Inspirational Archives - Page 15 of 45 - Sonia Marsh

Winner of the November “My Gutsy Story®” Ed Robinson

December 12, 2013 by Sonia Marsh 5 Comments

Congratulations to Ed Robinson for winning the November “My Gutsy Story®” contest.
All four authors shared inspiring and motivational stories, and they shall all be included in our 2nd
“My Gutsy Story®” Anthology.

1st Place Ed Robinson.

Ed wrote about how he quit his job to live a simple life on a boat. Ed and his wife Kim have found their paradise.

2nd Place: Lola De Maci.

Lola De Maci wrote a remarkable story about her journey towards getting a Masters Degree in Education, despite fighting breast cancer. She never gave up.

3rd Place: Janet Simcic

Instead of letting cancer stop Janet from doing things with her life, she took a different approach. Janet took on projects she’d put off because she’d been too busy. Her story will energize and motivate you.

4th Place: Boyd Lemon

Boyd has a fascinating story of how he decided to uproot at age sixty-six, after spending his whole life in California, and moved to Boston. After that he decided to move to Paris. He has written several books.

Thank you to all four authors. Your stories are all WINNERS.

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Do you have a “My Gutsy Story®” you’d like to share?

MGS FINAL COVER Small — Click on cover to see on Amazon

Would you like to submit your “My Gutsy Story®” and get published in our 2nd anthology?

Please see guidelines below and contact Sonia Marsh at: sonia@soniamarsh.com for details.

You can find all the information, and our new sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story®” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here

Our December 2013 stories have started with Marian Beaman and Fee Johnson, sharing their “My Gutsy Story®.” Next Monday, December 16th, Ian Mathie will share his “My Gutsy Story®.”

“How Writing Saved My Life” by Felicia Johnson

December 9, 2013 by Sonia Marsh 33 Comments

“The Best Kind of Therapy”

My Gutsy Story® by Felicia Johnson

When I was six years old, my second grade teacher, Ms. Medley, gave me my first writing assignment. The only rule of the assignment was to write one paragraph about something that I wanted. My assignment was titled: I Want A Dog. Paragraph one started with how much I would have liked to have a dog (very much), why (because they are so cute and fluffy), and why I couldn’t have one (our home was too small). Then, when I finished with the reason as to why I couldn’t have a dog, I began a second paragraph. Then a third and a fourth. By the time I ran out of paper, I had written 100 pages.

Monday morning came, and Ms. Medley read a few students’ paragraphs aloud. When she finally got to mine, she held up my notebook to the class and said, “Felicia has written a novel! It is called I Want A Dog.”

After school, Ms. Medley took the time to explain to me what a novel is. She explained that a novel is a prose narrative made up of characters, emotions, and expressions. She told me that the writers who produce these novels are called authors. Ms. Medley said that if I keep writing, filling up a hundred-plus pages of notebooks, then one day I could be an author.

I asked her if I was in trouble for doing the assignment incorrectly. Ms. Medley’s reply was not what I had expected. She said, “Felicia, the assignment was completed correctly as long as it was written by you, and you feel that everything that you want to express is in the story.” I said it was, and she replied, “Okay. You’re a writer. Keep on writing.” I never forgot Ms. Medley’s encouraging words, and I kept writing through my adolescent years.

Growing up, I suffered from child abuse. My parents had me when they were very young, and my mother was single for the majority of my teenage years. As the oldest of my mother’s four children, I took on a lot of responsibility taking care of my brothers and sister. Being forced to grow up fast had its consequences.

When I was fifteen years old, I had a best friend named Holly. Holly was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. My friend lost her battle with BPD and committed suicide when she was only fifteen years old.

I developed major depression and I was put on medication and saw a therapist. However, I found that writing was the best therapy. I wrote journals about my memories of Holly, and what it was like growing up. Before I realized it, the journal had turned into a novel of great memories. Coping with depression through writing saved my life.

Years after Holly’s death, I had an idea to write a story about a girl who suffered from depression and BPD, but survived all that she had been through. I started on a story, with Holly in mind and combined a bit of what it was like growing up for me and surviving my own experiences.

I knew that if I had continued down the path of healing, that I would be able to help others who had suffered from child abuse and mental illness through my writing. Therefore, I continued to write and produced my first novel called Her. Her is a story of hope and survival.

