Lisa K. Friedman Shares Story of Sister in Hello Wife...

 

My hobbies? The last thing in the world I wanted was more alone time to sew or stamp or paste. I’d had enough isolation. Enough one-sided conversations with dogs. Having another person in the house was so satisfying. I made the whole box of pasta for my super rich bolognaise sauce. I roasted a whole pork tenderloin, a full-sized roasting chicken. I’d stopped replenishing my Tupperware supply. With two people, there were never any leftovers. Jimbo had never kept a home. I had to teach him the basics like how to turn on the dishwasher and how to load laundry into the machine. For a time, I thought he’d share some of these tasks with me, but I was wrong. I didn’t care. It didn’t matter. If I brought homemaking into his experience, he brought a life of belonging into mine. I was finally included into the mainstream of We. God, how I loved that pronoun. We watched Law and Order. We’re having lunch. We like spaghetti. In Walmart, we raced wheelchair shopping carts side by side, and I commiserated with the checkout lady about husbands who don’t remember to reload the toilet paper holder while Jimbo fumbled to find the proper coupons in the clippings folder. We shouted our orders into the drive-thru microphone, sets of two. Two cokes. Two pot pies. Two. Two. Two. Two is an even number. Two is a number that implies balance. Two is magic. We went to all our appointments together. We sat close together in doctor’s office waiting rooms. We helped diagnose each other, reviewing symptomology and incidences in complicated conversations. We got most of our information from the internet. We shared the same issues. Pain. Distress. Nonspecific discomforts. Jimbo introduced me to his pain management doctor, who was a friend of a cousin, and who wrote prescriptions for the lollipops that Jimbo loved. Morphine pops. Fentanyl pops. The pain doctor took care of all Jimbo’s refills. All his therapies. We bought discount packs of spinal epidurals that we scheduled together so we could hold hands during the procedures. At night, we rested together in bed, holding hands and watching television. I felt like I was finally able to breathe for the very first time; every pill was a revelation, every treatment a discovery. I called him Husband and he called me Wife. Wife! I loved the sound of that word! For the first time in my life, I was part of the club, an honored guest in the secret society called marriage. All the defenses I’d built up, the hobbies, the small friendships, the hours and hours of recorded television entertainment, were like sunfish boats set asea. Gone. Disappeared with all the mishaps and stories of my single life onboard. I’d always believed that marriage was a happy place. “I’m so glad I married your grandfather,” my grandmother spoke with the satisfaction of a person who’d made good choices. Apparently, she’d been dating another guy when she met my grandfather. He’d stolen her away, she recalled the fairy tale element of their union. My grandfather had died at the best part of her life, leaving her alone for the hardest part, old age, and yet she talked of their time together with simple lightness. “He used to surprise me every Halloween,” she recalled. “He’d put on a rubbery face mask and go around the side of the house to ring the front doorbell. When I’d answer, he’d yell, “Trick or Treat!” He also used to drop her off places and forget to pick her up. And he wandered off every time they had company to the house, preferring the companionship of his dog and his pipe to socializing with people. But mostly, she’d been happy. My parents did not share any of their marriage difficulties. I do remember one large container of flowers delivered to the house with a note in my father’s handwriting that read: Anger makes wrinkles. “You get used to each other,” my mother provided wisdom in small packages when we were girls. Maybe she confided in more detail to Celia who married at twenty-six and therefore had a need for more serious information. There was much I’d missed as a single person. I am sure I idealized my parents’ marriage, but what child doesn’t? By the time I got married, my parents had already passed their fifty-third anniversary. My sister never suffered an unhappy married day. But then, it is possible that the difficulties she encountered were not shared with me. She was, in some ways, like my mother. Reluctant to share too much about her own issues What she did share were the insignificant mishaps, the minor snafus of living as a pair. Conflicts over paint colors. Unleaded gas in the car or premium. Small insults. Habits and tics of silly annoyances. If I hadn’t met Jimbo, I’d have never known what it means to absorb another person, to join as one. The secrets afforded to the married were at once offered to me and I soared. What a marvel, to be a couple! To share the air with someone, to sit quietly and listen to each other’s breaths. I learned his sounds and he learned mine. His stomach percolated while he slept. His urine splashed in the toilet water like spring rain, delicate and intermittent. The patter of his pale bare feet on the laminate flooring was soft as ballet, for a pudgy man he walked with an angel’s grace. We kissed. We kissed and tickled and tumbled on top of one another. What had been a terrifying concept, that I would never be loved, became a known trust: he loved me. Jimbo loved me. And he showed his love in attention and hugs and in a constant consciousness of my well-being. “How do you feel?” he’d ask, and I’d answer, “I feel with my hands.” This was our private language, our secret banter. It meant: I am so happy to be with you. I loved making his pastrami sandwiches on wheat and driving him to his appointments. I loved watching his favorite television shows and learning how to read the horse racing sheets. I loved everything about him. That we could not have sex didn’t really bother me. I welcomed him into my bed as you’d welcome a discomfited child who scurries under the blankets for shelter during a lightning storm. Come to me. Lie with me. Let me stroke your face. Every night at eight, Jimbo calls his mother. They have a very strong connection. Indeed, they share an intense history. After the car accident that killed his father, Jimbo took to his bed, in his mother’s house. She cooked his meals, delivered his meds. She drove him to doctors’ appointments and picked up his prescriptions. At night, she drew a chair up close to the bed and they watched television together. It was no wonder that she got a little persnickety when Jimbo and I started seeing each other. I was hoping she’d be happy for us. That she will not come to our little wedding is a serious disappointment, but no matter how I press, he is unable to convince her. I am already planning the party. I want bowls of jellybeans on the tables, servers dressed in renaissance costumes, and an old-fashioned popcorn machine with a butter dispenser stationed at the entrance. Also, I’m going to pass out party horns so everyone can participate in the festivity. I already invited the tattoo artist who opened a business in his garage across the street and a few of my better neighbors. Plots will come of course. And Perla, my friend. Perla and I used to see a lot of each other. We’d visit after work, sometimes we cooked dinner on Perla’s little Hibachi grill. I was a bookkeeper then, balancing payroll, paperwork, and soul-crushing boredom in the rangy back room of a dental office where I hardly ever saw another person other than the office manager, who poked her head into my space occasionally to say Hello and Did you find the amended invoices I left for you. I could have done the job in my sleep. Perla lived in a tiny house on a large property owned by her parents who were rich, I think, back in Mexico. They’d tried for a few years to fix her up with a husband from their country, but no one would have her because of her scars. She’d had shingles as a teen which left her face puckered and pinched from her forehead to her neck. One side of her mouth hitched up as if lifted by a pulley. Perla had a menial job, a receptionist I think, in her uncle’s small appliance repair shop. She lived a quiet life, like mine. We had similar comfort zones, keeping mostly out of sight, satisfied with our homey crafts and our little survivals. But that was before. One night, at eight, Perla called and asked if I’d like to go shopping at the discount bazaar with her on a Saturday, an activity we used to do together. “I can’t,” I told her. “Jimbo doesn’t like when I go out without him.” “So bring him,” she said. I heard him mumbling to his mother. “My legs hurt,” I heard. “I can hardly walk.” “He has trouble walking.” “He can walk next to me,” she said. “That way, he won’t feel self-conscious.” I felt a momentary pang of missing the amusing banter of her friendship. Perla and I had a lot of good talks, we had some fun here and there. Mainly, we occupied each other’s time when no one else would. But I didn’t need her anymore. I’d shed her along with my single woman designation. I didn’t need friends. I had Jimbo. Perla was not letting go. “Just because you have a husband does not mean you need to ditch all your friends, stop having fun,” she challenged. “Remember that Halloween party?” She made me smile. I loved parties, I always had. “Remember?” she said. “God, we had the most fun!”

