My Life's Work

Publishing book

2010-08-03T11:43:00.000-07:00

How to Self-Publish Your Book (in 3 steps)

Over the years many people have asked me how to publish a book, and there are 2 main ways. You can get a literary agent, who will then shop it around to major publishers. Or, you can publish it yourself. I have experience publishing both ways. After getting a big-time book deal with a major publisher at age 26, I was sued by my book agent. Yeah, it was about as awesome as it sounds. (Long story, but lesson learned: Never sign a contract without hiring an attorney.) Deeply scarred by the experience, I became a Learning Annex stalker, signing up for seminars across the USA on the topic of writing and self-publishing. Finally after 2 years of publishing obsession, 3,000 books arrived at my office in 2005. They sold…fast! So I published a second edition in 2007. Later I licensed the rights to DK Publishing, and the same book I self-published will be released via Pearson Education later this year.

Publishing yourself and working with a major publisher are both challenging in their own ways. In another post I can get deeper into this, but for now I wanted to give people who have decided to self-publish a general idea how to do it, complete with individuals that I recommend hiring for the project. While the bullet points below will help get you going, also read a book called “The Self-Publishing Manual” by Dan Poynter. Dan is an awesome guy – I have seen him speak several times and his book was my bible for about 2 years. I was a sweaty-palmed wreck when I got to meet him back in 2004, because I idolized him so much. He often speaks at The Learning Annex and similar programs like that around the world. Knowledge is power, and this entire process will go smoother (and you’ll save money) if you can speak the language of self-publishing and get things right the first time.

So here’s the basic 3 steps to getting a book published on your own…

STEP #1: EDIT – After your manuscript is done, send it to a trusted editor. My friend Nancy Colasurdo was my editor, and she is based in Hoboken, NJ. She’s a columnist for FoxNews.com, a life coach and a writer…not to mention an amazing person. Nancy wrote a piece about me for Ladies Home Journal, which is why I thought to ask her to edit my book. (You may do the same, if you really liked how a journalist wrote about you in the past. Your editor needs to “get you.”) For the sake of the people who will read your book, do not skip this step. Typos suck. Contact Nancy via her website:http://nancola.com

STEP #2: DESIGN – My book was designed by Peri Poloni Gabriel. She’s been designing books for years, is super professional and based in Naperville, IL. Please note – a graphic designer is not the same as a book designer! Book designers know exactly how to format the book cover and interior to meet the specifications of publishers. Peri can hook you up with UPC codes and ISBN numbers, which is a total pain to do on your own. I recommend getting a UPC and ISBN # even if you don’t plan to sell it in stores in the immediate future. You never know if you might be interested in getting it distributed down the line, and having both are essential if you go that route. Contact Peri via her website: http://knockoutbooks.comor call 630-718-0861.

STEP #3: PRINT – I used Sandy Gould at Color House Graphics in Michigan to print both editions of my book, after researching this excessively. They were fast, reliable and reasonably priced. When you’re ready to pull the trigger, you’ll also need to submit a RFQ (request for quotation), which basically explains what you’re looking for in regards to paper stock, book size, number of pages, etc. Refer to Dan’s Self-Publishing Manual for examples of RFQs. Contact Sandy at the Color House Graphics website: http://colorhousegraphics.comor call 800-454-1916.

Hope this helps some aspiring authors out there…it’s not easy, but you can do it! And I can tell you, it’s a very proud moment when those big boxes arrive from the publisher. I wept when mine were delivered. Seriously.

Click here if you’d like to buy a copy of my book Girls Fight Back! The College Girl’s Guide to Protecting Herself. Books purchased will be autographed by me personally, making each copy worth millions of dollars on eBay. *LOL*

2009-12-10T09:20:00.001-08:00

Fundraising Ideas

Sexual History

2009-08-08T08:30:00.000-07:00

I remember when I was about 6 years old, sitting on the kitchen floor of our house in Colorado Springs, painting my toenails (with a brown paper bag under my feet) deciding that I would not "sleep with men" before I got married. I remember this choice so clearly. Isn't that odd? This evolved (at a later age when I actually understood what that meant) into knowing that I wanted to be a virgin when I got married.

Why is it that they call it "losing" your virginity? Why couldn't we call it passage into womanhood? The start of something precious and new? Crossing over into your new life...

vir•gin (vûrjn)
n.
1. A person who has not experienced sexual intercourse.
2. A chaste or unmarried woman; a maiden.
3. An unmarried woman who has taken religious vows of chastity.
4. Virgin The Virgin Mary.
5. The state of being pure, unsullied, or untouched.
6. Zoology A female insect or other arthropod that produces fertile eggs without copulating.

adj.
1. Of, relating to, or being a virgin; chaste.
2. Being in a pure or natural state; unsullied: virgin snow.
3. Unused, uncultivated, or unexplored: virgin territory.
4. Existing in native or raw form; not processed or refined.
5. Happening for the first time; initial.
6. Obtained directly from the first pressing: virgin olive oil.
7. Zoology Producing fertile eggs without copulating.
I was 17, it was the summer after high school graduation, 1990.

My best friend Kelli's parents were out of town and we were throwing a party. Miller Genuine Draft, in bottles, was our beer of choice. And yes, stupid as we were, we had to go around the next day collecting all those stupid bottlecaps from all those odd places they land (under the couch, etc.).

