; your soothing words are my guiding source.

30 Comments

April 4, 2014 · 5:00 AM

March 20, 2014 · 9:51 PM

My One Year Anniversary with WordPress

WordPress sent me a message stating that it is my One Year Anniversary with them. Hard for me to believe it’s been that long already.

For me, progress has been slow, but it has been steady. Not too shabby for someone who has a 40-hour work week, helps to care for a 103-year-old, and writes in between!

I will share a few stats from the last 12 months:

49 original posts (after taking a couple of posts down).
390 likes
539 faithful followers – WordPress, Facebook, Bloglovin’, Twitter
3,220 views to date – U.S. being number one, followed by Australia, United Kingdom, Canada, Philippines, Netherlands, India, Puerto Rico, Greece, Kenya, Russian Federation, Singapore, France, Ireland …
The most viewed post besides the About Me page is The Day the Earth Stood Still
The second most viewed post is Mi Boricuan Familia
And tied for third most viewed posts are The Little Green Dress and I No Spic Inglish
Most commented was The Little Green Dress
Most popular topics were: memoirs, alcoholism, dysfunction, prayer
My top commenter: Sandy Brockhausen

My followers know that I have completed an 88,000-word-count manuscript, which I am desiring to publish, currently titled “Running in Heels – A Memoir of Grit and Grace.” The “experts” say that a newbie (yours truly) should have a writer’s platform. I started a Facebook writers page and–one year ago–began blogging about past and current events.

I’ve been especially happy since signing up with WordPress.com for its user-friendliness and easy to navigate.

From time to time, I do include short excerpts from my manuscript, and to my delight, you readers are wanting and asking for more. This is good! Since I started blogging, I have reconnected with friends, acquaintances, and yes, family members from across the miles. I have made many new friends and fellow bloggers who not only take the time to read but also leave positive comments and inspiring feedback. This is great!

Bottom line: I feel blessed beyond measure. And I appreciate each and every one of you for visiting my site–newcomers and old–and sticking with me throughout this journey to the finish line. My one regret? That I didn’t start blogging sooner.

Feel free to leave a comment about topics that interest you most.

Thank you again for your support and for following this blog – from my heart to yours.

http://seedinfotech.files.wordpress.com/2012/01/award-trophies-trophy2-788652.jpg

~ Mary A. Perez

16 Comments

Filed under Blogging, Memoir

Tagged as blogging, memoir, one year blogging, personal, social media, writers platform

February 26, 2014 · 7:00 AM

The Day the Earth Stood Still

“No, not again! Not now!” I cried out in the bathroom. I’ll call Marisa. She’s always been strong. She has it together.

I reached for the phone and dialed her number. When she answered, I blurted, “The test is positive! I’m pregnant.” She’ll lift my spirits.

“Mary . . .” she began. “How in the world will you care for another baby?”

Then again, maybe not.

“What are you going to do?” Marisa squealed.

I thought, If I knew that, I wouldn’t have called you. Wasn’t I the one supposed to get some reassurances, some guidance, some support here?

“I . . . I don’t know, I thought–”

“Mary, what were you thinking?” she shot back. “You can’t possibly have another baby! You’re only twenty-one; you already have three children, and now number four is on its way? Your husband drinks too much, he works only when he wants to, you have a child with special needs, you guys don’t have enough money . . . !”

My mind swirled. I hung by a flimsy strand, all hope slipping. Okay! Tell me something I don’t know. Marisa’s right, whom am I kidding? I. Can’t. Go. On.

Then, she added, “Listen, I’ll help you. If you will get an abortion . . . I will help you pay for one.”

So, that’s it? The quick-fix solution to the problem . . . to end an innocent life?

“I . . . I’ll have to think about this,” I muttered. “Let me sleep on it and get back to you.”

Did that answer come out of me?

I placed the receiver down, weighed down by conflicting emotions. My world came to a halt. My heart felt heavy. I cradled my belly, thinking: I can’t have another baby. But can I truly consider this the way out?

The girls slept in their room. Their father was—Lord only knows where. I sat alone in the dark, cross-legged on the bed. My head ached. My stomach was tied in knots. Overcome with waves of hopelessness, memories churned to the one security blanket I had ever known: the home of my grandparents. And I realized I was sinking. Fast.

