Who’s the imposter inside your skin? Is it you? Is it me? Is it her or is it him?
Who’s that voice you hear in your head? Is it hers? Is it his? Mama said, Daddy said.
What are those words Coming out of your face? Are they filled with life Or marred with disgrace?
Those thoughts in your head Too many to count Slow them down… Reduce the amount.
Deep belly breaths Innnnn and then out Release the stress Let go of the doubt.
You are whole You are free Let it be You will see
The shame from past sins May no longer reside The present is now Where I no longer hide.
The sanctity of this moment Right here in my face Reminding me of my mantra Which is “grace upon grace”.
Divinity rises Darkness is light I no longer will fear What’s not in plain sight.
As I pen these words The light is breaking through Not only for me It’s also for you.
Joy Original 10/23/23
I’m not quite ready to go into this one. It is so deeply personal. I post this for the one who needs to knowthey are not alone in the struggle. No matter what the specificities may be, we find similarities in our humanity. Think what could happen if we begin looking at the human being across from us with compassion and understanding no matter what condition they are in. This is a time for love. More than I have ever witnessed. We will never cure hate with more hate. Love is the answer. It always has been.
Yesterday was the first of many firsts. It was the first time I celebrated a birthday without my mama on this earth.
She died on a Monday. July 17th. It’s been a little more than 1 month and yet it feels like many more. Grief is tricky that way.
I have grieved many things in many ways but none like this. I’ve lived enough for 10 people in this one life and never have I found sadness to be as complex & intricately woven throughout my being as this of my mother no longer bound by earthly limitations.
I’ve been abnormally quiet over the last 4 weeks. Even still I am thankful for each one of you who have reached out to express your condolences. I know that takes courage, especially when you aren’t sure what to say.
The relationship with my mom was complicated and now I am learning how that translates into a grief that is not without complication.
I have thrown myself into this campaign to raise money for baby llama, Callisto Stardust, in an effort to do something productive while processing how in the hell I’m supposed to handle this sorrow that continues to perplex & challenge me.
I’m finding that while one moment I’m laughing and completely okay, the next I’m in the bathroom stall of a public restroom bawling my eyes out after realizing that I won’t need to find a Christmas present for her this year.
Mom didn’t call before 8am to sing “Happy Birthday” referring to me as only she did, “Joy Beth.” (She’s the only one who has ever shortened my middle name of Elizabeth to Beth.) Once again something I never thought I would miss, I find myself longing to hear once more.
I’m learning. Grief is grossly personal. No two people will experience it the same way. Including sisters. I’m certain I am processing & moving through the world differently than either of my sisters. Guess what? That’s okay.
I know this has led to a great deal of judgment from those onlookers who know the person I was 2 decades ago. I’ve had to let go of that in an effort to get up in the morning and do basic life skills like brushing my teeth and making the bed.
This is a lingering grief. One I am now certain never goes away, only softens as healing continues. My hope is to learn from my experience in this that can only be described as the place after witnessing the valley of the shadow of death.
So instead of postponing or ignoring the many emotions that can surface all at once in this season, I’m asking it, as I do most things after the initial shock wears off, “What are you here to teach me?”
I hesitated to ask in this case as I wasn’t sure I had the patience left to learn, but thankfully I have a group of the most badass women consisting of medical & mental health professionals as well as girlfriends who are willing to guide me while also pointing out potential pitfalls. If you do not have a therapist who truly sees and meets you right where you are while maintaining the goal of not leaving you there, l would strongly encourage you to seek one out.
These are the lessons I hope to be familiar enough with to share, offering hope to others not as far along in this classification no one chooses to join.
Teach me…
How to be a better listener, When to keep my mouth shut, When to explain my reasoning for why I’m not doing what everyone expects me to do, How to be present with someone else’s pain, When to sit in the silence many find deeply unsettling, How to forgive someone for something they were not mindful of doing, The meaning of acceptance without fully understanding.
I thought I had a decent grasp on grief. Not just one type, many. Turns out, I’m still learning and growing. And that, if nothing else, is beautiful.
(the gorgeous flowers around Mom’s pictures are all by my incredibly talented sister, Jennifer. Owner & Lead Designer ofJ. Riley Design.)
I’ve never spoken about this.
I started to…many times.
The pain of the “what-if’s” was paralyzing, preventing my fingers from typing the words.
Every year when I see the social media posts with the red X’s I think, “This is the year to talk about this. It’s time. Just sit down and write!”
And once again the fear of the potential tragedy and grief overwhelm me, leaving me unable to form the words.
A few days ago, the hashtag #savethechildren popped up in my feed. As I scrolled through the posts, there I was, back in the same headspace I’ve been for the last 4 years.