I was so excited, hyper, because Kevin Hawkins, a freshman football player from UC Davis, was coming to the party. He and I had gone out on two double "dates" with Kelli and her boyfriend Mike. Looking back on those dates, what I most remember is my body's intuition... the first kiss outside his truck was a shoving tongue, a roughness. The second date was him laying on top of me, his big heavy body, feeling suffocated, wondering what that hardness was in his pocket(oh...). Both these times made my heart race and I felt scared but I thought it was because the only other time I had kissed a boy was when I was 14 (Deanna's cousin!).

My brother Matt was there with some of his friends and some of our other high school friends and we started drinking. We weren't one of those crowds that did that heavily, no drugs ever. Kevin arrived. Drinking drinking drinking that cold foreign bitter liquid, nervous. More nervous. Flirting heavily with him throughout the night, towards the end rather obnoxiously... then into the hottub then ohmygod I'm going upstairs to bed. Stumble. Up to the master bedroom.

In door came Kevin. Happy blur. Black bikini coming off. Kissing.

Black.

Whoa too fast. Slow down. He's heavy.

"NO"

"DON'T"

"NO KEVIN NO"

NO. I can hear them outside in the hottub. Can't they hear me?

Some memory of the shower? Water? He put me in the shower because of the blood.

Morning.

Kelli standing above me. "I thought you were going to wait?". It wasn't even until she said this that I knew I wasn't a virgin anymore. Shock. I went into shock. No processing, no computing. Blood all over the sheets, need to get these out. Downstairs to shower (feeling myself, walking around dazed). Working in my green & white stripes that day at Lady Footlocker, fading in between an awareness of that area of my body being raw, tender... confused. My palms sweating. Not understanding. This can't be really. That didn't just happen. I shouldn't have flirted with him like that. I don't even like him anymore. Yuck. I don't like this.

I will forever be grateful to my friend Pam. She was the sane one in the situation. She was outraged. She wanted to report Kevin to the police. She would look me in the eye, hold onto my shoulders and say HE RAPED YOU. DATE RAPE. I would say no, no, no. Don’t call it that. I just lost my virginity, sooner than I wanted to, sooner than I meant to. But that’s not rape.

Later on Kelli asked Mike what Kevin said about it... "I wanted to get it over with for her so she could have fun in college". You fucking asshole. You pompous and arrogant human being with no awareness. God, there were so many things I look back on and wonder if one little piece of that night had gone differently, wow where would I be in my life today? One of the biggest thoughts I have is that if I had just been able to scream out loud, my brother was outside. I imagine him hearing me and tearing upstairs to protect me. Why didn’t I call out? Oh, wait. Because I was wasted drunk and probably couldn’t even lift my arm, let alone speak.

It was three years before I started calling this date rape (instead of my first time I had sex). Thank god for the summer training to be a Resident Assistant. They covered all kinds of college situations we needed to understand and know how to handle. Sexual assault was one of them. I remember sitting there and it was like a film playing up on the screen. The words were coming in my ears and I re-wound the strips. I played them forward, rewind, play, rewind, play. Quietly, the picture re-arranged itself. I was “dated raped”. And I still swallowed it. I would pull it out at times and “tell the story”, but as I look back, the story telling only gave the snapshot of that night. I didn’t deal with how I felt robbed. I didn’t deal with how I wasn’t in my body. I was a body, but my body was closed. My body was numb. My body was afraid.

Isn't there a statistic that one in three women have in some way survived sexual trauma? Why is that? What the hell? I've talked to women who are among the other 2/3 who have a beautiful and pleasurable sex life. Their "first time" may not have been bells ringing and angels singing, but nonetheless there was no force, there were no yucky feelings; there was choice.

I didn’t have sex again until my sophomore year in college. I met this sweet boy, and he looked back at me with sadness and compassion as I told him my story. I longed to have a good experience, and I thought maybe if I could do it over it would make it all okay. So he offered his services (although it was so obviously uncomfortable for him) and off we went. Oh god. Awkward! You would think that awkward experience would teach me that having sex with someone that a) you’re not in love with b) you hardly know IS NOT FULFILLING.

So I tried “make-it-better” boy #2. Awkward! It was around then that I began to notice that I didn’t feel much in my body. I wasn’t “turned on”. My attention was on all that flesh and my eyes bugged out of my head. Mind you, I never made out with a boy, you know, that whole sitting on the couch with sweaty palms and awkward lips. I went from total innocence to thinking that I could just get naked and woosh the whole movie fantasy sex would be natural and feel good. NOT!

Boy # 3. Awkward! Not much feeling. But, wait, there was some. At boy #3 I decided to stop trying. I gave up. Years and years went by before I tried again.

At that time I didn’t have much awareness about female orgasm. In fact mostly I remember this sense that it’s “over” when the guy comes. Somehow or another I was graced to have found the formal introduction to sex that I think every young person should have, through my Human Sexuality course in college. The textbook was huge and the coursework quite, um, thorough. One of the best parts of the course was the film (yes, that’s right, a full size screen) of a woman masturbating. Though it was graphic, by my definition it wasn’t a pornographic film, it was more of a scientific perspective. They taught us all of the physical indicators of each phase the woman would go through as she went from arousal to the peak of the crest, then came down. And oh, it was graphic! They literally measured the sizes of her parts, pointed out the color, etc. While it’s slightly embarrassing for me to write about, I was glued to the screen. I was fascinated! It was instruction that I needed. It was freedom to masturbate. Oh god, that word! It gave me a new and secret little haven for myself. I felt freedom when I was alone. I felt open and safe and it was good.