Speaking out through writing was the gutsiest thing that I can say I’ve done. My gutsy story is about speaking up and speaking out through my writing. I use writing to help others who have suffered abuse, people who struggle with mental illness and their family, friends and loved ones. I share my story to help others, instead of using it as an excuse to not accomplish my goals and move forward in life.

I’m a youth advocate, mentor, and behavioral health worker. I speak out against child abuse and work to raise awareness about mental illness, particularly personality disorders. As a mentor, I’ve helped youths who are in patient treatment transition to living an independent life outside of the hospital. I’ve helped them prepare for job interviews, pay their own bills, and apply for colleges after finishing high school. I’ve seen many youths who struggle with mental illness transition from being completely dependent on they system, to gaining their independence and living on their own.

I’ll never forget the first time Ms. Medley had told me what an author is. From that moment, I knew that was my calling. Writing is my life because writing saved my life. Writing brings out many relatable emotions and thoughts to share with others. I don’t only write for myself, but I write for others. I try to always write with a purpose. It is as Maya Angelou said, “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will not forget how you made them feel.” I write to make my readers feel. Writing about the truth and speaking out is the gutsiest thing I’ve done and will continue to do.

***

FELICIA JOHNSON is a writer, mental health worker, student, and big sister. She loves ice cream, and seeing her little sister, Laura, smile. She is an active youth mentor at Youth Villages Inner Harbour and article writer for The Personality Disorder Awareness Network (PDAN). Johnson’s debut novel, Her, is a survivor’s tale of endurance that illustrates the complex illness of Borderline Personality Disorder. (http://www.herthebook.com)

Please connect with Fee on Twitter, and on FaceBook.

Her Amazon Link.

Her Goodreads Link.

SONIA MARSH SAYS: “Writing is my life because writing saved my life.” What an amazing story Fee, and I know many writers can relate to your words of writing being their therapy.

I hope others feel encouraged to express themselves and work through their problems through writing. Have you been in touch with Ms. Medley? I hope she sees the positive effect she had on you, and the youth you have mentored.

***

It’s time to vote for your favorite one of four November “My Gutsy Story®” submissions on the sidebar.

Do you have a “My Gutsy Story®” you’d like to share?

NOW is the time to submit your “My Gutsy Story®” which may be included in our 2nd ANTHOLOGY.

Please view our 1st Published Anthology here.

You can find all the information, and our new sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story®” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here

Vote for Your Favorite November 2013 “My Gutsy Story®”

November 28, 2013 by Sonia Marsh 1 Comment

It’s time to vote for your favorite one of four “My Gutsy Story®” submissions.

You have from now until December 11th to vote on the sidebar, (only one vote per person) and the winner will be announced on December 12th, and will select a prize from our list of sponsors.

Our first story is by Lola De Maci, and how she got her degree after 30 years and many struggles in her life.

Our second story is by Ed Robinson a remarkable story of “How We Took a Leap of Faith and Found Paradise.”

Our third story is by Boyd Lemon, Boyd Lemon proves that in order to live life, you cannot fear change.

Our fourth story is by Janet Simcic, a positive story about how a woman turned tragedy into triumph.

I hope you enjoy their stories and vote for your favorite one. Please check out their books as well. There are links to them at the bottom of each story.

Do you have a “My Gutsy Story®” you’d like to share?

NOW is the time to submit your “My Gutsy Story®” which may be included in our 2nd ANTHOLOGY.

Please view our 1st Published Anthology here.

You can find all the information, and our new sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story®” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here

How I Turned Tragedy into Triumph by Janet Simcic

November 25, 2013 by Sonia Marsh 5 Comments

Overcoming My Fear of Pink

“My Gutsy Story®” by Janet Simcic

Autumn! It evokes warm memories for me growing up on the east coast. Leaves change from green to crimson and bright yellow, delicious air brisk in my nostrils.

My perennial October joy ended abruptly in 1993 when I became that one out of seven women diagnosed with breast cancer. Thanks to the efforts of the Susan G. Komen Foundation and other organizations, October is now breast cancer awareness month, and the color pink is prominent on TV commercials, clothing, perfume bottles, sports team gear…you name it. I couldn’t appreciate it more. But for the first ten years after my double mastectomy and year of anguishing chemotherapy, every October brought back fear and pain, and pink reminded me daily of being in survival mode. Pink had come to represent nausea, sleepless nights, baldness, wondering if I’d live to see grandchildren born, if I’d suffer, when I would have a recurrence.

