Dad, Here’s What I Really Need from You

Lee Wolfe Blum - Helping Women Develop a Hunger for Life
Lee Wolfe Blum - Helping Women Develop a Hunger for Life

My dad is a respectable man of his word. A kind and caring man who is still so handsome in his collared shirts, crisp khaki shorts and smell of Old Spice.

But, there was great difficulty between us when I was growing up. A tension that felt like an invisible barricade neither of us could break through. As a young girl, I couldn’t define it; I just knew it was there. I knew I wanted so much more from him and I knew I wasn’t receiving it.

I wrote about our journey in my book Table In The Darkness.

As a teenager this barrier made me angry and bitter towards him. I retaliated by using him for money and placing little value on our relationship. Most of my issues with him were because he didn’t talk much and I held on to mean things he said to me as a child, late into my twenties. Used them as reason I wasn’t going to pursue a relationship and reasons why I was going to hold a grudge. That wall became thicker and thicker. I found myself jealous at how he would relate so effortlessly to my brother and sister, but not to me.

More bricks. More resentment.

I couldn’t comprehend he was actually human.

That wall didn’t help either of us.

My dad is quiet and introverted and had a child (me) with an exorbitant amount of energy and incessant need to talk. All. The. Time. We were opposites in every way. I wanted him to be like me, to talk and to ask questions and to dive deep into theological conversation. I don’t know what he wanted from me, except probably for me to be a little less quiet and hyper.

When my parents divorced and my Dad had his own condo, he started a ritual that began to fracture our wall. I am not sure why, but it did. Driving away from his place, he would stand in front of the garage. Alone. And wave. He wouldn’t go inside until I was out of view. And every time I would cry. Back then; it frustrated me that tears would come.

It was his silent way of telling me; he loved me and hated to see me go.

Now as a grown woman when I drive away from his home in Kansas, with my three boys and husband in the car, he does the same thing. His hair is grayer, his body aged, but those eyes. Those blue eyes and the wave still look at me and tell me, I love you. I am so proud of you. I sob every time. He, in his own way gives me exactly what I needed.

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He loved me and still loves me deeply. He didn’t show it with words, which is what I longed for, but showed it in his eyes. In his quiet presence. He showed it in the way that he always and still keeps his word. And now, as time and life trials have worn us both down we connect in our own way. I don’t wish for him to be someone other than he is anymore. I don’t hold memories of past mistakes and hurtful words, because as parent I am now making some of the same mistakes. What I know, deep in my heart is that he loves me, has always loved me, even if then I couldn’t quite see it.

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I know better now. I have greater insight now, and oh how I wish I would have had it then. My Dad did the absolute best he could.

I am writing this because today is a very big day for a dear friend of mine, Michelle Watson. A respected therapist, and a dear sweet friend. Today is the launch of her book, Dad, Here’s What I Really Need from You – A Guide for Connecting with Your Daughter’s Heart.

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It took me years to even understand what I needed from my Dad, and maybe years for him to be able to do the same. I don’t know for sure, but I know the learning curve would have been shorter for both of us, had a book like this been available.

There are so many helpful tips and quotes in this book.

“Every girl Needs to See Her Dad’s Eyes Light Up When He Sees Her.” -page 133

My Dad does this, every time I come home and I love it so much. I encourage you; buy this book for your husband. Your Dad. Your co-worker. The book launches today, a perfect day to go and buy it!

Xo

Lee

Does Your Passion Make People Uncomfortable?

Lee Wolfe Blum - Helping Women Develop a Hunger for Life
Lee Wolfe Blum - Helping Women Develop a Hunger for Life

Passion is what makes artists and advocates.

It helps motivate change in large groups. It fuels the artists, performers and entrepreneurs. It wakes you up in the middle of the night and it propels you to sacrifice and toil until the goal is reached.

Not everyone likes passionate.

I am speaking from experience. I am passionate and it can rub the line-keeping box-living people the wrong way. They want us to stay clone like in our lanes between the lines with predictability.

Because somehow maybe this keeps their world safe if we stay the same and consistent.

Recently I bumped up against this as I have many times in my life.

Someone said to me, “Nothing is ever good enough for you.”

I curled my shoulders in and felt the shame cut deep into my tender soul. Yes, I want too much, I ask for too much and I should just be content as is.