******************************************************************************
What year was it? 2003? I'm on my indoor bike, sweating it up. It's a Saturday afternoon and I had just gotten back from a little girls outing with Leslie & Jessica, pedicures and lunch at Cheesecake. The phone rang and I almost didn't answer it. It was Leslie and for some reason I did. And it went like this:

I need to talk to you about something, and I need you to never tell anyone.

Oh shit. I stop pedaling. I'm a little confused because I had just spent all morning with her.

Last night [she starts sobbing] I had sex with someone, I cheated on Allen and I don't know what to do. I don't know what happened, I don't understand what happened.

Oh god. Oh god. I stand up and start pacing.

Back up to the night before. Wait, I'm confused, I was there last night.

I got really drunk and passed out. I woke up and Mark was having sex with me.

Jessica, Leslie's best friend, had just gotten back from her honeymoon and invited some couples over to look at their wedding pictures from the photographer. It was so fun... some wine, some girls. The guys of course were in the other room watching sports or having shots or something. I was there with my boyfriend Ryan, and there were a few couples (maybe two?) that I didn't know.

[Leslie sobbing uncontrollably and I can't even understand her]

I'm so confused and stunned that I don't know what to do. I tell Leslie to come over. Meanwhile, I start realizing that my counseling skills may not be enough here. I look up counseling in the phonebook and find a hotline for emergency family assistance, or a woman's shelter, I can't remember which.

I'm waiting outside when Leslie pulls up. She steps out of the car, no shoes, hair disheveled, and is still crying. I yelled at her to stop because I heard a car coming and she obviously was in a different world and didn't hear it. I scoop her up in my arms and we go downstairs into my basement apartment. On my bed, me holding her hand, she tells me more of the story.

Leslie had partied and partied, and at some point (she had no idea what time) she knew she was wasted and went upstairs to pass out. She went to the guest room and was shocked to walk into two people having sex on that bed. So she went into the newlywed's room and laid down in their king size bed. Jessica woke her up at some point and she moved to the end of the bed, turning herself so she was sleeping at Jess's feet.

She wakes up and she is face down, and someone is having sex with her from behind, but she has no idea who. She looks up and sees Jessica sleeping. She turns around and sees it is Jess's husband Mark, moving slowly and silently. She remembers hitting the bed and jumping up, running out of the room. She lies down on the couch and is disoriented. Mark follows her down with a sheet, and tries to continue touching her. She yanks his hand off and he goes back to the bedroom, returning with her underwear. The rest of the night she lays in shock, with her underwear in her hand, trying to backtrack to the step by step of the night. Wait, she had gone to bed? She remembers that much for sure.

I'm watching her go from trying to compose herself to crumpling into a ball. Oh, god I felt her deep pain, twisting up from inside some dark and nasty place. As she unfolds what happened, more and more I'm so overwhelmed I'm unsure of what to do. I hand her the phone and dial the hotline phone number for her.

Leslie had been trying to get pregnant, so she hadn't been drinking for weeks, maybe a month? Her husband Allen wasn't feeling well that night so he didn't come to the party. Ryan and I left the party maybe around midnight, and by that time the shots had come out, and the party was in an upswing. Someone was passing around a pipe and we were getting high. I remember asking Leslie how she was going to get home, because it was clear there was no sign of her stopping the party. She obviously hadn't thought about it and said maybe Allen would pick her up, maybe a taxi, maybe she'd stay there. I reacted to a taxi picking her up, I had just heard about a woman in San Francisco getting killed by a taxi driver. I figured she would probably stay there in the guest room.

She tells her story to the crisis counselor, and almost immediately they tell her to call the Rape Crisis hotline. I remember her getting a piece of paper and writing the # down, with a look of confusion on her face. When she got off the phone, it was clear that "sexual assault" was now on the table. As everything sank in, it seemed clear to me that this is what had happened.

The word rape stung in my ears. Rape.

Conduct of a sexual or indecent nature toward another person that is accompanied by actual or threatened physical force or that induces fear, shame, or mental suffering.

At this point we just kept looking at each other in shock. She had written down several things on that paper, and as they suggested some options, she would stop writing and look back up at me. She hung up and said "sexual assault". They advised me to report this. The most I can remember about this is how she just kept saying but what about Jessica?. What am I going to do about Jessica?

Somewhere around then Ryan came whistling down the stairs, wondering why he found Leslie there because we were supposed to go to a movie. I said "something bad has happened and I can't go, I need to take care of Leslie". She motioned him to come sit with us and she told him what happened. He came unglued. He wanted to go over and kick Mark's ass. He was outraged and held her as she sobbed. The next step was what should she do and how was she going to tell Allen?
When I was telling this story during the trial, I remember being asked about that first phone call I got from Leslie, and specifically when the word "rape" or "sexual assault" was first spoken. I am not entirely sure, but I think it was the crisis hotline operator. Personally I think in Leslie's state of shock (and mine), the process of sorting out what happened in the timeline of the night did not lend itself to "seeing" what happened in the bigger picture.

I think that while framing information through a timeline in snapshots is important, it's not relevant that she didn't call it "rape" right away. She had never been sexually assaulted, nor had she ever in her mind (I'm speaking for her) intended to have sex with her best friend's husband. Specifically, a few months earlier, when some of us were questioning why Jess was getting married to this person, Leslie had voiced that she was physically "repulsed" by him. I feel badly putting that down in writing, but it was such a strong statement that I remembered it clearly in my mind.