I turned fifty the year of my diagnosis. It started out fine. Took care of all my doctor’s appointments, my yearly mammogram, screeched into menopause, went on estrogen therapy and then it happened. Two days after my mammogram, I got the call.

“Mrs. Simcic, this is Dr. Hopkins office. We need you to have additional views for your recent mammogram.”

I made the appointment, heart hammering, and feared it wasn’t good news. I endured the extra scans, had the ultrasound, went home and cried. The next day the call came.

“Mrs. Simcic, there’s been a change in your breasts. You need to review your film with a surgeon.”

A good friend worked for Dr. Baick, an M.D. who’d recently started a practice just for breast cancer patients…with his own staff oncologist and plastic surgeon. I made the appointment, picked up the film, and peeked at it in the parking lot. There was the tumor smaller than the nail on my pinkie finger; exactly like photos of breast cancer in brochures I’d read. It beamed like a shining star.

Tears fell, and I called my husband, Bill. We met with Dr. Baick who reviewed the film and said, “A lumpectomy should take care of a tumor this small. Here are the orders for a needle biopsy, and your surgery for next Friday.”

It’s not fun to sit in front of an ex-ray machine and have someone place a marker in your breast, followed by a long needle to aspirate tissue. But I forced myself through it by prayer. The lumpectomy surgery was quite simple, with little pain or recovery time. “Got it all,” he said. “We’ll call you with results next week.” He called the next week for a follow-up appointment. That wasn’t good news. It meant something bad. Bill and I held each other tightly, prayed some more, asking for that miracle, and drove to the office.

Dr. Baick said, “Bill, I’m going to talk to you because your wife is in shock and may not understand.”

But I listened to every word. Not only did I have in situ cancer, making it impossible to have clear margins, but the cancer had already spread to my lymph nodes. It was estrogen receptive. Dr. Baick delivered the verdict. I needed a total mastectomy.

Two weeks later, I sat in the plastic surgeon’s office as he tried to convince me the horror stories of silicon breast implants were exaggerated. He threw one across the room to demonstrate. Being a fearful person, I opted for the saline. Long before Angelina Jolie made headlines, I chose to have the other breast removed as well. Having estrogen receptive cancer, and my family history of my dad’s prostate cancer and my mother’s ovarian cancer, I had serious risk factors.

By the end of the month, I had nice implants (chosen after feeling the implants of many other cancer patients), and started chemotherapy with Dr. Tariq Mahmood, the most compassionate doctor I’ve ever met.

The country was in recession in 1993, our business was hitting bottom, my daughter was getting married, and my son was entering his second year at Columbia University. I wept. I’d be bald for my daughter’s wedding. Would I ever look like me again? When I told people I had breast cancer, everyone immediately looked at my breasts. It was embarrassing.

Then one night, I scratched my head and a handful of hair came out. Did you know it hurts to lose your hair? It’s surprisingly painful. By the end of the second round of chemotherapy, every hair on my body disappeared. I wore a wig which I’d throw it off the minute I walked into my house.

However, here’s the positive side. I got through it. I found out how strong my marriage was. I discovered my friends were really there for me. I became a cheerleader for other women facing this insidious disease. I went back to work, seven days a week throughout my chemotherapy. I was energized, motivated. I began to take on projects I’d put off because I felt I was too busy. I researched my family tree. I started traveling to Europe. I learned how to speak Italian. I wrote two books and plan to write at least two more. I accepted pink as the color winners wear. I began to live life ONE DAY AT A TIME and learned “This is the day that the Lord hath made, let us rejoice and be glad in it.”

I’ve always felt grateful for my life. I’ve been fortunate. But breast cancer taught me how to turn a tragedy into a triumph. Two years ago, I was diagnosed with lymphoma. It was easier this time. No color for lymphoma. But I knew in my heart, if I could survive one of the most difficult kinds of breast cancer, I could survive lymphoma too.

It’s 2013, and I have joy, twelve grandchildren and counting, speak Italian with gusto, write until my fingers tire, travel. I’m always looking to learn something new, wanting my life to count, to be remembered as someone who faced adversity, survived, and lived life to the fullest.

