When Trash Talk = Love

Have you ever loved someone enough to stand in front of a crowd of family, friends, and coworkers and bash that person? Have you shared stories of their failures, personal problems, and, most likely, their greatest insecurities?

Well, I have.

Did it feel good?

It absolutely did.

What is wrong with me?

Nothing.

What’s wrong with my little sister?

Apparently, a lot of things.

To celebrate my sister reaching a monumental age, my brother-in-law planned a Toast and Roast.

He invited guests to gift my sister with sarcasm, trash talk, and general degradation of her character.

It was phenomenal!

Who knew that slander and verbal abuse could bring people together in such a glorious light?!?

After the roasters had laid out their lines of laughable insult, the birthday girl was given a turn to bash them back.

As my sister took the stage, I was slightly fearful that the roasts had burned a little too deep. She walked up and said, “This was the weirdest birthday party I’ve ever had, so, uh, I guess, thanks?”

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8,092,034,510* Other Possibilities

As I’ve ventured through the process of seeking healthy boundaries, there is a situation that has been nagging at my heart. (See my recent post “All Full Up – New Perspectives on Boundaries” )

It took me over a year to realize a former friend was just that. Former.

After 12 months of unreturned cards, calls, texts, and messages without a hint as to why for me to say, “It’s not me.”

After 2 years and 5 months, it shouldn’t hurt that someone severed ties bound by 18 years of friendship, but, dang, it hurts.

Here’s the good news. I am not alone. There are roughly 8,092,034,510* other humans roaming this planet, who could be my friend.

Your odds are just as good (if not better based on your geographic location). This statistic is formulated from the Census.gov projection that on January 1, 2025 there were 8,092,034,511 people on Earth.

So, even if one person has moved on or you have chosen to go a separate way from someone else, the world is full of other possibilities. Possibilities for you to find friendship, support, and love.

If you are in a lonely situation or a place of being put aside, I hope you find solace in the fact that you have options. The odds are favorable that others have felt the same way. Even better there is someone out there to help you heal because, hey, they’ve been there too!

The Intenergy message here is that we are not alone. Ending a relationship or losing a connection with someone hurts. We can’t avoid those kinds of suffering, but we can give ourselves some grace as we move, grow, or heal when a relationship falls apart. We can embrace the potential for new friendships or greater development of old ones. With 8,092,034,510* other folks making their way through this world, we are bound to find someone to build a connection with and fulfill our lives in healthy, loving, and productive ways. You are not alone (verified by Census.gov).

By: Melanie A. Peters

P.S. The * is due to the fact that 8,092,034,511 is an estimate. People are always being born and passing away, and I wasn’t sure I should count you or myself in the estimate because I am the one experiencing a loss and maybe you are the exception because you are looking for a new friend. ANYWAY, the * means there are still lots of possibilities for friendships, love, and bonds out there.

P.P.S. I love ALL my friends, even if we haven’t spoken for a while OR they didn’t choose Kentucky to win on their March Madness bracket.

All Full Up – New Perspective on Boundaries

Good Boundaries and Goodbyes: Loving Others Without Losing the Best of Who You Are by Lysa TerKeurst screamed, “Read me!” from the shelves at the bookstore, library, and in my Amazon “Something you might like” recommendations. I added it to my WTR list and after a particularly disheartening week, I thought I’d give it a listen while Ubering the kids around. Yup, Amazon was right. I do like it.

I’m grateful I chose to listen to the audio version because hearing the words from Lysa TerKeurst’s actual voice made the message much more authentic and relatable, but it’s the words that have my heart aching for healthier ways to set boundaries for those I love and myself.

The crazy thing is that it took nearly to the end of the ninth chapter in a twelve-chapter book for my desperate self to realize my real problem. It’s not the expectations of others that fuel my need to establish boundaries. My issue is that I’m trying to build boundaries from the wrong end of the emotional gas gauge. I am full up on obligations while running on empty when it comes to inspiration, self-worth, and time.

Before listening to Lysa’s narrative, I believed that creating boundaries between myself and others could cause me to fail as a Christian. I thought refusing to give of myself as Christ did resulted in others not needing or appreciating me, and the best way to feel accepted and helpful was to run myself into the ground fulfilling the expectations of others. (If I’m killing myself to help, they will see my efforts and love me more, right?!?)

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She Was Smarter in the Book

Thanks to a recent winter storm, our family hunkered down each evening after everything on the farm was too frozen to anything else and had a movie marathon. Our 16-year-old volunteered her collection of The Hunger Games movies.

For three consecutive nights, we fired up the DVD player and watched as Katniss Everdeen took on The Capitol and tried to figure out where her loyalties should lie. In her search for happiness, Katniss took turns kissing Peeta and Gale. This infuriated Hubby and our boys. “That wasn’t just a friendly kiss!” was repeated over and over, while Maggie tried to explain that Katniss and Gale were “just friends.”

