Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness around the world.

March 25, 2008

 Today’s Announcement

Don’t forget to order your copy of Angels Watching Over Me, the story of an ordinary woman facing less than ordinary challenges.  Angels Watching Over Me is a story of family love, sacrifices, poverty and an undying faith that makes heroes out of all of us. Here is the link in case you have forgotten it: http://www.lulu.com/content/964306

Important notice: Storytime Tapestry is a free e-zine, however donations are always needed to help with the operating expenses of running the newsletter and to keep Storytime Tapestry the quality newsletter you are so accustomed to.   You can make your donations to paypal at: winterose@videotron.ca, or if you would prefer to use the mail system contact the publisher at the same email address: winterose@videotron.ca

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CHRONIC ILLNESS AND THE FINE ART OF SAYING "NO"

Pina Martinelli

They say "sorry" is the hardest word for many of us, but for me the word "no" has been my downfall. After a lifetime of being a "yes" person it would take years for me to actively accept that saying no isn't necessarily a bad thing or one that should wreak emotional havoc in one's life. While most are well educated in this word and use it with relative ease, it would take the emergence of two illnesses in my life to encourage its use in my vocabulary. This was done not only for my health, but also for my survival in my daily life.  In many ways, saying "No" has offered me a path towards freedom, as much as it has helped me to define my own limits and boundaries, fearlessly and confidently, and despite any repercussions.

Throughout most of my life one could best describe me as a "yes" person, a good girl, a nice girl, and a "proper" girl, one expertly skilled in social etiquette by her mother and father. By the time I was 6 I knew that I had to call or write my grandparents, aunts and uncles and my parents friends to thank them for a gift they sent me. At first, and even when so young, I thought this was a chore, but I understood my parents' message: it was important to be nice and proper and to make people feel good about the efforts they made on my behalf. Through their example, I watched my parents bring gifts and goodies each time we, as a family, were invited to attend a function, just as I observed my mother sitting at her desk writing the hosts a thank you card immediately after we returned home from the event. By the time I was 9, I was the Junior Princess of Yes, properly schooled in all aspects of social etiquette and "ladylike" behavior, of being a "nice girl".

At home, despite the fact that my family was prone to lively discussions about almost everything, there were unspoken rules that my siblings and I had to follow. Beyond the obvious ones of not interrupting anyone while they spoke or chewing our food with our mouths open, certain areas were "No No's" in the book of our family life and dynamics. Talking about difficult subjects, expressing anger or hurt, or confronting another member of our family in an argument was a no-no and one of my parents' forbidden zones. If my older siblings and I made an error in judgment or acted out in anyway deemed inappropriate by our parents, especially our father, we were forced to sit in silence while he lectured us about the errors of our ways for hours at a time. My mother sat beside him, quietly nodding her head in agreement, while we sat there numbed by his endless refrain. In short haste I would learn that expressing my feelings, whether good or bad, was wrong and I would stuff my feelings inside. Little did I know that doing so would contribute to my illness years down the road.

I was a shy kid when I was young, so shy in fact that I was almost paralyzed with fear each time I had to speak in class and express my thoughts. This fear would last throughout my scholastic years, including through college and the beginning phases of my long career when I had to speak publicly at a meeting. Ironically, outside the classroom, with friends and especially at home, I was articulate, lively, funny and silly, but in the hallowed halls of the schools I attended, I was quiet, fearful that I would say something wrong as to incur public humiliation.

Though I had few friends as a little girl, I would go on to have lot of friends in high school, college and in my "real" life after I graduated from school. With them, I was my lively self most of the time, but I kept a part of myself on reserve and on the sidelines, hidden from view. This was the part of me that was unable to express anger or say no, nor able to set boundaries and limits in my life. If people insulted me, put me down, or laughed at me, I swallowed my rage, stuffing it deep inside the cavernous, echoing halls of my pride for a lifetime, never to forget, never to speak to what I felt. This would apply to my friends also, especially because I needed them to like and approve of me in the best light. Too often I let things go and avoided confrontation at all costs, so paralyzed with the fear that if I did speak to my feelings and truths I would be lost to the abyss and abandoned, alone. In short, the Queen of Yes was born, with no one actually knowing the real person I was, one with real feelings and needs that didn't always match my image.

As an adult, and even during treacherous, painful times in my life, I was the friend that always said yes, even if I really wanted to say no. Because my parents died when I was young, I was gripped by an utter terror of being abandoned by my friends, left alone to disintegrate into the dust, forgotten for an eternity. To prevent that from happening, I would agree to help  anyone and everyone at nearly a moment's notice, more often than not dropping my own needs in favor of helping them with their own. Like a white Knight on a valiant steed, I was the Queen of Selflessness, rescuing everyone all the time, despite my own needs, my fears and my issues. Naturally and through no fault but my own, everyone expected me to be this way all of time as if it were part of the natural course in life, the plan. If I declined to assist someone, anger and guilt were hurled in my direction as if I had no choice in the matter. But I did, didn't I? For most people, "yes"  would be the correct answer, but because I didn't place myself first on my hit parade, everyone else assumed that I didn't need to make a choice, when in fact I did. When I got sick everything changed and for the first time in my life I would learn the fine art of saying no and speaking to my feelings.

Being chronically ill is very hard, but it is made harder when one has spent a lifetime being nice and agreeing to everything. When my fibromyalgia first emerged I tried to maintain the image I had created until I realized I no longer had any energy stores left in my body. In short haste I would finally acknowledge that I no longer had the energy to give my all to everyone, just as I no longer had the strength to be the proverbial rescuer in life. As my energy stores fell and my fatigue, stiffness and soreness grew greater, I realized that I had to start saying "no" to things I once did and ways I once lived my life. I became more aware of the people and circumstances that were too toxic for me and made steps to change them. I learned to set limits, say no, define boundaries, and in some cases, close the door on several lengthy friendships of 25-30 years duration because they sapped me of my energy, made me tired and drained, worn down. Though this was sad for me, relief was found at the end of the tunnel because I no longer had to deal with the toxicity of others in life.

Saying no has most certainly changed my life, as much as it has changed my familial dynamics, business relationships, social interactions with friends, and how I live my life. Though I am, at times, lonely and in need of some hearty partying, the truth remains that I can no longer do most things anymore. I have limitations  and if I am to recover and function at my best, even I have to heed the boundaries I have set with others. As hard as this is, at least I know I have placed myself first on my list of priorities.    

Pina Martinelli

Pina1101@aol.com               

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Poetry Corner

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Praying for the Moonlight

Cheryl Williams

When I first opened my eyes

and saw you sleeping beside me,

I forgot for a moment

that daylight would claim you.

I snuggled into your warmth

as if the cold would never return,

listening to your heart beating

as if the silence would never

find its way back home.

But daylight is harsh,

and the sun's warmth

is not enough the erase the chill

of the empty space beside me.

I hug your pillow and pray for the moonlight.

Cheryl Williams

Politicalgirl02@aol.com

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Readers Feedback

 Dear Carol:

In response to Duane Bates article. 

Social Security is in trouble for another reason.  There are fewer people paying in (smaller population as a base than when it was created).  Therefore, it stands to reason with more people becoming eligible to draw Social Security and fewer workers to provide benefits, that a serious shortfall will occur.  My generation (Boomers) will receive more Social Security than the generation that was the first eligible to do so. 

Over the decades, the age for retirement has steadily climbed.  It might seem a solution, but it hurts those who worked hard manual labor jobs and are really depleted by the time they hit 60 let alone 70.  Believe it or not, my husband and others of our generation are still doing tough, demanding physical labor jobs in their 60's because they have no retirement fund and no other means of support.  Their constant concern is a major illness or injury.  Then what are they supposed to live on "until they are eligible"?  Worker's compensation?  Your injury is classified as to a percent of disability.  I found this out when the 35W bridge collapsed.

The school bus driver and other accident victims of the collapse  were surprised at the size of their medical bills and how hard it was to get employers, insurance companies, the state, etc. to provide funds for them.  The State Legislature is still wrangling over this. 

Their is no safety net for anyone between 50 and 65 that is reliable and easy to apply for.  There is so much red tape and paperwork and  takes a lot of time to qualify for.

One suggestion is the creation of a Superfund in a separate agency from a tax on anyone whose income/assets are  $500 Million or $1 Billion Dollars.  Oprah now has The Big Give.  This would be the funding that would form a base or foundation for all these programs.

PJ

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 Here is our Storytime Tapestry Angels: Also, I would like to thank those of you who chose to be a silent angel and gave an anonymous donation to keep Storytime Tapestry up and running.

Clara Westerfer, Mark Crider, Rosanne Catalano, Paula Booher, Kay Seefeldt, Mariane Holbrook, Mary Ellen Grisham, Louise Nomani, Sharon Bryant, Angela Walker, Hart and Helen Dowd, Keith Ready, Ginger Morgenstern, Ellie Braun-Haley, Surinder Jandu, Bob Shaw, Carol Meeks, Charlotte Hilliard, Marilyn Sink, Victor Buhagiar, Clarice Hinson, Conrad