"My Gutsy Story" Archives - Page 4 of 5 - Sonia Marsh

“My Gutsy Story” by Pamela Sisman Bitterman

January 23, 2012 by Sonia Marsh

My checklist is getting checked off. I have the basic necessities covered. There are other details I could obsess over, more material I could learn, extra gear I could bring. But I imagine that I’ll be able to make do with what I have or grab what I need on the fly. I feel pretty good to go! My faculties are sharpening into adventure mode. And my old gumption that has been busting a gut to get loose for a quarter century is now ever present, even at three a.m. when I lurch wide awake from my warm bed in a cold sweat and blurt out, “What the hell am I thinking?”

It’s not that I’m having serious personal reservations. It is simply that moms tend to worry that their families will implode without them. As it happens, I find that I am not in the least fearful for myself. In fact, I discover that I’m as game as ever to take this next leap of faith. The “yee-hah!” exhilaration of climbing out to life’s edge has never entirely died out in me. It’s merely been lying dormant beneath a meticulously constructed, implied housewife persona, a twenty-five year stint of nurturing-mother prioritizing for which I have absolutely no regrets. Everything has turned with the seasons, as they should. And a bygone time has finally come back around, although to what purpose under heaven remains to be seen.

That being said, this go-for-it attitude of mine does pose a psychological incongruity that I do have some measure of difficulty coming to terms with. I am experiencing a powerful, altruistic desire to “go help starving children, be a blessing in the world, touch just one life,” with a hefty side of, “travel, have an adventure, get out there, prove you can still do it,” purely selfish thrill-craving. Like a cup of warm milk with a Wild Turkey chaser. When I ask my husband, who has actual skills and a medical background, if he is planning to accompany me, he replies, “Pami, I have a job I love, responsibilities, the mortgage and college tuitions. I don’t need to go. I don’t even want to go. This is your dream. And yes, I am afraid for you to go. But I know you. And I am more afraid for you not to go.”

No, I don’t want to go without this wise man, but I want to know that I can. I don’t need to fly halfway around the globe to be benevolent but I do need to get back out into the big world. I have no concrete conception of what I am moving toward but the lure of the unknown pulls me like a familiar drug. There is nothing in my life to escape from and yet the passive act of staying put evokes despairing thoughts of, “Oh, if this is all I’m going to do, then just shoot me now!” Some things never change. This is still the same me, just me a little older, me a little slower, me jetting off to Kenya . . . with Ian.

Ian is our son’s pal, the child of a good friend, a physician who personally knows the doctors who are running the program that I am going to join in Kenya. Ian knew about the project from his father and was committed to going even before I was. He is a lot like the “me” of 24 years old. And I cannot fault him for that.

However, I have to say that having one of my children’s schoolmates in on my personal journey of self-reinvention wasn’t in my blueprint. I fear Ian will disrupt my somewhat anal and scrupulously economical organization. I am packing the bare minimum, just what I think I can get by with; for example, one handful of laundry tabs, one small two- in-one bottle of concentrated shampoo/conditioner, one bar of soap, one package of antibacterial wipes separated into several neat little plastic snack bags, and one box of energy bars. One! I envision Ian bumming a tab for his rank clothes, a dab for his cruddy hair, some suds for his grimy bod, a swipe for his germy mitts, a bite for his grumbly tummy. And will I deny him, scold him for being unprepared, admonish him for being selfish, berate him for blowing my cover and outing me as “the mom person” I am endeavoring to leave behind? Never. I am resigned and actually curious to discover how it will all play out between us. When his folks implore me to please look after Ian for them, I tell them that we will look after each other, figuring that I can at least keep myself off the liability hook to that extent.

Truth be told, Ian and I do look after each other. We both prove to be ready, savvy, daring, caring, and gung-ho—intrinsically different, independent explorers embarking on a journey to discover our separate ways—together.

And what grander venue could we dream up in which to have at it than extreme Africa. The Dark Continent looms outrageous and I find I am not permitted not to be outraged. The media blitz has played on this brilliantly. Hollywood is literally and figuratively all over the map with the Dark Continent and they aim to pluck my purse strings. From Oprah to George Clooney, Angelina Jolie to Madonna, HBO to CNN, Bill Gates to U2’s Bono. There are brochures advertising the dozens of religious charitable organizations with their hands out, along with a smattering of non-ecumenical groups. Then there are the governmental and non-governmental organizations, the grants, fellowships, and philanthropists. Africa’s plight is discussed on the floor of Congress and at the annual G-8 summit.

