So, like, thanks!

 Thanksgiving is my favorite of all the holidays.

Now, don't get your panties in a bunch, you hear me? I am not talking about the historical aspect of the day.  I, too, was spoon-fed the heroic story of the pilgrims settling in the land who were rescued by the helpful natives and the union of the two that 'first thanksgiving'.  I, too, dressed up like a pilgrim and made paper head-dresses in my early childhood school years.  Later, I also learned the truth of what happened moving forward in our country's sordid past, the trail of tears, and all of that.

But, I am not talking about the historical thanksgiving as I have stated above, but the spiritual or metaphorical one.  Yes, I love this holiday because most everyone across the country takes a pause to gather with family (or our chosen family) and reflect upon the gifts given to them.  Some may take this from a religious manner and others from a mere place of humanistic gratitude.  Whatever the root, the act of meditating on thankfulness is the true reason for the season and the motivation for my love of the holiday.

That said, I'd like to take some time to reflect on what I have to be grateful for over this past year, before the hubbub busyness of shopping, cooking, and out of town guests takes over my world.

First, on the gratitude list, the basics.  I am grateful for my sexy red Sonic.  When I was looking for a new car after the PT Cruiser was thankfully taken from me, I kept visualizing myself driving in a red car.  Through my searching, I was led to TC Chevy and there it was.  It wasn't my first choice, but it was the right selection.  The salesman at TC Chevy, not working on commission, walked me through the purchasing process to best fit my needs and I am grateful for him and for the fact that every month the payments are made and the outstanding debt towards that is slowly, gradually reduced to what is not seemingly insurmountable.  

And, for the first time in years of many, I have full coverage health insurance.  That in itself is worthy of much jubilation.  

I am thankful for my new little, ramshackle, home.  The wind blows wildly on our hill, but the view and the acreage, the fact of still in Ashland, just 5 minutes by car outside of town, in the country is a dream I never thought could ever be and yet here I am.  

My kitties, Tansy and Leo, who provide hours of enjoyment and affection through their sweetness, sense of humor, and cuteness.  And, of course, my boyfriend, Michael, who is truly my biggest supporter and best friend, who understands me truly like no other.  Together with our two hilarious kitty cats, we make up a strange and adorable little family.  I am truly proud of him in all he does and honored to live and work alongside of him these last 5ish years.

Moving onwards into the second phase of my gratitude list:

I am thankful that now I can work independently, carving out my own schedule and using the resources of financial, relational, spiritual, and others, to make my life be my life and pursue my dreams without looking back.  In a very real sense, I am grateful for those crazy years of my early diagnosis, the darkness of the despair, that led me to the choice of disability so that I am the position of working for myself and in that allowing my health to be a driving force in pursuing my art, ambitions, and dreams.

In that, I am thankful that by working for myself and using my resources wisely, money is no longer an enemy working against me but a tool under my say and control.  In that, not only are the bills paid in full, mostly, but I see a gradual reduction in debt and an overall sense of peace in my financial circumstances.  It is truly a momentary struggle that through diligence and thoughtful perseverance I will overcome and in that there is joy.

It may seem strange to be thankful for a mental health condition and I do not want it to seem like I am boasting that I do not have to work the normal job.  I believe I paid my dues in life, first by having the struggles that come from having bipolar disorder, and then by placing myself in multiple different abusive relationships, from romantic to spiritual, sometimes simultaneously, and back again.  Through going into the depths of my emotion, both highs and lows, I have been provided with the gift of deep soul searching and self analysis, coming up with a depth of understanding of myself and human nature, as well as compassion.  

And, thus we enter the final phase of my gratitude list, at least for now:

I am thankful that in moving towards working for myself, carving out my own schedule, I have had the freedom and the time to focus on myself, who I am spiritually, mentally, emotionally, physically, as well as career-wise.  I've spent time reading through book after book, whether it be the myriad forms of spirituality, career focused books either on how to improve my craft as an actress, how to be the best producer and/or business-woman ever, and, of course, the random 'fun book', a novel and yes, a non-fiction book about the Ketogenic lifestyle.  (So, sue me, that's fun for me!)  All of these books read a little each morning has given me a sense of renewed focus and calm throughout each day.  Through the course of these studies, I have begun to choose my own path when it comes to spirituality, realizing that I do not need to identify or conform to any form of organized religion and that I truly can draw from each to find the quiet within.  Focusing in on the aspects of my career has given me a renewed drive to continue forward in my goals and ambitions, to see the fruits of my labor come true one way or another.  Lastly, the studies into the Ketogenic lifestyle diet have not only brought health to my physical but has provided such a reduction of my anxiety, mood instability, and reactivity that I never thought possible.  (It is primarily that reason alone that I am such a devout activist for the Keto Way!)