After Leslie told Ryan everything, she quickly shifted to how was she going to tell Allen. And what action was she going to take... should she call Jessica and tell her what happened? She mostly was worried that when she told Allen he would get his gun and go after Jessica's husband. She was worried that he wouldn't believe her. She was worried he would think she cheated on him.

A million thoughts of course were racing through my head, but there was never any doubt in my mind that this was WRONG and Leslie was not given a CHOICE by this man. This man betrayed her and took advantage of her. I felt it in my bones and I never doubted her. I know Leslie very well, in fact, for many years, and I could feel what was true. Because I had experienced something similar in my past, I knew just how difficult it can be to call it what it is (rape).

Leslie asked us to come to the house and help her tell Allen. First she hid his gun. Second we went downstairs and I felt the nervousness settle in the room. Allen smelled the fear and Leslie started tumbling out the story. Ryan and I filled in some of the story when she was crying too much, and pretty soon they both said they would like some alone time. After a while they came upstairs and said they were choosing to go to the hospital and report this. All four of us were in a state of shock but there was no doubt that what happened was wrong. Not right. Not okay.

During the trial he surprised all of us by getting up on the stand. I was not allowed to be in the room since I was a witness, but I heard that the District Attorney was pacing the length of the room, back and forth, like a predator. A few things stand out.

First, since the moment he was arrested, his story was that yes, they did have sex and yes, he did "cheat" on his wife. What astounds me about this is that was his reality. He genuinely thought it was consensual sex. For me, equally tragic about all of this was the loss of my friend Jessica. Less than 12 hours from when her new husband was arrested, she stood by his story that he had cheated on her, he had an affair. While there is one part of me that completely honors people's choices, and I do understand that he didn't think he raped her, this was a hard one to swallow. Very hard.

Second, while Mark was testifying, the DA slowed him down, moment by moment, in snapshots, as to the sequence of his thoughts and behavior that night. He said went to bed perhaps around 4am (remember Jess had gone to bed at 3am with Leslie already dead passed out and now laying perpendicular to them at the foot of the bed). He was restless and he sort of "nudged" her arm and she looked at him and she thought he smiled which meant she wanted to have sex. The DA was relentless at this point, she said so wait a minute, if a girl walking down the street looks at you and smile, this means she is inviting you to have sex with you. And moreso, your wife's best friend, passed out drunk and high, just because she is in your bed and you "think" she smiled at you, this gave you permission to have sex with her?

All these years later I still return to this one thought... there is not ONE of my girlfriend's husbands or boyfriends, no matter how drunk, how stoned, how horny, there is not ONE of them who would ever slide a woman halfway off the bed, pull down her underwear and have sex with her while she was passed out. Is it possible that Leslie still felt it and was responsive? Entirely possible. When the DA interviewed Leslie, she did the same slow motion snapshot interview. What Leslie realized, in slow frames, is that he was moving slowly and quietly SO THAT HIS WIFE DIDN'T WAKE UP.

I'll never forget when my girls at work said to me, during the trial, "you know this will be the worst thing that ever happens to you?". Looking back, I can see that. There have been a lot of awful things in the past, but this one ranks as one of the worst. I can't imagine how this must be for you to read, is it as hard as it was for me to live through it and now be writing about it?

***********************************************
There's so many other threads to add, the regrets, the pain, the sadness.... how I cut Jessica out of my life and how this broke my community; the divisions, the sides people took, the sense of betrayal and confusion, the sense of loss. After it was all "over" I decided to become a rape crisis counselor and did this for a year. I sat on guard for the night shift, wondering if that pager would go off, wondering what would be on the other end of the line. The worst was a woman who apparently (found out after) had called many times before, and though her story was a tragic tale of repeat trauma throughout her life, when she talked about losing her eye during the rape I realized I just couldn't do it. I couldn't rub myself up against my own wound that hadn't healed.

I found a six week sexual assault group and wanted to throw up at the start of the first session. It was led by an amazing, gentle and beautiful psychotherapist named Faith. Isn't that a lovely name. Each one of us had a different story to tell. One was a battered wife who was on the run and so traumatized that she lived in an apartment with blacked out windows and hardly left her home. One was raped by her previously loving and gentle ex-boyfriend after she refused to get back together with him (she was such a quiet and gentle little bird, I couldn't imagine how this cracked her inside). Another was young, brave and firey, and had been dragged down the streets of a market in India screaming I DON'T KNOW THIS MAN, SOMEBODY HELP! Again, is this hard to read? It sure is hard to write.

I'm not really sure what broke through for me during the group, if anything at all. I told my story and came to realize there were even older roots buried down into the crevices of my childhood. And although by the age of 30 I was in an amazing and loving relationship with a great man, I knew my history still affected me "in the bedroom". I need to and want to write more about the aftermath of these experiences because there are other women out there suffering as I did, who were or are stuck as I am and desperate to heal this thing.

I was a ceramic plate, beautiful, pure and whole... then this man came and dropped me, slow motion, onto the floor. I broke. I shattered into pieces. I can never be glued back into that same piece. I broke. I did. And I don't want to be glued back together. I want to make art of myself. A mosaic.

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2009-03-19T07:21:00.001-07:00

Women and Friendship

2009-02-04T14:59:00.000-08:00

Women and Friendship

Sister Spiral

In 1998, some friends of mine created a women’s circle in Boulder. About a year later when I moved back from LA, they invited me to join. We called ourselves the “Sister Spiral” and there were about ten of us. It was in some ways a casual group with some loose structure. We’d get together once a month with a potluck, always yummy food, socialize for about an hour, and then we would sit quietly in a circle as one by one each of us took the hostesses’ choice of a “talking stick” and shared.

