Shattering Mental Fun House Mirrors: How I finally came to see myself and the world with clarity, before my aspirations self-destructed.

/ Candace Smith / Leave a comment

Whether it be from increasingly filtered personas on social media, or from obsolete expectations from out-of-touch relatives, young adults and dreamers of all ages are seeing skewed versions of reality, compliments of their very own, custom “U-Should Goggles”. Haven’t heard of them yet?

You may think you haven’t, because they are so lightweight and inconspicuous, that your well-intentioned loved ones can place them over your eyes without you even noticing! Do any of these statements sound familiar?  “You should be married by now.” “You should be a ____, they get 401K AND benefits!” “You should buy a house! They are so cheap! You NEED a house! And a yard! And a new car! And babies! Lots of babies!”

Okay, that last one might be a slight exaggeration, but the constant inquiries about what you are doing with your life (or, more accurately, what you AREN’T doing with your life) invariably lead to a vortex of perceived failures, whirling around in your mind. The most dangerous thing of it all, is that once the vortex sets up shop, you no longer hear those thoughts as coming from someone else. They are your new internal monologue, on a never-ending loop. Is it any wonder that the never ceasing vortex eventually has you so out-of-sorts, that your own eyes begin to tell you lies? It’s not their fault, they are just as unaware of the U-Should goggles as you are. Nonetheless, they give you a distorted, and yet very convincing, view of the world.

When you look in the mirror, or even at your own profiles on the internet, you see yourself as though through a fun-house mirror. It kind of looks like you, and yet the image is somewhat disturbing. You feel no pride or sense of accomplishment when you see that person. You don’t even feel a sense of ownership of your own reflection, because who would want to be you? Every time you see your friends’ posts showing how much they are “killing it” or “living the dream” or having a “blessed life”, you think, “Wow, I am the biggest failure of all failures. I am over here, just barely managing to keep my head above water, and they are living “actual adult lives”.

And that is the crux of our problem. What qualities deem a lifestyle an “actual adult life”? Is it being married with kids? Owning things (a house, new car)? Having good medical insurance? The value of these things are all subjective. (i’m not saying that the value of your family is, so much as the value of starting one in a certain time-frame, or at all.) Yes, good benefits can certainly provide you with comfort and take away a lot of stress. But, at the same time, if the job providing said benefits is not something you are passionate about, or possibly even hate, wouldn’t the stress of being unfulfilled or being stuck with a daily routine you detest, cause more stress and depression than having benefits would remedy?

And as for getting married and having children, why is it assumed that this is the “End All, Be All” for EVERYONE? Sure, I want to eventually find someone to spend the rest of my life with. I love the idea of finding someone I am so in-sync with, that we can comfortably speak an oath we have no intention of ever forsaking. However, I don’t have an internal clock, prodding me towards a “marriage deadline”. I don’t even feel the need to date, or be in relationships for the sake of “getting to know myself/what I want.” I know myself pretty darned well. I’ve had to spend 25 years (okay maybe 21…don’t think I did much thinking back then) with my hopes, fears, triumphs, and failures. I, more than anyone else, know what I’ve gone through to get to this point in my life. A point in which I FINALLY feel strong in my convictions about how I feel about the world, who I am, and what I want to do. I didn’t need someone else to help me figure that out.

Now, while I am glad to finally be in a good place, both mentally and spiritually, I am convinced I would have arrived at this destination much sooner, and with less damage to mend, if I hadn’t been subjected to the overbearing “You Shoulds”, there-by distorting my own perceptions. Young adults, dreamers in particular, already have a difficult time as it is, trying to figure out what they are about, and how to stay true to that. But instead of being able to focus all of our energy on those two, daunting tasks, we also have to worry about pleasing people who are living completely different lives, and who, more than likely, are completely tone-deaf in regard to pursuing a passion or dream, instead of stability and archaic ideas of success.

Over the past year or so,  the past 6 months in particular, I have been living inconsistently with my true desires and needs. I have very clear aspirations and am very passionate about them, but I have not been pursuing them for quite some time. Things that normally would be celebrated, such as having two good jobs, both of which I am very good at, have become threatening to me. Threatening, because so many people are clinging to them as “My new path”; lifestyles that are socially acceptable for their potential stability. I pulled back from pursuing my true purpose in life, because I was overwhelmed by the belief that I would be a disappointment, both to my loved-ones and myself, for not “reading the signs” correctly, and re-routing my life.