“Tell the story.
Her story.
Harper Rain…and Tuda…
That awful day…
Can I even remember the details correctly?
It’s too hard.
I can’t.
. . . . .
Someone needs this.
Someone needs to know they’re not alone.
Shine a light in the darkness.
Bring awareness.
Grieve openly with those who are personally affected.
Share the story.”
It took a few days, but here I am, fingertips to keys, words on paper.
Breaking my years-long silence with this story of how a beautiful, playful, unremarkable day could have ended in life-altering tragedy.
I was taking pictures of Harper as I’ve done since the day she was born.
My sister drove up, we had a wonderful day shooting.
She planned to stop at a large retail store on her way out of town, for a quick shopping trip.
The crowds were thicker than usual causing my sister to hold on to Harper a little tighter. As they were headed towards the exit, a well-dressed man moving swiftly through the crowd, grabbed Harper’s arm, pulling her from my sister’s grasp. Within seconds, Tuda was watching the stranger carry Harper towards the elevators leading to the parking deck.
She began screaming and running towards the man as Harper looked back at her, over the shoulder of the stranger.
Just before advancing through the open doors of the elevator, the man tripped, dropping Harper to the ground. An onlooker swept her up as the perpetrator slid through the now closing doors of the elevator. He was gone.
All of this happened in less than 60 seconds.
Out of breath, my sister approached the good Samaritan now holding her daughter, he quickly placed Harper in her mama’s arms.
Relief, adrenaline, horror, outrage, unconditional love, all swirled together in her mind and heart. “Thank you, God!”
The police arrived quickly to take statements and file a report.
The officer informed Tuda of a ring of human traffickers working the area in Atlanta. He had no doubt the man was headed for the elevator leading down to a running vehicle waiting to make a quick exit from the garage and onto the freeway. “If he had made it to the car with her, the chances of you ever seeing your daughter again would have been slim to none,” he told her.
By this time the onlookers had mostly dispersed. The man who stuck his foot out tripping the predator, and scooping up our Harper, was nowhere to be found.
My sister, too shaken up to drive the 2-1/2 hours home, booked a hotel room. I arrived shortly after her call, alerting me to what had just taken place.
We watched Harper run around the room, playing in beams of light from the setting sun shining through the window…oblivious to the life-altering danger she was in a short time ago.
My sister and I said very little.
We sat in gratitude, with tears running down our cheeks and the sun’s warmth on our faces.
“Do you believe in angels?” You ask. “Why, yes…without a doubt, I believe in angels.”
Below is a poem I wrote after leaving the hotel room that night while thanking God for sparing us from the living hell of what could have been.
“Little brown girl in the sun, Little girl of only one, Reaching higher for the light, Don’t you know you burn so bright Dancing in their golden hue Don’t you know it’s all for you Beams of love, protection, & grace Swirl around and kiss your face The Angels knew you at first sight Precious one, adorned in light.”
– Joy Cannis July 2, 2016 For Harper Rain
For more information on human trafficking visit one or all of these organizations.
Ever have a day where you wanted to run away with only the clothes on your back?
It just feels like too much.
Too much noise.
Too much stuff.
Too much maintenance.
Too much drama.
Too much responsibility.
It’s tooooooooo dang much! (Notice no one ever says, “Too much money.”)
I said to a plumber the other day, who came to fix the mystery leak in our ceiling, (refer to picture), as he was breaking down the cost to explore the issue, “It suuuuuuuucks being an adult today.”
He looked at me and 1/2 chuckled as to say, “I have no idea how to respond? We just met and I think you might be crazy.”
He looked back at Chris who was now looking at me grinning, as I continued,
“No, for real. Do you feel it? The suckage of adulthood right now, in this moment, cause I sure do!”
I then made my dramatic exit, walked up the stairs and pretended there wasn’t a large green bucket in the foyer catching dripping water and the occasional piece of soaked sheetrock falling from the ceiling.
I’m ignoring the fact that the water is off in the house so I cannot wash my hands and I’m a tad OCD about germ control. And HELLO we all know the best way to prevent illness is through proper handwashing!
Anywho… by this point, I’m sitting on the fluffy bathroom floor mat. Feet against one wall, back against the other. The fan is on (sound control people) and the door is locked (no interruptions). Eyes closed. (I distract easily)
Have you ever looked around and blamed your circumstances?
Your husband? Your children? That extra pudge around my middle from the holiday indulgences?
I get it!
I’m right there with you!
And when I’m in these moments (that, I’m not gonna lie, sometimes stretch into days), I want to remember what I’ve experienced to be true every day of my life… (it’s important when you’re freaking out to speak truth to your destructive thoughts)
Feelingsaretemporary. Making permanent decisions based on temporary emotions always produces a negative outcome.