!!!

As I began to read, it read like fiction. But this is not fiction. It is a Reality NOW happening across the world and especially in the United States...

I thought I knew all of the key words as I read--Co-dependency, Intervention, Addiction... All of these I had learned about through the media/books. But I knew as I read, I knew nothing about what happens to the individual who is, oftentimes accidentally, pulled into a life of drug addiction. After the beginning of the book, which is in first-person, I learned that she was a single woman--one who had never actually achieved any of her goals that she once dreamed of--that she even planned for and began early activities, such as gardening...

As we learn that she is in her mid-30s, we see a beginning of her looking backward, wondering how so many years had passed, and, that she was still alone. Soon after her family was surprised and dismayed when she announced she is marrying--a jobless, ill man who is a heroine addict. It was about that point that I realized that I didn't even remember her name... But, Jimbo, was to become the main character of this story... Sadly... As I read, after learning that initial shock of who she was marrying, all I could do is grow sadder and sadder as I read, still in my fictional fantasy that it would slowly change as in a romance story, and a true relationship would evolve between them...

I was wrong. This book is not fiction! But, still, I was shocked as the book...suddenly...ended...

Readers, I was never really knowledgeable about the drug problem facing our young people. My life had been molded by the church's activities and then began working at age 18 on a college campus where, again, I spent my days working and learning, and moving forward in a career... Many already know that I was overweight most of my life; I used to think that I could not condemn those who took a drug of any sort, since I also use food as an addiction. I was wrong. Very wrong. There is no comparison...

With food, I was only hurting my body, myself. I was still in control of my mind and made choices daily that were sound and based upon events of the world. Even as I would watch movies with scenes where there were people in a drugged state, just laying there, it never sunk in of what that individual had chosen, or not chosen, to become...

Folks, if any of this sounds like you. You need to consider this book a Must-Read! I will NEVER forget what I learned of the reality of "doing drugs" as was possible by reading this story of how a lonely person, in this case, a woman--but it could have been anybody--who is seduced into "feeling better" through a single pill...

A pill that becomes another pill and another... Especially if your husband, in pulling out his own drugs, chooses to pop one of his into your mouth...

It made me nauseous, sick to my stomach...  I hurt for  this woman and all that have lost control of the lives they were meant to live by addiction... I had one experience that gave me a "slight" taste. When I had a surgery to remove a brain tumor. I was given one of those pills beginning with oxy...I was to be in the hospital a week... As I look back, there were immediate signs that this medicine, which is now on my "allergic" list was harmful to me. By the end of that week, on the final day, I became so emotional, couldn't stop crying, that they had to give me a shot to calm down... I had a similar though not as extreme with birth control pills...fortunately a biochemistry professor who was a friend of mine, told me to get off the pills and drink water until they were out of my system...

I include these personal "minor" experiences for me to point out that each individual is different. What one person can tolerate, for another, it could be deadly. Obviously Jimbo had been much slower in building up his major addiction which had taken over his life. But what he did, I call it straight from my heart... It was murder, even if legally it could not be considered that.

