Growth thru a Pandemic – Seeing the Beauty on the Outside

Looking beautiful on the outside is what makes some have status in this world. Some people perceive that everything is great and perfect, as long as you are beautiful. Doors open up for the beautiful people. They seem to get further in life than some of their counterparts. But, how true is it that beautiful people seem to have it all and how long can beautiful people hold onto their beauty? Beauty usually fades. And in my experience, is beauty that important? I’ve known some very beautiful people that are either mean or empty inside, are narcissistic, or really just don’t care about anything or anyone else. So, how important is beauty?

I thing about me is that I never really saw the beautiful person looking back at me in the mirror. It was important as a child to portray the appearance of perfection and be as pretty as can be. But for me, I thought I could never achieve being really beautiful. I was never told that I was beautiful or pretty. I just don’t think it was something said in our family. Once in awhile in my late teens and twenties, I’d see that I looked good, but never really saw it and felt it at it’s full extent. Only rare and fleeting moments did I feel that confidence that came with my appearance.

As a pre-teen too many of us females are indoctrinated to wear makeup. We are told by society and advertising companies that we must cover our faces with makeup, style our hair, manicure our nails, buy the named brand clothes because that’s what beautiful females do. (I won’t even get started on how fit and skinny we all should be.) So for me, I’d make sure that I had a full face or at least put on mascara and lipstick on to just go to the market or run errands. I’d never wear any sweats. I always dressed to impress or at least try to look cute. Anywhere I’d go, I definitely put a lot of effort to glam up and do what I could to appear beautiful or at least for me, to look at least half decent as I could.

The time quarantining makes you really have that time to think. It gives you the time to work on things, evaluate what is important and what is really necessary. I’ve been working a lot on my health and fitness – more than usual and being consistent with it because there is not much else to do. Not to be skinny, but to be healthy, strong, and lose unnecessary pounds. I’ve also been getting my apartment just how I like it, at least as much as I can because the owners won’t really let me renovate, so at least I can redecorate. I work from home now, also. There’s no need to get fully dressed and put on makeup. I live by myself, too. So, for the most part, that is my life during Covid. I get out to bike ride and occasionally go to the grocery store. But most of the time have things delivered. And recently, I’ve finally stopped giving a fuck about my appearance when I go out. If I’m going to the grocery store, I do shower or bathe, do my hair usually just nicely pulling it up or back, I might put on some mascara. But, my face will be half covered with a mask, so how important does makeup really matter? Who am I going to bump into? Also, if I’m riding my bike for 20-30 some miles, can you imagine sweating as much as I do during those rides and having a full face of makeup? I can’t even imagine the acne that I would get if I wore foundation. The amount of exercise that I am doing  is enough for breakouts.

So at some point, during this time quarantining and lots of spare time to think, I’ve come across old pictures of myself. There’s been times in the past that I’ve seen old pictures of myself and thought that I was cute, but it wasn’t until this last year when I thought of why I never really saw how beautiful (and skinny) I truly was, especially in my twenties. Why had I never really felt and seen it?

My childhood, the things that happened to my self-esteem, the criticism, the low self-worth, what had penetrated into my consciousness and subconsciousness through images in magazines and commercials on what the perfect female looks like, played a part on me not really seeing the woman, the girl, in the mirror for what she was. I had recognized on an intellectual level as I got older that all these things were reasons why I didn’t have confidence on my outer appearance. I could see a pretty face looking back at me in the mirror, but just didn’t truly feel it. I unraveled why this was, why I didn’t see and feel pretty (and skinny) enough, and wrote about it in my memoir, Evolving to Grace. I wrote about how some of the people and experiences I endured, contributed to this. I understood what happens to a child that is brought up in a home of addiction, that we judge ourselves harshly and have a very low sense of self-esteem and self worth, that appearance and perfection was everything to us as a family and especially to my mother. If you looked a certain way, then the real dysfunction and ugliness of what life was really like wouldn’t be seen. You portray beauty which then means your life is beautiful. I even shared with a close friend of mine recently how when we were living in Houston, prior to me moving to California, and my head was shaved all around, except for the top, and I was dressing what I consider now edgy (maybe a little new wave/punkish. It was 1985-86) that my mom needed to go to the mall and I wanted to join her and my sister. My mom told me that I could not go if I looked the way that I looked. Now mind you, we lived in a suburb of Houston in the 80s. That area was very conservative. My mom still carried herself well, cared what she wore, that she had makeup on, etc. She had always reminded us of her 19 inch waist she had when she married our father. She wanted her family to be perfect which we were clearly not. And here I was, being trendy, rebellious and punkish. I had style, but the people of Klein, Texas thought people like me just did drugs and were trouble-makers. Mind you, the drugs didn’t come until years later. Then for many years a sister of mine had told me of how ugly and fat I was. And, the boys that never liked me, just confirmed that I was not beautiful. So, my experiences were always telling me in my childhood that I was not beautiful or even pretty. 

