When Society Kills

 Life's Little Observations, Rants, Serious Stuff, Uncategorized  2 Responses »
Feb 022022
 

By now, you’ve all heard the story of how Cheslie Kryst, the 2019 winner of the Miss USA Pageant, took her own life. She left a note leaving everything to her mother. She wrote a post saying, “May this day bring you rest and peace.” And then she jumped from the balcony of a Midtown Manhattan high-rise.

I admit to sitting and crying as I read this story. Cheslie was a beauty-pageant winner, a TV news reporter, an attorney and many other things. Cheslie was what little girls dream of becoming and, quite frankly, that’s an amazing list of accomplishments for a 30-year-old woman. But society said it wasn’t enough. Everyone wants to know why. But I think the clues really lie in an essay she wrote for Allure magazine in March of 2021 as she approached her milestone 30th birthday.

Milestone. 30. If that’s a milestone it’s a beginning milestone. And as I’m almost 40 years older than this beautiful young woman, I’m sure my thoughts are very different. In Cheslie’s world, things were very different. Society disapproved.

NOTE: I put Cheslie’s words in italics to distinguish those words from mine. I have complete quotation marks around each excerpt as I’m not sure if these quotes are in the exact order written.

I’m Too Old

“Each time I say ‘I’m turning 30,’ I cringe a little. Sometimes I can successfully mask this uncomfortable response with excitement; other times, my enthusiasm feels hollow, like bad acting.”

“Society has never been kind to those growing old, especially women. (Occasional exceptions are made for some of the rich and a few of the famous.)”

That’s definitely truth up above, but again. . . 30 is old? Really? Society has a lot to answer for.

When Cheslie was crowned Miss USA at age 28, she was the oldest woman in history to win the title. Pageant fans immediately petitioned for the age limit to be lowered.

“A grinning, crinkly-eyed glance at my achievements thus far makes me giddy about laying the groundwork for more, but turning 30 feels like a cold reminder that I’m running out of time to matter in society’s eyes — and it’s infuriating.”

“Society’s eyes.” Society once more. Running out of time? She had her whole life in front of her. Cheslie, you mattered. You mattered in the eyes of your family and all who loved you. You mattered to all of the little girls who watched that pageant and wanted to grow up to be just like you. Your life mattered. Screw society.

Growing Old Is Supposed To Be A Treasure

“After a year like 2020, you would think we’d learned that growing old is a treasure and maturity is a gift not everyone gets to enjoy.”

“Far too many of us allow ourselves to be measured by a standard that some sternly refuse to challenge and others simply acquiesce to because fitting in and going with the flow is easier than rowing against the current.”

Oh, how well I know this one from my own family. Took me way too long to realize there’s no shame in being different. It’s even refreshing in this day and age of cookie-cutter people.

Norms

“I fought this fight before and it’s the battle I’m currently fighting with 30. How do I shake society’s unwavering norms when I’m facing the relentless tick of time? It’s the age-old question: What happens when ‘immovable’ meets ‘unstoppable?’”

Here we go again. “Society’s unwavering norms.” Society. Who IS society? When did it start caring about people? The answer is that society doesn’t care. It just sets a false standard that most are afraid to challenge. Cheslie challenged it. She should still be here fighting the good fight.

Attorney, MBA, Pageant Winner, TV Host – Sorry, Baby, Not Enough

Please keep in mind that this beautiful young woman earned a law degree and an MBA at the same time at Wake Forest University. She was a track athlete in her undergrad years at the University of South Carolina.

“I joined a trial team at school and won a national championship. I competed in moot court; won essay competitions; and earned local, regional, and national executive board positions.”

“I nearly worked myself to death, literally, until an eight-day stint in a local hospital sparked the development of a new perspective.”

“I discovered that the world’s most important question, especially when asked repeatedly and answered frankly, is: why? Why earn more achievements just to collect another win? Why pursue another plaque or medal or line item on my resume if it’s for vanity’s sake, rather than out of passion? Why work so hard to capture the dreams I’ve been taught by society to want when I continue to only find emptiness?”

Cheslie Kryst was the American dream. She busted her ass to obtain the trophy — the degree or, in her case, DEGREES. Isn’t that what we are taught is important? Grab that brass ring at all costs. Who taught us? In some cases our parents, but in many. . . society, but only if you do it when and how they want you to.

