The Holy Shit Factor

I’ve been thinking about what I wrote last week. It occurred to me that it may have sounded as though I thought there was something wrong with people who could teach things they couldn’t do well—which really isn’t the case at all.

And so I wanted to share this: I really believe that each of us usually does the best s/he can with what s/he has.

I also believe each of us is wounded in some way; that belief comes from never ever having met someone without a wound or 20. And it's ok to be wounded. 

Wounds, themselves, are almost never visible--they're usually locked up tight. But there is always a manifestation of a wound. Some manifestations are visible to others. Others are carried deep inside, where only the wounded person can see them. Often, the wound is something that one sees, understands, and, try as s/he might, can’t mend—even with help. Unfortunately, often, those are the wounds that hold people back, and that there’s shame around (as in, “Why can’t I FIX this—I SHOULD be able to fix this….there has to be something wrong with me that I can’t FIX it!”)

I learned the biggest lesson of my life around wounds of the internal and external sort a few years ago.

I had (still have) an almost perfect friend. At the time, I really believed her to be absolutely perfect. She was bright, beautiful, thin, successful, and marrying the “IT” guy…who was also bright, buff, built, successful. And most of her friends (I knew a bunch of them, albeit virtually) were the same.

So when the invite to her wedding showed up, I was paralyzed. See, in my mind, I wasn’t any of those things. And I was fat, to boot. And so going to the wedding, and having to show up as my absolutely imperfect self was nearly impossible for me to contemplate.

For weeks, I tried to find the outfit that would make me feel most like I thought they felt in their own clothes. I think I even pushed Dominic into doing the same thing—all out of my absolute certainty that I didn’t want my friend, or her friends to look down on either of us.

And, girding my emotional loins, we went to the wedding. Once there, I immediately saw one of the perfect friends walking in my direction. He wasn’t walking over to see me—heck, I’d never even shared a pic of myself, so I knew he wasn’t coming to see me. He was just walking in my direction on the way to something else. As he got to me, I reached my hand out, touched the sleeve of his immaculately cut Italian suit and spoke to him.

He stopped, and said, “Have we met?” I told him who I was, and as I did, he smiled at me. A big, toothy grin of delight.

It's only been in retrospect that I realized his delight. At the time, though, I was terribly busy noticing that he didn’t really have great teeth.

Yeah. Mr. Perfect was imperfect.

And it was that in that exact moment I got on a deeply profound level that we all have SOMETHING. Something about ourselves that we don’t like. Something we’re ashamed of. Something that holds us back. Something we wish were different. Something that points to a wound we haven’t yet healed.

And right then, I stopped being ashamed of my fat, imperfect body. And I stopped looking at my friend, her husband, or their friends as perfect.

We were all the same, actually…just people, doing the best we could with what we had.

In the years that have passed, I’ve become very successful. I’ve grown internally in exponential amounts. Some people would tell you I’m one of the smartest, wisest women they know. I’m still fat, but as my friends would point out to you, they’ve never seen it seem to matter—to me, or anyone else.

In truth, to a great degree, it wasn’t that I’d made peace with the wound that was keeping me there. It was that I got good at not focusing on it. It’s not that I didn’t still try to work on it, and to heal it. But I didn’t blast myself all the time for being wounded, or for the resulting outward sign of the wound—my weight. I also tried to make the weight different—trying every diet known to man, each with greater or lesser success.

And then last year, I first decided that I wasn’t going to allow anyone to get close to me who didn’t see me and treat me as precious. That was huge—and some people had to leave my life, but other truly beloved people showed up. And the wound healed a little bit. Then, my mother died. The perpetrator of the wound was at last never again going to be in a position to hurt me. And the wound healed a little bit more. At the end of the year, my friend Jess, in a conversation, said some magic words to me. She said, “Struggle is part of my DNA.” She said them about herself, but I could have said them myself.

It was one of those profound life teachings I wasn’t expecting to get out of a regular conversation, but that landed so strongly I couldn’t ignore. It resonated because, although I never would have had the language to say it, it was the truth for me, too. Having my childhood, where my biggest struggle was trying to get my narcissistic parents to see me and love me led me to absolutely absorb struggle into the core of my being.

When Jess said what she said, and I realized how true it had been for me my whole life long, and then realizing that I had no more reason to struggle, the wound healed even a bit more.

Very shortly afterwards I saw this video on the Abraham-Hicks site. And although, coincidentally, it happens to be about weight, I saw it as a message for me about struggle in general, and decided that 2009 would be “The Year of Ease” for me. And the wound kept healing.

And so this year has found me focusing on not paddling hard upstream, and turning my boat around to float down whenever I saw myself struggling. Every time I did, the wound healed more.

In May, at SOBCon, Kali Evans-Raoul—a fabulous image consultant, said to a room full of bloggers, “What you all need is the Holy Shit Factor. That’s where what you say, how you sound, and what you look like match who you claim to be online.”

Another profound life teaching for me, because it pushed me to come face to face with the fact that what I look like doesn’t match the rest.