If there was one thing standard about the Spiral, it was that one woman spoke at a time, while she had the talking stick, and this was her time. There were to be no interruptions, no comments, and no questions. Sometimes after her share, in particular if she was upset or up against something big, a few of us would chime in.

But fundamentally we were built on the understanding that this was a safe space. We were a place to step away from the everyday world, a place to come and tell our stories in a way perhaps different than we might tell others. Often we’d go until well past 10:00pm, savoring the girlfriend time.

Besides this once a month gathering, we were also really a group of friends. We would socialize together for birthdays, summer barbeques, sometimes camping. We were close and we knew more about each other than just what was shared on the night of the Spiral. Our boyfriends and husbands were also a big part of our community. They would tease us and ask what we really did at the “Sister Twister”.

In the beginning, we didn’t have much formality about who came in or out of the circle. Over the years some of the women moved away, much to our sadness! A few new women came into the circle. However, at some point the “membership” was put up for a topic of discussion. Because of our friendships and long-time intimacy, a few of us weren’t sure how we should handle whether to invite new women or to keep our group closed. You can only imagine what issues this brought up! If we called our group “closed”, then that felt like we were exclusive and also didn’t allow us to share this special gift with others. On the other hand, was there a maximum number we thought our group would reach when it would be too big. Would the intimacy be interrupted if we were continually bringing in new women?

Ultimately I personally thought we didn’t ever come to a solution that worked for everyone. We did have new women flow in throughout the years, but I think the question about expansion of the group was really never answered.

In 2003 we had a tidal wave hit this group, from which I will never recover. The husband (I’ll call him Adam) of one woman in the Spiral was convicted of sexual assault of another woman (I’ll call her Sarah) in our group.

It was an absolute and complete shattering to my world and that of our entire group. The night it happened, many of us were at the party. The day after, I was the first person Sarah told; I was the first to hear her story. I listened, without questions. I listened, like we did at the Spiral, without judgment. I listened with love. I held her and felt her pain, fear and shock. Unfortunately I was not able to listen and accept the experience and choices Adam’s wife made. I also had an extremely difficult time with a few the other women who felt they needed to honor not only Sarah’s experience but also that of Adam and his wife.

We never know how we will react until the moment we face a new situation. As I look back years later at some of my reactions, some I am proud of and some I certainly wouldn’t repeat. I had no way to sort all of the emotions and turbulence going on inside of me, let alone for each woman in the Spiral. Everyone had different reactions. Ultimately I had to accept and forgive all of it. It took many years.

Lunnessence

Sometime in 2004, we decided to close the Spiral. It wasn’t solely from the rape and surrounding circumstances, (although that certainly took a great deal of healing), but there was some way it had lost its juice.
At the beginning of 2005, a core group of us were ready to create something new. After some cool rituals and creative conversations, we put together a New Moon group named Lunnessence. We decided that instead of dealing with a long term group, we would try this out for one year. Each woman said “I’m in” and that was it, we were committed for a year. We put together a beautiful Lunnessence history book which included a loose definition of what we were about.

Each month the hostess would bring some new season-related ritual to each Lunnessence and we would add a page for that month into the book. It was amazing and felt very fertile. The New Moon “energy” was something very new to me, and to be honest I was quietly skeptical. However, I decided to throw myself in and used a New Moon book to create monthly intentions. I was diligent and specific, but after the first year sort of tossed the book aside. I’m sure if I were to look back, many of those have come to fruition!

The structure of the sharing circle stayed the same. Whatever activity we had, we always had a talking circle. After all these years, I have discovered that there’s nothing the same as women talking with women. We tell our stories. We listen to our stories. There’s a way that we find ourselves as we speak. Every time Lunnessence gathered, there was always an even spread of every archetype of Woman present. There was someone in the pits of darkness, someone soaked in hormonal emotion, someone falling in love, struggling, someone celebrating, someone pregnant, having relationship trouble, someone getting married, and so on.

In 2006, a few women didn’t continue, but most did. Again we had an “everyone in” one year commitment and again we created the rules of the game for that year. By 2007, we decided to write down a more specific statement about “who we are”, structure to the evenings and to maintain intimacy. We also began to address that nagging question about “guests” and the expansion of the group. After 10 years of my participation, we still didn’t have a conclusion.

In 2008, we had a rigorous “creation” session. It was great in many ways because we got very specific about the actual timeline of the evening. Women arrived @ 6:30pm, we ate until 7:15pm, we cleaned up and were sitting in the circle by 7:30pm. We ended promptly at 9pm.

The sticky topic was about guests. After some rich conversation, we decided to do our best to maintain intimacy while we allowed the group to expand organically. We would hold a creation session each January, then invite guests to the February gathering. At that time the guest would see if it felt right for her, and we would consider if she felt like a good fit. It was important to us that this didn’t feel like a try-out, but we had to weigh that with us feeling that we could feel safe and share our hearts fully with each other.

I’ve mentioned the word “safe” many times as I talk about Women’s Groups. I also was in woman’s therapy group (5 of us, led by a psychotherapist) for years, and this was a core value there as well. For me, this means that anything I say is not discussed outside of the group. Anything I say does not leave that room. Another component is listening without judgment. It is a moment in time where we get to explore letting our guard down, where we get to talk about ourselves without worrying what others thing, where we can receive genuine, unconditional and loving support. This allows us to open in a way that many of us find unfamiliar. At times it is uncomfortable to have another, let alone multiple others, witness deep emotion, secrets, despair, fears. Through practice and time, we become more familiar with just being ourselves and saying what’s true. There is nothing like exploring ourselves, our innards, and coming away from that journey knowing more about how to love and trust ourselves.

