I came across this reading in a mindfulness group that I am part of led by Sean Fargo. I am a little jaded on setting resolutions myself since I have not only set so many myself that fizzled, but watched countless clients do the same.
Reading how a “resolution” is different than an “intention” changed my perspective enough to want to share. Perhaps it’s just my current place in life, but setting an intention for this new year feels more intuitive and grounded than setting a challenge or resolution. What about you?
Here’s the article.
Setting new year’s resolutions is something that many of us do as the end of December approaches. In truth, however, we can set resolutions for ourselves at any time of the year. We need not wait until January rolls around.
But what is a resolution? And how do resolutions differ from intentions? The difference may seem to be semantic, but new year’s resolutions and new year’s intentions hold important distinctions.
New year’s resolutions are often:
Clearly defined
Quantitative
Goal-oriented
Specific
For example: “I resolve to exercise four times per week in the new year.”
On the other hand, new year’s intentions are more typically:
Energy based
Qualitative
Progress-oriented
Nuanced
For example: “I intend to cultivate more self-compassion in the year ahead of me.”
This example highlights the qualitative nature of intentions versus resolutions. By focusing on the quality or energy we long to embody or experience, we open ourselves to the many ways this might manifest.
Resolutions and intentions each have their place. At certain times of life, we may feel more drawn to one or the other. Take a moment’s pause now to consider:
What type of new year’s practice makes most sense for you in this moment? Do you wish to set an intention, a resolution, or some kind of hybrid?
What do you want for yourself in 2021? Please share in comments below or on my FB page!
Maybe it’s because I’ve been in the fitness industry for 40 years, or maybe because I’ve been on the planet over sixty, but I’m not keen on New Year’s Resolutions. Wanting to be a better partner, parent, co-worker, or steward of world peace is admirable, but why wait until January 1st to begin?
Perhaps this year, when all we want to do is put the misery of 2020 behind us, we can be forgiven for wanting to indulge in something hopeful.
When I think about my own transformative beginnings, not a one sprang from resolution, new year’s or otherwise. If that sounds tragic, it’s not. My beginnings usually came in the form of divorce, job loss, death, and illness. They were difficult, messy, and painful. My reactions, denial, resistance, or feeling victimized made no difference. Spirit has taught me the only way to transform an ending into a beginning is a one-day endeavor called “allowing.”
At 10:32 am on Wednesday, May 17th, 2017, one of those opportunities literally dropped from the sky.
Our neighbor’s 120 foot oak tree chose that precise moment to come crashing down on our home.
I was in the kitchen, in the center of our little house, when I felt something resembling a train wreck.
I ran outside to find my dog Jack staring back in alarm. It was a bright, sunny, windless morning so we were both confused.
“It must have been a transformer,” I explain to Jack, who’s already forgotten it.
When I went back inside, I noticed the front of the house was weirdly dark. I went to the front door and opened it. A swarm of neighbors rushed towards me.
“Are you okay? Is anyone hurt?” They all said at once.
I just stared at them. “Yeah, I’m okay. Why? Did you hear it, too?”
One of them waved uncomfortably for me to turn around. “Uh, that,” she said.
Somehow, I’d missed the air thick with dust, the bedroom door blown off its hinges, the mangled metal air vent, and the gaping skylight created by the limb now piercing the roof.
For context: 2017 was a shit year for Herb and me. He got very sick, very fast with mysterious and scary illness. This necessitated moving to a hotel for three months to have our home remediated for mold. And this day, after celebrating just three days back home, our bedroom, the last oasis, was destroyed.
I choked and coughed, stomped my feet and pumped my fists, “Okay God! I’ve had it with you! It’s God (3) and Tina Zip! That’s not fair! That’s not okay! What the hell is WRONG with you?”
The next few days were surreal. In shock, I could only manage the most necessary tasks: deal with the insurance company, go to the grocery, get Herb’s medications.
