My Gutsy Story Archives - Page 11 of 46 - Sonia Marsh

I’m an Expat Alien Who Had to Find My Way

April 7, 2014 by Sonia Marsh 13 Comments

Finding My Way Across Continents

“My Gutsy Story®” Kathy Gamble

I was born in Burma and grew up on five continents. When I was 18, I went to college in the US, my passport country. It was very difficult for me. I was used to adjusting to new places and blending in but this time it was different. I looked and talked like an American but I had no knowledge of popular culture or how to identify with my fellow classmates.

My roommate had never been out of her home state except to go to college. She spent her time telling wild high school stories. I thought since she was telling her stories, I could tell mine. That was a mistake. “I learned to drink beer at the Hofbrouhous in Munich. I skied at St Moritz. I walked around the Parthenon and Knossos.” Of course she could not process my stories and said I was a liar. She told everybody I was a liar. I was ostracized and if I tried to speak to any of the “group”, I was ignored. I thought there was something wrong with me. I could not understand why they were so strange and closed minded.

I was very naive about the US. I had been in multicultural environments my entire life. I knew there were bigoted people but I didn’t understand how it was manifested in society at large. One day I went to lunch in the cafeteria and I saw a long empty table and I thought ‘I’ll sit there and then maybe I’ll meet some new people’. Well, as the lunch progressed people sat around me but they were all black and none of them would speak to me. The next day I commented on it to somebody and they told me that whites are not “allowed” to sit at that table. It is for the black girls only. I thought they were kidding. But they weren’t. It was too bad because they surely had a very different experience from mine and I probably could have learned some things from them about their perspective of America.

Halfway through my freshman year an old friend from high school showed up for a visit and as soon as I saw him I knew everything was going to be all right. He knew exactly what I was talking about and assured me I was not a crazy stupid idiot. Eventually I made other friends and things turned out okay. However, I stopped telling my story. To this day, I don’t volunteer anything about myself unless I know the other person’s story first. Then I usually adapt mine to theirs in a way they can relate to it.

Twenty years later I ended up in Moscow, Russia. My husband was a Russian American who grew up speaking Russian at home and had relatives in Moscow and St Petersburg. He moved there in the 1990’s and decided to open his own business. I moved to Moscow not knowing much about it and not knowing the language at all. I landed there with no support system. I was on my own. My husband was working most of the time or out with his Russian buddies.

I was horribly unhappy at first but what I ended up doing, and what saved me, were two things. I cooked and I wrote. I made everything from scratch. I often could not find what I was looking for so I improvised. I poured over cookbooks. My husband was always dragging people home for dinner – mostly Russians who were happy to eat anything I fed them. I think I fed half of Moscow. I was fearless. Everybody was a potential guinea pig. And then by a weird twist of fate I became the editor of the American Women’s Organization newsletter.

In the end it all came together and I edited, designed and produced the AWO Moscow cookbook. By that time I was an old hand and everybody knew me. I was satisfied and I was content. I had carved out my new persona.

All those years growing up in places like Mexico and Nigeria taught me to have inner strength and to be creative. We never had all the things we needed or wanted but we found ways to get around that. If Christmas Trees were not available, we made one out of paper or cards or cloth. We always made each other’s birthday cards. We rarely had TV so we read, or played cards, or listened to music. When we lived in Lagos I went to boarding school, so I didn’t have any friends to hang out with but there were always new things to see and experience and learn from all around me. I never felt lonely or bored.

We became such a tight family unit that it didn’t really matter. I think that is why I had such a hard time in the beginning in Moscow and in college. I didn’t have the support system people need in those situations. Whether it is an old friend or a family member or a new friend who “gets” you, as long as there is somebody telling you, ‘No, you haven’t lost your mind’, it really helps. But when there was no support system, I was able to find something I really loved to do and enjoyed the ride. An open and curious mind always helps.

Kathleen Gamble was born and raised overseas and has traveled extensively. She started journaling at a young age and her memoir, Expat Alien, came out of those early journals. Expat Alien was published in 2012 and she recently published a cookbook, 52 Food Fridays, both available on Amazon.com. You can also follow her blog at ExpatAlien.com.

Please Follow Kathy on:

Twitter: @ExpatAlien
Please like Kathy’s Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ExpatAlien?ref=hl

Kathy Gamble Book cover.jpg — Click on cover to go to Amazon

SONIA MARSH SAYS: Kathy, your story shows that travel makes us more open, and accepting of others. Your statement, “To this day, I don’t volunteer anything about myself unless I know the other person’s story first. Then I usually adapt mine to theirs in a way they can relate to,” is a clear signal that in order to be “accepted” we have to try to “fit in.” This is something that applies to expats all over the world. Thank you for sharing your insightful story.