This is the gift we have to offer as women in friendship. There’s much I could say about the not-safe side of women friendship. Women tend to gossip, be competitive and can be downright mean. We are tricky. We are complex and elusive, oftentimes even to ourselves! I encourage every woman to take many steps back and observe what kind of friend you are and what kind of friends you want. Of course, as with everything, it begins by being your own best friend. What a lifelong practice, to be gentle with ourselves, to be kind and loving to yourself. Oh, but isn’t it worth it?

Chapter Three: Well-Being - Sleep

2009-01-31T14:13:00.000-08:00

Sleep

I can't exactly remember why it is I decided to get help with sleep. It seemed like out of everyone I knew, I was a poor sleeper. Most people didn't really know, because I actually didn't know what a problem it was. I had trouble falling asleep and staying asleep. I almost constantly woke up in a foul mood and didn't want to talk, touch or be touched. In fact, it wasn't until I began to get steady and deep sleep that I realized how much of my crankiness and anxiety were due to the lack of sleep!

I think it started in my mid-teens, at least that's the first I can remember a problem. The news was drenched with fear about a serial killer on the loose, and I became deeply afraid he would target us. One night I woke up, dreaming that he was coming into my room, and I stood up in bed and took off running - straight into a wall! I also began to have recurring nightmares, often about bookcases or chairs falling in slow motion onto me. In my late teens, when I shared a room with my mom and sister, my mom said every night when she'd come into the room I would sit up and ask strange questions, clearly sleep-talking. Throughout my 20s I became known as the crazy dreamer. I would come into work and have multiple and strange stories about dreams I had the night before. Often they were very disturbing!

This description of my sleeping habits told my Doctor a lot, and really explained my problem. Up until I finally gave in and saw a western doctor for help, I felt like I had tried everything. I didn't drink caffeine, I went on sleep diets (where you get up at the same time every day but go to bed late, essentially forcing your body into eventually succombing to exhaustion and sleeping deeply). I had made my room dark, made sure I stayed cool, had comfortable sheets and pillows, and had cleared everything out from under my bed!

My doctor, a psychiatrist, had me track my sleep schedule for a week. Besides not being able to fall asleep, I woke up about every two and a half hours, always to the memory of a vivid dream. He explained to me that my body was highly sensitive to stimulation, and that because our brains are most tired at the end of the day, we are most overly stimulated at night. It's like my body's "brakes" or filter doesn't work as well as others. For me, the accumulation of the day's activities add up, and at night I'm so wide awake that my brain is literally over-loaded with images and thoughts and energy that I can't fade away.

Back in the days on the farm, long ago before electricity, people's circadian clock (body rhythms) cycled with the sun. They rose at the dawn of light and wound down as the light faded into night. Their work was hard during the mid-day, at the sun's peak, and their evenings were slow and relaxing. Back then there wasn't the constant stimulation of the internet, tv, cell phones, texting, etc. Now, many of us are used to bright lights and constant stimulation right up until bedtime, a TV blaring in every room.

Can you imagine a life where your evening begins with a slow and delicious meal with your family, enjoying each other's company and having good conversation without interruption? Then maybe the lights begin to dim, you sit on the couch in quiet and read a good book, maybe do some yoga, drink some tea or take a bath. You are deeply relaxed and eyes heavy as you snuggle into bed. You drift into a deep sleep within 15 minutes of getting into bed and you wake up refreshed and alert?

Good quality sleep is a critical way to reset our bodies every day. When you continuously don’t get the amount of sleep you need, you experience daytime drowsiness, trouble concentrating, irritability, and lower productivity. Quality sleep, especially when you are dreaming (REM sleep), regulates mood as well. Lack of sleep can make you irritable and cranky, affecting your emotions, social interaction, and decision making. It has been noted that over 60% of Americans frequently experience a sleep problem. Stress, caffeine, exercising at night, irregular night routine and interferences in your environment (i.e. kids coming into room, temperature irregularity, etc.).

My life changed dramatically within one week of getting solid sleep every night. All of a sudden these things I'd called my personality (moodiness, anxiety, irritability, forcefulness) halted. I was shocked to realize how much sleep affected me. I began to see the value in unplugging, completely, from daily life at night. I took my Doctor's advice and turned off the TV, phone and internet by 9pm every night. I begin to dim the lights and do low-stimulation activities only - like taking a bath, having some tea, reading an enjoyable book. After three years of this new schedule, I feel like a vampire if I'm somewhere with bright lights after 9pm. I start going around slyly turning the lights down or even off! It makes such a huge difference. Try it for a week, I think you'll begin to love how relaxing it is.

So, I encourage you to make sleep your #1 priority. Track your sleep for one week, including your moods and your level of energy. You will see the relationship between your happiness, productivity and stress level. For me, over time I've noted particularly crazy and negative thoughts at night. I'll think of worst case scenarios, fret about things to do the next day and replay anything upsetting that happened during the day. I've come to catch myself and interrupt the thoughts, as I realize my brain is exhausted. I do my best to put them aside and re-evaluate any of the concerns or issues the next day. Almost inevitably, my outlook is totally different the next morning. It's strange how something can feel so real and important, but after sleep it seems easy to solve or simply not important at all.