But by Friday I’d come out of the ether in an extremely hateful mood. Angry and indignant, I looked for someone, anyone, to knock the chip off my shoulder just so I’d have the excuse to clock them. I cussed and swore at stupid drivers on the road. I glared at strangers in the grocery store. I flipped off a bus driver and honked at an old person. I was rude to friends who sought to console me.
And I thought GOD was the asshole!
As it turns out the tree had root rot. You’d never known it took look at it- tall, regal, strong, full with leaves. But all it took was a strong gust of wind on a sunny day in May to send it toppling, and me along with it.
It took me a while to upright myself and longer still to regain faith in my roots, but through a circuitous route that took me to a jungle cabin in Belize, I stopped finally stopped shouting long enough to listen.
I made some hard decisions in that cabin, decisions that were unwelcome but needed which lead to larger transitions built solely on faith.
“Allow,” Spirit coaxed, “then, act.”
Now, nearly three years later, my life feels like an open door, beckoning me to a delightfully unknown future.
As we look forward to a promising 2021, I sincerely hope a tree doesn’t fall on your house. But, if it does, be sure to look for the sunlight streaming in through the ruins.
“Mindful eating is deliberately paying full attention to what you are eating or drinking, without criticism or judgment.”
Jan Chozen Bays
Mindful eating isn’t about making a list of rules. It is not about judging ourselves for what we consume, nor is it about following a certain ‘healthy’ diet. Instead, consider these simple tips for mindful eating this holiday season:
1. Savor the flavors.
Be fully present to the wonder of your tastebuds. Let the attentive mind join in on the festivities as you note the sweet, salty, spicy, bitter, sour, and pungent notes in the foods you consume.
4. Practice gratitude.
Cultivate thankfulness by offering gratitude for your food. Note all that there is to be thankful for on your plate: the food itself, the seeds, the soil, and the hands that helped along the way from farm to fork.
5. Practice self-compassion.
Over the holidays, many of us indulge a little more than we normally do. This can stir thoughts of guilt and self-judgment. Notice where you might be judging yourself and see if you can tend to yourself with loving-kindness instead. Consider mindfulness exercises for self-compassion to help you Here’s a great meditation to honor our changing rhythms and cycles from Insight Timer.
6. Be mindful of your needs.
It’s equally important to be mindful of our needs. What foods don’t sit well with us? How do different holiday beverages impact our sense of wellbeing? Become mindful of what nourishes you, and what distresses you. Use this awareness to guide your choices.
2. Play with all your senses.
Beyond savoring the flavors, you can tune into the food you eat with the other senses. What does the food look like? What does it smell like? What does it feel like? The full spectrum of your senses brings a richness to your eating habits.
3. Eat slowly.
When in doubt, slow it down. Take your time to really savor this wonderful meal that has found its way to your plate.
7. Be mindful of your mood.
Mood and food are inextricably linked. Since the holidays can stir a range of feelings such as anxiety and frustration, mindfulness of our emotions can help us to address these moods most optimally. Note how different foods affect your mood.
8. Notice your hunger and fullness cues.
Often, we let our mind dictate our eating habits rather than listening to our bodies. So, it can be helpful to consider: What does it feel like to be hungry? What sensations tell me when I have had enough? When it comes to feelings of fullness, eating slowly can support our ability to notice these cues.
9. Observe your body – and don’t forget to breathe.
During the holidays, our digestion needs extra support. One of the best ways we can do this is to notice where we are stressed or contracted. Coming back to the breath through mindful breathing help. Here’s a quick breathing meditation from insight timer.
Source: Sean Fargo, Mindfulness Exercises
Need a little more help to navigate the Pandemic Holiday?
Thank you for participating in the 2025 Metabolic Makeover- a 10-Day Reset based on the book, Good Energy, by Dr. Casey Means.
In addition to providing you with the book, I’ve curated Dr. Mean’s corresponding Good Energy Videos, Key Take-Away Handouts, Resources and Replays of our Group calls.
Enjoy the benefits of all you’ve learned in this program and thank you so much for believing in GOOD ENERGY.
THE RESOURCES
The video series includes 19 videos grouped by topic. Click the link below to access the video library.