The very first times that I remember being told that I was beautiful began when I was 16. I was walking to work in Chicago and a homeless women said to me that I was too beautiful to walk with my head down and that I should always walk with my head up. Then, the next time when I was 24, Tupac said that I was beautiful. And a few weeks later, Mr. Laker Guy would say how beautiful I looked. Despite hearing this, I would never truly feel or think to myself, that I was beautiful. Now, decades later, I didn’t think any of them were lying and I was more stunned than anything when they said it because it was never said to me. And, for years I never knew how to respond. I don’t even think I ever said thank you. But at the time, in my heart, unfortunately, I just thought they were saying it to be nice.

Over the years it was easier to build up my value – my strengths on who I was on the inside. Affirmations would help with this. Therapy also help. Accomplishments would help. Acknowledgment of all the things I had overcome and was dealing with, like raising my son all on my own with no support, putting myself through school, coming from the childhood that I had come from, enduring the loss of my virginity to a rape, and the verbal and physical abuse I endured, all without being a complete wreck, helped me value myself extremely. Also, I loved that even though I was a little broken, my heart wasn’t. I cared for others and put my son first. It gave me pride and confidence on what I was capable of and who I was on the inside.

I think it is important to see yourself truly, inside and out, but also to be humble about it. We all have beautiful attributes on the outside, some more than others, but that’s okay. Our smile, our eyes, our skin tone, great cheek bones, great hair. For me, it took longer to really see that person in the mirror and say, There is beauty there. She is pretty. She doesn’t need a pound of makeup on to show that. I may not be perfect, win any pageant awards, be on the cover of some fashion or fitness magazines, but I am beautiful on the inside and out.

I will try to remember this and work on feeling this every single day, just so that I can build up my self-esteem and self worth.

Hope you do, too!

Alcoholism affects everyone, not just the alcoholic.

Nowadays so much is spoken about and known about alcoholism especially within the family unit. It affects everyone. It brings on other problems like abuse, financial stresses, lack of parenting because of the focus shifts on the alcoholic and not what the children need as far as growing into a successful adult with self-esteem, self-worth, knowing how to be in healthy relationships, and how to cope when things go wrong.
Don’t assume that because you got through another night of the alcoholic being drunk that things will be better today or if you don’t speak about what happened the night before that it didn’t happen.
Seek help. Do what you have to do for you and especially your children, not for the person that doesn’t want to get better.

Why anonymity in recovery?

So, recently I finally asked the question – why be anonymous in support groups for AA, Alanon, Alateen, and other recovery groups?

I have been vocal for so many years. At first I shocked many. My family never has liked it. But, after years of doing it and writing my memoir, Evolving to Grace, I have come to realize that I have reached many more people and there are more that understand that not everyone has the same upbringing, that there are highly dysfunctual families out there and more importantly, I’ve reached others that do not feel so alone anymore.

There are estimated 18-28 million adult children of alcoholics out there in the US & the UK. It can’t be shocking anymore? And, how many kids still don’t know that they are not alone? Like me when I was a teenager and pre-teen, I felt that what was going on was not normal, but nothing was out there that told me otherwise. And, then there was this notion that we should never talk about it. So, even if a counselor, or in my case, prinicipal at my school asked me — I’d never mention it. Never learning that I wasn’t alone and that we could get help. Or, I could.

I will have the respect to not to post their comments, but I asked a support group this:

Just want to throw out a thought that I’ve had several times and would like to ask you guys.
Why are most of the support for alcoholism, addiction, and COAs recovery, anonymous? To me I feel we continue the guilt and shame that has been associated with this and we really strengthen the stigma with comes along with the illness or something that we had no control over. I understand the judgment out there in the world, but mustn’t we stand up to end that?