Folks, I will be further discussing this book with the author. I'll be thinking about how to approach this traumatic experience, so watch for that soon. However, when I finished the book, I realized that I really had no further need. She has shared her heart, her loss, her fears as she watched what was happening to an individual who was to the point that she was not able to listen, and act, anymore. She had become addicted to laying in bed next to a man... where only kisses were the romantic life she had so wanted... Still her loneliness had created the need, the drive to find "someone," even if he was clearly wrong for her in so many ways...

Lisa shares the reality, the times when she and her sister would meet and talk and she would see some glimmer of hope that she was pulling away from the situation in which she found herself. Only to soon find that...it...was...too...late...

Parents, Teens, Everybody who has concerns for drugs being readily available, Please read this book. And never assume that their availability is not purposely being permitted... Seduction of our teens is continuously; Men who desire young girls, like Epstein, are legion--many choose to use date rape drugs for the rapes that are ongoing while there is a political party that thinks that those children that are born from rape should be kept by the young molested girls... even though under 10, as many of you will recall. Where are we headed? Certainly it is not love that drives children to take a pill when dared by somebody who has easy access, often from their homes...

I applaud Lisa for having the strength to write this story. It could not have been easy... I am grateful that she did. It opened my eyes and made me realize that even reading or watching Law and Order Special Victims doesn't give any real knowledge of exactly what is taking place. This book provides an ongoing daily diary, you might say, of the life of a woman who once lived and loved Jimbo. Yes, I could probably find her name in the book... But each reader needs to fill in her name for yourself... I, personally, am grateful for those in my life who could have gotten addicted by "testing..." drugs... Sure, I tasted beer, I puffed a cigarette once, but my mind was not receptive to either... I learned the potential danger only through prescribed drugs, which I could not handle! People wake up!

Do your duty to yourself and family. Read the reality of a lost life! Consider the life as it should be! NOW!

GABixlerReviews 

Less opinionated post on Amazon for use to share if needed...

Letters to Carol - An Extraordinary Memoir-Self Help Presentation - From Blob to Beauty Queen; From High Living to Living on the Street -A Review and Discussion and Featuring Complementary Music Videos!

Dear Carol, Let’s go back a little in time. Your grandmother had died. Madea lived in Watts. By this time, she told neighbors she was moving and not to tell your father she was moving to Scottsdale City. Dane was still traumatized over your grandmother’s death. This is when Madea placed the burden on him to father his own brothers and sisters, which was a huge mistake, because the monster Dane allowed him later to perpetrate familiar child abuse tragedies on his own kids, later in life. Carol, because you are such a nice person, subliminally, you understood the pressures Madea placed on your brother, Dane. You knew more after Dane married Perry. She defended his heavy abuse of his siblings. That is why you wrongfully believed tolerance was love again. Notwithstanding, and on top of the pain you endured at home, at school it was worse. Following tortuous hours of “Girls Punishment” with your neck cracking, your body tired, and after hours of abuse, you had to straighten up to go to school for more abuse. It’s important to state that at eleven-years old, a child is not mature enough to know what compounded abuses can do to the maturation of a growing child’s mind. This is why the child internalizes dangerous emotions that can ruin a child’s emotional maturity, much later, in life. This is another reason why by the time you were in your mid-sixties, your inability to find and or handle housing matters had a lot to do with the interruptions of your now fragile emotional stability, which began a huge pile-up from 1955-2023. In 1966 you were in the Black schools, like Mark Twain and Ralph Bunche, where it was normal to be a dark-skinned child. When Madea moved to Scottsdale City in 1966, your dark skin was not accepted by the white kids in Scottsdale City. 

