Spring Break Day 2 With the Kids

I managed to convince two out of my three children to dance with me today. True, a lot of the dance was spent trying to convince them to not pause yet.

“No, no, no…don’t turn the music off! Wait until the end of the song!”

And as I type these words, I had to go break up a Lego fight because, you know, we have thousands of Legos and everyone wants the same pieces at the same time.

Crisis averted by breaking the tower in two and sharing it out.

And I have Kidz Bop in the background and hey…they’re actually having fun together at the moment. Knock on wood.

Oops, spoke too soon. No, wait. They handled that one on their own.

A few more minutes bought for me.

Oh, I just remembered a moment of real humanity on Saturday: the boys had their first ever soccer practice. Tommy went first with twenty other three-year-olds; he lasted five minutes. Cole went the following hour and played the whole time. At the end when we greeted him on the sidelines, Tommy walked up to Cole, put his arm around his shoulder, patted and said, “I’m really proud of you.”

Nick and I looked at each other like, what the?!

Thinking about it now, we must say things like that to Tommy for him to know the right context to do it in. 

And maybe we’re not such bad parents after all.

Spring Break for Kids

My kids have Spring break this week, so I’ll only be able to write a minimum amount this week as I try to balance giving them attention and going to work and getting my class work done.

I returned to my teenage years and danced to Falco’s “Rock Me Amadeus” today. This was one of the songs I used to blast from our stereo after school and dance to until I sweated out my frustrations and depression.

To Feel Alive

Not sure how to talk today. Something needs to change. I am failing at things so important to me.

I feel like I should go live in a cave where who I am won’t hurt others. Where I won’t destroy lives.

But even still, as I sit and write these words, I still have the fight within me. I still can recognize these are not the only voices inside of me. I call upon the words that tell me I can fix things, which tell me I can fight day by day.

But how is that fair to those who love the happy me? It isn’t. This is where the loop of depression tries to tangle me up.

Depression sinks its greedy claws into my thoughts and makes me feel like I should remove myself, that that’s what people really want, that that’s the only thing that will cure the people who love me. My removal.

I toss around the idea of pretending to be happy. I really do. Perhaps this is what others do. Perhaps this is what I need to do. Perhaps I am weak for giving into depression. Perhaps it really is a character flaw and not an illness.

I don’t know right now. I don’t know.

So I’m just trying to shake it out. I’m not trying to feel joy. I’m just trying to feel alive.

Let It Out

Express yourself.

Have you ever stopped and asked yourself what that actually means?

Express yourself.

What is the “yourself” that can be expressed? I feel like I’ve been trying to figure it out my whole life and I come up with different answers as I move through life.

I’ve tried many methods of expression: acting, dancing, modeling, writing, teaching. A lot of the time I’ve been expressing others’ words or ideas or what I think other people want and expect to see and hear.

Now that I’ve given myself free reign to express whatever is “myself,” I want to really get to the core of who I am when I express.

Sometimes I feel like that expression may just come out as pure feeling—like rage at certain injustices I see in the world. Other times, I feel like the expression is just a quiet whimper of emptiness that just wants to be seen and acknowledged.

I think we all have a need to express ourselves, to be seen, to be heard, to be understood.

Is it enough to just express or do we need a receiver on the other end? Does having someone witnessing our expression make the experience feel richer?

I think behind a lot of my expression is also the desire to reach others in some way, for them to be able to relate or be inspired, entertained or educated. So I think an audience can be very fulfilling.

I totally get it when Lady Gaga sings, “I live for the applause, applause, applause.”

I remember the days of applause and it did feel good.

Mix It Up

What would I do if I could do anything?

Why do I feel like I can’t do anything?

The things I do do, I feel like they are never good enough for this world that seems to demand perfection.

What would make me happy? If I knew I couldn’t fail, what would I do differently? What would I try?

For someone who was a stripper and a nude model, why am I so afraid to expose myself now? Because I’m afraid of failure. I’m afraid of never being good enough.

What is the antidote for feeling never good enough? I think it’s got to be to do what I want anyway, regardless of whether I’m good or not because if I’ll never think I’m good enough, if I don’t do something, I won’t do anything.

I guess I really need to figure out what’s most important to me, what brings me, or might potentially bring me, the most joy, then I need to do that thing.

Regardless of anything. 

I need to start allowing myself to do what I want even if it doesn’t fit into the mold that the world and I have accepted or deemed appropriate for me.

The Way I Feel

The world loves a winner. The world loves a winner who was a loser at some point even more. A beautiful, inspiring tale of—been there, done that, but look at me now, taking the high road!

The world does not love losers when they’re losing though.

When I was a stripper, I felt like people were always embarrassed for me, sad. Most people shook their heads and wondered why I was doing what I was doing when I could be doing so much more.

I was confused. Yes, of course, there were many horrible aspects to what I was experiencing, but I was also having fun. Little was required of me except to be pretty and dance. I could find employment wherever I went. I could step out of the real world and just dance.

For someone with depression, being able to step out of reality in a somewhat healthy way can be life-saving.

And being told I was pretty when I felt valueless was life-affirming.

What can I do now? I remind myself of my value because I know this is one of my underlying roots of depression. I know it has to be enough that I recognize my value as a human being, but oftentimes it doesn’t feel like enough to sustain me throughout the day.

I find myself tumbling back to a thought I often find myself face-to-face with, others cannot understand what I go through. They get tired of my state of being. At what point does it become unfair to them to have to live with someone who feels the way I do?

Good Days and Bad Days

Today I told my husband that I was fucking miserable.

And being the most awesome husband in the world, he told me to stop doing whatever is making me miserable. He told me to do what I feel I need to.

But I pointed out that I can’t stop doing the things that are making me miserable: raising a family, working, etcetera.