Beauty Is Not Always In The Eyes Of The Beholder

Here’s another part of the equation. Cheslie won her title with a “five-foot-six frame with six-pack abs” and a “head of natural curls” while “pageant girls are supposed to be model-tall and slender, don bouffant hair, and have a killer walk.”

“My challenge of the status quo certainly caught the attention of the trolls, and I can’t tell you how many times I have deleted comments on my social media pages that had vomit emojis and insults telling me I wasn’t pretty enough to be Miss USA or that my muscular build was actually a ‘man body.’”

So society taught her she didn’t count because she didn’t fit what the gawkers wanted to see. She was black with black hair. She was shorter than most. She had an athlete’s body. And she was SMART. Can’t have SMART women running around despoiling their beauty, eh? And to add insult to injury, she wasn’t afraid to speak her truth.

She Had An Opinion (SHOCK, HORROR, GASP!)

“Women who compete in pageants are supposed to have a middle-of-the-road opinion — if any — so as not to offend. I talked candidly about my views on the legalization of marijuana, the Trump Administration’s immigration policies, anti-abortion laws, the confirmation of Justice Amy Coney Barrett, and the successes and failures of criminal justice reform.”

Cheslie Kryst spent her 30th birthday in her apartment, “parading around in a black silk top, matching shorts, and a floor-length robe while scarfing down banana pudding and screening birthday calls.”

“I even wore my crown around the apartment for most of the day knowing I’d have to give it back at the end of my reign as Miss USA. I did what I wanted rather than the expected.”

“Now, I now enter year 30 searching for joy and purpose on my own terms — and that feels like my own sweet victory.”

And Now Her Light Is Gone

I wish I knew what happened to take that “sweet victory” away from this amazing young woman, why she thought she had no other choice but to jump off that balcony. I pray comfort and peace on all who loved her.

And I call down curses on “society,” this narrow segment of the population who feel it’s my way or the highway — no highway option. Conform or else. Cheslie chose the “or else” and we are all the worse for it. But while she was here with us, she spread her light. We needed that light. Damn society straight to hell!

Society Kills

Society kills. I shudder to think who its next victim will be. Please don’t make it you. If you are struggling with thoughts of self-harm or suicide, please get help. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is available 24 hours: 800-273-8255.

The night of Cheslie’s “sweet victory.”

Setting and Not Setting Goals

 Life's Little Observations, Musings, Serious Stuff, Uncategorized  No Responses »
Jul 032020
 

Do you set goals? If not, you're hurting yourself.Do you set goals? Or do you go off half-cocked and what happens happens? I know many folks of both persuasions and I’ve seen success and failure in both groups. While some folks do better intensely focused on a goal, others throw it all up in the air and work with what hits the ground. It’s been the fight of my life, setting goals or not setting goals

A Little Background

I was never a goal setter. I’m not even sure why. I was an expert at tossing it all up in the air and working with what came down. I did pretty well. . . most of the time. And it seemed like every time I DID set a goal, I didn’t make it. So I stopped even trying.

The Teacher

And then I met a wonderful woman who became my mentor for 13 years in a business that I was pretty successful in. She was a BIG goal-setter. She really tried with me. I’m more than a bit of a hard case. She explained, cajoled, taught and begged me to set a goal and follow through. So I did. And I blew every last one of them, thus proving my point that my balls in the air method was better for me. She never bought it. She has now passed from this earth and she kept trying to focus me until the day she left us. She didn’t succeed.

Failure and Settling Become the Norm

I tried a succession of things, not setting goals except for wanting to succeed. Did I? Mildly. But it wasn’t the type of success I wanted. I would get into trainings and they would tell me to *identify my strengths.* I was like, “Hmmm, procrastination, no concentration, a mind that constantly yells SQUIRREL. . . you mean like that?” No, that’s not what they meant. I could not focus on a goal and, therefore, I didn’t make much. I didn’t entirely fail, but I was far from successful. So I settled for what I got and called it a day.

New Passion

And then I found something I desperately needed for my own health. I was NOT going to make a business out of it. Nope, no way. I was happy with things just the way they were. But I wasn’t satisfied. There IS a difference.