Carol, by the time you entered Junior High School, you were dealing with the pain of an enlarged heart, Post Traumatic Depression, abuse by your brother, Madea and a sister that hated you. It was the end of three-years of being called, “The Blob.” You were tired mentally. You have now stored over a decade of abuse in your emotional cache. The personalities are tired. We have all waited decades for you to be ready to tell your “real” story. To that end, we are all proud of you. At home, things worsened when Madea called you lazy. Getting up to do household chores was dangerously killing you. One day on the track at Garey High School, where you attended for three years, you ran the track. This occurred late in the afternoon. The football field where the Vikings practiced was empty. On that unusual eve you collapsed. As a child without guidance or love, you took care of yourself. You lay on that track, with horrific pain in your chest. On that ground, you prayed to heaven for your grandmother. You knew at any moment you could die, but this was to you another challenge you had to get through. You lay where one of your personalities showed you how to breathe. There, you clutched your heart, not knowing what a dangerous situation you were in. All you knew was there was a lot of chest pain. You laid on the tarmac of the racetrack until the pain subsided, having no clue that your heart was attacking. Later, at home you performed your household chores, including washing walls in the house on Fowler Avenue. You tired easily, but you washed the walls anyway. You did not have support from family to even tell one soul you had a heart attack. A few weeks later, when the school district ordered a physical, their medical staff wrote Madea a shocking letter. In it they told her you had an enlarged heart. Back then, instead of Madea checking all this out with emergency doctors, she continued to ignore the matter not caring about the outcome. “You have an enlarged heart,” she said to you one day when you were sixteen. Giving you this information, did not include following up. In fact, Madea simply waited for you to die. If you can’t accept this information about Madea, your end-of-life maturity will be heavily compromised, Carol. You are not writing this all down for brownie points, or to impress anyone. This is being said correctly now because this is your life. This is a moment of clarity, which will in turn, save us from being on those cold/hot streets, again. We must get this all out. You must cry. You must embrace this pain with the knowledge you never afforded yourself to engage longer than a fly before. I love you, Carol. I know this is hard for you. If Madea thought so little of you to not take care of your mental or physical health; then why would she care about your having an enlarged heart? I am sorry that you are crying. Cry. You must cry to release these feelings from your wreckage of memories of the past. These are the things about your upbringing you refused to face in the past years. You are facing these issues now. This is the most important information of your life. We hated being on the cold streets not knowing how we got there. This information is being given to you, through me, by God. Moreover, Madea was more vicious towards you than you are willing to talk about Carol. What mother allows her older son to daily punish and molest a child with a life-threatening medical condition? It’s time to purge the pain Carol, please ask God to forgive your demons, Carol. You must see Madea for what she was; instead of what you wanted her to be. Carol, this is a must. When people criticize you…When they say leave it in the past, surge forward. This is your life. You are already being freed, as you tell your story through me. Here is where the truth will not be a stranger. Here is where nothing will hide. All human beings deserve to be heard. Listeners will be educated. History will be informed, while this time potential publishers will know the real you. I want them to know that Carol Denise Mitchell is an honest, amazing, smart, beautiful woman, who is at last owning the rights to her safety. Carol deserves love. Carol is for the first time becoming whole. Carol’s story is one of sheer survival!

~~~

I have read several books by Carol Denise Mitchell but none like her latest. Nor have I read a similar book by any other author.  It is, quite simply, unbelievable and  extraordinary, yet, for many, it may be quite confusing. Carol has chosen to declare this a fiction book; however, in my opinion, this is a disservice to potential readers. Carol is protecting herself legally--for she has self-taught about employment discrimination, civil rights, et.al.--by claiming fiction. I, on the other hand, believe she should be broadcasting the truth of her life and what she is, even now, still dealing with. For, as some of you know, I, too, am also dealing with and trying to write my own story... So, if your early life was full of pain, confusion, hate, abuse, or other negative things that can happen to any one of us... I highly recommend you spend some time reading Letters to Carol..." For believe me, as you finish reading, crying for words shared in this book, you will know you are reading Truth...

And the way she presents her story is through the voice of one of her inner selves, who still remembers what happened, and guides today's Carol through each and every single incident where she was abused in some way... is the extraordinary part. Letters to Carol is Carol writing the book, but as if it were dictated by another individual... That part deep inside Carol where all of those memories that she could not confront ever again, had been pushed so deep that, physically, and of course, mentally, she had chosen to live and move forward.

Until that day, maybe she snapped, maybe her body could no longer handle the pressure and...collapsed. Some of you may recall this is what happened to me when the first thing that happened was that I could not stop crying... Only by reading books was I able to escape... One of those books was Whatever Happened to Suzy? Reading this story by Carol was the first of many of those who share childhood pain through their writing...

For me, I found parts of me inside her memoir story... Other readers might also find parts of you, or others in your life. What do I mean? Well, think about how you might represent yourself at your job, as opposed to how you are with a close friend, or better yet, in a crowd. I know that I "put on a face" not literally but figuratively, in each of those scenarios. On the job, I put on my face of a professional, dedicated to doing my job from the first step into my office. I rarely stop for breaks, rather sipping tea while I continue to work. And, most of the time, expecting much the same from others... Get the idea? Most of us have ways to act in different life situations. While Carol calls these different personalities, diagnosing herself, "One day, inside my bedroom closet, I developed dissociative identity disorder, better known as Multiple Personality Disorder. I began hugging myself, promising to develop protective mechanisms to help me deal with daily trauma.  

Now I knew exactly what she meant. In fact, I have used one of the oldest affirmative statements known from the time of Socrates, as my guiding mantra, as I've gone through specific time periods, or traumatic experiences with an inner eye that watched, and remembered... In fact, Carol begins with a first statement of her learned life realization : “No two lives are the same, such is the spice of life!” --CD Mitchell

Also at the beginning of her book, she includes a note that I might have written, from my perspective, if I were to write a book with a dedication: I dedicate this book to anyone that loves the power of God. Many individuals have relied on the love within to get along in life. You are special, you are somebody. We all need to discover the sanctuary within our souls to rest, to be good to others, and more importantly, be good to ourselves. Your health is your wealth, your success is imminent!

Now in my life, I was early involved with the church and quickly learned about the Holy Trinity: God, The Son and the Holy Spirit. I honed in on God as Father since my early father was killed in a mine accident while my mother was carrying me. It was easy to see that I still had a Heavenly Father, who made it clear to me to remember:

All I had to do is know that I know that I know that if I am still then God is there with me... 

He is the Great I Am!

```

Before I go any further with the book content itself, I want to use a present day illustration of what happened to Carol... Have you noticed that many Far Right political people will repeat over and over and repeat again and again, things that we KNOW are lies. Yet some of us have learned from the study of psychology and other communication processes, that, for many people, if you hear the same thing over and over and over, you will possibly come to actually believe and accept it as truth, even though you can do the research and discover that it is a lie--but you're still not totally convinced because you've heard it pounded into your mind day after day after day?!