And he pointed out that I can.

I suppose I can or could. I could wake up one day and just not give my kids breakfast. I could not make their lunches. I could not go to work. I could not handle any of the zillion responsibilities I have.

But maybe my greatest fear is that even then, I would still be miserable.

Is it my life situation that creates my depression?

No, I really don’t think so. Would I be any happier if I had a nanny and no money worries? Well, probably, but I don’t think that would make everything better.

Would I like to run away to where no one needs anything from me? Where there are no demands made upon me?

Yes, I suppose that sounds nice, but I know that’s not what is going to make me “happy.”

I think one of my biggest fears is that nothing can make me happy. That this is who I am and I’m doomed to fight the rest of my life.

This is not me speaking, I remind myself for the umpteenth time. This is my depression. And today it has the upper hand and I just feel like crying.

Real Work Will Wait

Today I will be brave and chop off my hair! Well, I won’t, that would just be silly.

I keep wanting to grow my hair out long, but then I get to the phase I’m in now where I can absolutely not go another day with the way it looks.

Hence, today I will chop off my hair!

Of course, today I should also be grading papers and writing lesson plans, but I kind of don’t want to. I kind of don’t want to do anything.

The world will so not end if I don’t do my work today. Of course, then I’ll be scrambling to get everything done this weekend, which I will regret then.

But, then is not now. Now is now. And I want to work on something else, something fun.

Today I will give myself time to work on my romance novel.

The real work can wait until the kids are in bed.

Paper Demons: How to Battle Depression

When you’re depressed, the first thing you should reach for is a pen and paper to write out as much depressive gunk as possible, but you may consider yourself lucky just for getting out of bed.

I know how difficult creative motivation can be when you’re stuck in a depressive episode.

Why is it that so many writers get depressed? Or maybe the question is, why do so many people who have depression turn to writing?

Writing is a self-healing method that the body, mind and soul recognize as beneficial. Writers are also driven to express because of their deep level of introspection. Of course, some depressed people might be too introspective—thinking about the world until they become overwhelmed by thoughts, unable to write them out and instead drowning in them.

Why not plan ahead for those unavoidable miserable times? Choose now that the next time you notice yourself feeling depressed, the first thing you will do is write. Convince yourself now that every time you feel depressed, you will write automatically. As a smoker reaches for a cigarette out of habit—you’ll reach for a pen. Without thinking.

That would be a pretty good promise to make, but could you keep it?

I’ll admit it, when I’m depressed, writing feels like the last thing I want to do. I feel like I have nothing important enough to say and even if I did, who would want to read about it? But when I’m feeling pretty centered, I know that I do have things to say even when I’m depressed. In fact, when I’m depressed I’m very in touch with my deeper emotions. The longer I put off expressing that dark frame of mind, the more likely that part of me will never get understood.

I’ve wasted too much writing time being depressed. I’m sure you have, too.

The knowledge that writing can help lift the blanket of depression is a powerful tool in itself. Although you may have times when you are so depressed that you can’t even remember the fact that writing out your depression can help, perhaps there will be that one time when you remember.

Pick up a pen and a piece of paper and scrawl out all the horrid feelings you have, instead of going over them in your head. Exorcise your demons onto paper where you can see them, then you can be more objective about your feelings, certainly more so than when they were part of your internal dialogue.

Once thoughts are out on paper you can choose what you want to do with them. You put yourself back in control. You may want to put your written feelings away for a while. Open a desk drawer, shove them in and tell them you don’t feel like seeing them anymore today. Then when you feel stronger, go back. Reopen that drawer and pull out your paper demons and look at them square in the face. Demons don’t like this because suddenly they are seen for what they really are—just thoughts.

Take a good look at your depressing thoughts. Feel them. Acknowledge them. Now you have the upper hand. You are in control and choosing when and how you’ll come across them. Next time your demons show up in your head you may not feel so bad. You’ll recognize them as words on paper.

So, remember to shake some ink onto a page and lessen your wandering mind, thoughts and depression. Keep your hand moving. Empty it out. And then you can let the thoughts go away. Just like that. Send each thought packing with your pen strokes, right out into the air and away from your body and mind. 

Roll Your Hips, Baby! (No matter how silly you look…)

One of my guilty pleasure songs that I would normally never admit to liking is "Hips Don’t Lie" by Shakira ft.Wyclef Jean, but today I was looking for some music to really shake things up for myself and I’m here to say, I love this song.

My musical tastes usually run the gamut from alternative rock to classic rock to fizzy pop (I just made that up, but I think you know what I mean), but there’s something about Shakira that just makes me want to rumba (I have no idea what a rumba is).

Music and sex have always gone together. Sometimes a song will just make you feel like rolling your hips and swinging your arms and grinding the air, but don’t worry—no twerking here!

I just wanted to let some music wash through me and let my body go without trying to be “sexy.” I’ve shied away from dancing to music that might be construed by others as me trying to be sexy, but this song just makes me feel good.

And what’s the point of life if we aren’t allowing ourselves to feel good every now and then? Whatever good means to us…

Goodness gracious, am I going to turn myself into a feel-good guru? Like, I prescribe you to play a song every day that makes you feel like time has stopped, that makes you want to let your body go completely, that makes you want to dance and sing and laugh!

Yes! That is exactly what I prescribe. Get up and dance (and as you can see, you do not have to be able to “dance”; I most decidedly don’t move like I come from Columbia, rather like I come from some small CT suburb)!

Just get up and move!

Trust the Process

Great ideas abound inside of my mind. So many, in fact, that I don’t seem to get any of them done!

Does this sound familiar?

As any creative types are sure to understand, it’s not easy settling on a creative project to work on. What ends up happening instead is that I get nothing done except for daydreaming.