And, of course, I am always thankful for each of my loved ones, the ones far away and those close by.  Those who have come into my life recently and those who have recently left, whether through life changes or death. (That includes you, Papa Harry!)  Each of you have colored my life with such intensity and beauty that enhances every aspect of my life.  You help me to enjoy life to the fullest, help me to take myself less seriously, help me to see alternate angles of my otherwise narrow viewpoint, and then help fuel my creativity.  Because of your positive influence and love in my life, I have grown stronger, am increasingly becoming more and more free from the effects of the abuse, have been able to choose love and allow it in as well as continuously noticing, then eliminating toxic elements from my life.  

So, like, thanks

Use Your Words

I am committed to writing once a week but this week I had a surge of thoughts that fueled the need for my creativity in the blog-world. 

I've been thinking a lot about words and how we use them for our benefit and our detriment.  (Funny enough, I'm a writer so this is a good thing.)

Often times, I hear people say "I'll worry about that later" in a casual way referring to a certain act or duty that they can focus on later.  But when you think about it, the word that stands out to me is, well, worry.  Are you truly going to "worry" about that later? Are you planning to have a major anxiety attack when such and such occurs where you have to finish that task?

That's what I'm saying.  The meaning behind worry is that of anxiousness, fretting, despair. We use it in such a casual way without thought.  But I think words have power in our psyche and those around us.  How about changing that sentence to, "I'll focus on that later".  Try it.  I have and I have found definitely more peace of mind in my daily activities.

Which brings me to another more important usage of wordings, one that is far more prevalent to my way of being personally and closely attached to a cause I feel strongly about.  I have been open about my mental health condition, that of Bipolar 2 and the journey therein.  This year I have once again joined forces with my local NAMI chapter, (NAMI-SO), and am an IOOV (In Our Own Voice) presenter, traveling from location to location sharing about my journey through recovery and that of finding myself.

Chances are, you have read or heard me express this statement, "I have Bipolar Type 2".  This is significant in that I do not say "I am Bipolar".  One wouldn't say "I am cancer" or "I am diabetes".  An individual is not their diagnosis, mental or physical.  My identity lies in who I am and how I choose to define myself.  My mental health condition is just one facet of who I am, not the whole picture.

The other key factor I'd like to express in the usage of words is the prevalence in our society today to blatantly misuse the diagnoses of mental health conditions as adjectives.  We hear frequently, "I'm being so OCD" or "She is so bipolar", or "its very schizophrenic of me".  Its hard to express how very wrong this is to someone without a mental health diagnosis of any variety.  How insulting and belittling it can be.  But, I will try.

Once again, we do not use the words of physical illnesses in this way. And, yes, I know that physical illnesses do not generally attempt to describe characteristics as mental illnesses do, but the same rules apply as above.  For reasons due to stigma, fear, and ignorance, society has separated mental illnesses from other illnesses entirely, even to go so far as to not consider it an actual illness.

Society has come so far.  Usages of words that were casually tossed around in my youth and before, such as comments based on sexual orientation, race, have been given the red mark of approval and a person who uses those in a flippant fashion is marked as bigot.  But, the wordings around mental illness remains very much alive.  Its the last frontier in finding true equality in my mind.

Here's my challenge: when you find yourself about to use a mental health condition, such as the ones listed above or others, stop yourself and think: Can I really imagine what it is like to be a person suffering with such a disorder? Would I want to hear my diagnosis passed around with such disregard if I were a person with such condition? and more so, What if there is someone in my surroundings that has this condition or another who is afraid to come out about it and this would lessen their recovery journey even more?

Questions to ponder.  I hope this blog gives you pause to think and that you begin to, in fact, use your words.

Don't Recover In Isolation

This past year I have had an abundant chance to sit back and ponder myself, to once again dig deep into the depths of my psyche, and uproot some toxic elements in my life internally and then externally.

Over the course of this last week, I have been down for the count with what I thought was the end all be all of flus, but rather turned out to be a really bad head and chest cold.  But, why judge and label a physical illness? I was sick, I took to my bed, and slept day in and day out. I stepped back from the outside world to fall deep into the covers and allow my body to shake, shake, shake in the fits of fever until the germs infecting my body were eliminated.  And, eliminate they did, through my sweat glances, my nasal passages, even going to the bathroom and expelling #2.  (I gifted you just then with a lovely image for your day to ruminate on, don't say I never gave you anything, okay?)

So, I texted my various clients I work for, mostly dog walking, with the words, "I have the flu, I'm dying", minus the latter, and they waived me off with "Get better, see you next week".  It was that simple.