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I shrunk back into the place in this world that everyone expects me to be.

The thoughts about my choices began to roll in like turbulent clouds. I mean really, look at my career track! Why didn’t I follow a straight line like everyone else? Why didn’t I major in one thing, get a degree and work in that career. Look at my resume; casting agent, model and talent agent, conference planner, marketing project manager, preschool teacher, and now health educator at an eating disorder facility. Oh and a degree is in Theater. What a mess of a line.

Oh and then there is that other piece of being an author and a speaker. How does any of this make sense?

Over and over again I get stuck in this tape where people say things and I listen. One time someone said, “You can’t just become a speaker!” Many many times actually, people would ask, “What writing experience do you have to write a book?”

Until…the fire of passion comes back and I reminded myself, Oh Lee. You know this drill you know how this spins. Don’t get stuck here.

Yes. I have been here before. To some it may seem like it isn’t “good enough” but from my view, when I am not fastened in shame, it is colorful and exciting and different.

I watch for ways things can change, be better, and be different.

I strive for more because it is fun and exciting. I look for the colors beneath the black and white status quo. I try new things and often fall flat on my face.

I can’t not be passionate and sometimes that makes people uncomfortable. 

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Had I listened to them, had I stayed in my four-cornered box, I would have never have followed the leading inside of me. The leading that I felt was coming from the God who created me.

Passion is a beautiful thing.

Don’t let the world steal that from you. Don’t let the naysayer tell you to stay as is.

Take the risks, speak your truth, and follow your dreams.

Life is too short not to!

Lee 

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Robin Williams, the Question of “Choice” – and a rebuttal to Matt Walsh

Lee Wolfe Blum - Helping Women Develop a Hunger for LifeLee Wolfe Blum - Helping Women Develop a Hunger for Life
Lee Wolfe Blum - Helping Women Develop a Hunger for Life

The internet offered beautiful sentiments of love and compassion for the loss of Robin Williams.

But it also displayed commentary I found eerily synonymous to Job’s friends in the Bible. Well intended comments that are actually quite harmful. Everything that is good can also be used for harm and the internet quickly became this type of menagerie.

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Matt Walsh wrote (in my opinion) a very insensitive article on Robin William’s suicide. Three million people viewed it and he had to write another post stating his case. Ironically, he never admits to calling suicide a choice, which he clearly does.

Matt’s first post

Matt’s rebuttal

What is shocking to me is not only Matt’s post, but some of the appalling and disgraceful attacks on him! Then news came that Robin William’s daughter removed her social media accounts because of similar viscous comments.

I am reminded of Job and his well-meaning, but hurtful friends. 

“Possibly the oldest book in the Bible, Job reads like the most modern. Its extreme portrayal – one man confronting the abyss in a universe that makes no sense – foreshadows the predicament of modern humanity.” – Disappointment with God, by Philip Yancey

I would like to focus in on not the zoo that is the internet, but more on this use of the word “choice”.

People quickly threw out words “selfish” and “choice”. And my heart split. While in the world of rational mind and rational thought, yes suicide appears to be a final choice that one makes. And those left behind are just that… left behind, in deep grief because of what appears to be a decision.

While Job never died from suicide, his friends were quick to rationalize his pain.

His friends and his wife were quite harsh with their words:

“Submit to God, and you will have peace; then things will go well for you. Listen to his instructions and store them in your heart. If you return to the Almighty. You will be restored-so clean up your life.” – Job 22:21-23

“Job scraped his sin with a piece of broken pottery as he sat among the ashes. His wife said to him, ‘Are you still trying to maintain your integrity? Curse God and die.’” – Job 2:8

We are all so quick to heap opinions and banality on others pain. 

“Yet when I hoped for good, evil came; when I looked for light, then came darkness. The churning inside me never stops.” – Job 30:26-27

Yancey explains the mypoic views Job’s friends take:

“Job’s friends offered their own versions of words of wisdom and each contains an element of truth. But the Book of Job plainly shows that such “helpful advice” does nothing to answer the questions of the person in pain. It was the wrong medicine, dispensed at the wrong time.” – Disappointment with God, by Philip Yancey

What people can’t understand, similar to Job’s friends in the Bible, is how harmful and hurtful it is to say such things. Because the reality is, those of us who have been where Robin William’s was, in pain and torment and deep mental confusion to the point of harming oneself with a knife and then taking ones one life, know it is NOT RATIONAL.

