Karma

...Finding Inner Peace

...Why constipation? This is why...

“I am woman watch me grow

See me standing toe to toe

As I spread my lovin' arms across the land

But I'm still an embryo

With a long long way to go

Until I make my brothers understand...”

~Helen Reddy “I Am Woman”

I recently had lunch with a friend that I had not seen in a few years, due to our busy and changing lives. Catching up is nearly impossible to do in a couple hours, especially when you have family, children and grandchildren to talk about, not to mention a new marriage in the mix. Time flew by quickly and it was unfortunate that the employees at the café was giving us more than a few subtle hints without actually coming out and rudely saying, “Go home!” We really weren’t there very long, and certainly, we wouldn’t have decided to experience the new establishment if we knew they were about to close. If I recall, the hours of operation was not posted, or maybe they were and we didn’t notice. Anyway...

The short lunch didn’t dampen our afternoon, so, before going back to my friend’s home, we visited the owner of one of the town’s two hardware stores. This particular hardware store has been serving the community for many years and is a bit of an icon in the small town where I used to live, along with the lovely woman who owns it. She was as surprised to see me (it was probably the blond hair that threw her off), as much as I was delighted to see her. One subject led to another, and the topic of conversation led to the recent completion of my first novel. I gave her and a few others a quick synopsis without giving too much of the story away, then my friend told the owner about my blog and thought it might be something she would be interested in. After a short introduction about the blog and the purpose behind it, we had a lengthily exchange of theories why women have a need to find themselves when we reach a certain age. She then asked me what my blog was called, I knew I was going to hear the usual laugh and I nonchalantly said, “The Constipated Woman.” A few aisles over and obviously in earshot, I heard a man snicker which in turn made all who was part of the discussion chuckle too. I smiled and conveyed that the name is an attention getter, after all, isn’t that what every blogger wants?

So, what’s so constipated about it?” he inquires. That certainly was a loaded question, and since he was the only man in the store, I was polite. For those of you who know me, really I was (I mean, I really am…polite that is)! I explained I chose the title many years ago when I thought I was literally going to explode. I went on to tell them how I kept “it” all inside without ever expressing my feelings or my opinion, and getting angrier at myself and those around me for feeling helpless for not having the guts to do it, thus, getting more constipated. I wanted to tell everyone just what I thought about everything without naming names, no bars hold, like the style of an Erma Bombeck or Anne Lamott type book, but not be so politically correct, or “nice.”

I put it in plain words that constipation is a condition in which the emptying of waste matter is infrequent and difficult, and I wanted to create a forum to work like a laxative, where women (and men) could vent freely. Hence, the blog was born. He expressed his amusement with laughter and shook his head. I can imagine what he was thinking when he eyed me with a silly smirk before exiting the store. He nudged his wife and said, “I think I will now be referred to as the constipated mathematician.” And, I said with a wide grin, “Whatever it takes to feel better.”

How many women or men alike do you think hold “it” all in? More folks than you can imagine. Some people are fortunate enough to expel regularly, and the people who know them practically expect it. In fact, they could even set their watches by the explosive bouts.

I remember the expressions on a few people’s faces when I mentioned over dinner how furious I was at someone when I asked them, “Have you ever been so angry at someone that you wanted to shove gas soaked rags down their throat and set their f*%*!*g head on fire?” I felt an intense chill and I think I even clenched my jaw. “What the hell?” said one of the people sitting across from me. It was an awkward moment indeed. They sat on the edge of their seats stunned and wide-eyed. My ears couldn’t believe the words actually came out of my dainty little mouth, but there it was, unrehearsed. I have to admit, it was mildly liberating to break the Female Code of Conduct. One of my dinner companions was completely speechless, while the other produced a nervous laugh in the back of his throat. “And, who are you talking about?” he reluctantly asked. “No one in particular,” I answered.

Everyone glanced briefly at one another and I was I convinced they were thinking, “Okay, she’s finally lost it…haha hehe hoho!” How could that calm, don’t make waves, “nice” kind of person actually mention (out loud) doing something that horrific to someone. I don’t think they believed me when I said it was only a hypothetical question. My purpose was to provoke a reaction and I did…honestly, that’s all it was! (It’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it…)

That’s an example of what I wanted to accomplish. Have I done it? No…not exactly. I had to get other issues out of the way first. I tried to get my point across in a roundabout way without making my readers feel uncomfortable. This blog has been a healing process with the support of some very special people. I have received numerous emails from people who do not wish to comment publicly and share their personal stories about depression, rape, incest, and abuse. In a sense, this little blog has become a healing chain for them and for me. I have spent many hours reading and answering all the correspondence. I have made many friends on this journey, some whom I will sadly; never get the opportunity to meet. We became friends because of a common component…NEED…we all need something. Whether it’s acceptance, validation, love, or understanding, we need to understand the why of it all and nurture ourselves.