I’m told the lymphoma will probably return, and my breast cancer might come back. But if and when life throws me a lemon, I’ll be gutsy and make pink lemonade. And when it’s my time to die, I have every intention of arriving at the grave in a pretty pink dress, skidding in broadside, thoroughly used up…and loudly proclaiming, “Wow, what a ride.” Never stopped living, never gave up, and never stop trying.

JANET SIMCIC grew up in Boston, New York, and Michigan. After graduate school, she taught gifted high school students, ran a secretarial service and co-owned a large construction business with her husband.

Her first fiction book was published in 2011. “The Man At The Caffe’ Farnese” is available on amazon.com and Kindle. In addition she has freelanced for The Baptist Bulletin, Travel and Leisure, and The Travel Section of the Orange County Register.

Her latest book, non-fiction, “An American Chick’s Guide to Italy” was released in October, 2013.

Janet Simcic book2_ — Click on cover to go to Amazon

She continues to write, working on her third and fourth novel, articles for travel, speaks fluent Italian, and is genetically programmed to love everything Italian.

She and her husband reside in Orange, CA.

SONIA MARSH SAYS: I love the way you take the fear out of cancer by your statement,

“I was energized, motivated. I began to take on projects I’d put off because I felt I was too busy. I researched my family tree. I started traveling to Europe. I learned how to speak Italian. I wrote two books and plan to write at least two more. I accepted pink as the color winners wear.”

I thank you for sharing your inspiring story.

***

Do you have a “My Gutsy Story®” you’d like to share?

NOW is the time to submit your “My Gutsy Story®” which may be included in our 2nd ANTHOLOGY.

Please view our 1st Published Anthology here.

You can find all the information, and our new sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story®” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here

Please read the two “My Gutsy Story®” submissions this month from Lola De Maci, Ed Robinson and Boyd Lemon.

Voting for your favorite November “My Gutsy Story®”starts on November 28th until December 11th. The winner will be announced on December 12th.

To Live Life, I Cannot Fear Change by Boyd Lemon

November 18, 2013 by Sonia Marsh 6 Comments

Winter

At age sixty-six, I had lived my whole life in California, most of it on the coast, where the difference between summer and winter is about ten degrees. Some might consider such a climate ideal, and I suppose it is, but I yearned to experience the four seasons. I decided, if not now, when?

I sold my house and sold, gave away or stored most of my possessions, including my car. I rented an apartment in the Back Bay of Boston, sight unseen, and shipped my remaining possessions before I got on a plane, and feeling the rush of freedom, said goodbye to California.

On the plane, a redeye, I knew before the wheels left the ground that I wouldn’t sleep. My mind and body were overflowing with that combination of excitement and fear that took me to the precipice of dysfunction. I labored through those feelings with a firsthand understanding of the workings of human emotion I had recently read about––that fear and excitement result in the same activity within the brain. I feared the cold weather that this California boy had never experienced, the loneliness of knowing only one person in a strange city and a culture that I knew was far different from California.

Upon stepping out of the taxi in front of my apartment building, I slipped on the ice and fell on my ass. Welcome to Boston.

A few days later I awoke at first light, sat up and looked out the window. The world was white. Sheets of snow blew diagonally by my window. My first Nor’ Easter in all its fierceness had been blowing its ice and snow through the night. No sidewalk or street showed through. I could barely make out the top of the yellow fireplug two stories below. Some undeciphered perversity in me wanted to get out there. I dressed while coffee was brewing. After savoring the aroma and taste of the warm coffee sweetened with lots of Stevia, I was even more antsy to get out. This was the real east coast, never before experienced by this California boy, genuine Boston. On top of my regular clothes I donned my Red Sox sweatshirt, jeans–already had on long underwear––and wool socks, then the orange wool scarf my daughter Marsha knitted me last year, my North Face winter coat and heavy, water resistant shoes. I grabbed my ski gloves and keys, locked the door and pulled on the gloves.

Stepping out of the front door of the building, I pulled up the hood of my coat, covering my head and face except my eyes, mouth and nose. I discerned right away that it wouldn’t be wise to try to walk in the deep snow of the unplowed sidewalk.