What happened to my anchor of faith? My hope? Isn’t God big enough to handle the mess in my life? I have to admit, I’ve been too busy for Him. Now that I need Him, does He still care? Then it occurred to me: If I can’t trust God now, then what’s the point of going on?

That instant I prayed like never before, and pored over my Bible. The Book of Psalms always comforted me, and that night before sleep overtook me, my “Ah hah” moment came after reading Psalm 139:13: For You created my innermost being; You knit me together in my mother’s womb. I wasn’t about to take the life of my unborn child, believing that God gave that life to me.

Come morning. A new day. A fresh start. Resolute in my decision, faith sparked. God had always taken care of me before. I am determined to trust Him to carry me now. I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief. Give me the grace to endure…

I reached for the phone and dialed Marisa’s number.

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Mary, think about what—”

“No!” I shouted. “I’m going to walk on and trust God. You knew my convictions. I thought they were yours, too.”

“Mary, I was only trying. . .”

“How?” I interrupted, pacing the floor. “By offering me an abortion? I came to you down and out for encouragement and prayer. I needed to hear ‘hope’ beyond my pain, but you didn’t—you wouldn’t—give me that!”

“Look, Mary, you’re still so young. I’ve been around longer than you. . .”

“You never had children,” I protested.

“I married a jerk once, too. They don’t change.” Marisa went on to give one reason after another about how she was looking out for my best interest.

After long seconds of dead silence and nothing else to say, we hung up.

I thought of a lesson in Sunday school about Job, who called his friends miserable comforters, even his wife told him to “curse God and die.” They were supposed to be his friends, yet those comforters increased his trouble by condemning him.

Marisa and I parted ways. Our friendship ended that day.

Days, weeks, and months overlapped one another; my past troubles were behind me. With my heart overflowing and my eyes drowning in tears, I reached down to kiss my newborn. “Hello, Daniel Michael,” I whispered. “I’m your Mommy.”

**********

Before long, my little curly-lock hair boy is running around with deep brown eyes, touching my heart each time he looks up at me.

Next thing I knew I blinked, and the little boy is now a strapping young man and I am gazing up at him.

Note: I share this story not to condemn, criticize, judge, or belittle anyone who may have made a different decision for whatever reason. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. I share my story because this was one time when I was strong enough to make the right decision for me. I believe that strength came as I prayed to my Heavenly Father. I may have my share of regrets in life, but not in giving birth to my one and only son thirty-two years ago.

26 Comments

Filed under Memoir, Pro-Life, struggles

Tagged as abortion, choices, desperate, hopelessness, Job's friends, memoir, personal, Prayer, son, strength

January 30, 2014 · 9:17 PM

French Toast

A neighbor, a hefty woman with floppy arms, lived alone and liked children. Whenever I stopped in for a visit, she’d have a treat to offer me. She handed me a large chocolate Easter bunny once and then asked what I wanted for breakfast.

“French toast!” I sang, bouncing up and down. The neighbor put on an apron and shooed me out of her kitchen with her jiggling arms.

In the dining room, I sat on a chair with my legs swinging. I got up to stretch. I walked around and traced my hand over a flower arrangement, almost knocking the vase over. My eye caught a candy dish that sat in the center . . .

“Don’t you touch anything,” the neighbor called from the kitchen.

“I’m not,” I replied and returned the purple jellybean that I had licked.

A black cat-shaped clock hung on the wall. I followed the big, moving eyes and long, swinging tail—back and forth, back and forth, tick-tock, tick-tock. I gazed across dusty photo frames that filled the shelves and windowsills, wondering if any of them were of her as a child. I wanted to thumb through her assortment of worn-out picture books and Life magazines stacked on bookshelves and the floor. But I didn’t dare.

The aroma coming from the kitchen made my stomach rumble. I heard her pounding footsteps and raced to sit back down. The neighbor put a plate in front of me, stacked with golden-brown French toast. She poured warm maple syrup over the fluffy slices of sweet bread. I knew I had never smelled or tasted anything so delicious. My one regret is eating too fast and becoming full too quickly. Then I watched, horrified, as she collected my plate and tossed the rest into the trash. I would have brought the rest home to share with Mama and eat later.