At a time when we are seeing more and more hateful actions due to , politics, social media and television, etc., it is still hard to realize just how cruel one individual can be to another. 

Carol was a smart little girl, but coming from a large, poor family she was overweight. (I know the feeling, but my story was a small not hidden memory)  compared to what happened to Carol which had been pushed down deep, forgotten, but still an unresolved abuse.  We don't know how much she weighed... What we learn is that her teacher gave her the nickname, Blob! And, of course all the kids also called her by that name!!!

Carol had hoped to escape the significant mental and physical abuse that she was given at home. Her mother also belittled her, used hateful words when addressing her...and, possibly, stood by while her brother raped her. We do know her brother raped her, we don't know definitely whether her mother knew about it. The key point that the home environment was full of children and Madea instructed her son to be like their father (a little short of 20 children by her mother) and, given that her mother ridiculed Carol, all of the other children did as well...

During this time period, Carol fortunately found one counselor who worked with her for three years. While her self-esteem was raised, still there was so much happening, that the good never quite overrode the bad that was happening.

For instance, Carol was able to lose weight and became interested in entering a beauty contest. She won Miss Congeniality! Note that I found this a quite affirming thing. Even though she was the only black girl in the contest, it was Carol's personal interactions with everyone which brought about her selection. Take note of the praise that was made in the book when she realized that even with the things in her past, she was still bringing light and good wishes to others...

Too bad she lost her trophy. She had placed it in a paperbag... But, when Carol graduated from school, her mother kicked her out with the few clothes she had and a paperbag that was soon lost in the shuffle of accepting that the only thing she had to sell was her body and she began to prostitute herself. After all, she wasn't a virgin, right?

See My Review!

But one thing that her counselor had pointed out to her and that she realized herself was that she was a good writer! She wrote her first book, What Happened to Suzy and a new anniversary edition is out now!

She studied hard and became involved in helping individuals with job discrimination, writing another book about what employers don't want us to know! She became well known because of this nonfiction book which was used by employers and employees alike.

It happened to me not long after my official leaving of a long-term career at West Virginia University, when I discovered that I was no longer able to keep my mouth shut, even in sensitive meetings... For Carol, you'll find it was a cumulative experience, much longer than I had...It was years passing as Carol got married, more than once, had children, more than one and had many different jobs beside a significant career as a published writer.

What we do know that is at some point, Carol was homeless and even at that time, none of her family would respond to her need. About that time, I'm sure she began to think, "I don't need you; I don't need anybody!" But that's a lonely existence and scary especially when you are homeless...

When that last straw was broken. Carol had begun to go to counseling and almost immediately, the man who she had gone to for help, promptly took her to a motel and forced sex as part of her treatment... Yeah, right! Carol knew all about that, but, when it happens with a professional to whom you sought help, it creates a response so deep that one can begin to feel that nothing and nobody would ever be trustworthy enough to help me!

While the style of writing is indeed like creating a letter to another person, you will find quite a bit of repetition. Some may see this as what some people do...routinely repeat over and over what they've talked about in the past. This is not that type of repetition. Consider, if you would instead, that one of Carol's grade school abuses was being called "blob" over and over, primarily by white children... As mentioned above, if you are told something day by day, even though it hurts you greatly (or even if it is lies that are not true), there is a tendency for us to believe it "must" be true since it has been said over and over... Breaking the tight bond of abusive language is extremely difficult and you will see that Carol, in trying to move forward without facing her early reality, created a period of so much confusion that it is hard to even consider what exactly is the truth by which you are living.

Fortunately, I would guess from her grandmother who had named her, Carol found a relationship with her Heavenly Father. And, as I read each of the individual letters, I felt that I was reading a God Incident--a book given to Carol Denise by The Holy Spirit. I believe that God through His Son loves all children and grieved for the little girl who was never called by her real name--a child of His... Carol mentions in several videos that she sometimes doesn't know what she is typing--such as the time she needed to share with others about her attempt at suicide. For it is the Holy Spirit that often brings up to us exactly what we need to hear, think about, and possibly act upon. Or perhaps it is both! My above concept of putting on "faces" for different events or people... and a very real awareness that The Holy Spirit has often been using my fingers to write when I allow myself to open to God's Words.

God Bless you Carol

and all the other children hurt by somebody who should be doing just the opposite. I've come to know and love you through this latest book in particular. Thank you for writing it... Many will find themselves in these pages and...find...hope!

Gabbie

 

Amanda Grihm Shares Story of The Dark Skinned Sister...

Cindy shot out the car, ran up to--and jumped in Grandma Mindy's arms. "Hi Gamma Mindy, I missed you." Grandma Mindy laughed and blushed while Cindy kissed he all over her face. "You look so pretty, Gamma Mindy."

"Oh, oh, this child, I say, Georgie, this one is becoming more beautiful each year. She's still just as light as a feather and her light skin is so pretty," Grandma Mindy said through a grin so big that it looked like her face should have hurt. She put Cindy down, kissed her on her forehead and straightened her clothes. Joseph got out the car slowly, walked up to her and kissed her on her cheek. "Hi Grandma Mindy, I am happy to be here this summer."

Grandma Mindy smiled broadly and said, "I am glad you could come, too. Oh, honey, try to do your chores before the sun comes out. You look like you done been in the sun. That ain't good for you, 'cuz you git'n a little dark." Grandma looked at me and picked Cindy up again. I was half way up the walk almost at the steps when I noticed a look of disdain on Grandma Mindy's face. I walked onto the porch and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek but she quickly turned and took a step back...