REMEMBER TO VOTE for your favorite March 2014 “My Gutsy Story®.” VOTING ends on April 16th.

The WINNER will be announced on April 17th. 13th.

MGS FINAL COVER Small — Click on cover to go to 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

PLEASE VOTE AND SHARE THESE STORIES USING THE LINKS BELOW.

Vote For Your Favorite March 2014 “My Gutsy Story®”

April 3, 2014 by Sonia Marsh Leave a Comment

Get ready to VOTE for your favorite one of 5 “My Gutsy Story®” submissions. You have from now until April 16th to vote on the sidebar, (only one vote per person) and the winner will be announced on April 17th, and will select a prize from our generous sponsors.

Our 1st “My Gutsy Story®” is by Yelena Parker.

SONIA SAYS: Yelena is living life to the fullest and stepping out of your comfort zone. She is volunteering in Tanzania right now, and I have the pleasure of doing a Google+ Hangout with her on April 10th, about her experiences there.

Our 2nd “My Gutsy Story®” is by Rosalie Marsh.

SONIA MARSH SAYS: Having never traveled before, it must have been a huge thrill for you to explore other countries on the big “beast” motorcyle.

Our 3rd “My Gutsy Story®” is by Rachael Rifkin.

SONIA MARSH SAYS: Rachael’s story captures the essence of travel: exploration, freedom, fulfillment, trusting yourself and the opportunity to get to know yourself.

Our 4th “My Gutsy Story®” is by Peter Jones.

SONIA MARSH SAYS: Peter’s story captures all the emotions he went through after loosing his wife, and manages to find and write about happiness. It’s such an emotional and inspiring story.

Our 5th “My Gutsy Story®” is by Angela Marie Carter

SONIA MARSH SAYS: Through your courage of taking the steps to change your life, you are making a difference to help other women who have been sexually abused.

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

VOTING for your favorite March 2014 “My Gutsy Story®,” starts on April 3rd, and ends on April 16th. The WINNER will be announced on April 17th. 13th.

PLEASE VOTE AND SHARE THESE STORIES USING THE LINKS BELOW.

Sometimes we have to save ourselves. How Poetry Saved My Life

March 31, 2014 by Sonia Marsh 31 Comments

Poetry Saved My Life

“My Gutsy Story®” by Angela Marie Carter

We don’t have to die in order to stop living. In fact, most of my childhood and teen years were a form of sleeprunning, (not to be confused with sleepwalking), that led to my one and only suicide attempt.

At around 15-years of age, I made a decision to play Russian Roulette with medication. I laid there accepting my fate, genuinely spoke to God for the first time, and felt a longing for the future I had just robbed myself of. I survived, and would say it was the first near-death experience of my many near-life experiences.

It took me many years to learn how to live. I used to think I was cursed. As a child I was molested and lived in a household of alcoholism, neglect and abuse. When I did tell someone, silence followed. Not long after, I was sent to live with my grandmother and, even to her dying day, she was never aware of my secrets, but was aware of how broken I was.

I believed, even from a very young age, that poetry saved my life. It was a constant companion that appeared instantaneously after I was abused. I had never been introduced to writing, and at some points was told it was a waste of time. Poetry was a friend that I would ignore for several months, but would always return when I needed it most—something I had never encountered with any human.

My constant fears would put me in dangerous situations that I now look back and cringe at. As a teenager I found myself in physically and sexually abusive relationships, and constantly in debt with my past. It was important to me that I not be neglected, even if it meant I nearly died in the process. I can remember covering hand-print marks around my neck, and convincing myself that pain was all that I deserved. Depression controlled me, while the person I wanted to be lurked in my shadow and was disappearing.

I thought if I escaped my hometown in Virginia, I’d escape the cycles I’d fallen into. At 18-years-of age I received a scholarship to study at the University of Bath, England. I was a girl from a town of 280 people, studying in a foreign country! When I fell in love with the idea of being unknown, and the possibility of rediscovering myself, I stayed. I met the love of my life, married, and was blessed with the gift of a child. But, not even 3,736 miles could save me from the curse. You see, the curse was not out there, it was inside of me. After freeing myself of familiar territory, the past revisited me in new forms that was equally, if not even more destructive than in my past. Bulimia controlled my every move for over five years.