There is no rational thought happening.

There are no typical synopsis in the brain firing like normal. There is only noise. Screaming twisting and decibel breaking noise. And you want it to stop. For that one moment, anything to make it stop.

To help you understand, think of this: Have you ever heard news stories of people with hypothermia who are out in the freezing temperatures and they take their clothes off? How does that make any sense? When you are freezing to death, you take your clothes off to freeze more? Take off the one thing that is actually keeping you warm, keeping you potentially alive!

“A strange thing happens to people when they get hypothermia. Many of them strip off their clothes as one of their last acts before they die. This is common phenomena among fatal hypothermia cases and is known as “paradoxical undressing.”  Why in the world would someone who is literally freezing to death take off their clothes?” –  blisstree.com

The same thing happens when your mind is twisted and full of pain. The choices are not rational and do not make sense.

“Postmortem studies of the brains of people who have died by suicide have shown a number of visible differences in the brains of people who died by suicide, compare to those who died from other causes, suicide is a result of a disease of the brain”- (Mann & Currier, 2012).

I have written about my own experience with depression and suicide in my book,  Table In the Darkness and a few blog entries.  Writing about my “choice” to end my life was terrifying, as I knew the response would be something like we saw in the past few days. That I was selfish and how could I do such a thing!

But hear me when I say this, my brain was not working right. There were no rational thoughts. I was crying out to God. I was a Christian who believed that God saved me and  loved me. And yet, I still, in that state of mind couldn’t do anything else but try to make the noise stop. Just like someone who rips off their clothes while freezing.

It is so easy isn’t it for all of us to judge what he did, what many do. Because dear God, we would never be so selfish! Stop. Please don’t be like Job’s friends.

Until you have been there, until you have experienced what it is like to have your brain misfiring and sending you the wrong signals, you cannot say you get it. Just as Job’s friends tried to comfort and console using the rational thoughts that worked for them, we only cause more harm in doing so.

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Instead, let us respond with deep compassion and grace for mental illness. I have worked with hundreds of suicidal people and as I said above, experienced this myself. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone to feel that dark abyss of pain.

By shaming and judging like many are doing, we are only perpetuating the need for people to stay silent.

To hide in shame when they have these thoughts or experiences. To put on that mask so no one will know. We need education for the public and for the church. I long for people to understand, please try.

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More Grace. Less Judgement.

Xo

Lee

I was happy to read the following beautiful responses to this tragic story:

What the Church & Christians Need to Know About Suicide And Mental Health

Robin Williams, Matt Walsh, Joy & Silence

Thoughts on Depression, Suicide and Being A Christian

What We Want to Say To Robin Williams #RobinWilliams

Lee Wolfe Blum - Helping Women Develop a Hunger for Life
Lee Wolfe Blum - Helping Women Develop a Hunger for Life

The headlines everywhere report this horrible news: Robin Williams Dead in Apparent Suicide.

“Robin Williams seemed to have it all: fame, wealth, an Oscar, an adoring and passionate fan following — but he also had a history of battling demons.” - NBC News

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“Robin Williams was an airman, a doctor, a genie, a nanny, a president, a professor, a bangarang Peter Pan, and everything in between.  But he was one of a kind. He arrived in our lives as an alien — but he ended up touching every element of the human spirit.  He made us laugh.  He made us cry.  He gave his immeasurable talent freely and generously to those who needed it most — from our troops stationed abroad to the marginalized on our own streets.” - CNN says

Even the President is talking about you.

We all want to tell you this:

Can’t you see your beautiful life and the world that loves you? Your fame and your talent that has brought us Mork and Hook. Your “Nanu Nanu” and your profound deep richness in “Dead Poets Society” and “Good Will Hunting“? Can you not see your deep and unique talent in what you have offered the world? I want to tell you that the way you smile with a bit of a smirk is exactly how my Dad smiles. That I feel as if I know you.

But we don’t know you do we?

We want to put all of this in front of you to show you, to show you it isn’t as bad as it feels.

But, we don’t know the dark tormenting thoughts that filled your mind.

We don’t know your depression.

That depression snuck in and stole you. A beautiful talented soul.

I don’t think you wanted to die, you just wanted to stop living.