Thanks for all the responses. I was just curious and would never think that everyone should have to be vocal. I just opened my eyes and began my recovery after reading, Keeping Secrets by Suzanne Somers and that term is so much of our role in alcoholism and growing up in that household – “keeping secrets”. I just thought the more vocal people are, the more people we will help and people wouldn’t feel alone. But, to each its own. Thanks! Much love

I’m not trying to blast the alcoholic. They were/are sick. We have to acknowledge and help others to understand that our parent(s) were not “our parents” when they were under the influence. To me, they were – she was, the alcoholic, not my mother. And, to also keep that from your children. Some parents do that, cover up their past. I believe I am the only one that has told my child, when he was old enough to understand, about my experiences of my childhood. I believe they learn and understand and can maybe have more compassion toward others, that everybody’s life isn’t perfect.

I’m not thinking everyone should reveal EVERYTHING that went on, but just to mention that they are/were affected from that circumstance would probably lessen the stigma, shame, guilt, and to connect ourselves to others, and heal more.

What are your thoughts? Does anonymity continue this cycle of the stigma and keeping secrets? Are you not as sick as your secrets?

#adultchildofanalcoholic #breakthecycle #breakthesilence #endthestigma #shamefree

CyberSale going on now!

i-could-be-labeled

There are millions out there that have been given a tough life. For those of you, please don’t give up. ❤✌❤
Evolving to Grace is a memoir about perseverance, strength, spiritual evolution, and the choices one must make to change one’s path. I share my life’s experiences, my journey—finding my way out of darkness—discovering hope, positivity, strength, happiness and the right path for the life I choose to live. I write about many challenges I’ve had to face and overcome—either due to alcoholism, depression, violence, rape and being a single mother on welfare.
I believe in by sharing my story, we all can learn from one another or at least find more compassion and understanding. ❤✌❤

#CyberSale at Amazon and iTunes is going on now! Free shipping for Prime on Amazon.

#ACoA #AdultChildrenofAlcoholics #memoir

Holiday Sale

etg_chapters_72

Holiday sale! Make sure that you don’t miss out on this discount. This offer won’t last.

Evolving to Grace is a memoir about perseverance, strength, spiritual evolution, and the choices one must make to change one’s path. Grace shares her life’s experiences, her journey—finding her way out of darkness—discovering hope, positivity, strength, happiness and the right path for the life she chose to live. She writes about many challenges she has had to face and overcome—either due to alcoholism, depression, violence, rape and being a single mother on welfare.

Grace could be labeled many things: illegal, ACoA (Adult Child of an Alcoholic), domestic violence survivor, excessive alcohol and drug user, rape victim, assault victim, hitchhiker, high school dropout, call girl, and single mother on welfare. But, these are just situations she ended up in when she was lost and broken. She has learned from her past and she is evolving to find her grace in this beautiful thing we call life. She believes by sharing her story that we all can learn from one another or at least find more compassion and understanding. We can change our destiny, our path.

 

#sale #booksale #holidaysale
#cyberMonday #blackfriday #cyberweekend

November 14th – 5 years later

candle-vigil_sm

It is amazing that it has been 5 years since you went away. I feel like it was yesterday that it was the last time I saw you. We were sitting in my car and you were telling me how hard every morning was because of the disappointment you felt that you let everyone down again. I made you feel better by telling you we didn’t care about the past and that you should let go of that guilt that, all we cared about was that you stayed healthy and you were happy. Little did I know how hard it really was for you. I should have known. I had been there – feeling like I can not move on from those negative thoughts.

I will carry a bit of your essence always in my heart. 

He was The Nicest Thing I had ever seen
https://gracelozada.com/2014/11/14/he-was-the-nices…-i-had-ever-seen/

Butterfly Beach Butterfly Beach, CA, 3.7.14He was everything quote297816_2274135206657_1027169808_n

#loss

1st page of Evolving to Grace 

1st page of Evolving to Grace.

Chapter 1 – Threats from a Pimp
“Excuse Me—Press Rewind”

?

Available on Amazon in print and ebook (Kindle). If you don’t have a Kindle, no problem. Just download the software for free to read any kindle book on any device, click here.

Life can be a roller-coaster ride for some more than others. Mine has been this way. Born into generations of educated, privileged, and successful millionaires, in this memoir I tell a story of how one generation’s downfall due to financial, emotional, and addiction problems had crippling, traumatic effects on everyone around them, including myself. This story is about my journey of how I was going to fight with every fiber of my being, so that I would not follow in the footsteps of others. From very dark times as a teenager where I believed suicide was the only option to later entertaining times in my early 20’s living in the City of Angels, hobnobbing with professional athletes and entertainers.