I returned to Virginia, and we welcomed a second child. It was then that the depression almost fully consumed me. I was a living-zombie, but the love for my chosen family outweighed it, so much that I made the decision to admit myself into a program for treatment of depression. I waved good-bye to my daughters in the backseat of my husband’s car, and wore a hood over my head until I entered the building. As I went up the elevator, I thought of how most mothers were creating their children’s lunches from organic foods, while my family was driving me to the front door of a hospital.

Throughout all of the bad, there was one constant friend that was always there: poetry. Although I had muted my external voice, I found a new one through writing. I have never been a book-smart kind of person, but believed with every piece of my being that I was gifted the ability to write poetry so that I could help others. Whereas I once felt that I’d never be any more than a victim, I began to see good in it. A new world formed, one where I was more aware of how universal secrets truly are. I learned through sharing my writing that it is not what happens to us that truly damages us, it’s how we, and others that we love, choose not to acknowledge it.

Since that time, I have used all my energy to help others. I have many defining moments in the last few years, but one that marked my most gutsy moment ever. I recently spoke, in public, about what it is really like to be a child that is abused. I owe this power and strength to poetry. Not only do I have a voice, I use it to speak of all the subjects that many will not.

Sometimes we have to save ourselves. I saved myself by breaking silence, and reaching out to others through poetry and public speaking. I offer therapeutic writing coaching, coordinate a local poetry group, and have a forthcoming poetry book being published. I accept any opportunity, no matter how small the crowd, to let others know that silence is not golden.

My husband calls me brave–because it was my choice to save my own life, and gain the confidence to share what was always there–a beautiful woman that is not cursed, but instead chosen to help others. In fact, believe it or not, I wouldn’t change a thing about my life. Sometimes our gutsy moves save many lives, even if we believe we have only saved our own. Sometimes seeking help is the bravest thing we can do.

Not dying may seem elementary, but living is after all, a choice. Sometimes it takes us a while to end up where we need to be; taking my time didn’t make me any less gutsy. It just makes my remaining days very precious.

I intend on making every instant be about helping others find their gutsy moment.

ANGELA MARIE CARTER, author of forthcoming poetry memoir Memory Chose a Woman’s Body, grew up in a small Virginia farming town. After moving abroad for several years as an adult, she returned to sweet Virginia with her new family and new-found voice, to speak of the unknown instances she experienced throughout her life. Angela offers her poetry and public speaking as a voice, of many, that proves silence is not golden. www.angelacarterpoetry.com

Please join Angela on her sites:

www.angelacarterpoetry.com
https://www.facebook.com/angelacarterpoetry
https://twitter.com/amcarterpoetry
http://www.pw.org/content/angela_carter

Family_happy — Angela says, “My daughter, Nori, (6) drew this, and it symbolizes the person I always hoped my children would see me as.”

SONIA MARSH, Angela, I am so thankful you shared your story. Through your courage of taking the steps to change your life, you are making a difference to help other women who have been sexually abused. Thank you for what you do, and your poem in the video, is so strong and beautifully written.

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

COME BACK TO VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITE MARCH “My Gutsy Story®.”

THE VOTING STARTS ON APRIL 3rd AND ENDS ON APRIL 16th. THE WINNER WILL BE ANNOUNCED ON APRIL 17th.

“Doing Everything, Being Happy” by Peter Jones

March 24, 2014 by Sonia Marsh 16 Comments

On my thirty-second birthday, as I sat at my mother’s dining room table in front of a large cake, thirty two candles threatening to ignite my beard should I lean too far forward, I realised that the only ambition I had left in life – the only dream I hadn’t given up on – was to be married.

Or at least in some sort of steady, loving relationship.

A long term partnership with someone whose ying was a close match to my less than melodic yang.

But even this, this last naive expectation of life, was looking increasingly unlikely. Every candle on that cake was some sort of burning epitaph to just how utterly rubbish I was when it came to affairs of the heart.

There had been relationships in the past – of course there had – but I’d kind of ‘fallen into them’, by accident. And after the ladies in question had tried, and failed, to mould me into the kind of man they actually wanted, those relationships had withered and died. There hadn’t been an ‘accidental relationship’ for a while. Colleagues no longer described me as an eligible bachelor. Some had started to question my sexuality.

So as my family launched into a rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ I decided there and then that the prospect of being single for the rest of my days was unacceptable.

Something had to be done.