"Hi Grandma Mindy."

"Hello Mindy."

She had hurt my feelings again but this time they weren't hurt as bad as the other times. I was becoming immune to her insults. I closed my eyes and took a long deep, breath. She ain't even human, she is just like a glass figurine--one push and she'll fall over and break. I opened my eyes but she was still standing there looking at me with an intense look of disapproval.

In my mind I sized her up and could see m'self placing my hand on her shoulder and tipping her perfectly erect body over. I laughed at the thought of her glassy icy facade shattering as it hit the ground. I know it was a mean thought but that's what went through my mind. Grandma Mindy was my height or maybe a fraction of an inch taller and I felt like I could take her if it came to that...

~~~

In the midst of my reading an anthology, How Dare We! Write:

A Multicultural Creative Writing Discourse, edited by Sherry Quan Lee, (look for my review) I received The Dark Skinned Sister, by Amanda Grihm. The premise of both books relates to those of different races who decide to write their stories... I stopped to read Amanda's book and found that considering both books at one time provided a greater depth, a growing sense of relationship--a kinship that could develop between and among women of all races that I, as a white woman, would also benefit...

Women hesitate to share their innermost stories... Such was the case with Mindy, who at 10 years, came to intimately know and learn about people who created barriers between who they were with little girls who happen to have dark skin... What was amazing, though, was that many times, the pain was inflicted by those within her own race...

And it especially hurts if it is from a family member. Mindy had been named after her grandmother. In fact, Mindy's grandmother was darker that she was... It was therefore especially hard to understand why her grandmother said such nasty things to Mindy...

Yes, Mindy had similar problems at school and as she grew older. She noticed that African Americans who had lighter skin were better accepted by other students. But her skin was the color it was...

Until, she tried to change it, first, by skin lightener...and then by using a cleanser to rub and rub her skin, hoping to lighten it. Instead, her skin was broken and her wounds began to bleed.

Mindy's grandfather had always been special for her and they would ride together and more... But he had a heart attack that summer and that happiness was taken away...

Depression soon arrived from having to deal with her pain--why was her dark skin causing so much turmoil in her life? What could she do about it?

Mindy was part of a single-parent family and her mother had to work hard to keep her two girls and son sheltered and fed. Soon her older brother was called on to help, but he soon realized that his own life was gone as he tried to fill the man's shoes for his family. As they grew older, it became worse before it got better...

This is an emotional, inspirational book about meeting adversity head on... I laughed and cried and certainly empathized with Mindy. I remember when I was about 10 also, I was at my grandmother's along with other family. An uncle looked at me and said "Hey Fatty..."  I ignored him and to my mother said, "Dale is talking to you." My response was that "No, he wasn't. That is not my name..." I walked off... 

Each of us must decide whether or not we will love ourself and others as God made us. I chose to accept the challenge, just like Mindy, when I was hurt and treated cruelly or unjustly. I urge those who have been treated this way, or that has children who are being bullied, to read this book. Highly recommended!

GABixlerReviews

Amanda Grihm was born in Youngstown, Ohio and raised in Cleveland, Ohio from the age of nine. In 1987 she moved to Atlanta, GA, where seven year later she met and married the man of her dreams, J. Emil Grihm. Amanda is an author and playwright.

Amanda writes about stranger-than-fiction events and stories. She communicates at several different levels - verbally, visually, physically and psychologically. She is a nurturing spirit and an extraordinary communicator. She writes from her heart and her mind’s eye about love, friendship and spirituality. She sees everything that she writes in her mind before her pen touches the paper. Amanda enjoys writing on that almost indistinguishable line between truth and fiction and fantasy and reality.

Amanda’s main focus has been on the coming-of-age stories about African American and Indigenous Indian girls becoming strong, independent women. Amanda and many members of her family have had psychic experiences. Consequently, many of her stories delve into the supernatural. Amanda believes that God has availed Himself to her and freed her from the bonds of man’s interpretation of His Word and her capabilities. Consequently, some of her stories are about her personal power and the power of God in her life.

Amanda is also a businessperson and former business owner who has always had a genuine desire to improve situations and a unique ability to solve problems. Her ultimate aim is to improve the experiences of employees and customers. As a result of her keen attention to detail, after a few weeks of starting her first job, she was promoted to efficiency expert at a major insurance firm.

Extraordinary Approach to Writing Guide by Diana Raab, PhD

Writing for Bliss is a Seven-Step Plan for Telling Your Story and Transforming Your Life... One of the results of reading this book may be that readers will decide to write their memoirs...

That may be what you buy the book for, and I believe, if you do write that memoir, you will succeed using this book...

First, I was surprised at the content. Yes, this is a book about writing, but it is so much more! I've read a number of books that technically helps you through the mechanics of writing... Raab, though, uses her professional credentials and research in the fields of therapy, psychology and more to merge with her own writing development and reading to create a truly extraordinary nonfiction book about writing...about bliss... Emphasis on Bliss!

With that I point out that, although I write continuously as a book reviewer, I don't consider myself a writer, one who wants to write a book, although after reading this book, I just might! I point that out because there is so much more in this book that I will recommend it to anybody who wants to know more about...yourself...

If you follow your bliss, you put yourself on a kind of track that has been there all the while, waiting for you, and the life that you ought to be living is the one you are living. Wherever you are--if you are following your bliss, you are enjoying that refreshment, that life within you, all the time.