I know my depression, and it came at me like a roaring lion one night just like you. It told me the only option to lessen the pain and the incessent abusive thoughts was to end it all. People could have come and told me how great my life was, how loved I was, or how beautiful the sun shone in the morning.

But when the darkness begins to slither in and choke you, all you can see is a sunless tomb where it feels like you will be trapped forever. A dark tunnel where the cement lays heavy on you and the only way out is death.

I get it. I was there. I once made a similar choice as yours.

It is a devious little disease, this depression.

You can think it gone until its cunning whispers prick your ear again, little stabs of its darkness and voices of you don’t measure up. Depression plays screeching sounds of these old tapes, turns up the volume and torments and twists words and situations and even the looks in people’s eyes. It tells you you don’t matter, you are nothing, and you are better off gone. Like an incessant barking dog you begin to answer to cease its taunting.

To just quiet the noise.

Although I celebrate my eighteenth anniversary at a second chance at life this October, I can’t say that the whispers forever went away. Mostly at night, in the dark they sometimes come back at me. Sometimes they come alone, other times in super bowl-like crowds, ready to take over.

I fight it hard.

Depression is a nasty liar. It steals beautiful lives God meant for good.

And it won with you. It has won with so many others.

It is such a loud liar.

Today and forever, we grieve the loss of you. Not only the undescribable loss of an incredibly talented man, but of a husband and a father.

With the loss of you, I also grieve the loss of all the millions depression and addiction has stolen from this world. And I want to cry out to you and say what all of us want to say using our rational minds, but why? Fame, money and success. You had it all. Right?

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But we can’t use rational thought towards something so irrational such as depression and addiction. 

If we dig deeper, those of us who have been tormented by depression and/or addiction know better. It is much more intricitly complicated than what you see on the surface.

So what do we do? Do we allow this to continue, sit back and surrender to it?

No, we fight harder. I know I will fight harder. Fight the stigma of mental illness. It doesn’t wear a face. I am not sure what would have changed it for you, but I do know it must have been painfully difficult in your world to tell people your demons were slithering  back into your mind.  I am so so sorry for the torment you and millions of others are in.

We can not deny the reality here that depression and addiction steals lives.

“Substance abuse is a risk factor for suicide. The strongest risk factor for suicide is depression. Suicide takes the lives of nearly 30,000 Americans every year. Many who attempt suicide never seek professional care.
There are twice as many deaths due to suicide than HIV/AIDS. Between 1952 and 1995, suicide in young adults nearly tripled. Over half of all suicides occur in adult men, ages 25-65.” - Suicide Awareness Voices of Education 

It does not discriminate and mental illness is a real and powerful thing and not something that can be pushed away. We are watching over and over again how it destroys.

It doesn’t have to.

If you or someone you know is struggling, please reach out and do not delay. Tell someone. Get help. You may not feel like your life is important or that anyone cares, but I promise you…someone does and you matter. Every one of us matters. You are not alone. 

“Hopelessness often prevents people from seeking help, because they believe that help would be pointless. That is never the case.”- Roderick Shaner, medical director for the Los Angeles County Department of Mental Health

We are heartbroken it stole you from this world.

Let’s not let it take any more.

May you rest in peace sweet one.

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Xo

Lee

 

 

 

 

Depression Test

 

When You Feel Overwhelmed

Lee Wolfe Blum - Helping Women Develop a Hunger for LifeLee Wolfe Blum - Helping Women Develop a Hunger for Life
Lee Wolfe Blum - Helping Women Develop a Hunger for Life

And there it is.

The piles of laundry, the lists of school supply shopping needing to be done, the dishes overflowing in the sink due to a broken dishwasher, the mail unopened, and the goals and dreams being pushed further and further back into the recesses of my mind.

It overwhelms and chokes the life right of me.

Because really, how can anything get done when nothing gets done?

Welcome to my world.

Is this yours too?

Maybe it is more than just the never-ending-to-do list, but it is confronting a friend, applying for a job, or asking for help for your addiction. Maybe it is simply admitting you need to take that first step.

Any of these things can become mountains in our minds, mountains that seem impossible to even begin to tackle.

So you don’t. You sit and stare at its enormity and wait for the motivation to take action. I am speaking from experience here. Motivation or the right time, might not ever come. The time is now. The only way to climb that proverbial mountain is to take that first step.