I felt nothing cold at first, as I trudged down the middle of Haviland Street. The air was thick white. Even the black letters forming “Berklee College of Music” down the street were white. When I got to Massachusetts Avenue (“Mass Ave” to Bostonians), the snowplows were out, their huge blades pushing mountains of snow against the curb. A few cars followed the plow. My feet sank three or four inches into the snow. Warm in all my paraphernalia, I felt nothing much but a numb nose and the flexing of the muscles in my legs as I pushed and pulled my feet in and out of the snow. Paying no attention to the signal lights, but watching the plows and the cars, I crossed Mass Ave and then Boylston and headed for Newbury, fashion alley. The cold air infused me with energy like Southern California weather never had. I could see through the snow for about a block.

On Newbury dozens of men pushed portable snowplows, clearing the sidewalks for the shoppers who would flood the area in a few hours. I had to walk in the street because most of the sidewalks were still deep in snow or occupied by the portable plows. An occasional dog walker appeared like an apparition out of the white. A jogger glided slowly down the middle of the street. Snow hung from the trees like bleached cotton candy. No green showed through on the pines. Bushes looked like a fancy dessert. Everywhere silence pervaded. All sound and even the smells of the city seemed to be absorbed by the snow. A neighborhood that was usually loud with traffic, sirens, horns and people was as quiet as a cemetery. The motorized plows had not yet come to Newbury. I was hungry, but most of the restaurants didn’t open for brunch for another hour, and I didn’t feel like usual breakfast fare. I turned up Dartmouth to go over to Boylston, where Legal Seafood might be open for brunch.

Thoughts of a hot bowl of clam chowder made me trudge a little faster, probably too fast for safety on the slick street. My face started to sting, like tiny electric shocks on my skin. The snow had turned to raining ice, but the prickly feeling on my skin brightened my spirits more. I really am perverted, I thought, as a young man lumbered by me, uttering to nobody in particular, “This really sucks.” I thought it was glorious.

Boom—a huge block of snow slid off the roof of the nineteenth century Public Library just behind me. Boylston had been plowed, and traffic crept down the street, so I had to walk on the sidewalks that had not yet been shoveled or plowed. My legs were tired and weakened from pushing and pulling through the snow. Nothing was open except Trinity Church and Starbucks.

As I lifted one leg and then the other out of the snow, the Prudential Center and Legal Seafood loomed ahead. It continued to rain ice. My whole face was numb. Time to go in, I thought, and I pushed the revolving door. A blast of warm air hit me in the face. I must admit it felt good to remove all my outer paraphernalia and sit down at the bar at Legal Seafood.

“What would you like to drink?” asked Lacy, the server.

“A glass of Champagne,” I said, grinning.

After three years in Boston I moved to Paris, having learned that if I really want to partake in what life has to offer, I mustn’t fear change.

BOYD LEMON: After a stellar 40-year career as a nationally recognized attorney, Boyd Lemon discovered his passion, writing, and pursued it in the idyllic coastal town of Ventura, California; the literary, art and music scenes of Boston; a Bohemian year on the Left Bank in Paris; and finally by the bucolic rivers and forests of St. Marys, Georgia, where he currently lives. Boyd’s newest book is Retirement: A Memoir and Guide. He has published six other books and is now working on his first novel. He has four adult children and four grandchildren. His second passion is travel, and he has visited six of the seven continents.

Here is Boyd’s latest book:

Eat, Walk, Write: An American Senior’s Year of Adventure in Paris and Tuscany

Digging Deep: A Writer Uncovers His Marriages, a memoir about the author’s journey to understand his role in the destruction of his three marriages

And four other books.

Check out Boyd Lemon’s Amazon Author Page for more information:

Click here for excerpts, reviews, interviews and information about all of my books:

Boyd on Facebook:

Facebook Fan Page:

Twitter: @Boydlemon

SONIA MARSH SAYS: What a “Gutsy” adventure, to uproot at age sixty-six, after spending your whole life in California. I am intrigued to learn more about what prompted your move to Paris, after three years in Boston.

***

Do you have a “My Gutsy Story®” you’d like to share?

NOW is the time to submit your “My Gutsy Story®” which may be included in our 2nd ANTHOLOGY.

Please view our 1st Published Anthology here.

You can find all the information, and our new sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story®” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here

Please read the two “My Gutsy Story®” submissions this month from Lola De Maci and Ed Robinson.