I can’t help but gag on the grisly need, while feeling sick from the force-fed horror. Consequently, I gamely truck right on over to a little godforsaken corner of Kenya. Enter my story—timely, unique, honest, important, shocking, and first-person true.

Pamela Sisman Bitterman Book Muzungu Cover_7 — "Muzungu"

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Pamela Bitterman’s first book, Sailing To the Far Horizon, her own story of life, loss, and survival at sea is graphically biographical. It encapsulates the author as product of the first thirty years of her life. Muzungu, the story of the author’s unlikely escapades throughout Kenya, picks up on that journey a couple decades later.

She has also written a children’s book titled When This Is Over, I Will Go To School, And I Will Learn To Read; A Story of Hope and Friendship for One Young Kenyan Orphan. Finally, the author has penned a homily entitled, Child, You Are Miracle. Links to these, plus trailers to her three published books can be found on her website: www.pamelasismanbitterman.com

Bitterman’s writing has emerged amidst her travels, adventures, and finally her marriage and children, her persona as wife and mother – the heart of her; the author as her best self. Her future remains to be seen, and to be told.

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Sonia Says:

Pamela, thank you for sharing your Gutsy attitude and for being so honest. I enjoyed what you said, ” I am experiencing a powerful, altruistic desire to “go help starving children, be a blessing in the world, touch just one life,” with a hefty side of, “travel, have an adventure, get out there, prove you can still do it,” purely selfish thrill-craving.

I would like to do something like this myself and the fact that your husband said, “This is your dream. And yes, I am afraid for you to go. But I know you. And I am more afraid for you not to go.”

Please leave your comments and questions for Pamela below. She will be over to answer.

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Do you have your own “My Gutsy Story” to share?

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“My Gutsy Story” by Sara Padilla

January 16, 2012 by Sonia Marsh

When my father called that day, I was preparing to head home and clicking through my email, making sure I’d responded to everyone I needed to that day. It was quitting time, and it felt like Friday. Most of my coworkers had gone home or to the pub down the street.

When I glanced at the tiny blinking light and the caller ID read Falls Church, I knew it was bad news. My father never called me at work.

I could never in a million years have imagined it would be that bad.

My younger sister, the middle child of three girls, was a doer, a thinker and a contributor. If you didn’t know her well, and you happened to read her resume, you might be a little jealous. What kind of person manages to run ten miles, read Don Quixote, take a Portuguese lesson, tutor immigrant high school students, and bake homemade chocolate chip cookies to include in a care package for a friend all in the same day?

Not that she bragged about it. Not a bit. My sister was just one of though naturally inspired people who felt compelled to spend every minute productively. Except, perhaps, when she was sleeping. She was not a morning person and she could definitely exemplify crankiness at its best when her rest was interrupted.

So when my father told me that she had been killed, I changed physiologically, spiritually and emotionally. Even professionally. At the beginning, I did not know exactly how I was changed. But as the years unfolded and my reflection upon her life and my own grew deeper, I found myself gravitating toward playing a more significant role.

Sara Padilla's sister liz — Sara's sister Liz

Professionally, I didn’t long for change, though I did quit my job less than eight weeks after she died, and move 3,000 miles away to a city that I had never stepped foot in before. My husband and I had frequently discussed moving out west, and a job opportunity (his, not mine) gave us the chance. It turned out that leaving Washington, DC was a bit of a drag for my career, but six years later, I’m finding my way.

Spiritually, I was angry, angrier, and even angrier in those first years after Liz’s accident. I prayed often and reluctantly, and today remain unconvinced of a higher power that is capable of intervening in the physical world (so what’s the point of prayer?). But my belief in something bigger than all of us does give me some comfort, and I found my tolerance for people involved in organized religion actually increased after losing my sister. It’s not for me, but I can respect those people that actually practice their faith. One of my mother’s best friends comes to mind. A progressive, intelligent and talented woman, she is also a practicing Catholic. Once upon a time, I confess I would have found the two versions of this woman to be incompatible. Today, as I observe her composure, energy and commitment to friends and family, while also going through her own personal challenges, I find I can accept those who take comfort and strength in ways other than my own.

