Stories matter, and time is important

I am successful in the network marketing profession because I understand the power of having your tribe – those people you can share everything and anything with – I share more with my tribe of 5 women than I ever have with my family or parents.  I also understand the power of your story and that time matters.  The time to have a plan “B” is not when you need a plan “B”.  Your story is your power and it comes from your gut.

We all have that little girl in our life – the newborn baby girl, the 3-year-old niece, or the 6-year-old granddaughter. 

I have her journal – let me tell you her story.

Oh – remember stories matter and time is important.  This comes out of a two-week period where I found myself lost in the Brett Kavanaugh hearing for supreme court in October of 2018. 

Anyway, back to her journal. 

“It took me years to understand why and what for.  Fifth grade walking down the hall to the restroom and six boys approached me – one boy from my classroom, Donald and the rest of the boys were much older.  One boy touched me and pushed up against a locker.  Pushed me hard and it hurt.  He was very tall; my head came to his waist.  I didn’t understand for years what the warm, hard pressure against my face was.  They all laughed.  It seemed like it lasted for hours, really it was probably about 15 seconds.  That boy from my class, Donald, he would look at me – his eyes went right me, he laughed and smirked.  He would whisper in my ear, I never heard what he was saying.  Fifth grade lasted forever that year.  I never told anyone – what could I say?  I didn’t understand what had happened.  I knew it wasn’t right and I knew I feared those boys, really, I feared all boys. I would forget it for years and then it would take my mind captive, when the most innocent thing would happen.  It was three years ago, that I knew I needed help, so I sought out a counselor, someone I didn’t know, a woman.  At the age of 41 I could begin to talk about that damn 15 seconds of my life that changed my life.  Damn it I am so mad that I allowed this to happen.  As I sit across from Jenny, my counselor I begin to share, begin to piece things together, begin to do something, I am just not sure what.  I cry and cry, more crying than ever before in my life.  I want to talk with Donald and ask him who the other boys were, but why, what would that do.  I have been going to my counselor, Jenny, for three years, now a good friend, we get together with some other friends, we never talk about that 15 seconds.   These women have become my best friends, I feel I can tell them, but I haven’t.  I don’t know how to start or why to share.  None of the other women have ever shared anything like this.  So why would I?”

“Excuse me, excuse me”, A tall older gentleman in police uniform is looking over my shoulder – “I am going to have to ask you to leave, this is a police scene.”  I am numb from reading Ava’s journal.  Ava is a beautiful woman, gorgeous hair, though now matted in the blood that is surrounding her head.  Ava took her life last night.  She had called me, but I didn’t get the call until this morning.  I came over when I heard her voice on my phone. 

Stories matter, and time is important.  Listen to your children, listen to your girls in your life, listen to your grandchildren and don’t make judgements on something you have never experienced. 

Introduction

Welcome to my blog - Tails and Wags.  

Allow me to introduce myself.  

My name is Berta, I like to go by Bert.  I am a female mix, griffon and shiatsu,  rescued from a puppy mill two years ago.

This blog is about my life and how I view things. 

I am the corporate owner really, the littlest and most precious of the business owners.  They use my face, put the company logo on my photo with no compensation, no extra treats, no special bed, nothing.  Therefore, I am finding it necessary to voice my opinion. 

I like to sit and watch my owners at the keyboard, sometimes there is verbiage, mostly lots of thought, editing and right clicks.  Curled under the desk is my favorite spot, just in case there is a question they have for me.

My walks happen when sitting has taken its toll on my owners bodies, a walk is in store.  Canvassing the neighborhood for male dogs, big dogs, little dogs, tall dogs, really does not matter.  I talk, talk to all the dogs, run after the humans, and do otherwise dog things.  "Quiet", my owners say.  I have no words, just running ahead of my owner, oh I hear them, nonsense, not paying attention.  They raise their voices, act all stern, yea I know better though.  I have my owners trained, when I come in the house from my walk, a treat, always a treat and they pet me, tell me how wonderful I am.  "I Know", is what I say.   

See you around the next corner.