Book Outline

2009-01-31T13:06:00.000-08:00

1. My Life’s Work
How it Began (knowing you have a mission)

Define mission statement & purpose

2. History (Childhood & Trauma)
Chronological Story

Trauma, Neglect, Attachment, Abuse

Physical and Emotional Symptoms

Coping Tendencies: Addictions, Dissociation, Isolation, Spending

Mood: Depression, Anxiety, BiPolar

3. Turning Point (Healing)
Landmark Education

Therapy (Brainspotting, mood, my voice, physical healing)

Well-Being – nurturing yourself
i. Sleep
ii. Exercise
iii. Nutrition
iv. Alcohol
v. Yoga
vi. Fun & Play
vii. Home as sanctuary
viii. Travel & Stimulation

Relationships with others
i. Community (Spiral/Lunnessence)
ii. Romantic Love
iii. Communication – what do you WANT? Say it, it’s easy
iv. Feel What you Feel

Self-Love (Willow, Bunny)

4. Creating the Future

Tools for Power
i. Personal Power: Enneagram
ii. Money: Millionaire Mind
iii. Creativity/Inner Critic: Artist’s Way
iv. Grounding: Meditation (hypnosis, bilateral music)
v. Career: Strengths book

Dreams & Aspirations, what is your mission

Serendipity - listen

Goal setting, from nothing

Journaling

Affirmations

Visioning
i. Collage
ii. “This or Better”
iii. Support & Accountability
iv. One step at a Time

Foundation = Well-Being

Chapter One: And so it begins - January 29, 2009

2009-01-29T09:50:00.000-08:00

Begin
Verb
[-ginning, -gan, -gun]
1. to start (something)
2. to bring or come into being
3. to start to say or speak
4. to have the least capacity to do something

2007, in my tiny little condo in Boulder, CO. I'm watching Oprah's 20th Anniversary Special with tears rolling down my face. Her story about the first day on her talk show (after years of being a TV reporter) has forever changed my life. After this interview on her new talk show, everything got silent inside of her as she realized I AM MEANT TO DO THIS! Everything in her past, everything that felt wrong or she struggled to do or that frustrated her with past jobs, it was because they weren't IT. This, on the other hand, this was her destiny, this was her mission. She was given a special gift and hallelujah she found it!

I remember the first time I talked about my "purpose" in life. It was over dinner with my college mentors, Sociologists Dr. John and Janice Baldwin. They teach a course in Human Sexuality the University of California, Santa Barbara, and which had opened me up completely... to talk so frankly about sex and anatomy! They were private in the course about their marriage, but over the next few years I witnessed their bond, their love for each other, and I came to trust them completely. The Baldwins taught me optimism, based not solely on faith but on scientific studies about human productivity. I'll never forget, as I expressed fear and doubt about life after graduating, John said to me "you'll make the right decisions, you'll work hard, and by the time you're 30 I just know you'll have a good job and a car". It sounds so funny to me now (the car part especially), but at that time I couldn't feel into the future enough to believe that I was going to be okay. I didn't know what the hell I was going to do in a few months when it was time to do more than wait tables.

So, over tomato soup and a whole grain roll at the Good Earth restaurant, I lamented, "I'm just so lost, I feel like I don't know my purpose in life!". Janice looked at me with great compassion and patience and asked, "Why do you need to have a purpose? What if the purpose in life is just to be happy?". I played that over in my mind for years, particularly in my early 30's as I realized I certainly wasn't happy. I value what she said, and it still rings true to me that if all we did in life was to sit still in the simple things, the true things, like love, joy, kindness... perhaps more of us would be more fulfilled.

But back to my purpose. For years and years I was never able to shake this strong feeling that I have a mission in life, and I struggled with not being able to name it. I can hardly count the number of times "I just need something to live FOR". In my dark dark darkest of days, this need swallowed me up whole. I look back now on those shadow years and thank that damp soggy soul spanking! I went "there". I faced the desire for death and asked for it. I stewed in the "life has no meaning" pit and came back richer for it.

In 2005, I met a new and wonderful friend, Mie, who shared her "blog" (http://www.kokochi.com/) with me. Back then, I'd never even heard of a blog. You mean you have a website where you put pictures of yourself and just talk about your life? I was FASCINATED. I went home and ate up pages and pages of her blog. It was such an intimate peek into her life and I was quite inspired.

So, I started my first blog! I named her graceopenheart and simply went mad. At first I posted everything, every feeling, ever meal, every picture. Soon, however, I began to spill over almost uncontrollably with my thoughts, my emotions, my words. I shared my blog with only my closest friends, and many complimented me on my writing and especially my "poetry". I remember feeling confused about this characterisation of my writing as "poems". I thought... these aren't poems, these are my feelings. I wasn't writing poems, I was just writing about myself. I didn't understand.

Over time, my stories became longer and more thoughtful, especially as I watched trends emerge. From the beginning, the blog was just for me, not "for" anyone else. Writing poured out of me (as it always has) without fear of what others think. It helped me express the excitement, disappointment, confusion and growth of the moment. Although I was praised for milestones, bravery, courage, honesty, etc., I continued to discount its meaning and significance. It was and still is my home, my touchstone.