A month later, at FoVA, Dawn and I were leading a session fondly referred to as The Cabana Boy session. It was all about having high standards for your business, and Dawn and I were going to point out that people really didn’t want a business that resembled Homer Simpson, but one that resembled a hot, buff cabana boy.

And that caused me to look at the fact that my wound—and my resulting fat, left me out of integrity with the absolute foundation of what I teach—that having high standards and a super-strong foundation, leads to stronger businesses and higher-quality lives.

In every way, save this one, I am a person who absolutely lives what I teach. I’m not the person who teaches because I can’t do the thing I’m teaching—but even if I were, so what? If what I teach rocks, what difference would it make to my students, really, that I wasn’t doing it myself?

As we did our session, smack in my face, was a profound teaching. The wound wasn’t completely healed, but I felt clearly that it was time for some very decisive action to move me away from staying stuck with the fat, and stuck with the thing that kept me from the Holy Shit Factor.

I came home, and did the one thing I’d resolutely told myself I’d never do (because, bloody hell, I oughta be able to lose weight it on my own!). I called a bariatric surgeon, made an appointment, and scheduled myself for surgery—to have a Sleeve Gastrectomy.

Five weeks post op, I’m without 80% of my stomach. I’m 35 lbs lighter. I feel amazing. I’m on a new journey of discovery that is very difficult to describe. And I know a reformed (or reforming) person is just the worst, but I’m not here to preach.

I’m just here to offer this Bit O’Moxie: Whatever your thing—whether people can see it (like weight or bad teeth), or it’s invisible (like having been abused as a child), and whether you can heal it or not, don’t let it stop you in the here-and-now, from being the absolute best you that you can be. Do the best you can with what you have. And whatever you absolutely don’t like—change it. There’s a solution or work around to just about anything. Be willing to find it, and to let other people help you get there.

Healing my wound completely would be oh-so nice. But I think that maybe some wounds take a lifetime to heal. In the meantime, rather than letting it run my life for the second half of my life, I’m going to run the show—the whole show. And if I can do it, you can, too. 

With regard to the specific point of this blog, you can have the practice you dream of. You can work with ideal clients. You can be paid what you dream of being paid. You can climb out of your financial hole. You can be who you most want to be. Just start moving in the direction you want to go, today. One step, then another, then another. Get coaching. Get training. Ask me to work with you, for golly geeze (I know more about this VAing stuff than anyone, and soon, I’m gonna have the Holy Shit Factor, to boot! What’s not to love about me, huh?). And watch for the lessons. They’re everywhere. They’re oh-so good, and they will help you make radical differences in your life and work. Just be awake and aware--and willing to take inspired action. :)

Comments

[Sandra Trca-Black]

Beautiful. Beautiful. Inside and out. Right side up and upside down.

And this (i.e. choosing to be the absolute best I can be) is why there is now a treadmill in my basement and an Accutane Rx with my name on it. I have done SO much work on my soul and spirit over the past years, and my body has fallen behind. I'm going to take the best of me from the past, give it to the best of the now and future, and...Holy Shit, watch out.

[Merri Taylor, Here2Assist]

Thanks for this great post, Stacy! I'm literally among the walking wounded right now, with 4 worrisome life situations that have piled up on old, unhealed wounds, life can and does feel like an uphill battle. But, I'm still standing and walking ... step by step. The topic of struggle always reminds me of the butterfly story, which tells how the butterfly needs its wings to fight against the cocoon before it can emerge into freedom. The struggle is what makes it strong enough to live and to fly. The story can be found here: http://tinyurl.com/pd7qgc

[Yvonne Thompson]

WOW! Thanks for the kick in the butt, Stacy. I needed it. This post, while top notch in substance, is one of the most well-written I have seen in a long time.

[Shannan Sorrell]

To me, Stacy, you were the *perfect* one. Thank you for the refreshingly honest and inspiring post. Now I'd better get to work on my Holy Shit Factor!

[Cheryl Harless]

Okay, I cried. (No surprise, huh?) thanks for that oh so wonderful Bit O' Moxie.

While I've understood not pushing against the river -- I now get it on a new and profoundly different level. :::sniff-sniff:::

Thank you... for all the "Wonderful" that is YOU!

[Michael Martine]

Wow, this is incredibly inspiring! Thanks for sharing it with the world.

[Gordon Mullan]

All I can say, from personal experience, is that even the deepest of wounds can be healed in a very much shorter time than a lifetime.

Check out www.sedona.com - it's transforming my life, maybe it can help you too.

[Wayne M. Peterson]

::: smiling and applauding :::

[Anne Braudy]

Awesome post, Stacy!

[Dawn Goldberg]

I'd say that the process of healing the wound(s) is part of the journey. Do they ever get healed? Shrug. I don't know. I do know that my wounds heal to a point that I never knew existed. Are they healed completely? I don't know. Maybe. Or, as I've seen happen before, the healing sticks for as long as it can, usually until I've grown past it, and then I'm ready for the next stage.

On a completely different note, I think you should teach a What's Your Holy Shit Factor? class. :)