And Then Things Changed

One day I sat up and said, “Hey, why not? I can do this.” But still no goal. Toss it up in the air and see what falls out. As you can expect, the answer to that is not much. But I was getting my name out there. And all the while, there was this voice whispering in the back of my mind, “You need a goal to meet, woman!” The other voice argued back, “NO!!! No goal. I’m going to fail!!!” And then I heard a third and wiser voice that said, “You can’t even fail if you don’t try.”

So Now There is a Goal

I dragged myself kicking and screaming towards a goal. I set one. Still didn’t work. Why? Not specific enough. I figured it I made it broad enough, it would give me some wiggle room. You don’t need wiggle room. You need a goal to reach for. A specific goal.

So Now There is a Specific Goal

Okay, okay, I did it. Did I want to? Hell, no!!! But. . . I couldn’t avoid those meddling voices in my head any longer. The one voice said, “Set a goal and you will fail once more!” The other one yelled in retaliation, “Don’t set a goal and you will fail once more!” Since I had more experience with not setting a goal, I decided I owed it to myself to try the other one. So now, would you believe, I have TWO goals? One short-term and one long-term. They are both specific, the short-term more so than the long-term goal. But they are both workable and they need a sense of focus that I hope and pray I can still pull out at my age.

What Next?

Work towards that short-term goal. What happens if I don’t make it? I refocus and try again. One thing my goal-oriented mentor of long ago taught me that DID get through my thick skull is that it’s okay to modify a goal. I intend to keep that in mind.

How About You?

So which one are YOU? Are you setting goals or not setting goals? If you’re a goal-setter, please leave me a comment and tell me what works for you. This old dog intends to learn new tricks. But maybe I should have said old cat. Watch this guy. He knows how to set that goal and SCORE!!! 🙂

A Mother’s Day Thought For The Rest of Us

 Life's Little Observations, Musings, Serious Stuff, Uncategorized  4 Responses »
May 112020
 

Mother's Day when you don't have a great motherI’m writing this the day after Mother’s Day so as not to take away one iota from the celebration of really terrific mothers. Tribute after tribute on Facebook brought tears to my eyes as I read about these wonderful women who trained up a new generation of daughters to be mothers just like them. It’s a beautiful thing. But my mother wasn’t one of them. And since I know I’m not alone, I’m writing this Mother’s Day thought for the rest of us.

A Little Bit of History

My mother didn’t like me much. It was pretty cut and dried. I didn’t look like the correct side of the family and I wasn’t what she had in mind when she thought she was getting a cute little daughter. And I never lost my baby chubs which was anathema in a family that worshiped thinness. I was well-spoken, well-read, got straight As in school and really tried my best. I made her beautifully hand-crafted Mother’s Day gifts, but I was fat, ugly and good for not much, according to her. She wasn’t physically abusive. She just didn’t like me. And she seemed to think her ugly words would turn me into what she thought she was entitled to in a child.

I saw the moms of friends when I went to their houses to play or do schoolwork. Their moms were kind and sweet and looked at their children with love in their eyes. I was envious. Hell, I was downright jealous. There were times when I went home, crawled under the covers and cried. My mom wasn’t bad. She just didn’t like me. I knew it. She knew I knew it. It made for a very awkward childhood.

A Rather Rude Awakening

And then came the day I found out the hard way that I wasn’t the only one with a mother who wasn’t straight out of the pages of Ladies Home Journal. My then best friend invited me to be her maid of honor. I was over the moon. Her mother wasn’t. She didn’t like the way I looked either and said I would ruin the wedding photos. Where had I heard that before? She was afraid to tell me, but she finally had to because her mother threatened to not pay for the wedding if I were included in it. So I bowed out gracefully. And. . . you guessed it. . . I went home and cried.

As much as that hurt, it opened my eyes. Now I knew that I wasn’t alone in the not-so-perfect mother department. Some moms were physically abusive. Some stood by while their daughters were abused. Some drank and turned into monsters. Some were nasty and vicious. If my mom fell into any of those categories, it would be the last one. And as I said before, she just didn’t like me.