I’m finding my daily dance and blog is at least keeping me in the game by making sure I write something everyday. Dancing is keeping my energy moving and helping me to reconnect to my body in a healthy way. The daily check-in with my emotional state is also proving beneficial because I’m forced to deal with my demons on a daily basis.

All of my hesitancies about who I am and what I should be doing are being brought to the forefront. I’m choosing to see all of this as a “practice,” just like yoga or writing. I’m allowing myself to discover what things means in the moment instead of having it all figured out from the beginning, which never works for me.

What’s important is the process. And I’m in the process in all ways—physically, emotionally, creatively and spiritually.

Now I’m working on letting the process be enough. I’m constantly striving for the finished “product.” Not that there’s anything wrong with wanting to have something to show for all of one’s “practice,” but I’ve got to also let the practice be enough itself, without needing to prove anything to myself or others.

Dance Anyway!

Friday’s video gave me a lot to think about. Thanks to someone sharing my David Bowie “Fame” dance on a Bowie fan site, I’ve managed to rack up 750 views compared to my usual handful.

At first I was getting all these really nice comments and the virtual attention made me feel really good, but then I noticed a few snarks about my “dancing,” which made me reevaluate watching my numbers.

I had to remind myself why I’m even doing this.

I guess if someone were to just stumble upon one of my videos without knowing why I’m doing it, they might totally be like, “What? This girl can’t dance!”

I guess it doesn’t really make sense out of context. But even as I write this, I hear myself apologizing and wonder why I feel the need to do that. Like, a part of me wants to shout, “Hey! I’ve never had a dance lesson in my life! And I’m a mom with three kids. I’m not that bad with all things considered!”

But why do I even feel the need to justify my dancing? I’m dancing to feel joy, to remind myself I make my choices everyday whether to choose joy or to stay small and sad. I dance because it makes me feel good and I like sharing my videos to inspire others not to feel trapped by the world’s expectations.

Most people expect dance videos to be shared because the dancer is awesome. Well, you know what? I AM awesome, but I’m not a professional dancer. I’m awesome because I’m not afraid to be myself and share who that me is at the moment. I want to show the world that you don’t have to be a professionally trained singer or dancer or ANYTHING to want to share the joy you feel doing those things with the world.

We can just sing or dance or cook or write or run or tell jokes because it makes us feel alive. And sometimes feeling alive is all that matters.

And here I go again, apologizing for my video today: my camera battery was flashing, so I didn’t know if I’d have enough juice to get today’s video shot and then I started dancing to discover I had zero energy and didn’t know if I could make it through the song. The whole video, you may pick up on my mind saying, “I should quit. Why am I doing this? I can’t even make it through this one song. I’m going to quit…no, almost through…power through…”

Wow, no Zen mind here today.

Time Management

I remind myself that time is the one thing we all have equal amounts of, but with three kids and two jobs, it often feels like I’m on the short end of the receiving line.

I just finished working on a large grant for the literacy center where I volunteer. It feels so good to finish a looming project and really be done with it, to be able to check it off the mental list of things needing to be done.

There are enormous lists of projects I want to accomplish, but the hard part is always trying to decide which to focus on next and right when I think I’ll have a few moments to work uninterrupted, something else calls to me (often quite literally it is a small human tugging on one of my body parts).

Then all the daily work “needs” shout louder to be dealt with: take care of the kids and the home, write lesson plans for two colleges, grade papers and other assorted administrative stuff, then there are health and relationship issues to be dealt with.

And all of a sudden it’s Midnight and I’ve got nothing “extra” accomplished for the day. I think I need to set time, even if it is a tiny amount of like 30 minutes a day, to work on new writing projects. If I commit to it, just as I’ve committed to dancing and reflecting on my mental state every day, maybe I can squeeze out a few more valuable minutes out of the day.

Or I could just take a chill-pill and be happy with getting done the basics, but I think that’s not healthy overall for me. If I’m not working on something, writing something, plotting something, I think that’s when I become stagnant and depressed.

Now to figure out where I’m getting those extra thirty minutes from…

Baby Steps...I Kept My Cool!

Do you ever notice how things happen in clumps?

Like if someone sneezes twice, it’s likely they’re going to sneeze a third time. If a few people die, you’re almost waiting for the next phone call.

That seems to be happening with me in the technological area the last few days. First, a grant I’m helping to write for a literacy center that I volunteer with—the website I was inputting all the data into crashed (or rather my computer crashed) and none of it was saved and I had to go back and re-input all the info.

Now, I make a video on the same camera I’ve been using for two weeks and all of a sudden it won’t upload.

Won’t. Do. It.

I had to remake the video and make it shorter; I’m thinking the computer won’t transfer a video longer than five minutes or something.

Frustrating.

I’ve been watching myself the whole time. Watching my reactions to these frustrations that are kind of out of my control. Seriously, it’s like I’m this little bird fluttering above my head and watching it all go down. And to get really meta on you, I’m also aware of myself above myself, so it’s like a triple-awareness circle going on.

Now here comes the good part. I didn’t lose my cool.

Didn’t. Lose. It. At. All.

Normally, I’d be cursing and blaming the Universe for hating me, but over the last few days I’ve been much more aware of what I can and cannot control and how all I really can do sometimes is say—so what?

I can’t go back in time and change some things and it’s pointless in getting upset about them. Sometimes I just have to say, it happened, what should I do now (besides getting all upset and losing even more time in the process)?

So I made a new video and made it shorter and you know what I learned? That I’m really out of shape (that’s why you’ll notice I kind of petered out at the end there) and I could probably stand to start building up my fitness level with more dancing or more yoga.

And if bad mojo really does happen in clumps, at least I’ll be ready for it.

Honor the Self

One thing I’ve noticed, now that I’m two weeks into doing my daily dance devotion, is that I’m becoming less attached to the outcome every day, which for me is a good thing.