Physiologically, I became depressed and anxious. I panicked when unable to reach my loved ones by phone and sometimes behaved irrationally. I drank more. A lot more. I ran a lot, intermittently, which was actually a bonus – when I was running daily I ate better, drank less and ran several personal record times. Four years after losing my sister, I was finally diagnosed with moderate post traumatic stress disorder, and unenthusiastically began a course of anti-anxiety medication. The change was profound. I no longer rely on any meds, but for a year or so, they really helped. And so I find myself among those millions of Americans who take mood-altering drugs, most definitely over-prescribed and not entirely understood. I wish I hadn’t had to resort to this, but the anxiety, insomnia, nightmares and overwhelming sadness wasn’t going away.

The theme of some grief workers is that “time heals all wounds”.

In my case, this wasn’t, and isn’t, true.

Emotionally, and I’ve touched on this, sadness poured into the depth of my soul and seemed determined to stay. The sadness was, and sometimes still is, heavy and dark. But the moments of joy, lightness and breath, so fleeting during those first few years, have become more and more frequent. The direction in which I am moving is now one I actually want to move in. I am no longer being swept away with the madding crowd of grief, anger, and despair. I look to my sister as an example of how to live my days. I do not long to do as she did, or attempt to do as much as possible in each of my 24-hour allotments. But I wake each morning (even when I’m exhausted) with a feeling of purpose and contentment, and more so on each passing day.

Yes, some days are harder than others. I know, too, that change isn’t always a forward-motion concept, and I’m still riding the roller coaster of grief. But I know I’m definitely on board for the journey.

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Sara Padilla is a freelance writer, book reviewer, and blogger for Sunshine and Salad (http://sunshineandsalad.com/). Sara has over fourteen years of experience working in public health and program management in the United States and internationally. She holds a master’s degree in Public Health from Tulane University and speaks Spanish fluently. Sara resides in Portland, Oregon with her family.

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Sara, your story is so moving, and it shows how grief resulted in a major change within you. “I look to my sister as an example of how to live my days.” I am inspired by how you can help others, who have experienced a loss in their life, find a way to become positive in their outlook towards the future. I truly thank you for sharing your story with us. Please leave your comments for Sara, and she will be over to respond.

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Do you have a “My Gutsy Story”?

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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“My Gutsy Story” by Dodie Cross

January 9, 2012 by Sonia Marsh

Snorkeling the Great Barrier Reef

In the 60s, I reluctantly signed up for classes on SCUBA diving. My husband was excited; he thought it would be great for the two of us to dive together. What I didn’t bring up to him, and what had been a deep, dark secret for years, was my fear of sharks and the big deep—the ocean! I’d always been the first to run into the oncoming waves, knowing I’d go no deeper than my midriff, but actually acting as though I’d go out as far as anyone else if need be. I could outswim anyone in a pool, as long as I could see the bottom. Lakes and rivers held some worry for me, but somehow I felt a shark couldn’t make it in those waters. Maybe it’s the fact I can’t see what’s down there around my legs, ready to carry me off to the deep, and then include me in their digestive juices.

But, I shouldered on, joining him in the classes. I was the only female in a group of eight men; two of whom I might add quit when the going got tough. I actually made it all the way to certification—that is until the diving instructor took us out to be certified. We had to snorkel out to the kelp beds, put in our regulator and dive to 50 feet to be certified.

It was a violently stormy day as we made our way to Black’s Beach on the California Coast. The breakers were over ten feet. I donned my suit with shaky hands, then my footies and gloves. Someone, not sure who, helped me on with my weight belt, and off we went. As I was snorkeling out with my husband in front of me, I had the distinct feeling that I was sinking. It was hard to keep afloat. I struggled so hard I began to hyperventilate. Was the fear of the darkness below? Where a shark might be in waiting, licking his chops, causing this hyperventilation? I couldn’t let this happen. I removed my snorkel and yelled to my husband: “I’m sinking! Help me!” The instructor, swimming nearby took one look at me and immediately reached out and flipped open my weight belt. As the belt sank I began to return to the surface. Obviously, someone had given me a weight belt meant for a two hundred pound wrestler. By then I was so exhausted the instructor sent me back to shore. I half crawled up the shoreline, dragging myself over the sea urchins as they tore my booties, gloves and the skin beneath. At the sight of blood I panicked. Got to get out before a shark gets my scent, I thought, as I groped in the sand for handholds to pull me up and out. Sadly, for my husband, that was the end of my diving career.