I could be labeled many things: illegal, ACoA (Adult Child of an Alcoholic), doChapters of Evolving to Gracemestic violence survivor, excessive alcohol and drug user, rape victim, assault victim, hitchhiker, high school dropout, call girl, and single mother on welfare. But, these are just situations I ended up in when I was lost and broken. I’ve learned from my past and I am evolving to find my grace in this beautiful thing we call life. I write to share my experiences with others with the hope that no one, despite whatever situation they may be going through, will ever give up. You can change your destiny, your path.

 

 

 

#acoa 

I am an ACoA

I am an Adult Child of an Alcoholic.

I do mention it from time to time, that my mom is an alcoholic. By the age of 10, I knew-believed-felt that something was wrong with the dynamics of our household. Back then, in the early 80s, the lingo wasn’t there. Not many people were out speaking about addiction, at least not in our neighborhoods. If it was going on in other households, they were doing as we were, keeping secrets.

c3a11d97fed4b25d56558f6816258bf2

In the United States alone there are an estimated 28 million children who have alcoholic parents. This figure is staggering when it is considered that at least 11 million of those children are under the age of 18.
Not only are children influenced by parents use of alcohol, another huge risk factor is the attitudes of the parents towards using alcohol. If parents are extremely permissive when it comes to the idea of their children using alcohol during their adolescent years, those children have a greater chance of becoming addicted either as teenagers or adults.

Alcoholic Families Usually Have Other Issues

Families who have issues with alcohol addiction often have other problems in addition to alcoholism. Some of these problems include:

  • A partial or complete lack of effective communication

  • Poor or non-existent parenting skills

  • Poorly run and managed homes with no set schedules, structure or discipline

  • Ineffective role models for children who then grow up to repeat family issues in their own families

  • More conflict in the home including arguing, fighting and sometimes physical abuse

  • Family isolation from the community due to alcohol abuse

  • Financial issues and struggles that lead to a more stressful life

557874e21841bb523883b3db440212c1Being an Adult Child of an Alcoholic was a starting point for being lost and broken for many years. It, and possibly a predisposition, led me to be depressed and suicidal at times. It lead me to give up on life, drop out of high school, and dive into excessive drinking and using drugs. It lead me to being so blacked out that I lost-was taken-my virginity one night after a party in Chicago. It could have led me, or a combination of all the things prior, to becoming a call girl in my early twenties.

 

Despite my foundation that began with being an Adult Child of an Alcoholic, my spirit has not been shattered. I was broken and lost for quite some time, but there was a fight in me from when I was about 13 years old. I despised what I was seeing when our lives were infused with the addict’s problem. I knew it was not how I wanted my life to be. The fire in me, to fight to not end up like my mother stayed lit for many years, thankfully never going out. I worked on my life, little by little, finding myself and the life I wanted to live in – peaceful, non-addicted, happy, funny, and most of all – always loving. the-best-top-desktop-fantasy-wallpapers-hd-fantasy-wallpaper-35

But remains is, I am still an Adult Child of an Alcoholic. That will never go away. But, I have learned to embrace it, learn from it (still learning), and know that I am a warrior because of it!

 

 

* Check out more statistics and information, click here.

* Get a copy of Evolving to Grace to read about my experience living as an Adult Child of an Alcoholic, amongst other things.

* And, check out the Adult Children of Alcoholics page, if you need help, support and for further information.

 

#adultchildrenofalcoholics

Evolving to Grace available in stores now!

Looking for a X-Mas gift for the book lover in your life? Local to L.A.?
You can now find Evolving to Grace in stores at BookSoup in West Hollywood and Vroman’s Bookstore in Pasadena.

Get your copy soon! Quantities limited!

memoir

#inspire #hope #memoir #book #xmasgift

I matter

cut-cutting-depression-scars-Favim.com-866996

I’m just another writer, turned author, who hopes to be good enough that someone will like her book, her story.

Many that know me may not know this about me and could never imagine the roads I’ve traveled. I was born into a family, at least from one side, that was very privileged. My grandfather was a well-known surgeon and had a clinic in Peru and also was known worldwide to having delivered a baby to the youngest mother in history. My grandmother from one side of her family was an heiress from a family from Philadelphia that in the end had millions and owned a complete block on the Atlantic City Boardwalk. On the other side of her family, her father had been born in England, was educated in NY, and he later had been the Mayor of Pisco several times. He had come from a family that was so well off that they had created several of the first railways in Peru and had many properties in Peru.