But, for some reason, a person stepping back from the world to dig deep into the inner sanctum of their mind, to find healing and refreshment for the soul, is looked down upon as weak.  We victimize the mental illness component because it is invisible and thus scary.  This reinforces that delightful little social construct called "stigma".  Stigma, the word, that forces us all back into the darkness, to hide, and even worse, to buck up and keep moving forward.  But, we can't do that.  Because one way or another that pain will find itself outwards and we will need to retreat, rest, recuperate.

And, we should NOT feel less of a person because of this.  Or be MADE to feel less of a person or devalued because of this.  Know yourself enough to value yourself, do what's right for yourself, because when you do, you truly do what is right for the world.

So, this year I have had the chance to retreat while doing my daily activities that bring in the dough or some how cultivate my livelihood. I have not run the rat race or been the busybody of times past or allowed myself to dive too deep into the madness of the social life.  In that, I have found a sense of peace in the midst of life's storms and in that peace a steady calm emerges that leads me to accomplish what I need and want to achieve.  That's right.  Its truly a 'slow and steady' wins the race.  Taking the time each day, each moment, of the year to focus both in small ways and large ways on your own mental and emotional health brings a degree of calm that helps to elongate the productivity of the physical.  Moreover, there is an inward joy that is present regardless of the outward accomplishments and circumstances.  Meanwhile, if I don't get it all done, I still am content with what I did finish for the day and am inwardly motivated to continue thus forward.

I honestly feel that if we want to make the world a better place, the first place to start is not without in angry violent attempts to enforce the values we see as right, but by inwardly cleansing to the very center of our soul.  This is truly not a popular choice to make and one that takes a bit of time and sacrifice.  For my part, I have taken the time to be by myself. I have read up to twenty books this year, truly read, not for the number count but to digest and let the words cleanse.  These books contain three genre at a time, that's right, I'm a book nerd, what of it? The genres include a variety of spiritual (whatever I am led to), a business-related book which can be either some form of acting related theme or something to do with my business, marketing, producing, and a fun book.  In addition to this, I have tried my darnedest to journal daily, I've taken up yoga, and am slowly attempting to teach my guitar.  Lastly, I have adapted my eating habits to the ketogenic diet and not just as a fad.  I have read up to three books on this lifestyle choice and am working through a fourth.  I have started another blog to reflect these findings and this journey.  Check it out: http://my-keto-me.com (Become a follower, you know you want too!)

In all of this, I have learned that the most important take-away in whatever variety of health-seeking activities is the component of removing the toxic element.  Through the discovery of some toxic relationships and connections this year, I have discovered that not only can I stand up for myself, say no with graceful empowerment, but I can survive the anguish of grieving the loss of friendship and the abuse thrown at me.  I can persevere and continue forward with my goals and ambitions for my life.  Does this removal process get easier? In a sense, yes.  I have learned that when the toxicity of individuals is cast my way, it generally has little to do with me.  And, so like the school yard chant, the 'words do not stick to me', I'm rubber, they're glue, so to speak.

There is grieving and healing needed, a time of inward reflection to find the grace to continue and grow in further awareness of self.  But, I have learned and continue to learn that I cannot allow myself to be held back by the abuses of others' insults, jealousies, methods of control.  I spent too much of my past being tied down and silenced by that.  More so, it is the realization that I am on the right path when the arrows fly towards me in envious attempts to wound me.

Comes The Dawn

So, I persevere both my ambitions and my mental health needs.  And, an amazing discovery happens.  When I make the active choice to rid myself of toxicity, the positive rushes in with abundance, both for my personal health and in my relationships.  More and more when I move away from the toxic interpersonal element in whatever variety it presents itself, I find myself inwardly growing stronger, more present and aware of myself, and am thus surrounded by the light of positive love around me.

Thus we come to the title of this blog, "Don't Recover In Isolation" for which I am much thankful.  Yes, there is a component to recovery that can only be found with self but in that time of self-care there is to be found like-minded individuals who can facilitate the growth.  This is why AA groups and such are beneficial.  I have come into contact with a variety of different such groups in my recovery walk and in this year specifically.  I was reunited with my NAMI family, but this time new faces same organization and I am utterly grateful for their presence.  Within these relationships, I find the joy of truly being honest with myself, my weaknesses, and my needs which brings freedom and joy.  Over the last few years and even more this year, I have come into close contact with a social media collection of souls through our mutual love of the podcast, "Drunk Ex-Pastors" and through such interaction I have found further healing from the past church abuse.  To be honest, I do not think that I would have as much peace with that whole business if it were not for that group.  And, by having the strength to eliminate the toxic element in my own business and personal life, I have found like-minded friends, both new and old, that have come alongside to help me achieve my ambitions, goals, and wildest dreams.