To do one thing.

That’s all.

One thing.

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Make one phone call, fold one piece of laundry, wash one dish…tell someone you are struggling. Whatever it is, the only way to get there is…ONE STEP AT A TIME.

One little movement in the right direction will help you make your next right step.

Another great way to look at it is:

“All you need is 20 seconds of insane courage.” From the movie, We Bought A Zoo.

We overwhelm ourselves when we look at the mountain, instead of looking at the next right thing and doing that.

One step. Today. I am going to, won’t you join me? 

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Happy Monday!

Xo

Lee

True Companion? Loving Someone With Mental Illness

Lee Wolfe Blum - Helping Women Develop a Hunger for Life
Lee Wolfe Blum - Helping Women Develop a Hunger for Life

Over 500K viewers will tune in tonight for the season finale of the Bachelorette. My husband and I watch it together as we mock this simulated imitation of relationships. Because we know that love is nothing like the idolized world of fancy vacations, fantasy suites and a constant stream of passionate lifelong (or so they claim) commitment and mixed with dramatic unrequited love.

Love is actually much more beautifully complicated.

Especially when you love someone with an eating disorder or mental illness.

Beautiful and complicated.

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What do you do when you find your soul mate, the one you love, the one you just know God has put in your life? You do what you dreamed of doing, you marry her and live happily ever after. You have children and you grow old together. It is beautiful and simple and as easy as they make it seem on reality shows.

We were nothing like that simplicity.

Everything was out on the table, my struggle with an eating disorder and my reoccurring bouts of deep depression. In the midst of dating, I went away for months to live in a locked unit trying to get well. Many told him to break free, to find the good Christian girl without the baggage. To find the one who would “let go and let God”, because I clearly wasn’t. And really, what kind of future could he expect if this was how the dating life was going to be? Yet, he continued to stay.

I was a gamble. A risk. But isn’t it a risk every time we love someone? There are no guarantees of this “fairy tale”. You see it on the Bachelor this infatuational love that feels good. This finding of your one true love so that your life is complete. And that is 100% a mirage.

We all come together as one with two broken and fractured souls.

To deny that is to be unrealistic. When we begin to look for our completeness in another person we are drinking from a well that will never satisfy. I am not saying, love and marriage aren’t beautiful and God ordained. They are. And they are beautifully complicated for many. At least our story was and I know many others are as well.

They sent him flowers.

I was lying in the ICU unit of a hospital after trying to unsuccessfully take my own life. I should have been dead. I wanted to die. The depression a black tar that left me deep in a pit. There were no signs of my impending destruction, as I was a master of wearing the mask. Working, smiling, and doing what the world expected. But inside, inside the darkness and the incessant thoughts of shame and self-loathing overwhelmed me to the point of madness.

And by a miraculous twist of fate, he had a stirring in his soul that something was wrong with me. That he must wake up. That he must go to me. He listened. His listening took him to the house I was living in only to find me lying in a pool of vomit nearly dead.

He was the hero. He was the one they sent flowers to. There are no flowers sent to you after you unsuccessfully try to take your own life. I understood.

Once again, he was told to run.

To leave the crazy girl who couldn’t seem to cope. Because really, what if you had children and she did this? What if she did this and you were left as her caregiver?

And he stayed. Because he believed something different than what the world was saying. He believed that underneath the illness was the woman he loved. The woman he laughed and cried with. The woman he continued to believe was his soul mate. Maybe he was the crazy one for staying?

And to be even more unconventional, he asked me to marry him a mere seven months after the suicide attempt. And three months later we walked down the isle as husband and wife.

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I felt the heaviness in the room at the church that day. Felt the thoughts of those who were saying he should have ran and that none of this made any sense. I saw the fear in their eyes and the uneasiness in their “congratulations” and he did too. And we let it go and chose to love. There was no guarantee of a mentally healthy future. No guarantee of a forever. No guarantee of a recovery for me. No guarantee of an “us”.

But is there ever? What is it about love, and more specifically the idea in the Christian community that because we love God all will be well? Yes, all will be well AND very very difficult. You need God to make it through a marriage, a mental, illness, and life.

It was BECAUSE of God, because of our faith that we were able to make it through.