(An excerpt from Running in Heels – A Memoir of Grit and Grace)

12 Comments

Filed under Food, Memoir

Tagged as childhood, memoir, personal

Aside

Looking Back – My Reasons for Writing

One of my cousins from across the miles posed a couple of great questions, giving me food for thought. He asked:

Why do you write? And why do you write about the family?

My answer to him:

First of all, I write because I know I have a story to tell. As a kid, eventually, I discovered we were dirt poor. Looking back on my teens, I realize that I was neglected and forced to grow up too quickly. I was ashamed of my childhood and bitter for being my mama’s mother. As I “matured,” settled down, married, and had children of my own, along the way, I found I was a stronger person because of some of the things that I endured as a child. Once I embraced the God of my grandparents, I became a much better person as well. NOT that I had it all together; I still had a few things to learn. But I learned that it was much better to let go of the bitterness and forgive than to hold onto the junk. I also learned that I didn’t have to be a product of my environment! I could rise above the ashes like a phoenix and become so much better. That was my freedom — still is — and God has called us to liberty, not to be in prison. Yes, I made some mistakes along the way, but I also learned from them. It starts with a made-up mind! While I’ve managed to confront my past, I believe it hasn’t spoiled me, but has instead prepared me for the future. I may not be perfect, but whenever I stumble, I can wipe the crud off and walk on. I share my story that I might help one person, and if I have done that, then I have done a good thing, and God gets the glory.

I mention family because the little girl growing up — although she may have felt like she was all alone most of the time — was not an orphan and did not live on an island unto herself. There were others around who helped to nurture her in one fashion or another, even the antagonists in her story. And yes, some were heroes. She cannot tell her story without mentioning those she looked up to. To be truthful, she had to address some honest and raw emotions and mention the flaws — the good, the bad, and the ugly.

The story is not fiction. It is written about how she recalls the events that shaped her life as a child, a teenager, and into her adulthood. Not all the memories take her to a happy place. She has had to dig deep to find them. To some, those “happy” places may be simple and insignificant, but to her, they were her lifeline.

His response:

I am keeping this as a reminder of what it takes to be selfless.

Thanks

I did not expect THAT answer 🙂

Farewell …

If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was peacefully napping.

In the hospital, time stood still as I gazed down at the man who had fought his demons since I’d known him. Vivid memories of our fifteen years of marriage before it ended many years ago churned in my mind’s eye: his dimpled smile, lilting voice, broad shoulders, bow-legged stance, the shuffling of his feet when he walked, his unselfish generosity. Recurring thoughts raced through my mind of all the what-ifs. At that moment, nothing else mattered. I remembered the good, not the bad, his strengths, rather than his weaknesses, and his triumphs, rather than his failures.

Anna Marie barged into the room, rushing to his side as if to wake him from sleep. “Dad! Dad!” she shouted, shaking him. “Dad!”

“Anna,” I spoke sharply and held her hand still. I softened my tone, “He’s gone.”

“But why, Mom? Why…?”

“Anna, I don’t know. It was his time; he was ready to go. He never wanted to grow old, become a burden…” My voice trailed off. I recalled what he had said, how he wouldn’t live past sixty, as if sixty was old, too old, and he never wanted to get “like that.” How soon the years pass.

“No, Mom!” Anna Marie shook her head in disbelief, her face red. “Not yet!” she sobbed.

I held her tight and cried with her.

Soon, the others arrived. We gathered around. My baby girl, Angela, was nine months pregnant with her first child and due to give birth any day. Naturally, I was concerned for her well-being. But when she gently placed Donny’s immobile hand over her swollen belly, I broke down.

As always, Mark — my husband of eight years — was there by my side to comfort me.

(A short excerpt from Running in Heels – A Memoir of Grit and Grace)

Note: Eleven years ago today, the father of my children sadly passed away. It was just six days before Christmas. Ten days after bidding him farewell, the cycle of life continued as we celebrated the birth of our grandson.

I am reminded of this passage of scripture: “To everything, there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: a time to be born and a time to die …” Ecclesiastes 3:1,2

9 Comments

Filed under death, Memoir

Tagged as death, fairwell, grieving, life and death, memoir, personal

October 17, 2013 · 6:34 AM

This Thing Called Tears

I consider myself a tough cookie. After all, aren’t I a survivor? I’ve survived some hard times: A broken home by age three, followed by poverty, hunger, homelessness, alcoholism, neglect, loss of a sibling at age nine, two near-drowning incidents, a car wreck, juvenile detention home, taunting, brawls, racism, alternative schooling, marriage to a ruthless man twice my age, bearing four children by the time I was twenty-two—three by cesarean—physical abuse, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, betrayal, hopelessness, despair, rejection, abandonment, being shot at (he missed), divorce, single-parenting, grieving over the loss of dear loved ones …

BUT God!

However, there is a softer side to me as well. This thing called tears. Yes, a family member has even called me sentimental. I have been known to cry after losing a pet, even an insect. I cried when I shot my first deer. I may cry when reading a book, during a dance, listening to a song, attending a wedding, or while watching a movie. I especially cry when I hear a newborn’s first cry, whether in real life or on TV. I can’t help it; the tears flow. I sometimes cry when opening presents, saying goodbye, being pleasantly surprised, laughing, praying, or worshipping in church. Seeing mountains, rainbows, the ocean, a kitten, or a hummingbird can make me cry. I cried when I heard my grandchild call me “Mimi” for the first time. And at times, I cry when I’m hurt, scared, tired, or angry.

But I don’t want you to know that. I am tough. Not weak. Remember?

Now I’m not much of a horse person, but I know enough to know that a horse is full of grace and strength with every muscle, tendon, and ligament working in unison to support a rider at galloping speed. Yet, that same powerful, majestic horse is controlled by a bit in its mouth and will move in the direction the rider wants.

When I read about Moses, I was struck by the fact that he was described as the meekest man who walked the earth. When I read about Jesus, I see that He was all-powerful yet kept that power in check. His meekness was not a weakness.

So, I say: It’s okay to let our guard down at times and reveal our softer, sensitive selves. It doesn’t mean we’re a softy, a weakling, or a pushover. Power under control means self-control, and that is a virtue. After all, we are human with God-given emotions. Besides, God bottles our tears.

And because God loves us so much, I would venture to say: Sometimes God cries.

23 Comments

Filed under musing, virtues

Tagged as horses, Jesus, life, Moses, Musing, personal, social, tears, tough, virtue

October 12, 2013 · 6:32 PM

She’s My Mama

Mama lives alone. She enjoys a contented life. She loves playing Bingo and the group outings on the Metro-Lift with Charles, her traveling companion. They attend church together. Mama has a provider who cleans, cooks, and provides assistance. I have reached a point where I can let go and allow her to live her own life. While Mama has learned not to rely upon me as heavily as before, she knows I will be there whenever needed.

This past week, we celebrated Mama’s 79th birthday at an Italian restaurant. She doesn’t like her pictures taken and has always been shy in front of the camera. Rest assured, she enjoyed her day, having no problem dining out and opening gifts.

Initially, when I shared with Mama that I was writing my memoirs, she laughed and squealed, “Mary, what kind of book is that going to be?”

I chuckled, answering, “Stranger than fiction, of course.”

Later, with a more serious tone, Mama asked, “So, you’re going to blame me for everything that has happened?”

While our relationship and communication continue to require work, I assured her that I don’t blame her for all the bad.

Let me be clear: I do not hate Mama. I NEVER hated Mama. I hated her behavior. I resented everything and everyone that took her away from me as a child! Though my mind may still remember the neglect, I realize that nothing I did or did not do could have changed her then. Or now. I can only change myself and aim to become better.

Several years ago, someone recommended Irregular People, by Joyce Landorf, which helped me tremendously. Nearly everyone has a difficult or “irregular” person in his or her life. They can be emotionally tone-deaf and not really hear you. They may be emotionally blind and not see you. They may even have a speech impediment and struggle to express themselves adequately to you. You cannot please that person; you cannot change them, no matter how much you wish to.

I can be at peace and know that the way Mama—or anyone else—chooses to live their lives isn’t a reflection of me.

Yes, writing is therapeutic, but if I can show just one person that they are not alone in their struggles, then I have done something good. Through it all, one can have purpose and meaning and overcome.

In the dynamic of things, I felt Mama did her best.

As we all try to do.