--Joseph Campbell

Most writers will confess that they write because they have to write, not necessarily because they want to write. They write out of necessity because either it makes them feel better or they want to share their story with the world. I fall into both these categories: writing makes me feel good; when I don't write, I feel as if something's missing from my life, plus I also yearn to share my stories with others in the hope that they will resonate in a way that brings healing and a deeper way of knowing and understanding...

Basically, my research examined how life-changing experiences have inspired some well-published authors to write the narratives of their lives... The actual decision to write a memoir depends on both intrinsic and extrinsic factors. The intrinsic factors on both related to the individual's emotions, and the extrinsic factors may pertain to what occurs in his or her world. Writing about certain experiences helps provide an understanding of one's unique self, as well as of one's relationship with others and the world at large... --Diana Raab in the Preface

Beginning with her introduction of Maslow into her conversation, I began to see how Raab would begin...to help individuals know more about their inner needs and goals...their secrets, their inner thoughts...and, yes, that outer individual we all present to others.

Keeping a journal was the beginning of Raab's writing. Her first journal was given to her by her mother on the event of one of her most traumatic early experiences. As well as throughout the remainder of her life. Many of her journals were the beginning of books she has published, merging writing into a number of different issues that could or would face many of us.

Writing for Bliss. I had never used the word before reading this book. As I thought about it, I can name only one time when I would consider I was in a state of Bliss... Perfect Happiness... Great Joy... Raab suggests that readers go through her book the first time without taking the time to go through the numerous writing exercises that is inserted frequently. That's what I did, but I also read the exercises of what readers who use the book as a study guide would be involved with. 

Diana Raab's first journal included the writings of Kahlil Gibran; I bought mine in 1978 and did start to use it as a journal, but I've spent more time reading his wonderful words while I began working and following Maslow's guidance in loving work that energized me and which I enjoyed. Raab speaks of many authors, including Rumi, Jung and many others, quoting their words as it relates to you, to her life, and to life itself... 

If I were to say, that Raab uses her writing as a tool, in order for each of us who is interested and willing, to help us in getting to know ourselves, it is the best way I can think of to share the magic she presents as she guides us to write that which is inside each of us, that which needs to be acknowledged by ourselves, first...and, perhaps, then, to be shared with others. She is striving to do just what her title says, transform your life. Doing this by guiding readers through our life's joys and bad times, remembering our own stories, recognizing them as our truth. If we decide to share those truths, she then proceeds to help you do that as the book comes to a close...

This book may have a profound impact on your life, what writing you may do. In my own life, for instance, I had two books in my mind to write but the material was so traumatic that I could not deal with it without flashback and nightmares... Raab noted that this often happened and she'd known writers who had not been able to write their book for years...and that was alright! Suggesting that writing about it in a journal could help bring the reader to the point of acceptance of what had happened, even if a book was never written...

Raab presents an excellent study guide for early writers as well as the experienced. but it is in the area of self-help that I found my interest, more to garner and experience. Writing may be the tool she uses for those who don't have that desire to write books. Her guidance in journal writing is superb and her expertise in therapy and self-help is extraordinarily well written. I strongly suggest that, in considering this book, you check out the extensive table of contents. Briefly, here are the seven steps to be used: One, Preparing to Write; Two, Cultivating Self-Awareness; Three, Speaking Your Truth; Four, Examining your Life; Five, Finding Your Form; Six, Unleashing with Poetry; and Seven, Sharing Your Writing. There was much in her book I had discovered in my own reading, but her merge of sharing that through our own writing was entirely new for me.

The appendix includes an extensive Writing Prompt List in addition to what you'll find in the book. A Reference list of her research, a further reading of books on writing list, as well as recommended Memoirs to be read for those wishing to write their own. The all-important index for non-fiction books is also provided. 

The writing is exceptional as she merges her research into the specific topic she is covering. The attention to detail and the inclusion of additional references is the best I've seen in recent nonfiction books - an impressive display of her caring contributions. For me This book will stay as an active book...now taking the time to reread and consider the suggested activities... but also considering what she has to teach me about my own transformation based upon her much broader knowledge and expertise she shares to readers! This book is added to my personal favorites for 2017...

Highly recommended both as a writing study book as well as a self-help book on getting to know more about ourselves and possibly transforming your life...no matter what age and whether you are a writer or not.


GABixlerReviews

The Power of Words Presented by Dr. Chanda Pilgrim

God Said Words Have Power

The concept that words have power is becoming very popular. Have you heard of "The Secret?" Cognitive Behavior Therapy, Rational Emotive Therapy? Many churches and other religious institutions, along with mainstream figures such as Oprah, Deepak Chopra, are teaching that our thoughts are powerful and that our words create our reality. This thinking is not new, in fact it is very old and has been written about in many religious texts.

The power of words is discussed several times throughout the Bible. In John First Chapter it said "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God..."