Mama’s need a lot more grace than we give ourselves.
Sometimes all the demands we feel the world placing on us are coming more from us than anyone/where else. (Ouch, right? The truth hurts)
Don’t underestimate the power of saying, “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” Especially with children. They are so much more forgiving than we give them credit for.
Maybe you just need to reconnect with your partner. (wink, wink)
It’s okay to stop mid-sentence and admit to being overly dramatic. It has been my experience that my husband never makes me feel bad about pausing to laugh at the energy I’m bringing to any given situation.
When I calm down enough to admit that I’m being ridiculous, I’m able to think through what running away would actually look like… my coffee habit alone is enough to deter me.
So whadda ya say?
This year, today, right now, can we I practice gratitude?
Better yet, am I willing to be grateful even when the ceiling’s falling in (literally)?
Good news on the mystery leak that stumped a Plumber, a Roofer, and a General Contractor.
After being manly and cutting away a bigger part of the ceiling, Chris found the source of the problem. (Isn’t that just like him?!)
View the video to see what happened.
As you may have expected, his hotness skyrocketed after defusing my bomb of emotions and worry and a leaky copper pipe in the ceiling that professionals couldn’t figure out. Turns out, Chris is consistently defusing potential explosions of all sorts every day.
The next time I wanna run away, I’ll come here instead. I have a whole new appreciation for my husband. Thanks, Y’all!
It feels good to be back. I’ve missed this space.
Here’s to more time writing in 2019!
Quite some time has passed since we met here, in this space.
Enough time to have my hair bleached blonde, travel thousands of miles and remove any doubt that writing is part of who I am. I need it for my sanity as my lungs need air to breathe.
I have been writing.
Sporadically.
Going longer periods between has caused inner turmoil for which there is no other cure than meeting you here, more frequently, and being my fully authentic self.
Something happened last Spring. Something that would change the trajectory of my future.
I decided it was time to wean off some prescribed medication that I had been taking every day for 2 years for degenerative disc disease & chronic pain in L4, L5 & S1 of my spine.
Each one of our children was going through battles of their own which many times presented as a seemingly insurmountable obstacle.
I fell back into my eating disorder. Hard.
I was all in.
We were being pressed from every side… and I wasn’t handling it well.
We will dive into the most difficult year in the life of our family, through stories from the depths of my memory. Which means there is mentionable room for error. I thought I was being authentic before, but Darlins’ as the song says, “You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet”
I should probably let you know that some subjects call for a 4-letter word (or two). I don’t mean to offend. I love Jesus, and I cuss a little. “Progress not perfection“, is my mantra.
This is a safe space to be vulnerable. I want to lead by example and to pretend I don’t say the “s” word, even when writing is lying, and we don’t want to build our relationship on a lie.
So here’s the deal…I won’t preach religion. I don’t think that’s what Jesus did, so I won’t.
I’m not going to pretend to be an expert on everything, although I do consider myself a master of my personal adventures. I believe I am a spiritual being having an earthly experience, not the other way around. (I’m 99.99% sure Oprah said that on Super Soul Sunday. I’m borrowing it now.)
What I will do is keep it real.
I will speak truth…my truth to the best of my ability and I will pray for each of you, every day, on this journey.
If you aren’t sure about God…believe that there is no God…are a bible beater…a seeker…a Jesus freak…a veteran Christian or anything in between, my hope is that something here will resonate in your gut and move you to positive action.
Thank you for taking the time out of this incredibly busy life to listen to my compilation of thoughts. I hope that you will visit often, leave encouraged and know that no matter what, you are not alone.
Remember this truth, God does not change and He is never surprised by anything. He created you with great purpose and there’s nothing you or anyone else can ever do to ruin that.
I have the privilege of sharing my story with women from all walks of life. To watch someone’s eyes change as they hear and embrace hope… well… there’s nothing else like it. So when Emily invited me to be a part of her series, “Questions Everyone Is Asking But No One Wants To Answer” I gladly accepted. Em is the Founder of BecomingMe.tv and is making it her life’s mission to help women find their voice through the power of sharing their story. And friends, this is only the beginning.
My prayer is that something in this video will resonate with you and move you to positive action. May ours eyes be opened to the truth of what we are… a masterpiece in the making.
If you or someone you love is struggling with an eating disorder, please get help. It is serious and in many cases, a matter of life and death. You can start by visiting the National Eating Disorders Association.