Not make it perfect, but make it through. I wasn’t looking to him to complete me, and he wasn’t either. We both came into the union with scars and brokenness as everyone does. Mine was just a bit more problematic than the average struggle going in to marriage.

And this month we celebrate eighteen years of marriage. There have been no hospitalizations or relapses for me. I entered the maintenance stage of recovery within the first year of our marriage. Some who looked in from the outside said, yet again, he was the hero. That it was the marriage that healed me.

No. It was God that healed me. An eating disorder is not a choice, but recovery is.

And WE did the work. We went to hundreds of hours of therapy and we early on worked through the complicated mess that is love and marriage while also letting the professionals treat my eating disorder. We entered the marriage with not only my grosses parts of my brokenness exposed, but his as well. While I was sick it was easy to allow me to be the one with the problems, for me to be the one that needed help, and for me to be the one that needed fixing. And through the work that we did, we found a common place that was equal parts mess. My mess clinical and diagnosable, but both of us entering the union with or own pain.

Had we not done the work early on, had we not been forced to be rigorously honest because of my illness, someday down the road we would have been forced to, or we would have chosen those moments to run.

Because the mountains we have faced, that any of us face in the union of marriage can be excruciatingly difficult.

We have been through miscarriages, job difficulties, deaths, and financial pits. There have been times of horrible hurt and other times of heavenly beautiful love. And had we not gone through the darkness of our struggles early on, I wonder if the other situations might have broken us?

Love, even love between two Christians is beautiful and difficult. To believe it won’t be is to fool yourself. We know we are and oddity, that many marriages wrought with mental illness don’t survive. And I am also not in any way minimizing the difficulty that these marriages face. A stark reality as many marriages don’t recover and the struggle is horrific and sometimes tragic. But what we do know is that there is a magnetic pull in the direction of hope. I hope you will hear our story and find a grain of hope as one couple that made it through.

It is possible.

We had to do the work, we had to fight our way through with the help of a good therapist and for me a fantastic psychiatrist. We had to lean heavily on our faith community and our heavenly father. And despite the fears of the naysayers and those who didn’t believe we could make it, we believed anyway in our beautifully complicated love.

And we are so glad we did.

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The Blurred Lines of Fifty Shades of Grey

Lee Wolfe Blum - Helping Women Develop a Hunger for Life
Lee Wolfe Blum - Helping Women Develop a Hunger for Life

I grew up in a home where we didn’t talk about sex. We were given strict instructions on how to be a lady. My Southern mother would often instruct us, “ladies don’t sweat, they perspire. Ladies don’t fart, they poof.” So words like “vagina” or conversations about sex were taboo.

A few years ago I was listening to a radio program where the hosts were talking about an amazing book they read. I have this weird thing with books, I never read the blurbs or the back covers. I like to be surprised. Sometimes I will pick a book simply because I like the cover.

I heard them discussing the book and how good it was and later downloaded it on my kindle. I somehow missed them talking about the sexual domination between the mega-millionaire and young impressionable student.

The book was Fifty Shades of Grey. This was before it became the “mommy porn” of the year.

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I was sitting in a hard metal chair at the airport innocently reading my kindle, when I came upon…oh how do I describe it any other way than porn. Yes, words I had never heard, describing body parts I had never heard. I looked to my right and to my left while my face became hot. I picked up my phone and called my husband, “Oh my gosh. You won’t believe this. I downloaded this book and I think it is porn!” I whispered very quietly so no one would know.

I was a christian reading porn! A lady, reading porn!

So, yes I read Fifty Shades of Grey. Judge away.

Did it change my life? No. Did it open my eyes? Yes. Was it a literary masterpiece? No way.

But, yesterday as my Facebook page was flooded with re-posts of the trailer with orgasmic sounds reminding me of When Harry Met Sally, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of deep dread. I have not been sexually abused and have had a very simple experience with sex. One that is good and beautiful.

This isn’t about me.

This is about what this movie promotes, and the lines are very very blurred here.

Sure, Christian Grey doesn’t harm his girl and she is consensual about it. Is that how we justify it?

Is that how we justify this tying up of hands and feet, of using whips and other tools to seek and find pleasure?

Tell me, what happens in the book when in the middle of an encounter in the “red room of pain” Anastasia decides she doesn’t want to play anymore, and Christian is filled with enough testosterone to move a car? Do we think he will be able to stop? Do we think he won’t possibly force himself upon her? They don’t put that in the book.