I tend to be perfectionistic and unable to “do” things in front of people that I don’t think I’m good at, which is why dancing and sharing it afterwards is healing for me. At first, I had all kinds of questions about my motivations and what I hoped to achieve from dancing, but every day, it matters less.

I’m finding that a lot of the good feelings I get from dancing and blogging are reverberations of the pride I feel in myself for showing up every day. I suppose it is much like a dedicated yoga practice or a devout religious person who shows up every day to their mat or to their place of worship to begin their day.

Right now, my place of worship, devotion, is here, to myself.

I have carved out this little place (very little, with too many toys, as you will see in today’s video), this little time, this little space to honor myself. To honor whomever shows up on the floor with whatever issues have arisen since last I met myself.

I will honor myself today. I will rise and move today. I will be alive and conscious.

Pump It Up

Today I just need to get my energy moving. I need to be proactive and ignore the voices in my head. I need to do what I know to be good for myself, whether I want to or not.

I cannot focus in on what I feel or don’t feel. I cannot let the deadened me win.

I need to act as if: as if I know who I am, as if I matter, as if life holds meaning, as if I am capable of loving and being loved.

I need to keep returning to this thought today: This is not a permanent state of being.

Just because I cannot access the joy right now does not mean I will never be able to feel it.

I will not deny what is going on for me right now, but I will not give in to it either.

I am capable of joy. If I close my eyes and focus on my heart, I can feel it. The love is still there. I am still there.

I will remind myself to close my eyes at every given possible moment today and tell myself I am.

Remember These Things

Remember to reach out to friends and family whenever I feel myself being pulled under depression’s tidal wave.

Remember that I am valuable.

I do not need others’ approval to have value.

Stop judging myself for what I feel.

Remember my value and be of service to those who suffer like me.

I am not alone.

I do have value and that’s why I’m dancing—to remind myself of it every day. To feel my body move. To challenge myself to acceptance. To see myself as I truly am, warts and all. To celebrate life. To feel good, if only for a few minutes.

I do not need to be anything the world wants me to be. All I have to do is be me and value that person.

Riding the Waves

Trying to figure out how to speak about what’s in my head is difficult.

Many people who have suffered from depression know what it’s like to not want to scare people you love or sound like you’re looking for sympathy or just that you’re a jerk.

That’s part of why I think depressed people don’t talk about what they’re going through. There’s quite a sense of shame and stigma attached to what is inside our head. As if we are choosing to feel depressed because we aren’t trying hard enough to not be depressed.

I understand that at the moment the thoughts I’m having and the feelings I’m experiencing are transient. I’ve been through this before and as long as I monitor my own self, I will be fine. As long as I stay detached like this, where I can step back and see my depression from a somewhat healthy part of myself, I know I will be OK.

It really is like waves. If I remind myself, when the waves do not have me completely engulfed, that all I have to do is remember I know how to swim and that I will float to the surface if I don’t get scared and fight the rising water, I will rise. I will bob to the surface.

One wave at a time.

I Will Dance

One of the hardest parts of being in depression's depths is when others don’t understand.

Snap out of it!

But you have so much to be thankful for!

Focus on the positive!

Your life is great!

My depression often has nothing to do with my outside circumstances.

I’ll admit I’m having a bad day today. The weight of the darkness is residing in my chest and my body physically hurts.

I woke up with a sense of gloom hanging over me, a sense of the meaninglessness of it all.

I reminded myself of all those things well-intentioned people point out—I have a beautiful family, work, a house, food, but none of that matters.

The children start the day off arguing:

Sit on my bed first, Mommy!

No, mine!

Even though we’ve worked out a schedule where I take turns of whose bed I’ll sit on first—that all falls away into whining and crying. And then the oldest joins in.

It’s not the kids and the arguing and noise that makes me depressed, but when I’m already depressed, this kind of nonsense just spirals me out of control.

Before I know it, the morning has devolved into everyone screaming and crying and my daughter wrapping her arms around me, telling me it’s going to be OK.

As I sat there on the bathroom floor, dripping wet from the shower, naked, with her arms wrapped around me, I felt so hopeless, like nothing was possible.

It was then that I realized the depression is really coming back. The euphoria of the initial off-the-meds that my system went through is wearing off. The debilitating thoughts are returning.

As I calmed down and managed to get myself dressed, I told myself there’s no way I’m going back on meds. I told myself there’s no way I’m going to traumatize my kids for life either.

I drove my kids to school. I got a soy, no water chai and returned home. I sat down at my keyboard and was able to write. This is a good thing.

And I will dance.

I have these things still today.

The Monster In Me

Do I want to make friends with my monster? Or fight it to its death? Is the monster a part of me? A sick part? Or just a byproduct of my culture? Is it something to be slayed or something to be tamed?

I’ve tried so many methods of dealing with my depression over the years: ignoring it until it wasn’t possible anymore, hating myself and the world and blaming everyone and everything else, taking out its frustrations against myself through self-harm in multiple methods throughout the decades, embracing it and trying to accept it as who I am rather than as a disease, medicating myself into a fog of supposed tranquility, trying desperately day-by-day to meet its ugly face, writing about it and now—a new approach that uses a little of all these past attempts.

I’m meeting my monster every day and trying to shake it out of my system. I’m writing about what comes up every day as I deal with this monster that is depression. I’m taking a stand before its claws become so sunk in again that I can’t breathe, that I can’t move.

I am moving. I am dancing. I am sharing my struggle, my journey, with others in hopes of being a handle for others who might need to grab on. And in turn, I am hoping that when I need someone to grab onto, I will find others who understand and who will be there for me to hold onto.

But the biggest problem is that when the monster is in control, I can’t reach out. I go into hiding. I become the monster.