Pretty nifty, huh? So then, invest in the time for your own mental health as you would your physical, and moreover, don't recover in isolation.

The House On The Corner

In my neighborhood as a young child, there was this old house, long since abandoned by its original owners. 

Let me back track, I grew up in a rural country club environment, emphasis on the rural.  When I say 'country club', don't let your mind run crazy with the golf club, the private meals, focus solely on the country part of it and you are basically right there.

But like any country club type deals, we had a lot of families that owned second homes in our neighborhood and up they would trek from the faraway city of San Francisco and its surrounding areas (well, its really only about an hour north, but for a smallish child that's a trek), for the summer months and weekends.

We called them the "weekenders".  We were pretty creative with our nicknames, weren't we? True to form, we were called the "year-rounders".  Oh, the depths of our creativity!  See,  we described someone as such, "Oh so and so, they are a weekender" meaning we only see them on certain weekends or lengths of time during the summer months, and otherwise their house is empty and so very very alone.

That said, for the smattering of kids that were like me, year-rounders, we had free roaming rights of the neighborhood.  Thus, we are the ones that truly can say we grew up there.  Yes, my friends from childhood that were, in fact, weekenders, or big city snobs as I jokingly called my friend, Matt, can say they spent their childhood in my neighborhood called, "The Vineyards" (which at the time there was no single person with a 'vineyard' and Sonoma County, at the time, was yet to truly become the booming wine industry it is today, so why someone decided that's what it should be called was a mystery that alluded discovery in my childhood).  But its us 'year-rounders' who survived not just the flood of '86, and again, '95, and then once again for good measure, '97, who also suffered the boredom of trying desperately to fill up the time when there was just nothing to do, no one to talk to, until maybe that sporadic moment when something unusual happened like a friend appeared, or someone moved in that you'd never seen before, and you spent all sorts of time speculating on them and not actually talking to them.  It wasn't the weekenders, like Matt, who came up in the summer and who was entertained by our silly country ways, found fishing, sailing, swimming, and endless hours of Speed (the game not the drug) fascinating.  (Um, Matt, if you are reading this, sorry, dude, I don't mean to be picking on you, you are just a representation of that breed of human called "weekenders", we cool?). Most of our daily lives back then were spent watching tv shows like Punky Brewster, Night Court (for me especially), and Saved By The Bell.  Our life was a tame, very quiet existence, where we spent most of it imagining what life was like in big wildness of the city.  (Or was that just me?)  We dreamed of a way out...

Sometimes throughout the year, there would be parties held at the clubhouse in the center of the neighborhood, smack dab next to the community lake (did I mention the lake?).  The best of these was of course the Halloween Party.  We got to roam pretty freely about the neighborhood in our costumes acquiring our loot of candy, without any fear of the kind of stuff one worries about today, and then afterwards down to the clubhouse for the fun of a very teeny haunted  house, a friendly neighbor lady dressed up as a palm reader, bobbing for apples, oh the fun never stops.

Okay, now back to the mysterious house on the corner.  It was one of the first houses built in the "Vineyards".  It was, and is, a deep grey house set back into a wooded tree lined driveway.  Trees grew up through both the front and back porch.  What's more, furniture, books, a tv, a radio all were left as they had been when the owners had been there.  The electricity was still connected, the phone still rang, off the hook.  It still  had a phone number you could call, and call we did.  (Remember when I said there wasn't much to do?)  As wee young folk, we'd peek in the windows, trying to out scare each other with the mysterious hauntings we would see.  "Look, there's a ghost!"  "Where?" "There."  "Oh I see it."

Later on, in my pre-teen years, I told my friends a ghost story about a young girl who had lived there that had a heart shaped birthmark on her cheek.  She fell in love with a guy that died under somewhat strange circumstances, some random war perhaps, and she just waited and waited for him in a tree on  the front porch, wouldn't get down, did not eat or anything, grew more and more pale, the heart shaped birthmark increasing in its redness until one day, she fell to her death, like four feet.  See, I'd say, here's the mark where her head crashed into the brick killing her instantly.  Sometimes at night you could see her ghostly presence sitting there, singing and waiting, waiting and singing.  The little neighbor boy down the street from my house (Bobby was his name, See Matt, you aren't the only one I am choosing to pick on) had nightmares because of it.  And, even though I stole the story from a L.M. Montgomery novel I had read, I still thought I saw her from time to time when I walked home in the evening from a friend's house (most likely Corinne, see another friend I'm picking on, Matt!) or randomly walked through the neighborhood late at night empowered by the spirit of the moon.