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Sex sells. We all know that, but I am outraged by the fact that sexual bondage and dominion over a woman is slated to be a box office best seller.

50 Shades of Grey author E.L. James—Snowqueens Icedragon to her fans—is purportedly making an estimated $1.34 million a week off her quaint little country romance novel. Having sold 20 million copies and counting, the trilogy is calmly and methodically shattering every previous sales record in the world.

Maybe you haven’t had any trauma and maybe you are saying, “aww it is just a movie!”

I plead you to think about the other side of this.

Millions of women and men have experienced horrific sexual abuse. Pornography is a problem not only in households, but in our churches. Every night I hear yet another story on the news of a priest who has been convicted of sexual misconduct. And yet, this trailer in one day received over four million hits on the Internet.

Can you honestly say this is no big deal?

Where it hits home most for me is with my patients who struggle with eating disorders. Did you know, “It is believed that 30% of individuals with an eating disorder have been sexually abused.” – NEDA

“In my eating disorder practice, 40 to 60 percent of the men and women who come to therapy for an eating problem have been sexually or physically abused. “It was my father’s best friend.” “It was my father.” “It was my brother.” “It was my mother’s boyfriend.” “It was my mother.” “And so I starved myself.” “And so I binged and purged.” “And so I got fat.” “And so I started using laxatives.”

“What is the connection between sexual abuse and developing an eating disorder? The answer is guilt, shame, anesthesia, self-punishment, soothing, comfort, protection and rage.” Edrefferal              

The stories I have heard from women and men would rock your world as it has mine. The stories I have heard are unfathomable! The amount of sexual abuse in this country is staggering. The amount of pornography addiction is also staggering. Some call the pornography in America a public health crisis

Morality in Media, a group devoted to fighting porn and indecency, blasted out a statement from its executive director, Dawn Hawkins, condemning the newly released trailer for Fifty Shades of Grey. The trailer, she says, “deceives the public with a visually appealing melodramatic love story that romanticizes and normalizes sexual violence.”

I would encourage you to think of this other side. To think of these women and men, and choose as I will, to not support a movie such as this.

God did not create sex to be something in a red room of pain. He did not create us to use and dominate over one another. I imagine the God I love being so sad that something He made, something that is supposed to be so beautiful, has come to this.

You won’t see me in that movie and I hope you will join with me in supporting the women and men in our society who this is harming as well as the message it is perpetuating.

#Notsupportingfiftyshades

xo

Lee

 

 

When You Feel Like Life Is Going Too Fast

Lee Wolfe Blum - Helping Women Develop a Hunger for Life
Lee Wolfe Blum - Helping Women Develop a Hunger for Life

Over 19 years ago I tried to take my own life.

And now I want nothing more than for life to stay just as is.

I was the baby of the family. At family events it was never a question of would I sit at the kid table, but a question of when I would graduate to that coveted adult table that held such longing. I distinctly remember walking home from school on a hot Kansas day thinking about turning 10. Because 10 was two digits, and how I couldn’t wait to be two digits. When I was a teenager I couldn’t wait to be old enough for Seventeen magazine, old enough to get my ears pierced, and old enough to shave my legs and wear panty hose.

Everything held a number. Everything was a milestone to reach.

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I was always rushing to the next big thing as everything held something more. Because big kid tables and panty house had to be the place where you arrived.

When you are always looking around that next corner, it is so easy to miss the right in front of you.

Until I hit the brick wall of depression and found myself not only unable to be comfortable in my own skin, but uncomfortable in this world. I wanted nothing more than to disappear.

I don’t know that girl anymore, she was so sad and confused. Recovery offered me a second chance at life and I often marvel at what I would have missed had I died that day.

And now, I am asking for the numbers to stop. They are going too fast and I don’t like it. I don’t want to go back to the kid table, but this growing older and this living is going too fast.

Because now growing older means I am every day closer to loss. Every day I am slowly losing my children to maturity and the world. And every day my parents get closer to death and I don’t like that. I don’t like it at all.

Once I didn’t want life, and now I want to savor every moment of it before it disappears.

When it hit me.