That was over fifty years ago, and I knew I would never go back into the deep. That is until two weeks ago when a friend and I visited Australia. I reluctantly signed up for a snorkeling outing on the Great Barrier Reef. Now, I knew I wouldn’t do it, but my girlfriend was so excited about the tour, I had to pretend I was excited as well. I figured I’d go along with the farce just long enough to keep her happy. But when it came time to don the gear, I’d amazingly get a headache and have to decline. However, when the instructor began to hand out the masks and snorkels, I had an epiphany: It’s time to quell your fears. You’re not a young woman any longer, and why take a dirt nap without conquering this fear.

I asked the instructor about the Great Whites. Had any been seen in these waters or nearby? “Not for years,” he said, “no problem, mate!” So I suited up. My heart beating so hard I feared it would show through my bra top. I valiantly stepped off the swim board and jumped in. The water was glorious, so clear you could see for miles. I did some rather strange rotating, though, to make sure nothing could sneak up behind me. The longer we were floating out there, the more brave I became. “It’s okay, I said as a mantra: You’ve finally conquered your worst fear.

Then something brushed my leg. Something big! Omygod! I whipped my head around, terrified that I might see a huge shark, and there, staring me right in the mask was the most beautiful fish I’d ever seen. It was over three feet long, and the most vivid turquoise blue. Its lips were the size of tractor tires and it was smiling at me. Our dive instructor told us that this fish always visits the groups in the water, and has been doing this for quite some time.

After my heart quit doing the Macarena, I meekly reached out to pet this beautiful fish. You see, I thought, all those fears all those years, for nothing.

This morning as I worked on my computer and half-listened to the TV news, the anchor interrupted with: “We have breaking news” which normally means a car chase, a stock market plunge or surge, so I paid scant attention. That is until I heard: “A Great White Shark has just killed a man off the Australian coast.

So much for conquering your fears!

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Dodie Cross Bio

About the author: Dodie Cross is a freelance writer who has received numerous awards for her writing and poetry, among them the prestigious Southern California Writer’s Conference First Place Award for “Best Nonfiction,” as well as First Place in their inaugural Poetry Award. She has accrued first and second place prizes in her published articles. Dodie has traveled the world, writing about her life in foreign countries such as Iran and Thailand, as well as American locales such as New Orleans, Orange County, California.

Check out Dodie’s website where you will find her next book: A Broad Abroad in Iran: One Strappy-Sandaled Foot Ahead of the Mullahs: An Expat’s Life in Iran Before and During the Revolution.

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Thanks Dodie for sharing how you overcame your fear of scuba diving and snorkeling, and just jumped back in. To find out more about Dodie Cross and her humorous writing, please check out her blog: A Broad Abroad. Please share your comments or questions with Dodie who will be over to respond to them.

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Want to share your own “My Gutsy Story”?

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“My Gutsy Story” by Lois Joy Hofmann

January 2, 2012 by Sonia Marsh

Don’t be afraid to go out where the adventure begins!

Lois Joy Hofmann

“Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing at all.” Helen Keller

During the 1980s while living in Minnesota, I decided that I wanted to plan my life rather than being thrown about by external events. I had always wanted to retire in San Diego. Why not move there now, avoid the harsh Minnesota winters, and find my soul mate? My business partner lived in Arizona, so he agreed with the move. I began to set up clients in San Diego.

When you set out your goals, be prepared for them to be fulfilled in ways that will surprise you! There are no accidents! You set the mission and objectives, with God’s help, and the strategy will take care of itself as events unfold to propel you toward those goals.

One Sunday, during one of my trips to San Diego, I hired a sailboat captain to take a client out for a day. During a horrible accident, I was thrown against the lifelines; my liver almost split in two. I was rushed into surgery. An internal medicine specialist, on call that night, saved my life. He warned me, however, that my recovery would take two years. He advised me to resign my clients and quit flying all over the country. “You’ll never be in that venture capital business again. Maybe an outdoor job, like being a mail carrier, will give you the fresh air and exercise you’ll need!”

I sold my Minnesota home, resigned my clients there, and moved to San Diego to recover. I hiked the trails and worked out in the gym, chocking up four hours per day of aerobic exercise. That cut my estimated recovery time in half. Meanwhile, I researched the burgeoning biotechnology market. During that process, I met Dr. Günter Hofmann, a physicist and inventor. The rest is history.

I joined Günter’s company, which had been operating out of three townhouses and two garages. I changed the direction of the company from making and selling laboratory research instruments to developing drug and gene delivery systems. Then we raised many rounds of venture capital, finally taking the company public. All went well; the company grew to over one hundred employees and another hundred associates around the world. I had fulfilled one of my life goals, that of becoming the CEO of a publicly held company. We had J & J as a pharmaceutical partner. Clinical trials were looking good. Patients were being helped.