After a year of telling my stories (and a large increase in readership - 100 hits a day from several countries - who are these people and how did they find my blog!?), I began to feel a bit self-conscious that I wrote so much about me me me! But it was SO fulfilling, more than anything. I would be struck by creative thoughts and I would race to write them down. I had one thought in particular that was "the message", but again I discounted it completely. If I could just get paid to tell stories about my feelings and my journey, take constant courses in self-growth and support others in their growth, I would be happy. The whiplash reaction was that this was very selfish, to want to be so self-absorbed, and that no one would read that!

Little did I know or trust, but this is exactly what I intend to do. It never occurred to me when I started my blog that my stories would inspire and motivate people. I've always known I would write a book someday, but thought it had to be about a topic. I thought, well, years from now, I'll know what to write about. I finally heard the answer in a whisper and I'm now listening... write about myself, tell my victories, my struggles, my stories. People want to read them and I want to tell them.

Thank you Oprah for telling yours, the WAKE UP to your "calling". She heard it, she felt it, she knew it. As I listened to her everything snapped inside of me. I wanted to scream out to the world, I KNEW it! I KNEW there's something I'm meant to do. Thank God I persisted. Thank God I didn't let that nagging question go. I kept seeking. I recalled part of Oprah's story about how she had tolerated many things she disliked or that didn't feel right in her past jobs. I felt that way. Over and over I felt like I *should* like some great job or great opportunity that stood in in front of me. I tried to convince myself, to force myself. But it never worked. But I didn't. I sank.

And so I didn't give up. It took me two full years, but now I've started. What changed? Why now? After years of praying, please please help me find my way... the time is here. Am I ready? HELL NO. Am I qualified to write a book and launch myself into this future I've known I'm here to live? HELL NO. Do I really understand how this is going to look and going to unfold? I REPEAT, HELL NO.

But if there's one thing I know for sure, it is this:

I'm starting with "I believe in you".

At the start 2009, I made an unreasonably huge pact for life with my friend-for-life Morgan. We committed to living life full on, bigger than we've ever been. We had "created" our dreams before, but up until this point we were simply compassionate witnesses of each other's journey.

That night, I asked her to hold me to what I call "going all the way". To me that means that I'm leaping off every cliff and going to become bigger than I can imagine. The first step from there was to say more about my mission, to really define it specifically.

So, I say I'm an inspirational writer and speaker who motivates and empowers women, because I SAY so. I started a wedding planning business a few years ago, and the MOST difficult thing was standing outside the door at my first wedding fair and thinking, "I cannot just go in there and introduce myself as a Wedding Planner". After a 40 hour professional training, a new and beautiful website, stunning business cards, I didn't think I was qualified. Are you kidding me? What more could I have done? Oh, I can't call myself a Wedding Planner because I haven't yet planned a wedding.

I gulped hard and walked up to vendors and said, "I'm Helen Kearney and I'm a Wedding Planner". And that is what I'm doing now. I'll never be qualified, I'll never be enough whatever-you're-supposed-to-have-to-be-someone-special bullshit! This is the ultimate challenge in creating my own reality and it's a damn mind bender! I've never faced this and seen this so clearly. I cannot question and doubt my power if I want to "go all the way". And what is the proof that "I am that" (whatever I say I am)?

I've discovered that all miracles start with me believing. I have to believe in me. I have to believe in my purpose, believe I will be shown the way, believe I deserve all of this goodness, believe that I'm born to do something great. If I don't believe in me, I will look around and listen for people to encourage me. I'll lean on other's opinions of me and become propped up by how great they think I am. Likewise, I'll be knocked down quickly by other's criticism. Of course we all need encouragement, and yes we all need friends who believe in us! But it starts with me. It begins and ends with my core belief that I am good, I am great.

And so with that, I begin!

August 8, 2009

And then it continues!

Wow. Wow. Wow. I just saw the movie "Julie on Julia". This movie is about a former writer who feels stuck in life. She works in a gloomy cubicle as a customer service rep for an insurance company and is bored and frustrated. A call from an angry customer says it all. He asks "do you have any power?" and stunned, she says no. That night she is ranting to her husband that she needs to do something more with her life but doesn't know what that is. As they are ripping into the bruschetta asking what she loves, he says you love to cook! She rolls her eyes, then it starts to sink it. This is 2002 so blogs weren't the hip (it's all about me) thing everyone is doing these days, but at her husband's suggestion she decides to cook her way through Julia Child's cookbook, giving herself a deadline of one year to cook 500 some recipes. All I can say is GO see it.

Giving into my lifelong wish to write a book reminds me of her year. I'm not blocked to write. The words simply flow out of me, often gushing so fast I can hardly keep up with the wave. I don't sit in front of the screen stopped by what to say. I'm also not blocked by thinking I'm not a good writer. I don't judge myself and I tend not to have a self-critic about the quality of my writing. I ride the wave and usually look back saying "wow, I'm a killer surfer". But as I focus on putting all of my writing into one book, I do care if the whole story of my life matters to people. Is it inspiring? Is it interesting? Do they read it and think god, this girl is so self-obsessed? It's tricky.

After seeing this movie last night the fire was lit again. I realized that I just have to do this. I have to keep writing. A good friend of mine is feeling out her love and passion for photography. The more pictures she takes, the more she realizes her natural talent. She sees her style emerging and it's clear that not only is she good, she is great! I was shuffling through some of her recent shots and saw that it takes hundreds of shots and angles to find that one that one shot that makes you say wow. It's practice, practice and more practice.

So I'm just going to keep going here, finding my way, trusting my story and believing in myself. There's three people in particular that keep encouraging me, and I need you to know how much it matters to me! Thank you for your generosity and your adamance that I do this.