As all movies based on books do, these films diverged from the plot and our sweet girl took it upon herself each time to say, “In the book…..,” and then proceeded to retell the novel version. This added to the hysteria of comments from my husband and sons.

As the peanut gallery continued with their heckling of Katniss’ escapades in Mockingjay Part 2, my daughter exclaimed, “She was smarter in the books!”

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A Trained Release Recipient

Photo by Alex Green on Pexels.com

The topic of this post popped up frequently in some pretty impactful places for me in the last few weeks. It all started when I shared my feelings in the post, “I am Not Okay – Stuck on Repeat.” Seeking out help from nutritionist and trainer, Denise Coots, spoke volumes about how lost I was feeling. I had allowed myself to get to the point where I lost touch with my self-value and was exhausted by the disconnect. I can honestly say that meeting with Denise and the kind support of others who read my post has bolstered me significantly and life has been much easier to keep up with ever since.

My friend Sheila told me that she really appreciated my post and related because she sees a therapist to help make sense of her emotions sometimes. Sheila and I agreed that the negative stigma of seeing a counselor is so unfair. She beautifully stated that sometimes we need someone separate from our everyday lives to help us release everything we are holding in. We need a “trained release recipient.” I told her I LOVED that idea and needed to share it!

The following evening, I had dinner with my friend Tricia, who happens to be a licensed therapist. She and I always have a terrific time talking about our families, but after every visit, we agree that our times together are good for our souls because we discuss whatever we are struggling with emotionally and professionally. I mentioned to Tricia the stereotypes that people have about seeing a professional counselor and the fact that many believe friends and family are enough. She told me that very stigma is a constant challenge in her career and stands in the way of her attempts to help others find the healing that they need. And sometimes the family or friends that people open up to are like Lucy, from The Peanuts cartoons. They are willing to listen for a price or their prescription for getting better is to get over it. Clearly, those are not “trained release recipients.”

Two days later, I said hello to a fellow parent watching his child at gymnastics. I could tell he was new and nervous. He wasn’t sure where to sit and kept a vigilant eye on his daughter. I asked how his day was going. He told me, in an agitated voice, that all the people watching those little girls made him nervous, but he had promised his daughter he would let her try gymnastics on the day that he had custody. It was a statement that shared A LOT of information about his situation.

He had several tattoos on his arms, including two from the Army. I thanked him for his service to our country. He turned to me and told me I was really smart. I wasn’t sure how my gratitude made me intelligent, but I thanked him for the compliment. He told me that he knew I was smart because I identified the one thing that meant something to him besides his daughter.

He immediately told me he moved to Missouri to be near his daughter because her mother was from here. Continuing, he told me that he was getting medical and psychological treatment at the local V.A. Hospital. Without prompting, he shared that he never thought a therapist could help him. He always thought going to a psychiatrist made him seem crazy, but the doctors there were helping him feel like he could be normal and maybe find love again someday. Wow! That was A LOT of unsolicited information. Clearly, this dad was seeking connections with others, and the inspiration about “trained release recipients” continued to come my way.

If you have found yourself in a situation where you feel completely lost or need a voice of reason that hasn’t already spoken to you, I encourage you to find a “trained release recipient” who will productively listen to your problems and guide you to solutions. There is nothing wrong with asking for help from a certified therapist, counselor, or nutritionist. Seek out someone who has the skills and training to help establish a healthier, happier existence. Positive purpose is often found when you connect with someone who has the expertise to motivate your intent and energy in productive ways. Let go of the stigma of just-get-over-it and get yourself a “trained release recipient.”

By: Melanie A. Peters

P.S. Charlie Brown was on to something when he stepped into Lucy’s office; he was just a little misguided. He should sue for false advertising.

Monster Hissy Fit

Hissy fits are a fantastic part of life.

They turn outings to the grocery store into memorable outbursts of embarrassment and feelings of parenthood failure.

Recently, one of my little buddies invited me to play monster trucks with him, I got lucky enough to pick up the Monster Truck called Hissy Fit. Upon discovery of that serpent-covered Hot Wheels, a traffic jam of memories rolled through my mind. The memories included meltdowns manufactured by my children, students, and even some of my own personal hysterics.

The hissy fit doesn’t have to come from a loved one.

The fit can sneak up on you from within.

I know that I have lashed out at my unsuspecting husband and children when they had no idea the emotion truck was about to roll into our house. It may have been stress from that day or lack of sleep from the previous nights, but I know I have made a demolish derby out of basic dinner conversation a time or two.

Not too long ago, when I was innocently teasing my daughter, she took her own emotional detour, and painfully for me Hubby turned with her. I was blindsided by their accusations that I always intentionally aggravate her. It hurt and left me shattered inside.