I walked in the door I had walked in a thousand times for the past twenty five years. The door opening for me by my Dad welcoming me home. Opening when I was extremely ill, when I was longing for home, and other times when I was so happy just to be home. He is always there ready to greet and hug me. My Dad with his cheerful face always there to wrap his strong arms around me.

This time, was different. I hadn’t seen him since he was diagnosed and treated for prostate cancer. His hair was thinner, his face drawn, and the eyes… the blue eyes usually with a spark in them were dull and tired. I sucked in my breath. I pretended nothing was different. Because I didn’t want it to be any different. I wanted it to be as it always was. I wanted him to stay as he always was. To be my rock. To always stand at that door with arms open wide ready to welcome me home. My heart split open as I realized he was aging, and there was nothing but time slipping away.

This month I turn 42. It isn’t so much that I am getting older, but that as I get older everyone else gets older too. Aging happens and is part of life, but watching it happen and watching the adults in my life who have always been the adults enter old age, makes me very sad.

And I am struck by the irony that once I longed to be out of this world and now I long for time to stop.

Just as I did as a kid, I count the numbers. I count the numbers until my firstborn graduates, didn’t I just have him? Wasn’t I just up all night with him rocking him and trying to get him to sleep? Now the years until he is out of the house are small digits. Time slips away so quickly.

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There is nothing I can do about the past and there is nothing we can do about aging. It is a normal process of life and to think that I am somehow unique in this natural process is quite senseless. I am guessing everyone goes through this. But it hurts. It hurts to feel like time is running out. I just want to catch life in my hand and make it pause. Make it stop for just this moment. To savor it and taste it and touch it before it disappears.

Celebrate now. This moment is all you have and it is precious. I am working on doing the same.

“The time to live in love is now.” – Greg Boyd from his book Present Perfect. (I highly recommend this book!)

To the 43-Year-Old Woman in the Hello Kitty Pj’s,

Lee Wolfe Blum - Helping Women Develop a Hunger for Life
Lee Wolfe Blum - Helping Women Develop a Hunger for Life

To the 43-year-old woman in the Hello Kitty Pj’s,

You were a marketing genius in how you branded the word “skinny” and leveraged it to make a million dollar brand with skinny margaritas and skinny girl books. You capitalized on our American culture. A culture that sinks billions of dollars in a diet industry and another billion in anything to make us look younger. I am not saying any of this is right. What I am saying is you are smart.

You’re marketing skills and ability to tap into the culture, whether it be right or wrong can be considered savvy.

But this photo,  I am not sure what your point in publicizing this was?

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*Image from Twitter

The axiom, “There is no such thing as bad publicity” holds true here.

On the heels of an obnoxious announcement by JCrew to offer 000 sizes to society, you post this photo on Twitter.

And now, there is your name. In all the media stories, talk shows, and blogs. Even I am compelled to write about it. Girl, you are clever. (Click here, here, and here to read.)

Cunning you may be, but this too will pass. Lady Gaga did it, the ol shock and awe. It works for a while. And then it doesn’t. You are using your fame status to perpetuate society and the already distorted ideal of body image and youth idolization.

And it makes me so sad.

Why? Because while you are working towards keeping up your fame and your publicity there are women out there, who will see a photo like that and use it in much more than you intended. Or maybe that is what you intend?

I work every day with grown women who haven’t had their periods in years. Many who will never actually grow taller or have children because starvation stunted their growth. This idea that it is “funny” for a 43-year-old to fit in a 4-year-olds Pj’s is not funny at all. There are millions of women and young girls who are obsessed in this “thinspiration” and “thigh gap” culture you are helping perpetuate. They will pant after your “achievement” like a dehydrated deer looking for water.  They will pick up your books and drink your syrupy tasting drinks hoping to be like you. And that is so wrong.

But, the more I see this obnoxiousness that continues in the media and our society, the more it fuels my work.

To encourage the exact opposite of what you are doing.

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To inspire and motivate women to celebrate the bodies God gave them. For all of us to live fully in our curves, bumps and idiosyncrasies. That is art. Art that was beautifully created. Not one that is to be molded and shaped and poked and lathered into a prepubescent child. Peter Pan never grew up, he stayed in Never Never land. You can take your Hello Kitty P’J’s and your skinny girl margarita and go there too.

I choose to live in my 42-year-old imperfect body and celebrate it.

I hope others will join me in doing the same.

XO

Lee