Is my urge toward creativity the way I make sense of who I am? If I didn’t try to understand myself, didn’t try to express this thing inside of me that wants to be released, would I then become the monster for good?

Would the monster win?

Trying to Just Dance, But All This Other Stuff Keeps Coming Up

I’ve been thinking about what made my stripping different from the dancing I’m doing now—besides the getting naked part.

I’m obviously dancing for me now rather than for pleasing a male customer, but I am sharing my dancing, which does give me an audience, albeit once-removed.

When I was a stripper, I was overtly dancing to be sexy, but because I’m an actress first and foremost, I was never (well, except when I was tired, depressed or angry) not “performing.” I didn’t just get on stage and booty shake.

I like to think I was more like a burlesque dancer, who had intention behind her performances other than just “being” sexy. I performed improvisational routines or performances. My dancing was like a narrative unfolding, not just clothes shedding.

I’ve been having a recurring thought about what it would be like to perform to what I refer to as “strip songs”—the songs I relied heavily on in the clubs. I know that sometimes I’ll be in a grocery store or Target and hear one of those songs come on and I am filled with the urge to dance, to “strip.”

And some of those songs aren’t altogether typical stripper songs either. I had mixed tapes (yes, cassettes!) that I used at some clubs. I danced to Depeche Mode, which is not the first band to pop into most people’s heads when one says Stripper Songs!

What I’m finding interesting as I dance now is that my body naturally moves in ways sometimes that might be thought of as “sexy,” even when I’m not trying to (and actually trying to NOT be sexy) and I’ve been judging myself.

I’m just trying to have fun and fight my depression. Then I hear the question, umm…since when isn’t sexy fun?

I’m not surprised by my own judgments, my own fears, my own insecurities.

I wonder what would happen if I allowed myself to feel sexy. If I allowed myself to dress to look “pretty” and wore heels. If I found Enjoy the Silence on Youtube and played it and witnessed what my body would do.

I’m not ready for that place today. I just want to remind myself to allow this day to be the best it can be.

You're Going to Hear Me Roar (I Think, I Mean, I'll Try...)

How does movement help fight depression?

My friend said it’s like this—if we keep moving, the bad thoughts can’t catch us.

Sheila running from depression
(actually from that guy in the yellow shirt who said we couldn't shoot there)

The only problem is that I can’t keep moving at all times. I can barely get myself to move at all sometimes, especially when I’m depressed.

I’ve felt some bad mojo building up the last few days; I’m hoping it’s because I didn’t take the time to do my daily dance over the weekend.

I definitely believe in a life force that moves through us; I AM a yoga teacher, after all. It makes sense that it is beneficial to get that life force flowing throughout the whole system, if only on that base a level.

Then there are all the other systems and levels that movement frees up.

The other interesting thing about movement for me is the myriad of other issues that are all tied up in it other than just depression.

I can’t dance freely and watch it play back on video without some of these other issues arising from day to day: my stripping past, my body image issues, my self-esteem and self-confidence (or lack of), the roles I play, my desire to be a performer and be seen, my desire to help others create change and a happier life.

Today, I’ll just pick a song that I know makes me feel good when I hear it and let it pump me up for my day. I will use Katy Perry’s inspiration to inspire me and keep me lifted. I will remind myself that I can roar in my own way, or that I will try, at least for another day.

Choosing My Voices

Why are you doing this? It’s a big waste of time. You have too many other things to take care of. You should be grading papers. You should be writing important things, big things. You should be trying to make a buck to improve your family’s life.

You’re an embarrassment. Do you really want strangers seeing you dance badly? Do you want this on your permanent record? Do you want this to come back and haunt you some day?

Can’t you just hear the questions: Don’t you think that was poor judgment on your part, to post photos of yourself dancing on Youtube? Don’t you think you’re too old for that kind of nonsense?

Well, if I listened to these voices I would probably have quit already.

I’ve got news for you Depression. There’s a new boss in town and she’s calling the shots.

I know the voices I choose to listen to today. The voices that tell me to have fun and celebrate life, to do what makes my heart sing, to express myself, to find joy in the moment and in movement.

I will dance. I will celebrate my life and my body. I will be the person I choose to be.

A Mom's Search for Meaning

I just finished listening to “A Man’s Search for Meaning” by Victor E. Frankl as an audio book. I had read it when I was getting my MFA.

My psychiatrist had recommended I read it again. He’s been pushing me to find deeper meaning for my life, to transcend my self and self-actualize.

I think a big part of me fights the idea that my deeper meaning and transcendence should come from some inherent joy I should receive from being a mother, a wife, because I always feel like those things aren’t “important” enough in some way.

I understand it though. If I base my happiness and meaning on outer rewards like writing a successful and popular book, then I’m just being goal-oriented.

)

If I can find deeper meaning and fulfillment from my lot in life right now, then I have a greater chance of feeling full rather than depressed. But I also know that I don’t feel personally satisfied or complete with being “just” a mom. Perhaps I have some deeply ingrained ideas that being a mother isn’t really important or honored in the world. Perhaps I don’t see being a mom as important.

I am very happy to be a mother. I want to embrace this role as much as possible, but I also have to be true to those deeper rumblings, which tell me I need to dance or sing or perform or write or whatever.

I need these activities, these pursuits, for me.

I will make room for me in my life. I will say that what I desire is important.

Side note. Isn’t it interesting that after watching my video from today that I feel the need to defend my belly? I had to keep telling myself to look away from the belly while watching. I know, now that I’ve drawn attention to it, you won’t be able to look away either.

But why do I feel the need to defend it? All my thoughts flying through my brain: I wish that I had not worn a short top that exposed my belly. I should have realized my belly would look wobbly and been more thoughtful to my viewers and covered it up. But I’ve had three babies and I haven’t been working out. Will people be disappointed in me for not having abs of steel? Will be people be disappointed in me for caring I don’t have abs of steel?