* * *

Around that time there was a TV show called ‘Would Like to Meet’ where a team of experts would take some hapless individual and turn them into a heartthrob or a man-magnet. It very quickly became my favourite TV show. I’d watch it avidly from one week to the next hoping to pick up some tips. And the conclusion I came to was that I too could do with a similar makeover – albeit without the entire viewing nation of the United Kingdom looking on.

So over the next few weeks I tracked down Image Consultants, and contacted one. Back then, Image Consultants mainly worked for corporations, re-styling senior corporate executives who might otherwise look less than sharp in the boardroom, but I had surprisingly little problem persuading my consultant of choice to broaden the scope of her client base to include one sad and lonely thirty-something guy. She took one look at me, threw away every item of clothing I’d acquired in the previous decade, and in an afternoon gave me some much needed va-va-voom, in the wardrobe department.

And once I’d been completely re-styled, I looked around for a flirt coach.

These days, you can barely move for self-styled relationship experts and flirt coaches but back in 2003 I could find just one. And she ran courses.

I took several hundred pounds from my savings, and booked myself on a ‘flirting weekend’. Nervously, I took my place in the front row, and when instructed I turned and introduced myself to the stunning blonde sitting next to me.

“I’m Peter,” I said.

“I’m Kate,” said the blonde.

Then she smiled.

And I was smitten.

The course wasn’t that much of a success, in that it didn’t teach me how to flirt. Not that it mattered. My strategy had worked, somewhat differently but infinitely better than I’d hoped. On the Monday evening Kate and I had our first date. By the Tuesday I’d officially found myself a girlfriend. A few months later I found myself on one knee. And a year to the day after we’d first met, I found myself married.

And when she died in my arms just two years later, I was heart-broken.

* * *

Peter and Kate on their first Wedding Anniversary in Paris

People rarely ask me how Kate died. It’s just not the sort of question they feel comfortable asking. Most assume she must have had cancer – that we’d have had some warning. We didn’t.

I’ve learnt since that sudden deaths like Kate’s (a sub-arachnoid haemorrhage) are surprisingly common. Kate had a weak part in her brain, probably since birth. It could have happened at any moment. It was almost inevitable.

I learnt too that after the shock comes the guilt. Every cross word, every nasty thought, every lie – they all come back to haunt you. And amongst the demons that were queuing up to torment me was the realisation that I still wasn’t happy, and maybe I never had been. There had been happy moments, of course. Quite a lot of moments. Most of them in the previous three years, and most of them down to Kate, but they were moments none the less. And I wanted to be happy all the time. Not just occasionally. Not just for a moment.

Something had to be done.

* * *

And so I decided to tackle the problem in the only way I knew how: by making lists, and coming up with a strategy.

“So what,” people ask, “is in this… ‘happiness strategy’?”

I tell about my ‘Now List’, my ‘Wish List’, how I set myself yearly goals, and how I make sure I actually achieve them.

I tell them how I’ve taken back control of my life, decided how I want it to be, pointed it in that direction, and given it a kick up the backside.

I tell them how I’m having more fun than I’ve ever had. Smiling more than I ever did. How there’s love in my life again. How I think Kate would be proud of me. And that I can finally say, I’m happy.

PETER JONES started professional life as a particularly rubbish graphic designer, followed by a stint as a mediocre petrol pump attendant. After that he got embroiled in the murky world of credit card banking where he developed ‘fix-it-man’ superpowers.

Now, Peter spends his days – most of them, anyway – writing. He is the author of three and a half popular self-help books on the subjects of happiness, staying slim and dating. If you’re overweight, lonely, or unhappy – he’s your guy.

Find out more about Peter Jones, his books, speaking engagements & workshops, at peterjonesauthor.com

Join Peter on

Twitter: @peterjonesauth
Facebook: Peter Jones
Website: http://www.peterjonesauthor.com
Check out Peter’s books:

SDSW Kindle — Click on cover to view on Amazon

SONIA MARSH SAYS: Peter, When I read your story, I saw a movie. It captures all the emotions that are part of being human, and at the same time, ends on a positive note. I am so glad you shared your amazing story, and can show others how you overcame the loss of Kate.

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

PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT FOR PETER AND SHARE USING THE LINKS BELOW.

Exploration, Freedom and Being in Control of My Life

March 17, 2014 by Sonia Marsh 10 Comments

Age of Exploration

A “My Gutsy Story®” by Rachael Rifkin

Growing up, summer vacations meant hiking in Mammoth Mountain. After the first couple consecutive years, I was ready to go somewhere else. We used to go other places—Palm Springs, Big Bear, San Francisco, Arizona, Utah. We even went all the way to Disney World when I was seven. So I began looking through the AAA book for some new ideas. Maybe my parents had forgotten what else was out there.

