Random Acts of Kindness

Turning Chicken Salad into Concert Tickets.

I’ve always been a firm supporter of a good random act of kindness. Day to day life around my house is usually pretty hectic. Between shuttling the kids where they need to be, working to build and grow my beauty business, taking care of my doggies and our home it’s always so refreshing to me to stop thinking of myself or my family or my stress for a moment and just do something nice for someone else. Admittedly I don’t practice full fledged random acts of kindness as often as I’d like but I like to think in general I usually go out of my way to make people feel good.

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Check it.

Things that matter:

Love

Music

The family you love and that loves you back

Good food

Moving your body and treating it well

Taking your vitamins

Things that do not matter:

Opinions that make you feel like poo.

Social Media arguments

The current force of gravitational pull on your body mass resulting in a number on a scale.

The end.

Saying YES to a New Career

I will say yes to all good things that come my way.

15 years ago, at 22 years old, I was working in a snowball stand. If you’re from anywhere other than the south, think Sno-Cone. It was my snowball stand, but a snowball stand just the same. Having already been married for two years, and having walked out of a “good” job that kept me in a constant state of anxiety, I had opened the stand to make a little money before I could figure out my next move career-wise.

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What if?

What if instead of averting our eyes, we locked eyes and smiled?

What if instead of a quick wave and a dash in the grocery store, we just said “Hey girl! What’s up?”

Instead of assuming she has it all under control, what if we asked if we could help her out?

Send a surprise gift to the person you think has it all and has it all together. 

Grab a box off the top if she’s carrying a stack.

Ask her how she’s doing, and then listen.

Does she look amazing in her new social media picture, or better yet in real life?  You should for sure tell her. 

What if everything we admire in someone else, we told them?

What would happen if we started making an honest effort, every single day, to be a friend, to make a friend?

I can tell you.  Magic happens.

Tension releases, confidence grows.  Burdens lift.  Circles of influence turn into horseshoes of inclusion.  Life may not instantly get easier when you have more girlfriends, but it does get more meaningful. 

Are you a current member of the She, Confident Community? How is it having an impact on your life? I’d love to hear about your new perspective on female friendships! Leave a comment.

Influencing vs. Inspiring

A She, Confident Quickie

Yesterday someone mentioned that I was attempting to become an ‘influencer’ and the reference hasn’t really settled in a good place with me.  Don’t get me wrong here, I think it is super duper cool that the opportunity to use social media to persuade people to think, act, and mostly purchase like you do and turn that into a profitable business exists.  It’s just, that’s not what I’m all about. Here are my thoughts on influencing vs. inspiring.

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RBF – This is just my face.

I look stuck up or angry 90% of my life.  Not in my profile pic, but, you know, in general.

Have you ever looked at me and thought “What is WRONG with her?” “I’m not asking her anything right now with that look on her face.” Even “Mindy looks PISSED.” Come on, admit it. If you know me in real life, I know you’ve thought it.

Here’s the deal though- I’ve thought the same thing aboutyou. I have taken one look at your face and came to conclusions about what you were thinking or what you were feeling or even if you LIKED me or not. Based just off your expression. Seriously.

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Little Ears, Big Impact

Sticks and stones and whatnot.

In the fourth grade, not long after I moved to Colorado, my mom took me to get a haircut by a lady named Sindy. Yes, Sindy with an S.  I remember the name of the salon and everything.  I don’t want to call ol’ Sindy all the way out on this but let’s just say Sindy was proud to be from Texas and it was in the name of her salon.  Anyway.

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Anxiety.

I can’t say I remember the very first time it happened, but I can remember what it felt like almost 20 years ago.  Sitting in a nothing-major class at community college.  Feeling suddenly like I may die.  Squeezing, burning, choking, paralyzing.  I remember it happening again and again those first few months of my only year in college.  In math class, in biology lab. 

I remember going to the doctor, being put on medication. Driving to school in the mornings and not remembering how I got there.  Feeling like there was something more.  Something worse no one was looking at long enough to diagnose.

I remember searching for answers.  Going to doctors and getting scans and being treated like I was faking.  Making it up.  “I don’t see anything wrong with her.”

I remember going to work and coming home and waking up at ten at night thinking I had forgotten to do something and driving into town and double checking the office at midnight.  I remember wanting to crawl under my desk.  I remember walking out because it was just too much for me to handle. 

I remember it going away for a while.  And coming back.  And going away.  I can feel it right in the center of my chest right now as I type. 

I remember laying in my bathroom floor before a meeting not too many years ago, maybe 8.  Thinking I was surely dying.  On the floor.  Thinking I wasn’t enough.  Not smart enough.  Not strong enough.  They’d see through me and abandon me and the world would fall apart. 

I remember my husband.  Learning about all of this while I was learning about all of this.  Holding my hand.  Rubbing my feet.  Telling me to chill. Worrying but not leaving.  Never leaving just letting me be crazy for a minute or an hour or a month.

I remember last year, last month, last week.  Always dealing with it but finally dealing with it.

Finding a medical professional who looks at me as a person, not as a set symptoms.  As a living, breathing mom and wife with hormones and allergies and autoimmune disease and as someone who had dealt with some heavy stuff over the years and despite it all survived and dare I say thrived. Finding an antidepressant that helped with the chemical imbalance in my brain that IS depression.  Also, though teaching me other ways to calm anxiety.  To breathe.  To exercise when I don’t feel like it.  To meditate.  Breathe in for seven, hold for two, out for 5. As many times as I need to.

Finding a core group of friends, who no matter the distance between visits or texts or calls, are always there and always true.  To find mentors who reach back with a hand to pull me up. 

I remember always thinking it was for a reason, every single thing I’ve been through.  It’s why I’m passionate about helping others.  Anxiety is a beast, a thief, and a liar.  It makes good days bad and bad days unbearable.  But there is hope.  I am proof.  So many times, over the last 20 years I could have stopped.  Given in. Worn my diagnoses around my neck as an excuse not to excel.  But I didn’t.  And I have. And I will continue to excel.  Because I want you to too.  I want you to always have hope and to never give up on yourself and to know it may not be good right now, but it will be soon.  You just have to keep breathing.  Everything else is figureoutable.  

She, confident in her ability to help others, released her anxiety out into the wild.

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To-Don’t

A Sunday evening quickie.

This week in the She, Confident Community on Facebook we talked a lot about jotting down a ‘to-do’ list each night right before bed in order to be able to really tackle and accomplish the heck out of the next day. I hope that those of you in the SCC had to drop your pen to open this notification!

Even if you’re not settling in right now to make a list of to-do’s or perhaps you’re reading this on some random Tuesday in the future- I want to challenge you to come up with a To-Don’t list for the week as well. I think you’ll get the hang of it when you glimpse mine:

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Putting Your Best Face Forward

Yesterday morning my dearie niece Ella Vanilla snapped some photos of me for an upcoming project with our local paper.  I had gotten up early, washed and styled my hair, applied makeup (even liquid foundation,) and popped on a top that my daughter had worn to church on Sunday because the color was so striking on her and so I knew it would work for me.  Not that the photo would end up being printed in color, but I figured if I were going to have my picture made, I should wear a flattering color because I may want to post that sucker somewhere else!  My bottom half was yoga pants and dog-chewed flip flops, but my top half was ready for business.

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