I would like to extend an invitation to comment and share your “Constipated” story. Make us laugh or make us cry, it doesn’t matter because it’s all about the journey and how we get where to where we need to be. Sound off, let your hair down and express whatever it is you need to say about anything you've bottled up for heaven knows how long. Everyone has a story!

P.S. I invite you subscribe to The Constipated Woman and have this blog deposited in your inbox. The best thing about it is, you can always remain Anonymous.

Soon, I will be posting guest blogs from other readers and subscribers.  If you would like to submit some candid thoughts, please send your submission to my email or visit me on Facebook.

Until next time…God Bless!

Ramblings from an unfocused mind...

“I often warn people: "Somewhere along the way, someone is going to tell you, 'There is no "I" in team.' What you should tell them is, 'Maybe not. But there is an "I" in independence, individuality and integrity.”   ~George Carlin

Today, was the first day in a few months that the temperature and the high humidity were lower, and naturally, it was a great day to be outside working on my semi-neglected flowerbeds. When the steady temps reach and stay near one hundred degrees, I don’t know about most people, but I eventually lose some interest when it’s a necessity to work in the yard. No mater how diligent I am about watering, fertilizing, and deadheading faded blooms, by the end of the summer the heat gets the best of me. And, if it’s not the heat, it’s a combination of that and the pesky squirrels that have eaten or dug up my incessant efforts.

I wonder what’s the use after putting so much time and money into a hobby that doesn’t last the whole season. Oh, I know the answer, it’s because I love the simplistic beauty that flowers provide, and more than anything, it’s the domino effect that thrills me. Plant flowers and they bring of course the bumblebees, but it’s really the brilliantly colored butterflies and the Ruby Throated Hummingbirds I patiently wait to visit.

I went out to pull weeds in the garden furthest from the house and mumbled more than a few four-letter words under my breath when I saw how those rotten little buggers (squirrels) gnawed what I thought were fairly sturdy plastic pots. When taking the baskets to the garbage containers, I happened to notice how full and luscious my neighbor’s roses were. This is not one of those cases where something actually looks better on the other side of the fence, because I can actually say those roses bushes were indeed stunning!

If you’ve followed my blogs long enough, you’ll know how one thought triggers another and then I’m off on a totally unrelated subject. Today is not any different. I mentioned before that I hum a lot when I do any tedious task, so, here I am looking at my neighbor’s roses lining her clear sparkling pool, and I recall the volcanic performance Bette Milder gave when she belted out The Rose, from the final scene of the movie by the same name. I loved that movie, but if you ask my husband his thoughts about it, he’ll shake his head, roll his eyes and say, “Don’t ask.”

When it first came out, I saw it twice at the theatre and once at the drive in. I know it drove my husband insane, but gracious as he was, he tagged along. The movie was based loosely on the life of Janis Joplin, who in the late 60’s (in my estimation) was the one female vocalist who could make you feel her pain and frustration about love, being in love, being afraid to love, making love or being jilted by a lover.

The emotional honesty about her music was what moved me. It’s also the kind of thinking that can get a girl mixed up in the emotional complexities of growing up too fast and making bad decisions about herself and her liberating libido. I believe Janis was a legitimately great blues singer with correspondingly huge personal issues that interfered with her music and ended her life. Unfortunately, for her and many other musicians who left this world before their time, drugs became a religious experiment and a movement of freedom.

All this makes me speculate about the world we live in now with billboards plastered along well traveled roads telling our young people, and reminding an absentminded parent to tell their children…just say no to smoking, drugs, and sex. I don’t remember anyone promoting, just be yourself…stand up to bullies…just say no to anything that doesn’t feel right when I was young. I wonder if the musicians of yesteryear would be with us now if there were campaigns telling them it’s all right to have insecurities. Probably not.

I can honestly say, “I’m glad I’m not grading this blog!” Writing is a skill, like any other and I seem to forget that when I write this blog. The main thing is to stay focused. For serious writing I do, but when I blog it is more an extension of self.  A college English professor once told our class, "Many people don’t remain focused who have had bad experiences with terrible and mean teachers growing up, and with people for when writing is their means of expression."  In my case, it was both. On this act of contrition, I refrain from any further conjecture tonight.

The Rose

By Amanda McBroom

Some say love it is a river

  That drowns the tender reed  

Some say love it is a razor

      That leaves your soul to bleed      

Some say love it is a hunger

An endless aching need

I say love it is a flower

And you it's only seed

It's the heart afraid of breaking

That never learns to dance

It's the dream afraid of waking that never takes the chance

It's the one who won't be taken

Who cannot seem to give

And the soul afraid of dying that never learns to live

When the night has been too lonely

And the road has been too long

And you think that love is only

For the lucky and the strong

Just remember in the winter far beneath the bitter snows

Lies the seed

That with the sun's love

In the spring

Becomes the rose