Please watch all of this series, in the order presented. The information shared is a powerful call to action. Health is a choice: we create it or destroy it daily.
The good news? Good health and good energy aren’t complicated.
Dr. Mean’s Good Energy program helps break it down into manageable steps.
We all know what to do, but (actually) doing it can be a challenge. One of the reasons I curated this program is because I do better myself when I’m working with others!
Accountability is the key in transforming a wish into viable health results. Here are some proactive ways to keep yourself focused on results.
Buddy Up! Pair up with a friend or co-participant to meet weekly for accountability. Keep it simple- choose one target per week, track it, and share it!
Hire a Coach! That’s why I have a job. Book a series of 1/2 hour sessions to meet weekly, bi-weekly, or monthly to create strategies that help you meet the challenges that inevitably come up.
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Track it. Labs and numbers don’t lie. One of the most powerful tools is to track progress. Put a steps counter on your phone, upgrade your Apple Watch, or order a functional lab review: These are all sound investments that give you invaluable feedback.
MEASURE IT TO MANAGE IT
Tracking your steps is a great way to measure your daily activity. These are all free and easy to use. Check your IPhone to see if it’s offered in the Health App, too.
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August 20-25, 2021 The B Bar Ranch, Gardiner, Montana
Escape to the rugged beauty and solitude of the Montana wilderness to reclaim your inner strength and calm. Just minutes away from Yellowstone National Park, the magnificent B Bar Ranch is the perfect spot for wild repose, restoration, and reflection. We’ve reserved the entire ranch.
On this retreat, you’ll learn healthy ways to nurture yourself beyond cravings, convenience food, alcohol, and overindulgence. Delicious farm to table meals, daily morning movement, guided meditation, and outdoor adventure will challenge your body and restore your soul. Come learn mind self-care practices that you’ll embrace long after you return home.
Celebrate new friendships as you connect with women seeking the same fun and freedom you are! How better to bond than sharing the beauty of nature, transformational rituals, fabulous meals, and thrilling adventures! The friendships you make on retreat often endure for a lifetime.
Hike, white water raft, ride horseback, and explore the wonder of Yellowstone National Park together! The memories you make and the lessons you learn on this retreat will inform your choices, decisions, and the way you move forward in life. Time away from the daily demands of life is not only restorative, it’s transformational.
Wake up early to enjoy the breathtaking sunrise. Greet the day with a steaming mug of fresh-ground, organic coffee while sitting in a rocking chair on the big porch of the lodge or curled up in front of the stone fireplace. This is just the start of your day. Every day on retreat is an opportunity to savor nature, stillness, and the possibility of presence.
We’ll circle around the campfire, under the full moon, to perform a traditional Medicine Wheel Healing ritual. Based on the Four Directions of Native American culture, this rich, nurturing practice and sacred communion is an experience you’ll carry in your heart, every time you look at the moon, for years after the retreat.
The time for letting go of what no longer serves you is now! It’s time to claim and relish your wild, audacious spirit! Life is happening~ join the adventure! Reserve your spot in this amazing retreat! Get Updates!
Our first (and hopefully last) Pandemic Holiday Season!
My usual concerns, like how many places we can fit around one table, how much I’ll eat, and what my thighs will look like come January 2021, seem trivial now that the holidays are overshadowed by the pandemic, rising COVID cases, and a country so divided.
Oh, how I long for the simple joys of pumpkin pie and belly fat.
My name is Tina, and each year, as a gift to my clients and friends who share my desire to remain healthy through the holidays, I create a Holiday to Holiday Handbook.
I thought about skipping it this year and diving straight into a vat of dirty martini’s but realized this year, more than any other, we need strategies to stay sane if not lean through the holidays.
So I’ve updated this year’s F#&K the Pandemic Holiday to Holiday guide to include tips for sanity, self-care, and making the most of our ZOOM Christmas experiences!