Then another setback occurred. Günter and I were ousted from the very company he had founded in a traumatic coup. We were devastated. Of course, we contacted our attorneys. Our choice, in the end, was to fight or flee. Many advised us to duke it out.

Our decision was radical and unexpected. We decided to sail around the world! Thus began an eight-year odyssey to assuage our anger and hurt, and to fulfill a far different dream. It would be a better life—one in which we would be truly independent and self-sufficient, answering to no one. We would be back in control of our own destiny. We were open to change. We were ready for new beginnings.

We learned many lessons during those eight years of sailing. Our Maiden Voyage, the topic of my first book, was all about control. We were forced by the wind and weather to change schedules and to delay crew. Even though Pacific Bliss was a new boat, equipment broke down. And we faced a Force 10 storm off the pirate coast of Colombia. Force 12 is a hurricane. A 43-foot catamaran cannot survive that! After that voyage, we realized that there is a certain peace in being out of control. It reminds one of how much there is to lose, and how fast one can lose it.

Lois on board Pacific Bliss in the Marquesas Islands

I am a different person now. I have a certain calmness underneath my skin that I didn’t have before. My life has all been worth it. I have no regrets.

Maybe you think it’s too late to pursue your passion, to stretch yourself to that place where adventure begins. Life went on. Age just crept up on you. And somewhere along the way, you lost the plot. Well, I have news for you. Günter retired at 65, the year we ordered our Catana catamaran to be built. I was 58. Günter turned 70 on the Passage from Bali to Singapore, with two years of our circumnavigation yet to come! You’re never too old to live your dream! I encourage you to cast off those dock lines, to pursue your passion, and to live your dream, whatever that may be. To do that, you will need to overcome your fear of the unknown.

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Lois Joy Hofmann

Lois Joy Hofmann retired after a 35-year entrepreneurial and management career. Then she completed her circumnavigation with her husband, Gunter. Intrepid adventurers, the couple now embarks on more conventional travel with the goal of understanding countries and cultures that they omitted the first time around. When not traveling, Lois resides in San Diego, California, where she enjoys writing, speaking and photography. She launched her first book in the nautical trilogy “In Search of Adventure and Moments of Bliss: Maiden Voyage” in March, 2011. The book won first place in the San Diego Book Awards, travel category. Lois is currently writing the second book in the series, to be called “Sailing the South Pacific.” Lois also serves on the Board of Directors of UPLIFT a faith-based organization working to improve the well being and quality of life of San Diego’s inner city population. Learn more about Lois on her website and subscribe to her blogs.

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Thank you Lois for sharing your amazing story of courage and being Gutsy in life, regardless of age, as you pointed out. Please leave your questions and comments for Lois in the comments section below, and she will be over to respond. Also visit her website for more photos and to learn more about her book.

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Do you have a “My Gutsy Story”?

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

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PLEASE VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITE DECEMBER “MY GUTSY STORY”

Read their stories here. Winner and the prize they selected will be announced on January 12th.

Sonia wishes you a Gutsy Holiday Season

December 22, 2011 by Sonia Marsh

It’s getting close to the end of the year; a time to reflect on what’s important in life, how we can help others, our goals, what we are grateful for and so much more.

Thanks to the Internet, and social media, I’ve met so many wonderful people, and read so many inspiring, funny, sad, informative and motivational stories.

One thing I’ve learned is that we all have our own unique “My Gutsy Story” and I am grateful to Jill Fales, the winner of our first “My Gutsy Story” contest, for her comment.

“I really appreciate everything you do for women and men who want to take a risk. I feel that there may be people out there on the fence and through this contest, they may be convinced to go to the other side!”

I think Jill brought up something even bigger than what I had hoped for with the “My Gutsy Story” series. By reading other stories and sharing our own, we truly help one another realize we have options in life. We are all connected and through our stories and those of famous inspirational people, like Jane Goodall, I find myself more and more attracted to global issues.

I have always wanted to be like Jane Goodall. Perhaps living in Nigeria as a child, has given me the desire to return to certain parts of Africa, or maybe it’s the fact that my children are growing up that has sparked a need to help others less fortunate than me.

As Jane Goodall says:

“If you really want something, work hard, take risks, grab opportunities, and never give up … then there is definitely a way to success.”

I wish all of you a Merry Christmas, a wonderful holiday season with family and friends and look forward to reading and sharing your, “My Gutsy Story.”