They hadn’t. I’d point out a place and my dad would say, “What are we going to do there?”

“We could do anything! What do we do in Mammoth that’s so fun? We hike.”

“Exactly. Let’s go back to Mammoth.”

And so it went until I graduated from high school. I had been accepted into a couple of Southern California schools so my parents and I went to visit them. Every campus I visited left me with a funny feeling. I was always eager to leave.

I had also been accepted into UC Santa Cruz. My parents did not offer to take a trip up there. That made my decision easier; Santa Cruz it was.

“But it’s so far away and you haven’t even visited the campus,” my parents said. My grandmother sent me a newspaper clipping of an article that talked about the increasing dropout rate among UCSC students due to feelings of isolation. I balked.

If I had visited UC Santa Cruz before I went, I probably wouldn’t have liked it. But it had one thing going for it that the other schools didn’t—it was over 400 miles away from where I grew up. I was ready to be somewhere else.

Santa Cruz was beautiful. The campus was in the middle of a forest, with the occasional deer family wandering about. I loved navigating my way around the campus and city. I walked and took the bus everywhere. I explored.

I didn’t really like UC Santa Cruz though. Turns out, I did feel isolated. There wasn’t a lot to do and I was surrounded by people who went out of their way to appear unique. Instead, it was just a different kind of sameness. By my sophomore year, I was contemplating my escape again. This time I wanted to go somewhere I liked. I wasn’t going to just escape for the sake of escaping anymore.

It didn’t take me too long to figure out where I wanted to go. I had always wanted to go to the Netherlands. I had grown up reading Anne Frank’s diary and knew that she adored her adopted country. The first thing she hoped to do after the war was become a Dutch citizen.

I wanted to go to the Netherlands to see what she saw in the Dutch and walk through the same space that she had shared with her fellow Secret Annex housemates. I just never thought I would go. My parents certainly weren’t going to take me. When I was younger, it never occurred to me that I might eventually be able to go on my own.

I decided to look into studying abroad in the Netherlands. They offered study abroad programs at three colleges, one of which was an international school. I started the process, but it didn’t feel real. I couldn’t believe I might actually go somewhere I really want to.

I collected recommendations and transcripts, wrote essays and mapped out how taking this semester abroad would affect my ability to graduate on time. Every time I handed something in, that little excited feeling would build in my chest.

My parents worried about my safety but they weren’t going to stop me from going. They knew my aversion to paperwork, so I think they were hoping I’d forget something and not be able to go. But by the end of the school year I was all set. I was going to study abroad in the Netherlands from August 31, 2001 through December 15, 2001.

To me, the Netherlands represented exploration, freedom and the fulfillment of a long-held desire. I’d be on my own in a way I never had been before. It meant I had to trust myself to navigate a new country. Even better, it gave me the opportunity to get to know myself anew, without the weight of parents, friends or American culture on my back.

Rachael in the Netherlands — Rachael in Rotterdam is on the far right. She still keeps in contact with the people she met in the Netherlands

For the first time, I felt in control of my life and it inspired me to do other things I wanted to do. As soon as I got home for the summer, I rearranged my room so it had a better flow. I asked my friend to teach me the guitar. I got an internship at a local paper. A high school friend introduced me to the guy who would become my husband.

Over in Holland, I continued to take risks, and the more I took the easier they became. When I had moments of self-doubt, instead of giving in to them, I’d take a deep breath and remind myself that taking a chance was always worth a try.

I enjoyed my classes and how open and direct Dutch people were. I learned how other cultures viewed the U.S. I traveled and made friends that I still have today. I got to know my husband over the phone and fell in love with him. And I finally visited Anne Frank’s house, saw where she hid and what she saw in the Dutch people.

In short, I found a place of my own. Now when I travel, my journey is about discovery, not escape.

RACHAEL RIFKIN was inspired to become a ghostwriter/personal historian by her grandfather, who wrote a memoir about his time serving as a medic in the Korean War. Her blog, Family Resemblance (www.lifestoriestoday.com/blog), features selections of her grandfather’s memoir and stories about the traits we inherit, whether genetically or environmentally, and the qualities we only find in ourselves.

SONIA MARSH SAYS:

You really captures the essence of travel: exploration, freedom, fulfillment, trusting yourself and the opportunity to get to know yourself. I think you are going to help those who feel trapped and want to try new things in life. I like your statement: