Sonia Marsh - Gutsy Living

Life's too short to play it safe

Freeways to Flip-Flops is Now Available

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Endorsements for Freeways to Flip-Flops

“Sonia Marsh and her family give new meaning to the term “flipping out!”  Sombreros off to them for showing us the roads less traveled can often be the most rewarding — even when our trips don’t go as planned.”

–– Franz Wisner, New York Times bestselling author of Honeymoon with My Brother and How the World Makes Love

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“If you’re dreaming of escaping to a tropical island, or to any foreign land, don’t miss Sonia Marsh’s candid and vivid recounting of the ups and downs of life abroad. Part adventure tale, part romance, part family saga and part travel guide, Freeways to Flip-Flops is a memoir that reads like a novel.”

–Lan Sluder (Easy Belize, Fodor’s Belize, Living Abroad in Belize)

 

I am so happy to announce the arrival of my travel memoir:

Freeways to Flip-Flops: A Family’s Year of Gutsy Living on a Tropical Island.

After seven years of gestation–the time it would take for 3.5 African elephants to  grow inside their mother, I am now the proud author, wife, and mother of my family’s story.

As a special gift, I would like to offer you a 26-page book called: My School Bus Isn’t Yellow.  My husband, Duke, wrote this book which is full of color photos from our year in Belize. You will see our family, how we took our sons to school by boat, the mangroves, dolphins swimming next to our boat, a stormy sky, Altun-Ha Mayan ruins, our pier, a stingray next to our boat dock, “Hank” the hawk, starfish, and how we did our final garage sale by boat.

“My School Bus Isn’t Yellow.”

I love how Duke wrote this story for children, from the perspective of our ten-year-old son. It shows children and adults,  how different our life can be depending on where we live.

You can find all the information for signing up to receive your gift, my book and more on the Sidebar to the right.

Finally I wish to thank my family, fellow writers, blogger friends and everyone else, for your support during my writing journey. I wish you the best with your writing and publishing, and one last message.

I’d like to share one piece of wisdom that I learned from our year in Belize.

“Paradise is not a physical location; it’s a place that you discover within yourself.”

Love from Sonia.

 

“My Gutsy Story” by Heidi Morrell

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First indication –

When my twins were but two and a half, I was pursuing a further acting career in voice over because Hollywood doesn’t like women over forty in front of the camera. While in a one on one coaching session, I noticed my mouth involuntarily moving too slowly once or twice. My teacher and I agreed it was probably because I was tired. But it kept happening as the weeks went by. I managed to record a good demo CD, but that career was not to be.

My father is a retired surgeon and my mother was a nurse, so I knew intrinsically that something was not right. I went to a Ear Nose and Throat MD when my mouth began to slur almost daily. After finding no organic structural flaws she gently suggested I consult with a neurologist. In the parking lot after that, my stomach made a fist and my breath came in more shallow as I hung my head. I’m married to a rare patient man in the music business and he comforted me upon returning home that evening.

The neurologist was gracious and kind, as I literally burst into tears when he entered the exam room. All the response tests he gave were fine, even the EEG. But he did want to rule out Multiple Sclerosis (MS) or a brain tumor/lesion, so he scheduled a MRI (magneticresonance imaging) for me. It came up negative for any lesions or tumors! I was joyous, my father and sister were joyous. My life returned to it’s busy normal self as we had two toddlers to raise and contend with. I had a nagging feeling however, and a garbled mouth, aka: disarthria.

Second indication –

Walking along down my residential street heading to the local village area, my left thigh hesitated ever so slightly when it was supposed to return, in it’s stride, up to the forward position. The moving body, in it’s stride is an amazing thing. Heck, any mammal’s body is sheer wonder if we would only stop for a moment and consider it! Seems only during the Olympics or during marathons do we stop to think, to marvel at the human body, the wonderful creation that it is.

But that hesitant thigh/knee was the dire confirmation clinching my dread, my awful suspicion that something was happening to me, my body. About this time, my husband’s music company requested he transfer to NYC, offering a quasi promotion and moving expenses. So we headed there amid speculation on my status, since my neurologist could find nothing on retesting and a second MRI. He only contended that something must be going on, and eventually something would show up on the MRI. How long before I would find myself in a wheelchair, I asked him? Maybe five years or so… I was by this time, an emotional wreck and that neurologist steered me to a psychiatrist for my unstable depression.

Before we moved to NYC area, I had my father arrange a referral for me to a good neurologist. Turned out he found one of the best at a leading hospital, Columbia Presbyterian in upper Manhattan near the Bronx. I went there to try and find a diagnosis. The neurologist specialized in movement disorders and we, my father and I, presumed it was something about that -since my leg was getting stiffer by the day. In fact, after foolishly rushing in the parking lot after a movie, I tripped and fell, breaking my ankle against the hard wood heel of my slip ons. My not so graceful butt came down hard against my ankle, impacting wood. Ouch! Of course I had to have surgery for a plate installation since it was a fragmented break. I felt a little like an automobile in for repairs.

My kids were to enter kindergarten that September, so we found a house in Scarsdale and moved in. My sister visited and she and I went to have the PET scan the new doctor ordered for diagnosis. I had planned the scan appointment around her visit. My husband was working nonstop, but he did accompany me to many of the doctor appointments.

Insult to injury, the PET scan cost $4,200! which my insurance refused to pay. I was still walking at that time, and I remember taking time to amble up a lovely tree lined path with my sister to the scan facility. She and I gazing at each other and rubbing shoulders over and over as if to recognize it was all true. And it was true.. I had MSA, a rare Atypical-Parkinsonian disease. (One can Google the condition to learn about it).
I’ve survived a lot longer than the seven to ten years typical of this, wahoo! and I have a great movement neurologist at UCLA that’s caring for me now that we’ve moved back to SoCalif.

-One doesn’t know what’s next on the journey, so have tolerance for those who are struggling. I’ve changed tremendously since 2000, but change is inevitable. You learn from it and gain humility. Being disabled provides a landscape of perspective where once, there was none.

The Take Aways:

-Appreciate what you have right now.
-Respect your body, what it can do.
-Everyone has some mess in their lives.
-Family is the best support you have.
-It can always be worse.
-Go out into nature for the refreshment of your soul.
-Always hold on to hope.

Heidi Morrell July 2009

Heidi Morrell Bio:Heidi Morrell is a former T.V. actress, short film maker and college graduate in English. After having been diagnosed with an atypical movement disorder, MSA, she had to retire from acting and deal with her condition; however, she still and always has written fiction, poetry and essays. Heidi writes a column on disability and other topics, for examiner.com as: ‘LA disability’ examiner, please subscribe: http://www.examiner.com/user-hbmorrell.

Heidi is married, has boy and girl twins age twelve and lives in the Los Angeles area. Her disease has caused her to lose her basic walking ability (walker only), her sense of balance and speaking clarity. “Comedy is the key to facing reality,” she says. Being disabled provides a landscape of perspective where once, there was none. Please check out Heidi’s website You can also reach her on LinkedIn or Facebook
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Sonia Marsh Says: You are a true inspiration to all of us, especially when we take our health for granted. I am grateful to you for reminding us that we have to “appreciate what we have right now,” and that, “it can always be worse.” Your take-aways are a wonderful reminder, and I appreciate what you are doing for all of us, by opening our eyes to what life is all about. Thank you Heidi. Please leave your comments for Heidi below and share with your favorite social media online. 

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Don’t forget to vote for your favorite July “My Gutsy Story.” You each get ONE VOTE, and please share with your friends and bloggers so the winner can pick his/her prize from our list of sponsors.

The voting starts August 2nd, until August 15th, and the winner will be announced on August 16th. Please go to the sidebar to VOTE and click on your favorite story of the month. Thanks, and please share with your favorite social media buttons below.
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Do you have a “My Gutsy Story” you’d like to share?

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.

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Time to Vote for your favorite July, “My Gutsy Story”

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This month we have 5 FANTASTIC people who have submitted their inspiring stories and it’s time for us to vote for our favorite.

BOB LOWRY:  inspired us with his remarkable story of how perseverance and staying “Gutsy” paid off as far as leaving the corporate world and finding his own job.

Bob Lowry

 

SHERREY MEYER: Sherrey’s story showed us how she overcame the cruel threats of her mother’s psychological games and threats of suicide .

Sherrey Meyer

 

BELINDA NICOLL: Belinda, an expat from South Africa who moved to the U.S., in 2001, shows us how change can also presents us with opportunities in life.

Belinda Nicoll

 

MARY HERTSLET: Mary has an uplifting story about her life and her words of wisdom can help all of us. “Take advantage of your opportunities, follow your passions, and never stop learning.“

Mary Hertslet

JUANIMA HIATT: Juanima, shares her incredible story which will help others and give hope to those who face PTSD. Juanima’s goal is, “to shatter the stigma of PTSD and abuse, and inspire others to break the silence.”

Juanima Hiatt

All five of these writers have either published books or are in the process of writing one. Please check out their websites by clicking on their names above.

You each get ONE VOTE, and please share with your friends and bloggers so the winner can pick his/her prize from our list of sponsors.

The voting starts August 2nd, until August 15th, and the winner will be announced on August 16th. Please go to the sidebar to VOTE and click on your favorite story of the month. Thanks, and please share with your favorite social media buttons below.
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 Do you have a “My Gutsy Story” you’d like to share?

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.

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Stay tuned for the release date of my book. Good news coming very soon.


 A BONUS for those of you who write or want to write a MEMOIR. Jason Matthews invited a panel of memoir writers to his INDIE AUTHORS, Monday night show on HangoutNetworks.com. Watch the video.

You can learn about memoir writing from our panel:

Jason Matthews ( our host), Melvin Little, our producer.

Cheryl Stahle, Kathleen Pooler, Sharon Lippincott, Madeline Sharples, and me (Sonia Marsh)
You can click here to see panelists info.

 

“My Gutsy Story” by Juanima Hiatt

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The Monster in Me

 

Inside, I trembled like a child caught in a bitter, winter wind. A blanket of numbness spread rapidly across my hands, arms, and face. We were still a few miles from my uncle’s house for the Christmas party, but the iron fist around my lungs was closing tighter, cutting off more of my air supply. I could already hear the chatter of twenty people buzzing like a swarm of locusts in my mind, and I knew that when I arrived, I would be pulled into it, and have to fight for hours to save myself. I knew relatives would corner me and ask how I am, and what have I been up to lately; they would not be able to handle my truth, so I would lie. I would smile and say, “Great!” and then hide in a back room, hoping no one would miss me.

As we sped along the freeway, I watched the trees rush by in a blur. My vision changed, marking the familiar descent out of the present where anxiety overwhelmed, into a more protected place. My surroundings became a haze, and sounds began to dissipate.

“You okay?” My husband, Mike, asked. He knew social functions were hard for me. Even if it was family.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Yes, I’ll be fine.” I wished for once I could just be honest with him. I wish I could scream, NO! I want to go home! But I refused to be a killjoy.

“Mama?” A sweet voice called from the back seat. I turned and smiled at Lacey, her six-year-old charm bubbly and irresistible. “I’m glad you came this time.”

“I’m glad, too,” I lied. I looked to the seat next to her, where her two-year-old sister, Jordan, sat transfixed on a toy in her hands. As if feeling my gaze, she looked up at me and smiled with her whole face, flashing two rows of widely-gapped baby teeth. I chuckled at her goofiness. My girls were beautiful, that was certain, but I wondered how they would fare this disorder of mine. I turned back towards the window, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes. Tears because I didn’t want to go to our family Christmas party; tears because I hated what was happening to me. Then I pushed them back as I always did, trying to hide the agony swarming and tearing at my soul. Trying to prepare myself for the act I was about to put on for my loved ones. The act I put on almost every day.

This is Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), and it was triggered by Jordan’s traumatic birth in 2003. That event blew open the vault door to the abuse I had endured as a child, and I never saw it coming.

After fourteen years of peace with my past, my mind was suddenly plagued on a daily basis with vivid memories of rape and abuse; and not just memories, but reliving the events, where terror and pain consumed me mentally and physically. I lived on edge, jumping at any sudden sound or voice. Fear, panic and anxiety grew like a second skin – I walked in it constantly. But the anxiety became the most difficult to conceal. My level of patience existed at my throat, and anything could set me off – a 180-degree turn from who I used to be.

The rage that suddenly existed inside me shocked and horrified me, and there were times I couldn’t diffuse it. I would never hurt my girls, but the rage sat weightlessly on my tongue, and I would not know it was there until they pushed my tolerance too far. One squabble, and the rage sprung out in a frightening roar before I could stop it, jolting my girls into tears. Then crushed with massive regret, I’d scoop them into my arms with profuse apologetics.

Juanima Hiatt and her lovely family

My entire being overflowed with guilt and shame for this thing I could not control, and for the person I’d become. I grieved deeply for the woman I had been: softhearted, patient, and kind. Led by dreams and ambitions of being a singer and a writer, and owning a house in green country.

Not anymore. Dreams gave way to nightmares, and daily torture by flashbacks of frightening things I wanted so badly to forget, but could not. There was no peace in my heart, no joy, and it would get much, much worse before it ever got better.

The typical stages of denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance took five years, while I unwillingly succumbed to the symptoms of PTSD, panic disorder, agoraphobia, and social anxiety disorder. I lived in a bubble, and the plunge I took into depression and despair was so deep, I nearly took my life.

But then I faced a life-changing question: How would you feel if your daughters experienced the same pain? The idea of my daughters ever enduring this clawed my heart into shreds, and from somewhere deep inside a righteous anger rose. I knew I needed to protect them. I knew that sexual abuse is a generational curse, and if it is to stop, someone in the cycle must dig their feet into the ground and face it, fight it, and heal from it. That someone needed to be me.

I chose to fight, and I have never looked back. I will never again be the woman my husband married; I will be someone better. After all, I know who I am now. I know what I am capable of. I know that by doing hard things, I grow in leaps and bounds. By choosing to live, I have developed courage, perseverance, and an iron will. My faith is stronger than it has ever been. I have educated my daughters about sexual abuse, but I am also determined to help as many people as possible by sharing my story. My hope is to shatter the stigma of PTSD and abuse, and inspire others to break the silence.

Juanima Hiatt Bio:

Juanima Hiatt writes from Oregon whenever she can grab precious silence.  She is a member of Willamette Writer’s Group and the critique group, Scribophile.  Juanima has a special place in her heart for kids – especially teens – and a fervent desire to help people.  She loves movies, fly-fishing, hunting, nature, and any activity with her husband and two daughters.

Her memoir, The Invisible Storm, portrays her battle with PTSD and what it takes to overcome the disorder.  She also enjoys writing screenplays, children’s books, and is currently working on a political thriller novel. You can find out more about Juanima and her books on her websites: juanimahiatt.com and theinvisiblestorm.com

Please follow Juanima on Twitter@jhiatt4, Facebook and LinkedIn

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Sonia Marsh Says: Juanima, your story is incredible and I hope it will help others and give hope to those who face what you did. When the birth of your daughter brought back the trauma of your childhood, and you said,

 ” I lived in a bubble, and the plunge I took into depression and despair was so deep, I nearly took my life.”

“But then I faced a life-changing question: How would you feel if your daughters experienced the same pain?”

“I chose to fight, and I have never looked back.”

Your courage and strength to change and do what is right for you and your family is inspiring. Thanks for sharing and I believe in you and know you will succeed in your journey:

“to shatter the stigma of PTSD and abuse, and inspire others to break the silence.”

Please leave your comments for Juanima and she will be over to respond. Thanks for sharing with friends and your fellow readers.

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

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.

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The next VOTING for your favorite July  “My Gutsy Story” starts on Thursday August 2nd, until August15th.  The winner will be announced on August 16th. Winner gets to pick their prize from our 14 sponsors.

Please share these wonderful “My Gutsy Story” series with others on Twitter and other links below, if you care to spread their work.

Thank you.

Gutsy Book Buzz: Who Gives a Crap?

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I’m one of those last minute spontaneous bloggers who never seems to schedule things until it’s crunch time.

I often have no idea what I’m going to post until the night before–if I’m lucky–but realistically, I sometimes wait until Thursday morning, a few minutes before 8 a.m., when my post is supposed to be written.

So imagine my delight when I found an Indiegogo video, called “Who Gives a Crap?” that resonated with me.

It’s so creative, so well-written, and so honest. It was exactly what I wanted to hear about, not only because of it’s title and double entendre, (the guy sits on a toilet for over 50 hours to raise $50,000) but because the guy is a genius at coming up with a unique concept to fund his project.

So today I’m going to talk about: Who gives a crap? And more importantly, how do you stand out? Here’s what I mean.

  • We live in a competitive world where everyone is striving to have a voice that gets heard above the millions of other voices.
  • We want to be unique, but how is that possible in a world full of other unique people?
  • We keep hearing about the magic formula that will help us reach our goal in no time at all.  As an ex- personal trainer, clients wanted the “quick fix” to get thin or muscular.
  • There is no magic formula for anything except one thing, in my mind. And this “who gives a crap” guy from Australia demonstrates it.

The reason why this guy succeeded in raising more money for his project than he expected is in my opinion, the formula for real success:

1). He is himself

2). He is extremely creative. How many would sit on a potty for that long!

3). He is down-to earth and unpretentious (perhaps I’m repeating #1)

4). He is not conning us.

5). He is an engineer, (I think) and I always admire smart people who haven’t been media-trained to death to sound robotic.

6). He has a project that can help others globally, especially those who are less fortunate than us.

7). If you’ve lived in a country where you depended on rain to flush your toilet, and you’ve had a drought, you can relate. This happened to my family in Belize.

8). His video is “Gutsy.” I mean to sit with your pants down and have a camera pointed towards you in a warehouse is quite “Gutsy,” wouldn’t you say?

9). He has beautiful baby blue eyes. Oops, sorry, but they remind me of my three sons when they were babies.

In today’s world,  we have to think of creative ways to stand out. The questions is HOW? What kind of video would you make if you wanted to raise funds for your book, your indie movie, your project?

Any thoughts? Please let us know and share with your friends. Thanks, Sonia

 Photo credit above purpleslog

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