Why must I judge myself even when I’m having fun?

It’s interesting. And I’m proud of myself for seeing my issue that way. As something interesting to note and wonder about.

Gotta Give What I've Got

Today was the first day that my mind upped its game and started whispering destructive thoughts in my head.

I was quick to shut down the unhelpful and unhealthy words though. I sent them packing. And while I could still feel their rumblings of negativity in my blood, I was able to focus my more conscious thoughts on my day ahead.

I’m not sure if it’s cause and effect or just a building up of stress, but I’ve been noticing over the last few days a sense of overwhelm. I have so many projects and responsibilities resting upon my shoulders right now that I do not have enough time to give all the things time that deserve and demand my attention.

I know I only have so much to give, but I keep wanting to do more and accomplish more, especially when I have made promises to people.

)

My friend Marion Loguidice’s song Gotta Give What You Got popped into my head today as a good anthem for myself. I need to give what I have while I can, but I also need to give to myself. As a mom, this often gets pushed to the back of the stove.

I’ll only have a little bit to give if I don’t take care of myself.

I've Got To Get Up and Try

I dialed it down a notch today; I’m feeling like my body isn’t quite ready for Lady Gaga. I returned to my yoga roots and let myself flow through my morning madness. I trusted in the radio to provide me with a good song and Pink’s “Try” was perfect.

I focused on the words: You've gotta get up and try, and try, and try.

Pull myself up by the bootstraps. Live one day at a time. And all that crap.

)

Sentimental, corny, and true.

Some days it’s about getting up, dealing with the four kittens that were born in my dining room that night, getting the kids fed, dressed and to school, writing, preparing lesson plans, grading and going to work.

And making sure I give myself at least those five minutes to dance or sing or stretch or whatever makes me feel good and alive.

But is it enough to sustain me throughout an entire day? How long can I make the good feelings last?

Rage, Body Image Issues and Bad Romance

Rage is a new feeling for me and it scares me because it makes me imagine what it must be like for other people whose rage is even stronger than mine.

I yelled at Tommy this weekend because he wanted water after bedtime even though he’d already said he didn’t want any. My exhaustion didn’t want me to get up and get it for him.

So I yelled. Loudly.

I am so mad at you.

His little feet padding away down the hallway sipping at his little turtle cup.

You are so rude!

This little three-year-old being. A deep, but not rational, part of me thinks he’s trying to get away with something. It’s a power play and I shouldn’t give in. And he’s starting to scream again after a good half-an-hour of yelling at bedtime. And that’s why I screamed.

I’m so tired. I’ve got nothing left inside me.

Must these bursts of rage be a part of my life without antidepressants? Are they normal?

I must admit I was looking forward to my dancing today. I’m already enjoying the “me” time. I dance just for me. And to feel joy or whatever strong emotions I can shake out of my being.

An interesting phenomenon arose today after I viewed my video of me dancing to Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance.

I noticed not only the joyfulness of my dancing, but I noticed the negatives, too. I saw how my arms are out of shape and kind of wobbly. I saw my funny faces that I’m sure people will laugh at and judge. I saw some dance moves that looked a bit suggestive and silly.

But on the bright side, I also noticed how quickly I was able to say, so what?

This dancing thing is for me. For me to fight my depression. And to learn more about myself.

One big thing I learned today, I am not in great physical shape. After dancing, I had a coughing fit and some serious lung ache.

How in the world do performers dance all-out AND sing at the same time, for goodness’ sake?

This is me. These are my issues. Welcome to my world.

Fight Depression with Passion

Passion is the key word. This is what I want in my life.

The more closely aligned I am to this feeling for more and more of my days, I believe I will be slashing away at my depression.

Passion is like the antidote to depression, but of course, the problem arises when I cannot even dream about living in passion because depression has deadened me so much.

This is why I need to start big at first. I need to make myself do something that is so passion-filled that I cannot but help feel a bit better, which for me is expressive dancing (or dancing like a crazy head).

And truly the only way I think I can guarantee I will engage in that passion-filled dancing is if I make it a must instead of a should. That is why I need to videotape it and include it here. This is like my daily weigh-in, only it’s a am-I-doing-all-I-can-for-myself-to-be-healthy-today-in.

This blog will act as my reminder that I have made a promise to myself, to fight depression with fire.

The experiment then becomes, is that enough to keep me true to myself? And can dancing with all my heart to one song a day actually help me battle my depression and live life fully?

Push Myself Into Joy

I’ve been off antidepressants for almost a month now. The euphoria of experiencing real joy, laughter and happy emotions is wearing off already. At first, as my body and mind cleared of the medication fog I’ve come to know as my normal state of being, I saw things brighter, laughed heartier and felt optimistic beyond my greatest imaginings.

Suddenly, writing projects that I had to force myself to work on took on new importance, new urgency.

The joys I was experiencing were enough to make the equally strong difficult emotions that were arising seem not so bad. Yes, I was having bursts of anger and rage jump from my being with no filter, but that was to be expected. At least I was experiencing my emotions outwardly as opposed to what I’d become accustomed to—only depression and always projected inwardly.

But the heavy thoughts are returning already. They are trying to take over, trying to show me who’s boss. The depression is slinking in through the cracks, building momentum as I lose my forward thrust through life. I feel it in my bones.

I know I can always return to meds if it gets as bad as it has in the past, but I want to try something else first.

I realize that I have to be proactive every day. It is not enough to want to be happy for someone who suffers from depression. At least not for me.

I have to push myself into joy every day. I have to choose joy to show my depression who’s really boss.

I’ve tried this in many ways in the past, but never succeeded for very long, so I’ve been asking myself what really brings me joy. What am I missing from my life?

Something that keeps coming up is that I miss performing. I miss expressing myself through my body, through my voice, through my energy. When I am teaching writing or yoga, I enter into that blissful place of non-time. I love connecting with an audience; I love inspiring others to feel and find joy.

And I do love to dance and to sing. Even though I am not trained. Even though I don’t know the “right” way to do these things. I do know they bring me joy. And I want more joy in my life.

So, this is my experiment. I will share here on my blog, once a day, me finding my joy, pushing myself into my joy.

It may be embarrassing, but I don’t care. This is what I teach my students to do. This is what I need to do.

Push myself into my joy, even if it means stepping outside of my comfort zone. No more living life small and depressed. No more caring what others think.

I choose joy today. (And hopefully tomorrow I will convince myself to find joy once more.)

I am freaking awesome just the way I am

I remember the first time I heard Lorde’s song Royals on the radio, before anyone knew who she was; I said to myself, This woman is going to be famous.

When I learned she was only seventeen, I was blown away.

Seeing such talent in young women usually gives me two mixed reactions: 1) I feel like anything is possible and there is still great art and expression to be made by others and myself, and 2) I feel like I am way too old to have any impact in the world with my creativity and I might as well roll over and let the young people talk to the world.

Then I sober up emotionally and intellectually and realize there’s room for all our voices. The “Lordes” and the “me’s.”

It’s imperative to hear what the youth, who are experiencing the American culture upfront and loud make of it, but it’s also important to hear the balance and hindsight of our older voices.

Us.

The ones who have actually been saying “I'm kind of over gettin' told to throw my hands up in the air” for years or even decades.

Witnessing a seventeen-year-old taking risks and feeling like she has the right and audacity to say what’s she sick of in our popular culture, then maybe I can use her as inspiration to voice my own upset as a forty-two-year-old.

I definitely am over being told to throw my hands up in the air. I’m tired of being told to always be happy and carefree. But what I’m really over is being told what I‘m supposed to be and look like in so many hidden and not-so-hidden messages.

And it’s that special time of year again when the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition makes its debut on the newsstands. Showing us again that no matter what we say about women’s bodies, the ones that get celebrated publicly are the ones that fit a certain beauty ideal.

But you know what? I'm kind of over getting told to push my boobs up in the air.

So there.

I’m kind of over trying to live up to our culture’s beauty ideal, of worrying whether my thighs are thundering, of checking my butt in the mirror before I walk out the door.

I’m kind of over big boobs being worshipped.

That’s it.

I’m changing my life today.

I will no longer care what other people think.

I will live my life the way I choose and have no regrets.

I will teach yoga and writing in my own unique way, which will not please everyone, but I don’t care. I’m an awesome teacher and I make a difference in many people’s lives.

I will dance as if no one is watching, even when someone is.

I will sing loud even if people cover their ears.

I will write about the issues important to me.

I’m done with playing small in life. Except when it comes to my breasts. They are small and they are beautiful.

I’m done with never feeling good enough. I’m done with getting down on myself for not being perfect.

Today I take my stand.

I am freaking awesome just the way I am.

Some people will love me and some will hate me. It doesn’t matter either way.

I feel it. I know what’s important. Just like most of the women in our culture know it sometimes.

But I want to live it. Every day. I want to know it every day.

I AM beautiful just the way I am. I am worthy. I am important.

I hereby give myself permission to love my body, my life and myself. Little boobs and all.

Won’t you join me and say enough is enough already?

What are YOU over? What is holding you back from fully loving yourself and your life? Turn it on its head.

Let’s take back our self-esteem and our lives.

Let’s proudly show the world the women that we are. The women that should be—and can be—celebrated. 

But we need to make that choice before anyone else will make it for us. We need to demand the world change to reflect what we want to see.

I'm old enough and wise enough now to not be too proud to admit that I need to remind myself every day that I am worthy. That I am freaking awesome just the way I am.

Let's be the women who make that change so that our daughters won't need to remind themselves of that ever.

Strip Tease Was About More Than Sexual Fantasy

This article in The New York Post, Fantasy-selling strip clubs must pay taxes: judge, reminds me of a similar case in upstate New York last year.

Women take the stage at the Hustler Club.                                   Photo: Getty Images

In both clubs, the management argued they shouldn't have to pay taxes because of an old law on the books, which allows establishments to not pay taxes for “live dramatic, choreographic or musical performance.”

I can totally see how a strip club would try to snake by on this law.

And as I have discussed before, there are certain strippers, who on certain days, really are "dramatic" entertainers.

But let's get real. Even when I had an amazing dramatic performance as a stripper, I knew what most of the men were there for.

Wait a minute. I can't believe I'm backtracking. A lot of customers were certainly not there for a "choreographic" performance, but they were there for much more than just "sexual fantasy."

The customers came to have someone to talk to. To have friends to hang out with. To feel like they were worthy of being talked to by others. To waste time. To find time. To drown their sorrows. To forget life for a while. To live. To be seen. To disappear.

Some of the same reasons I was there.

And, yes. For some of us, when we went up onstage, under the rosy lights when time stood still, we were there to perform. To become sexual fantasies. To become seen and loved and adored from afar. From near.

Sheila Hageman as Kirea at The Blue Angel, NYC

We were human.

The customers. And me.

My Open Letter to Victoria's Secret

Here's my latest Huffington Post blog about the controversy surrounding a woman who was not allowed to breastfeed inside a Victoria's Secret store.

I mean, really? Please someone tell me that's not a store policy.

Read more here: An Open Letter to Victoria's Secret...

My Five-Minute Breaks from Feminism

When I saw this headline from The Onion, Woman Takes Short Half-Hour Break From Being Feminist To Enjoy TV Show, I laughed and cringed at the same time.

PORTLAND, OR—Saying that she just wanted a little time to relax and “not even think about” confining gender stereotypes, local health care industry consultant Natalie Jenkins reportedly took a 30-minute break from being a feminist last night to kick back and enjoy a television program. 

Jenkins, 29, told reporters that after a long and tiring day at her office, all she wanted to do was return home, sit down on her couch, turn on an episode of the TLC reality show Say Yes To The Dress, and treat herself to a brief half hour in which she could look past all the various and near constant ways popular culture undermines the progress of women.

I immediately got a guilty/funny flash in my tummy.

From The Onion

Umm, hee, hee…I’m a feminist, but umm…I kind of like to, well…

I get a divine rush of—oh my God, how could she?!—when I read about what Kim Kardashian wore or did.

My fingers tremble to reach out and pick up that copy of People at the grocery store checkout to find out if Jennifer Aniston is finally pregnant.

I secretly dream I have huge breasts and wear push-up bras and low-cut sweaters.

I like how my legs look when I wear heels.

I wish my wrinkles would magically disappear overnight.

I swoon when my husband opens the car door for me.

I enjoy Miley Cyrus’ Wrecking Ball song and video.

And yes, even though the lyrics can be seen as kind of “rapey” and women are being objectified, I don’t turn the channel when Robin Thicke’s Blurred Lines is on the radio (unless my kids are in the car).

Phew. I feel better after my little confession.

Now back to the originally scheduled Sheila.

What are your dirty, not-fighting-the-fight secrets that you do not want anyone to know?

Come on…I dare you…

Performer Sexual Integrity

The Daily Mail has a thought-provoking article today: Now opera gets sexy: Singer who stripped down to a leopard-print leotard says performers SHOULD embrace their sexuality (just not 'desperate' Miley Cyrus) by Leon Watson.

@Alastair Muir

The opera performer Danielle de Niese who is appearing in Francesco Cavalli's bawdy opera La Calisto at the Bayerische Staatsoper in Munich, Germany, explains that her appearance in La Calisto is different from a performance like Miley’s.

“She claimed she only strips down when she has 'artistic integrity.'

 Cyrus, she says, is trying to 'break free from her previous image.’”

de Niese explains that she believes there is a difference to sexually charged performances that have to do with the purpose of the performance.

I agree heartily with the idea that it is important for women to embrace their sexuality and their own sexual identity. The purpose for performing in a sexual way or stripping down on stage can make the difference between something being seen as crass and desperate or beautiful and meaningful.

Of course, it is hard to read a person’s mind when they are performing. Yes, we might say Miley Cyrus’ performances seem to have to do with creating a new image, but who are we to say that is wrong?

Yes, it all may be a carefully crafted marketing strategy, but how do we know if she feels sexually liberated? Only the person behind the performance can really know if what they are doing has integrity or not.

I believe an opera singer and a pop singer may have artistic integrity in their sexually alive performances.

I find myself deeply exploring the idea of my own expressed-sexuality lately. After many years of turning my back on my stripper/nude model former self, I find myself wanting to return to the roots of that identity that really were supportive and empowering. I have focused so much on the negatives of stripping, I feel myself wanting to reconnect to myself as a “performer” and what that really means to me.

Kvon Photography

Who decides what is appropriate representation versus negative for each of us? I can only answer to my own thoughts about what is integrity-filled for me today.

I want to explore that performer part of myself again, but on my own terms this time.

Can Stripping Be Empowering?

A video segment I appeared in for Huffington Post has been posted on AOL Jobs, Can Strip Clubs Be Places Of Empowerment?

Watching it just made me realize how ANY place can be a place of empowerment, but sometimes only after the fact.

I didn't feel too empowered when men were belittling me back then, but I do feel empowered that I survived and managed to not be too bitter.

It's all in what we make of what happens in our lives...

Ed Miliband On Page 3 and Topless Women

Ed Miliband  - The Huffington Post

Things are a changing, world.

The No More Page 3 Campaign in England is really showing how to create change. 

Start the conversation and it will spread.

There is no place in the modern world for pictures of topless women in newspapers like The Sun, Ed Miliband sensationally said today. 

But the Labour leader said he will not ban Page 3 pin-ups if he becomes prime minister after the 2015 general election.

This article on the Huffington Post UK uses a quote by me...

Blogging exclusively for The Huffington Post UK, a former topless model also advocated highlighting women's talents and abilities in the Sun, rather than just their flesh. 

"When I was 18, I used nude modeling as a way to earn money to support my acting career," wrote author and mum of three Sheila Hageman. 

"Was I thrilled and empowered by my job? Some days and jobs, yes, but the majority of my time was spent consumed by inner conflict about my choice. 

"Just because an attractive woman decides to pose topless does not mean she's happy about it," she wrote.

I've been rethinking my past a lot lately. I am trying to come to new acceptance for myself and looking for ways to embrace my sexuality, which I feel sometimes I cut off when I left the adult entertainment business.

There is most definitely a place for sexy, but it is not in a daily newspaper.

Get Naked in Seattle

Yanhong Ma’s “Venice Hotel,” 2012.

I wish I was in Seattle to see this exhibit called "Get Naked," as reviewed in the Seattle Times.

“Get Naked,” at Bryan Ohno Gallery in Seattle, comprises works by eight women who depict their own and others’ bodies in ways that are honest, graphic and elusive, writes reviewer Gayle Clemans.

I go back and forth in my mind about how and what I feel the need to express about the way women's bodies are represented.

I feel like there's something inside of myself. Something to be expressed.

I'm glad there are other women out there actually doing it--exploring female imagery in relation to sexuality and power.

I'm getting a creative itch that I don't yet know how to scratch.