~~~ 

Leaving Lack and Limitation;

Revealing Balanced Abundance

Vol. 1 - The Power of Words

By Chanda Pilgrim, PhD

My favorite new
phrase is "What
you think of me is
none of my
business."
--T.C. Whittaker
~~~

Dr. Chanda Pilgrim was born and raised in Queens New York. She started her college career at SUNY Buffalo and graduated with her Bachelor's in Psychology from SUNY Stony Brook. She went on to receive her MSEd. in Counseling Psychology and PhD in School Psychology from Fordham University. Her career started working at a Special Education pre-school doing evaluations for children in 1994. She went on to work for 8 years in the NYC Public Schools as a guidance counselor. In 2006 she moved to Stone Mountain, Georgia where she started off as a guidance counselor and moved on to work as a Licensed Psychologist.
Dr. Pilgrim, has a passion for helping others that stems back to a volunteer position she held at United Cerebral Palsy when she was still in High School. Currently she believes she is on a mission to heal the world. This starts with waking people up to the truth of who they are. She believes that God has created us in HIS image and as such we have power to co-create our future. She describes like you would choose your own ending of a book, where the framework is created by God, but we write the details, with the apparently endless options we have been given.  

After feeling like she was not making enough of a difference, she asked God for a bigger platform to heal the world. Within 4 months of asking, she published The Power of Words, the first volume in her series of books: Leaving Lack and Limitation: Revealing Balanced Abundance. This book, and the series teach others about how to create what they want in their lives with the words that they speak, instead of talking lack and limitation into our lives, as we are often in the habit of doing. The following books teach how lack shows up in people's lives and teaches you to recognize the thought habits that may have been keeping you stuck. Dr. Pilgrim is excited to be on this journey with you to creating a truly abundant world.

~~~

As most of you know, when I receive a nonfiction book to review, I immediately seek out the credentials of the author. I have over many years read hundreds of psychology-oriented as well as religious inspiration and teaching books, most of them when I first started working: Dale Carnegie, Thomas Harris among my favorites, versus those spiritual books that were routinely read and, many times, geared toward a specific lesson to be learned.

Rarely have I discovered a book by a psychologist that combined what she had learned with her religious training. There were none that I found of significant value...

Pilgrim quickly shares that she is writing this series as she, herself, is experiencing it. Of course, she has all the necessary educational experiences to work as a practicing psychologist. But now, she has moved forward in the search to merge her faith in God within her learned practice. I believe she has successfully begun that in this, her first short book. While it is only 50 pages, there is much to be learned. I read it first through, and then began again to read...and learn to apply...

What things so ever you desire, when
you pray, believe that you receive
them, and you shall have them.
Mark 11:24
~~~

Most of the psychological principles are not new. What is, is that these principles are shared through the author's personal experiences or short examples, as well as...God's words... It should be noted that the author uses different versions of His Word in helping explain the correlation with the psychological principles.

I found this little book worth much more than many other, longer texts, just because this book allows me to consider what is being said from my own personal belief values...

It is my personal opinion that Dr. Pilgrim allowed her  own faith to guide her in writing the book. At the same time, it is clear that she has researched/read much about spirituality as well as her educational experiences. I can easily support and recommend this book...

We have all learned that God is Powerful, but have we taken it to the point where we "understand" the power of those words? There are many scriptures to help us understand what is available... when we pray. But are our prayers answered? Pilgrim discusses why they may not be...

Next she moves on: Science Says Words Have Power...and demonstrates it through the words of Dr. Emoto, a Japanese scientist, now famous for illustrating the power of words:

Dr. Emoto, a Japanese scientist, did a now famous study illustrating the power of words which are documented in his book The True Power of Water. He exposed words in song, printed, spoken, pictures and video to water and showed what happened to it once it became crystallized. Words such as love, gratitude, hate, and "you make me sick," among others were used. Music was also used. Classical music, like positive love filled words, created pretty crystals, while anger, hatred and heavy metal music showed crystals that were deformed and in some cases actually broken. Amazingly a picture of a heart, transformed the water crystal into what looked like a heart...

Non-verbal communication is used by all of us, even when we don't realize it...and it is based on the intent behind our words... I immediately recognized her example of when people say "wonderful." When our intent is to be happy or congratulatory, we enthusiastically say, "Wonderful!" but if we learn something that does not agree with our wishes, we might say... "wonderful..." with our voice low to show our aggravation or anger."  

Moving on to the interaction between words and intentions, she quickly catches readers' attention, by referring to an amazing healing, purely by...words...

Specifically, that a cancer patient had three Chinese doctors surrounding the patient's bed, while holding the intention that the tumor would shrink...they created the feeling in their body that it was already done and they chanted "already happened..." They never touched her body...

Do we call these miracles? Or do we acknowledge the wonderful advancement of science in the area of healing?  Why not both? In this first book, Pilgrim clearly sets us on a path to follow...the path she has chosen for herself...just like the lonely pilgrim that each of us might be, and about whom I've sung so many times because the song spoke so much to me...

...You may not be interested in all the research out there that shows the connections between songs, mood, vibration and emotions. I will spare you the details, but just know that as humans, we are sensitive to things around us. We are affected by the moon, the planets, and the energy that comes from the computer, the television, and our phones. Some people are so sensitive that they can see, hear or even feel the changes in their environment.

I have learned that children these days are more sensitive than previous generations. One author claims that it is that sensitivity to the environment and to others that causes the super emotionality that we see, the anger that seems almost out of control with some of our youth...What if we could calm their environment...

~~~

It is the time in our present world when we must use all that is within us to move forward, in God's footsteps... The Power of Words has helped me pull the study of science together with the Words of God...and what it truly means that "In the beginning was the Word..." There is Power in Words if we but learn now to use it... Highly Recommended...

GABixlerReviews