Your FREE 2020 (F#&K the Pandemic) Holiday to Holiday Guide includes:
A Treasure Trove of Holiday Recipes (Vegan, Paleo, Pegan, Low Carb and Keto)
Tips to Maximize Your Virtual Holiday Experiences
Stress Relief and Sanity Resources
Free (30) Minute Stress Relief Stretch Workout
The Truth About That Holiday Pig Out
Booze and Fat Loss – What’s Happening There?
Post-COVID Relief: Retreats, online workshops, coaching, and more!
I haven’t been sleeping well this week. My conscious desire to patiently surrender to current events evaporates at 230 each morning. I bolt awake, my veins coursing with a toxic mix of anger, fear, dread, and heartbreak. I don’t know whether to pray or swear at the top of my lungs.
As a fierce optimist, I choose to focus on possibility rather than pessimism, fully aware of the darkness within each of us; darkness we must confront to heal individually and collectively.
The pandemic, protests, racial and political division of 2020 have exposed the depth of those dark wounds. We can no longer ignore the ugliness. Waking up on Wednesday, I was shocked to learn that nearly half of this country voted to re-elect Donald Trump. I naively assumed the past four years had adequately exposed the cost of Trump’s narcissism, dishonesty, and abuse of power. I was wrong.
Perhaps I should have known. This Summer, as Herb and I camped around the northwest, we encountered many people we knew shared his values. They included friends in Washington state, militia like protesters in Montana, and a man sporting a swastika tattoo in an Idaho campground.
These people weren’t ogres or derelicts; they weren’t angry or threatening. The man in the campground was warm and friendly, offering us a map to better understand the region. When I glanced down and noticed his tattoo I was genuinely shocked.
“Did you see that swastika tattoo?” I whispered to Herb as we walked away.
“Yes,” he replied, calmly taking my arm.
“But he was so nice and helpful and friendly!”
“Yes, honey,” said Herb, “but we’re also an old white couple.”
“Fuck me,” I sighed. “You’re right.”
My confusion wasn’t so much in our differences, but our similarities.
We, humans, are hardwired for protection. Survival, power, and control largely drive our emotions and decisions. But empathy, justice, and compassion also inspire our choices. It’s easy to own our better decisions, less so our base ones.
Most of us think we’re on the right side of history. I know I do.
I loathe Trump’s dangerous disregard for the truth, our constitution, and the democratic process. But his presence has also exposed our hypocrisy, division, and need for difficult conversations.
Even as historic numbers of voters turned up to the polls, the predicted Blue Wave didn’t happen. But as the remaining votes are counted, there is a resurgent blue ripple.
I pray it is enough to retire Mr. Trump. It’s time to get off this crazy train.
Perhaps then we can begin the process of healing in America and in the world. If we can’t immediately intuit our similarities, I pray we regain our ability to respectfully discuss our differences.
What does a travel bug do in the era of COVID? She agrees to a road trip, roof-top tent, and, an activity once strictly off-limits: camping.
These are desperate times.
We wouldn’t get on a plane; hotels made us squeamish and the prospect of another three months cooped up at home was not an option. So, what do you do? Exactly.
Herb grew up on a farm so I had some confidence in him; not so much our twenty-year-old Jeep. Sporting over 343,000 miles, I insisted it is inspected and reinspected before we leave town.
“What if this damn thing goes belly-up us while we’re on the road?”
I implored.
“Well,” Herb sighs, “if it does, I guess we’ll get another one.”
This was our first adventure of this kind and we learned a lot of lessons.
Like, don’t stuff so much in the jeep that you can’t find anything when you need it. Or it’s probably not necessary to put sleeping bags in huge plastic bins; and we didn’t really need to cart two bikes to hell and back on that pain in the ass carrier.
This led to some laughter but mostly cussing.
We also learned some good things, like teamwork (learning to set up our tent in seven minutes including inflating the (3) air mattresses I require under the memory foam mattress); efficiency, (no need to change clothes when you’re already dirty); resilience, (who knew Herb could swing an ax like that!); and gratitude, (for nature, the stars, wildlife, backroads, blankets and morning coffee).
We had a few hiccups (a broken axel, oil changes, a leaking boot, whatever that is), but overall our Golden Goat held up for our circuitous journey.
We were just short of the 350,000-mile mark as we drove into Fairway, joking that we needed to drive to Topeka and back to make it official. I have a lot of gratitude and respect for that damn Jeep.
This was the first time in my life that I didn’t have a timeline, a schedule, or a plan. If you know me at all, you know the import of this. This trip wasn’t only an amazing adventure, it was a miracle.
But pictures say it so much better than I can. Thanks for letting me share.
* If you’re interested in a rooftop camper, we highly recommend IKamper. The ONLY way I’ll ever camp!
I woke up this morning early, slipping out of bed to make coffee, meditate and get ready for a new day. The robins wake me; their song permission to get out of bed. I tiptoe to the kitchen, turn the kettle on and stare at the pot, waiting for hot water. The cups and French press set out the night before, wait too.
I pull the cream from the fridge. Pouring the water, now hot. I smell the beans as I fill the press.
I love this time of day; the quiet, the darkness, the calm space between. The time when my mind is settled and clear, and my heart, warm and squishy, open to the whispers of Spirit. This is gentle time; those peaceful moments before the inevitable distractions of dawn.
The full moon illuminates a bird resting atop the suet house. Struck by his stillness, I realize I’m holding my breath.
I breathe in and reach for my headphones to meditate. I’m hungry for guidance and grounding. I find it in Oprah and Deepak’s latest 21-day Meditation gift, “Hope in Uncertain Times.”
Oprah begins by telling the story of her difficulties learning to swim. Being afraid, she’d always fought the water. It wasn’t until she let go, surrendering to the water’s flow, that she learned to swim. “Move with the flow,” she says, “don’t fight the current. Resist nothing, let life carry you- don’t try to carry it.”
I gaze into my backyard, letting the lesson sink in. I see the figure of a woman I’ve discovered in my Aspen tree.
I realize she’s another messenger.
“Surrender,” she coaxes, “Look at me. I need do nothing to be a tree. I just am.”
The bird, still miraculously perched on the feeder, chimes in, “Look at me. I need do nothing to be a bird. I just am.”
The sun, climbing slowly, also beckons.
“Look at me.” she says, “I rise every morning. I need no justification. I just shine.”
I feel their invitation and pull it inside. I feel my heart expand, then realize I’m holding my breath again.
I smile. The water offers buoyancy, yet I insist on sinking. Flow is as foreign a concept as surrender.
A hummingbird by nature, I focus on doing, achieving, producing, not ‘being.’ Most comfortable whirling around at light speed, I reject the very stillness I crave. I am habitually fast and flitting.
“But,” I reason, “these are very different times. The world is upside down!”
I can’t distract myself in the same ways; my flight pattern, along with the rest of the world, has been grounded. My anxiety about the present only surpassed by my anxiety about the future.
“How many people will die? What is our government really doing to help? Will my friends and family be okay? Will Herb and I be okay? How long will this go on? What will the world be like afterward? Why is this happening!”
Ah, the hummingbird, again.
She’s not undone by the uncertainty, but by the looming certainty of a larger lesson.
Things now do not differ from how they’ve always been. Hummingbird’s obsessions a futile attempt to order a world beyond control.
In my ear, Oprah coos, “In the words of Eckhart Tolle, in his book, The New Earth, ‘There are three words that convey the secret to the art of living.’” (Now she has my attention.) “‘The secret of all success and happiness. Those three words are: Be one with life.’”
I sit still, determined to take it in.
“Be one with WHAT life?” I say out loud. “A global pandemic? Financial risk? Death, disease, and unknowable suffering? Are you freaking kidding?”
This is not what hummingbirds do! We don’t allow. We don’t flow. We don’t choose. We flutter!
I look back at the tree. I look at the yellow finch and the rising sun.
“Be one with life,” they say with a knowing smile. “Just be.”
“Can’t I just be a hummingbird?,” I ask.
“You can,” they chorus, “Surrender. And be a hummingbird.”
As the train pulled into the Hamilton, New Jersey, I suddenly felt ill. I looked at Herb, stricken.
“I think I’m gonna throw up!” I moaned, “I’m scared!”
Waiting to meet us at the station were my three half-siblings, Darlene, Lorie, and Tony. We’d discovered each other via ancestry.com
“Hi Tina, my name is Darlene de la Cruz,” the message titled ‘Cousins,” read. “I’ve been investigating my ancestry and your name came up as a close match. I would love to correspond if you are open to it. I live in Bordentown New Jersey. Be well. Darlene.”
With help from an adoption researcher, Darlene and I learned we were half-sisters. Our father, Manuel was married to her mother, Delores. Together they had three children, Darlene, Tony, and Lorie. Elated to know more of my birth history, we planned a visit later that Fall.
“If it doesn’t work out, get on a train and come to Long Island,” warned my friend Gloria. “You don’t know jack about these people. For all you know they’re grifters, creeps!”
“Hooligans!” I laughed. “Don’t worry Glo, I promise, I’ll be fine.”
“If they don’t get who you are- if they treat you bad, cut your trip short and come see me sooner!” I also planned to see Gloria on this trip.
My sons also advised caution. I understood their concerns but wasn’t worried about the visit, until now. Now, I just felt nauseated.
“You’re just excited,” Herb reassured me. “Try breathing.”
We stepped onto the train platform. I recognized Darlene from the bright shock of purple in her short hair. Lorie, my childhood lookalike, gaped in wide-eyed amazement. Brother Tony, sent to watch the other exit doors, walked up with a shy smile, open arms, offering bear hugs.
We stood there a few moments, smiling at each other, stunned by our surreal reunion. Bags flung into the trunk, we piled in the car for the short drive to Bordentown.
Proud of their hometown, we heard how Joseph Bonaparte, former King of Naples and Spain and brother to Napoleon I of France, established a residence in Bordentown. He entertained famous guests like Henry Clay, Daniel Webster and the future 6th U.S. President, John Quincy Adams. History and home are important parts of our family fabric.
We drove to Tony’s house where we met more friends and extended family. We sat in the back yard in a circle of lawn chairs, making small talk.
Suddenly Lorie asked, “Is there anything you’d like to know about our Father?”
“No,” I smiled, “I think I’ll just take all this in for a moment.”
There was a lot to take in.
Later, at the jazz brunch arranged in our honor, we met Tony’s wife, Melanie, Darlene’s wife, Sandy, Lorie’s children Ashley and Josh, assorted cousins and extended family which included my half-sibling’s half-siblings! Walt, a retired Camden, New Jersey cop, and Cheryl, who lives in Maryland, both drove in to join us. Lorie and her daughter Ashley came from Atlanta, and son Josh, in the military, traveled from his station in Hawaii.
“This really is a family reunion,” I laughed, humbled by the effort everyone made to attend.
Rosemary Schoelllkopf (aka Roe), Lorie’s plucky childhood friend also came. The next evening, after dinner and a few drinks at the local pub she warned me about writing anything unflattering about the De la Cruz family. I laughed it off, but she was serious. The message was clear: don’t mess with her people.
“How many nights do you want me to book the room?” Herb asked when we were planning our visit to Bordentown.
“Better make it one,” I replied, but when Darlene asked how long we could stay, I immediately replied, “two nights.”
Our short visit was filled with laughter, stories, food, football, and an impromptu trip to the Jersey shore.
I burst with pride when Darlene introduced me to her spin class, “This is my sister Tina who is visiting us from St Louis, Missouri!”
The class was full because she’d been talking about me for weeks. I met more cousins who immediately asked, “When are you coming back?”
Darlene and her wife Sandy have been together for over forty years. That’s not easy, especially when you’re a bi-racial, lesbian couple. Former educators, they now fill their days teaching and training at their health club. Sandy is spirited, funny and quick, the perfect balance to Darlene’s calm, gentle approach to life.