My own life is one of knowing a little bit of this “good life” up until the age of 15—before we lost everything. But, what happens behind closed doors is always unknown to others. Alcoholism, sadness, depression, mentions (rumors) of infidelity, abuse and fighting were intertwined with this “good life”. At an early age, darkness won in my mind which opened the door to years of depression and times of suicide. Then, later came my own destruction at the hands of the bottle. Rape would follow. Drop out of life and from high school, would happen. I eventually added more than drinking to swallow the pain. And, then loss, grief and guilt would overpower the darkness that was already there. Loss of a very close friend would lead me to the road of selling myself. Selling myself would make me feel worthy. Worthy of something. Worthy of all the years I felt not worthy­—when I didn’t matter.

But, a voice was always with me, a quiet little whisper—my guardian angels, my grandparents or friends that had passed on, or God, or just my spiritual love for myself, whispered to me. This life—my life—was not meant to be like this. Always that little whisper stayed with me. Seemed at times to disappear, but was just waiting to appear, waiting to tell me at the right moment—your life means more than this! “It” stayed and stays deep down inside with me always so that it leaves it up to me to remember—I matter.

Purple Angel

#imatter #selfworth

excerpt – evolving to grace

During our lives, we had received tender touches by my mom at times; all us girls would jump in her bed and have her scratch our backs. We’d have a balance of humor from our dad and actual interaction, like when he’d play with us in the ocean or like that one time we all had a major water fight that went inside and around the outside of the house. All six of us would share beautiful moments like these that we all hold so close, but I would unfortunately, vividly, remember the horrific scenes too, like this brutal fight. What do moments like this fight say to a child, especially a girl? What would be the implications to me and my sisters in the future of learning and experiencing these mixed messages by the ones that were our first loves, our protectors, and the ones who were supposed to love us the most?
Within time, my parents let up, but my life was changed forever. A seed had been planted for a while, but now the soil had been covered and patted forcefully down. This life I had known up until that point was wrong. I hated it! I’d fight against it. The true rebellion in me was born, and the silent “Fuck you” to life, authority, and my parents began.
I continued going through periods of suicidal thoughts. I continued escaping in my room, dreaming of a life other than mine. My grades had fallen drastically. I had been an A/B student, and I was now completely failing. At fifteen, I’d begun my descent of finally dropping out of school. My parents were always those types to be too lenient with exception of their well-overdue violence, which they considered discipline. They did plead with me to go to school but did not force it. I think they knew I had depression, so they’d do anything to please me, thinking that would resolve it.  teenage_depression
The four of us went back to being the family we had been before, never mentioning anything that had gone on. We’d try to bury our secrets, hide, and escape from the pain. Guadalupe and I began following in our sisters’ footsteps, drinking and partying just to find some kind of pleasure in life. My parents went back to their ways of not enforcing anything. We’d go out and say that we’d be home by midnight but wouldn’t show up until after 2:00 a.m. Our parents would tell us we were grounded, but by the following night, we’d want to go out and promise to by home on time, and they’d bend and let us go out again. And we wouldn’t make it home on time again. The dysfunctional cycle continued. No rules, no discipline, no respect—just back to being normal.
“Do as I say, not as I do.” That saying scares me. I heard it one too many times during my childhood. It was pretty much my parents’ slogan as we grew up and the hypocrisy of my existence. My dad would later warn us of how my mother and her drinking didn’t start off as what we were then witnessing. He told us time and time again about how she started socially drinking at parties. He was in fear of us picking up on that behavior—that bad trait of hers. But what about teaching a child how to deal with life and not to avoid life? And, most of all, what about the violence? This was beyond disciplining a child. When you love someone, do you on occasion hit that person? My soul told me no. My heart told me no. But the life I had been given told my mind, “Love and pain go hand in hand.”stop-domestic-violence-logo
We were being taught to accept violence, but we were also being shown to escape from our problems and learning how not to deal with anything. These two were our teachers of life, and we were just following instinctively in their shoes. Do as I say, not as I do. How do children learn anything more than what they are shown? Did they expect us to guess? Why couldn’t they just have shown us how to live differently? It would take decades for me to understand this.