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Mustard-Seed Moments

Daily I complete what feels like a zillion, small tasks in hopes of making a significant difference in the lives of those around me. I put a whole lot of faith in the belief that I am doing the right things as a parent and wife and accomplishing all the roles God calls me to fill. Most of the time, I do not experience the euphoria of success, in particular when it comes to being a parent.

My kids torture one another. My little darlings fight over the MOST RIDICULOUS things. They forget stuff I consider important, like homework or chores. They treat our home as if is their personal dumpster to discard shoes, socks, food wrappers, soda bottles, and empty cups wherever they please. It is enough to make this mama’s heart hurt and ask, “Lord, am I doing anything right?”

All too often, I feel like saying, “Lord, I’ve got all kinds of seeds planted. When am I gonna move those mountains?”

I guess we have to consider what a “mountain” looks like because sometimes they aren’t as big as we expected in the beginning.

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“The Pissy Prayer”

All too often I’ve heard that if you pray for patience the Lord will test it. I take pride in the patience I feel towards children, animals, and tedious tasks. I’m not always so patient with laziness, meanness, and ignorance.

Lately, I have witnessed laziness and unkindness in amounts exceeding my limits. In spite, of my prayers for peace, grace, and patience, the will to tolerate such selfish behavior has had me thinking about an alternative intent for my prayers.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m still asking the Lord to help the flawed human race find peace, generosity, and compassion, but every once in a while, I want to pray “The Pissy Prayer.”

Now this isn’t a prayer sanctioned by any church or liturgical governing body, but it is one that I think a lot of us could benefit from. (I made “The Pissy Prayer” up myself.)

The Pissy Prayer
By Melanie A. Peters

Dear Lord,


Grant me permission to be pissy about insignificant things that others blow way out of proportion.

Grant me fussiness when friends and family fail to recognize and appreciate all the blessings you have bestowed upon them.

In your most holy name, I ask that you help me through this hissy fit and guide me as I lose my good and capable mind over whatever has worked its way into my heart.

But most of all, Lord, grant forgiveness for my imperfections, because that’s what I need to feel and demonstrate in this most imperfect world.

Amen.

I know what you are thinking.

This sounds a bit blasphemous.

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Sleeping Freckles

On a recent visit, my three-year-old nephew Henry asked, “What’s there on your face?”

It took me a minute, but I realized he was asking about the worry-lines between my eyebrows (wrinkles). I smiled and said, “Those are just my wrinkles. Look I have more when I smile” and pointed at the crow’s feet formed on the side of my eyes.

Henry and I snuggling and hoping to wake some of his freckles.

The next day Henry asked why I had those spots on my face and arms. I told him they were my freckles… spots where the sun kissed my skin. He looked innocently at his arms and said, “My freckles are still sleeping.”

While his noticing my wrinkles made me a little sad, his discovery of my freckles and statement about his sleeping spots was super sweet and made me think about the freckles, wrinkles, and other characteristics that appear with time.

I know we can all relate to our adolescent desires to be taller, fuller, thinner, or whatever-er, but once we are doing the adulthood thing, how often do we give ourselves credit for the features that are no longer “sleeping”? Or how do we celebrate the differences between people? Do we point out the idiosyncrasies of other’s appearance in positive or appreciative ways?

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Don’t Call Me “Mom”

There is no joy greater that hearing your child say “mama” or “dada” for the first time, except maybe the happiness that comes from silence when they are sleeping after hearing those words 1,000,000 times.

I love my children more than anything in life…. but sometimes they get on my nerves.

It’s not so much that they want to be in my space, eat my food, prevent my sleep, or destroy my house, but that they cannot seem to leave each other alone for one, blessed second.

In those instances where the temptation to pester one another is too great, I always find myself in the form of a fire-breathing dragon fully prepared to skewer and roast their little, antagonizing selves. (Then I remember how much time and money I have invested in them, and I transform back into a loving, caring mother.)

After a particularly arduous 25-minute car ride to town last summer, I declared that no one was to call me “Mom” for the duration of our trip. (We were going to two stores and pick up lunch, but I wasn’t too sure I could avoid eating my young at that point.) I announced that I was no longer to be called “Mom,” but rather my children were to address me as “Lady Madame Josephine” before speaking to me at any time. This command was met with silence and then laughter from my children.

As soon as the first child chose to say the dreaded M-word, I pulled off into a parking lot, stopped the car, and with the blazing heat of a true mama dragon, I seared them with my words, “My name is Lady Madame Josephine. If you want to have lunch today you will address me as such.” Silence again.

No one spoke until we arrived serenely at our first stop. My daughter tentatively said, “May I ask a question?”

My reply, “You may.”

My daughter’s inquiry, “Why do you want us to call you ‘Lady Madame J… ‘; what was it again?”

I answered, “Lady Madame Josephine.”

My daughter again, “Why do you want us to call you ‘Lady Madame Josephine’?”

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