Lorie is the most like me; animated, outgoing and boisterous. During the Falcon-Eagles game, I watched amazed as she called every single play and player by name. Ashley, Roe, Darlene, and Sandy were all equally passionate and game savvy. I’d never seen women who loved and knew football like this group! I wondered aloud if this was a Jersey thing or an East Coast thing because it definitely was a thing.
I observed brother Tony quietly absorb every conversation, only occasionally choosing to comment. He is thoughtful and gentle and reminds both Herb and me of our son Cary.
In quieter moments, we talked about our careers, our children, our relationships and our struggles. We also talked about our Father. He’d divorced their mother when they were very young before they had a chance to know him. Each had a story about meeting him later in life, but none of those stories was very happy.
Our Father is Venezuelan and has eleven children. Darlene, Tony, and Lorie are from his first marriage; five more are from his second marriage. At least three more are like me, born out of wedlock. Let’s just say, our Father got around.
Each told a story of disappointment. Lorie traveled to Venezuela in her early twenties to discover her father had not told his second family about his first family.
“I’m sorry but that’s kind of F’d up,” I said when she told me. “Did he know you were coming?”
“YES, Tina! He did!” Lorie said, shaking her head.
Tony, also went to Venezuela to meet our father when he was in his early twenties. He stayed longer hoping to connect on a deeper level, but after two months he returned home disappointed as well.
“I’m grateful that he gave me life,” Tony said on our drive to the Jersey shore, “but I don’t think he’s got the capacity to be fully present.”
“I agree,” said Darlene. Always the optimist, Darlene had a similar experience but didn’t share the details.
“That’s just so weird isn’t it?” I said. “Because the one thing we all have in common is him. And look at our hearts! They’re huge! We’re here loving each other and he’s missing out!”
Darlene said softly, “that’s true Tina.” Tony nodded quietly.
That night I wrote in my journal, “Meeting my siblings is mind-blowing. We have an easy kinship and deep recognition I wasn’t expecting. All of the angst, suffering, and displacement I’ve felt surrounding my adoption is dissipating. It’s like being able to take a full breath for the first time.”
When Darlene and I confirmed we had the same birth father, I emailed him a picture along with a short introduction. I left it up to him to respond if he chose to. This was during a time of political and economic stress when communication in Venezuela was very difficult, so I’m not sure he ever got the email. So far, he has not responded.
My birth father is now eighty-four years old and recently moved from Venezuela to California to be near one of his daughters. He lives there with his second wife who has dementia. I don’t feel the need to send him a second email.
As my biological father, Manuel Antonio De la Cruz responsible for my birth, but my adopted Father, Ehret Oscar Ramey, is responsible for my life.
My parents always told us we were lucky because we were ‘chosen.’ I never accepted that because I secretly believed I was damaged. Why I was given away? Why I was unwanted? I felt immense shame for being born.
Meeting my birth family has helped heal that wound. My siblings are loving, resilient, loyal, and optimistic. We love animals, being in nature, big hugs and laughter. We tell the truth, have faith in one another and God. We try to be kind and generous. We love to love others. This is my family; this is me.
It took me sixty years to understand that I was adopted, not abandoned. I was loved by parents who did choose us; parents who raised three amazing humans.
I feel every adoptee is entitled to know their birth story. In the state of Missouri that was not legal until 2018. Perhaps this was to protect birth and adopted parents, but the child is the one who pays the price. When you deny the child her story, she’s left wondering, longing to understand.
I still don’t know the details of my adoption, but finding my siblings has helped me understand more about my history. This is more than an answered prayer; this is a miracle and a new beginning.
The full moon illuminates a bird resting atop the suet house. Struck by his stillness, I realize I’m holding my breath.
I gaze into my backyard, letting the lesson sink in. I see the figure of a woman I’ve discovered in my Aspen tree.
Ah, the hummingbird, again.
“That’s just so weird isn’t it?” I said. “Because the one thing we all have in common is him. And look at our hearts! They’re huge! We’re here loving each other and he’s missing out!”
It took me sixty years to understand that I was adopted, not abandoned. I was loved by parents who did choose us; parents who raised three amazing humans.