Life Goes On

Time passed. We lived a little ways apart. She still slung her verbal missiles at me every chance she got. One would think she enjoyed them. Maybe she did. I don’t know. And then two things happened that changed everything. My father died. She started getting wonky or wonkier, as the case may be. Then my grandmom (her mother) died. She lost her mind. By this time, she lived with me. Yeah, I know. She took all her grief out on me. And there I stood, a 50-something year old woman transported immediately back to when I was ten years old and getting browbeat about how I wasn’t good enough, didn’t look right, wasn’t good for anything, nobody would ever want me, yada yada yada. That lasted for ten long years.

Life Changes

And then came the day she broke her hip and went into rehab. I was fully prepared to take her home and let the cycle begin again. She was my mother. I had to take care of her. I had no other choice, right? That’s how we were raised. So imagine my surprise when she told me she wanted to stay in the nursing home! The place wasn’t all that great either. But she wanted to be there, so I signed her in.

The Beginning of the End

She had two happy (????) years there before I am convinced their lack of care let her die. One day they told me my mother was sick. The next day I was running to the intensive care unit of a local hospital to be told she was dying from total organ failure. The last time I talked to her, she asked me to sign her into hospice. She said my father (he passed 14 years earlier) had come to take her home. I had her power of attorney so I made the arrangements. She said, “Thank you.” Her last words to me and some of the kindest I remember. That night they took her to a beautiful hospice unit of another hospital. Two days later she was gone. It was the day before what would have been my parents’ 63rd wedding anniversary.

Moving Forward

That was six years ago. Do I miss her? I think I miss the idea of having a mother. But do I miss MY mother? Maybe. No. I honestly don’t know. I know I can think about her now without getting too upset. When I drive by her grave these days I yell out the window, “Hey, Ma, how ya doin’?” Maybe I use some profanities. And maybe after a lot of years, I’m okay. Or sort of okay.

So I’m writing this for me and for all of you who didn’t have perfect mothers either. It’s a Mother’s Day thought for the rest of us. I try to keep in mind that nothing in life is perfect. Nothing will ever be perfect. But it’s up to us to take what we have and do the best that we can with it. And most importantly, we made it in spite of that mother thing.

Mother's Day can be quite different when your mother didn't like you

A Mother’s Legacy

 Rant Lite, Serious Stuff  No Responses »
Sep 192014
 

“WHY IS THAT WOMAN STILL IN MY HEAD?” I shrieked, as I threw my vividly purple and very expensive pocketbook onto the car seat. All I heard was my mother’s voice, in her trademark sneer, saying, “Don’t you think you’re a little too effin’ old to be carrying a bright purple pocketbook?”

I’m editing as not to offend. She had a mouth worse than two ships full of sailors.

“No, Mom, I don’t”.

Gone But Not Forgotten

My mother passed from this earth eight months ago. Her legacy is still with me, I’m afraid. The legacy of me being fat (true), ugly (debatable) and no good for nuttin’ honey (WRONG-O!). I can still hear her like she is standing next to me. It still hurts like hell, too.

A Time To Forgive

When I knew she was dying, I realized what I had to do. I had to find a way to forgive her. Did I want to? HELL NO!!! I screamed, cried and cursed quite creatively in multiple languages all the way home that day. But I knew it had to be. I had to do it for me, the one who would go on and not for her, the one who was leaving.

Back I went the next day. I stayed outside for a long time, not wanting to go in. After a while, I steeled myself and headed back to her bedside in the ICU. I’m pretty sure she was conscious, but it really didn’t matter.

It took me a few times to get the words out and mean them. I felt like Fonzie in the old “Happy Days” show, you know, the guy who could never say he was sorry. Finally, I looked straight at her and said, “I forgive you.”  It was one of the toughest things I’ve ever done.

The last request she made of me was to sign the papers to put her in hospice. I did what she asked. She died two days later.

Sister, Sister

The really hard part was that till the day she died, she never had a kind word for me or my sister. We never knew how she played us off against each other almost from the beginning. There is an eight-year age difference between us so early relationships weren’t close. We never found out the extent of her games until it came time to bury her. Now we are trying again. We can’t get all those years back, but we can try to create new ones. . . as sisters, not enemies.

Things Left Unsaid

So, yes, Mom, you’re forgiven. I really DID mean it that day. However, there are a couple of things I still want to say to you.

Mom, I like purple. You’ve always known that. At some point, you decided to buy everything in purple and rub it in my face. Okay. I can accept that.