This post is my father, John Riley‘s, words. If you’ve heard him speak you will be able to hear him within these writings. I hope he will continue talking about the lessons he’s learning through his personal journey into grief that began in the Fall of 2015 after the sudden death of his brother, Buddy. As long as he keeps telling stories, I’ll keep typing.
Our hope is that these raw renderings will provide some much-needed relief and hope to those who are new to pain and loss. The ones among us who suffer silently while wishing for the person who understands to share their experience so they can say, “Really? Me too!”
I would encourage you to listen to the newly added audio with dad reading the post. Hearing a story read by its author gives it the ability to come alive. It will also give you a glimpse into why he is such a gifted communicator.
When someone in a white lab coat with the letters M.D. on the end of their name that’s stitched on the pocket, starts talking about you and a catheter in the same sentence, it’s sobering.
Once you get to thinkin’ about the reality of the proposed solution for what you hope is a temporary problem, it can really getcha down.
So… you have conversations… with said catheter and you get real honest. It may sound something like this, “You and I are not going to be friends but, we’ll put up with each other as long as we have to and then we’re through!”
For me, it was only a month. For many, it can be the rest of their lives.
Now y’all, that’s serious.
I don’t mean this to be too light hearted. It’s just that, trying to learn from it was better than cryin’ and cussin’ and carryin’ on… I suppose.
So, here are three things I learned from my catheter. Excuse me, THE catheter. I never wanted to own the thing.
1.- Pain can have benefits… if you let it.
Well, shoot! It’s hard to say what the benefits are because I can’t really think of many, but mainly you appreciate times of no pain.
After two weeks when I was told by my doctor (who is absolutely fantastic), “Sorry, we have to wait another week and another test.” I was upset. I had to process it.
It was only then that I could be thankful for this thing, discomfort and all, making it possible for me to heal inside.
So, I was extremely grateful that I was improving and that the greater percentage of my body was pretty healthy.
I also found gratitude for whoever invented the catheter. (That sounds weirder than I thought it would.) But seriously, I got really thankful for all the lives this person saved, including mine. Without this dang catheter, I would have already exploded five times over! Now, that’s enough to make even me grateful.
2.- Compassion has been defined as entering into the sorrows of another person and thereby showing mercy. I think that’s the way it goes?
How could I possibly enter into someone’s sorrow when I had never had the same sorrow?
I have been through the deaths of… well… everybody in my family older than I am, but this was my first time with a catheter. Now I can really feel for someone who has to have this great invention for a day, or for life.
Also, it teaches me that even though I don’t know personally what someone else is going through, I can know that it’s hard… even though I’ve not experienced the same thing. I thought I understood what it meant to be empathetic, but I’m not sure I ever truly have… before this. I hope that I will never again be unconcerned about another person’s problem.
3.- Make adjustments
By this, I don’t just mean which leg to put the bag on… but everything… well almost everything, you’ve done for many years.
Here are just a few that I have learned… fast… ’cause I didn’t have a choice.
Sleeping – don’t move around much. Get accustomed to sleeping on your back and your side. It’s not bad… except for sometimes… when it is.
Shower – unplug, clean, replug, dry… always makes ya feel better.
Dress – got me a whole new set of underwear, relaxed and unrestricted.
I didn’t realize boxers could be so comfortable! Wear ’em all the time now.
I have some that look like shorts, but the other day at my little community bank I go to, my friend the loan officer told me he could tell they were underwear. Oh well…
Loose pants are my friend. Especially sweat pants. But on days when the temperature in Alabama is 85 degrees, it looks kinda weird. So… I just stayed at home a lot.
Walking – was sometimes pretty easy, annnnd sometimes not.
Most of the time it felt like I was walkin’ with my legs spread like I just got off a horse. Nobody seemed to really notice except for one friend who did say to me, “Why are you walkin’ so funny?!” “It’s a long story!” I thought to myself. I have lots of conversations in my own head these days. Know what I mean?
Exercise – wasn’t on the agenda. Every day made me look forward to the time I could really start back exercising and made me feel a deep concern for those who never can.
So, the catheter has taught me to be open to learning new ways of doing things. As I get real close to being 70 years of age, it makes me realize I want to keep growing.
Considering these three things, I hadn’t really thought of it, but maybe the catheter was my friend? However, I’m not gonna have it framed and hang it on the wall. (Can you imagine?! Yuck!)
What are you going through that people can’t necessarily see, but is making a huge impact in your everyday? Has it taught you a kind of gratitude that you never knew you wanted to learn?
My sister and I said very little.
Quite some time has passed since we met here, in this space.
When someone in a white lab coat with the letters M.D. on the end of their name that’s stitched on the pocket, starts talking about you and a catheter in the same sentence, it’s sobering.
Even A Girl Like Me 