We found out that the original family had built the house, raised their kids as "weekenders", and then when the kids had grown, had divorced.  Thus, the house just sat full of all of its trappings and memories for us to speculate, ruminate, imagine.

In my early teens, it was rented out by a girl about my age, another weekend-only family, and I struck up a friendship with for the sole purpose of being able to go into that amazingly epic house with all its mystery attached.  I'd invite her to come over on the Saturday evenings when she was in town, when I saw the thrill of the lights on, to get in good with her.  We'd watch my current obsession of a movie, Wayne's World.  (I watched that movie a gazillion times just on my own, in all fairness, until the video itself wore out.  Yeah, I'm old enough that we only had videos for watching movies, so bite me!)

The house represented something untouchable, unattainable.  Like the big city from which Matt hailed (ha ha) and the world beyond, it was something we had yet to see but were always reaching towards, seeking discovery.

Then one day, in early teenage years, we got our wish.  One of our friends, a weekender, discovered that we could all slip through the doggy door at a side door and in we went.  We excitedly and with an air of danger moved through the house, calling to one each other, when we found something interesting.  One friend opened up a closet and joked, "All the skeletons fall out."  I remember that specifically for some reason.  Later on when the colder, bare months of winter would set in, the year-rounders would crawl inside, turn on the heater a bit, and make phone calls.  (We were an inventive rebellious and perhaps a bit odd bunch.)

In my neighborhood as a young child, there was this old house, long since abandoned by its original owners. 

I'd like to dedicate this blog to the aforementioned "Bobby", "Corinne,  the girl who I used to watch Wayne's World and struck up a friendship so I could find out what it was like to live in said house, and to give my heartfelt thankfulness to "Matt" without my ability of picking on him the story could not have been told (well, it could have been, just not in an interesting fashion.)

Explore With Ashley Leigh Episode One Part Deux

The Curious Incident of Opening A Show

Tonight I open a show at Barnstormers' Theatre entitled "The Curious Incident of the Dog In the Night-Time".  I'm super excited about this production and it marks my first time crossing the boards in a very long time.  Last night we had our preview night and it felt amazing to be once again in front of a live audience.  I felt a sense of communion, cast and crew working together, silently communicating, to bring forth this story touching the audience with said members receiving and giving the energy back to us the performers at once.

Its a beautiful thing, this communal magic that happens once you rehearse and birth a creative endeavor, nothing compares to that of live theatre.  I imagine for a comic doing stand-up there is a similarity, that being an immediate connective relationship to the audience, or a singer in a band as well. 

In recent years, doing more film related work, I have developed more of the instant acting technique.  I do my due diligence of background work and all of that, but there is less of a focus on that in the actual performance.  I'm committed more to the moment now.  The story I have created in my mind lives within my gut and I consciously forget about it as it resides there, while performing.  I strive to stay in the moment, connecting with the other actors in the scene, feel the energy coursing through me reaching outwards from my finger tips, vibrating throughout my body, onwards to the rest of the cast, the audience, the greater beyond.

I act and create stories now for that reason alone, whether it be film or theatre, or any form of acting creativity.  I risk everything in life, sacrifice the comforts of the safe life in pursuit of my dream, to chase after my dream of achieving that artistic communal sense.  It is all I desire and the force that strengthens me, that fuels me to get up each morning and to continue the hustle towards achieving the impossible dream.

To Dream The Impossible Dream

Some may call me crazy or try to discourage me, but as I'm discovering in "Make Your Mark" by Coyte G. Cooper, PH.D, all those that achieved success and made a real difference in this world for the impact of good were told or allowed to believe that they could not.  They were those that risked everything, gave up the normal arenas of life, security, broke forth from this comfortable life to allow their life purpose to become reality.

It is this reason that I continuously strive for my impossible dream, not merely for success or to see my name in lights, to feed my fragile ego, but for that desire to reach and to know the world, to learn and to see how truly beautiful the people are that populate this planet, and to share and bring their stories, their truths to live, and in the end to bring a little bit more light and healing to the world.

That is why we artists suffer and then seek to thrive, for the glory of artistic communion.

The Curious Incident of The Dog In The Night-Time opens tonight at Barnstormers' Theatre and runs through November 4th.  Evening shows start at 7:30 pm and matinees at 2:30.  The show is masterfully directed by Madeline DeCourcey.  Young actor, Julius Pratt gives a stellar performance as Christopher Boone, an autistic who undergoes a transforming journey to find himself and learn his value in the world. 

https://www.facebook.com/events/288335895113957/

Episode 2: Get Out