Yeah, I like Dooney & Bourke pocketbooks. It’s my one cave-in to irrational spending. You liked expensive things, too.  Lots of them. Daddy made sure you always had what you wanted.  I can accept that.

What I can’t accept is how you ran up $30,000+ in debt to copy me and everybody else and then just didn’t pay it. Now they come after me for it, even after you’re gone. I send them to the cemetery. They’re welcome to whatever they can collect from you there.

I still hate all those names you called me, Mom. Your mother is the one who is supposed to love you when nobody else does. Okay. I’ll accept that, too. I often wonder, though, how you taught me to be compassionate, kind and loving while being a hateful, spiteful bitch. One of the mysteries of the universe, I guess.

Now that I think about it, it really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of the universe. You’re gone and we’ll be here for however many more years we have to try and rebuild what you tore apart. What does matter is that I am going to work harder than anything I have ever worked at in my life to rid myself of your voice.

Mom, one of your common rants was that I never listened to a word you said. You were wrong. I heard every. single. word.

But maybe. . . just maybe. . . you’re finally right.

Some Things Shouldn’t be Passed Down

 Serious Stuff  4 Responses »
Feb 042013
 

Girl With hair dryerMy 16-year-old was in the bathroom the other day getting ready to go out. Nothing unusual. Her makeup was all over the bathroom counter and her straightening iron was getting good and hot to take the gorgeous waves out of her hair, the way she likes it. I happened to glance down at my watch and note the time. She wasn’t due where she was going for 2 – 3 hours yet. And then I looked at the shirt she was planning on wearing, casually tossed over the chair, NOT one of my favorites. My mouth was open with words on the tip of my tongue and.  .  . I bolted out of there like the hounds of hell were hot on my tail.

Why? Because the image that jumped into my mind was of a 16-year-old me, looking in a bathroom mirror, my makeup all over the bathroom counter, hair spray in hand, all decked out in my new tent dress that I made myself (and it looked store bought!) out of some great psychedelic material and. . . my mother walking in, looking at me, making that disdainful noise she always made when she looked at me and saying. . . “Are you honestly going out looking like THAT?”

My 16-year-old heart was crushed. I had just spent 2 – 3 hours trying to look good. I was never as pretty as that kid of mine is so I worked extra hard at it. And in eight words, the person who was supposed to love me no matter what shot me down and shot me down hard. She did it all the time. And I was just about to pass on the tradition.

My mother was about to come out of my mouth. Will this woman never leave me? She didn’t like me. I was and still am an embarrassment to her, the way she sees it. I will be working at getting her out of my head until the day they nail me into a box. But this is something that has to stop here and now. I have to be more aware. I have vowed not to repeat the pattern.

Admittedly, my kiddo is a bit stuck on herself. Why? Because in an effort to not do what was done to me, I have told her since Day 1 that she is beautiful, intelligent, hot, the best, that she can do whatever she sets out to do. Some have told me I created a monster. Maybe. She has problems that I didn’t create, but one thing she doesn’t have is a problem with her self-worth.

Apparently, though, I haven’t broken that chain entirely yet. I was about to say something derogatory to her about what she was going to wear. Did it matter? Probably not. The shirt she was wearing was not something I’d wear. Gee, I wonder why? She’s 16 and I’m 60. I thought it looked “trashy,” but it covered her. She’ll grow out of some of this. I didn’t wear the same stuff at 21 that I did at 16. I know this. But there I was, about to inflict the same kind of damage that I’ve been fighting against all my life.

The good news is that I stopped in time. This time. Will I stop in time next time? Oh, Lord, I hope so. No matter what problems the two of us have (and we have some whoppers), I never want her to look in the mirror and hate what she sees, to think she’s not pretty enough, not smart enough. . . simply not good enough. I know that feeling and wouldn’t inflict it on my worst enemy, let alone someone I love.

This is one of those experiences that has made me think. In itself, it’s not much of anything, really. But that “nothing” could have done some serious damage. She’s fragile. What almost 17-year-old girl isn’t?  So I will be on my guard for next time, because there will be a next time. That’s how serious this type of damage is. It’s like it never leaves you, but I am damned and determined not to pass it on.

Can Old Busted Hotness do it?  Film, as they say, at 11.