It took some recent self-discoveries, along with the help of a certain Pixar film, to help me move beyond the sludge of other people’s expectations and get back on the path of living MY life. My realization was not necessarily that I am “talented” and deserve success, but instead that I have a unique perspective of the world, and am capable of altering the perspectives of others in a positive way so long as I stay true to myself and commit to my dream of telling stories I believe need to be told.

Around the same time that I was fighting the up-hill battle of developing conviction to accompany my self-discovery, I got an unexpected boost of clarity after watching the Pixar film, Inside Out. It provided an incredibly insightful depiction of what makes up a human being’s personality, from their emotions to their memories. Watching the film made me reflect on my own behavior and thoughts, and what had been driving that behavior. Unsurprisingly, unlike the little girl in the movie, my driving emotion has been fear. I fear failure. I fear giving up. I fear letting people down. I fear that I am fooling myself. I fear never getting to the point that I feel I am truly living my life.

I have agonized over how to keep these fears from morphing into self-fulfilling prophecies, thereby confirming the distorted views in my mental fun-house mirrors. The only answer I have come to that resonates, is that I have to stop caring about what other people think. Not in the sense that the opinions and feelings of my loved ones don’t matter, but instead that, in relation to how I live MY life, MY opinions and feelings should have the loudest voice. I know what I can and cannot live with, I know what is important to me, and what will make me a fulfilled human being. I NEED to pursue my dreams, I NEED to persevere through any trials that others see as confirmation that I need to choose a new path. I know myself. I know what I want from life, and I am willing to dedicate years of not living a socially valid “adult life” to get there.

By allowing the pressures from outside sources to have more of an impact on my life than my own needs and desires, I have created a stalemate of lifestyles in which I am neither pursuing my dreams, nor pursuing the lifestyle others expect of me.

No more. I will no longer allow the expectations and lifestyles of others to hinder my path to what I need and want from life. And neither should you. Whether your desires in life are to have job security and create a family, change the world by telling stories, or anything in between. Pursue it. Wholeheartedly. Because only you know what you can and cannot live with. Everything else is just clutter, preventing you from getting there.

Until Next Time,
Candace

How Can I Be Beautiful, If Beauty is Only Skin Deep? My 16 year struggle with acne.

/ Candace Smith / 1 Comment

I have been pretty open in my posts here, acknowledging my insecurities with my weight, difficulties with making lasting connections among my peers, doubts about my aspirations and abilities, and my ever-present fear of the unknown. There is one aspect of my life I have not spoken of at all, however, and it is arguably the aspect that has affected me the most, from self-esteem to decision-making to my personality.

I have acne. As a 25-year-old. And have had it since I was nine. It may seem dramatic to dedicate an entire post about it, because it is accepted as an unfortunate but common occurrence that many people experience as they go through puberty, but it has affected me nearly every day for the past 16 years.

When my acne first made it’s appearance in the fourth grade, many of my classmates didn’t even know of it’s existence yet, causing a group of them to ask me one day if I had been attacked my mosquitoes. Inquiries such as this, along with not seeing anyone else with acne made me feel like I was infected and “other”, spawning a sense of alienation from my peers and a completely crippled self-esteem, both of which have still left a residue to this day.

As I entered my pre-teen/teenage years, my acne waged a winning battle against my skin. Whether it be large, painful pustules or small, flaky, red blemishes, my face was almost entirely covered. I would cry at night, trying to remember a time that I could have touched even a square-inch of my face without feeling bumps.

This deep-seated hatred and disgust with my acne spurned an unfortunate, counter-intuitive habit; picking at my skin. Even though I logically knew that picking would lead to scabs, more acne, and even scars, I couldn’t stop. I could feel each individual blemish, some of them painful, others pulling my skin taught with their dryness. Each and every one of them offended me so deeply, robbing me of my peace of mind, my self-worth and even my dreams.

I’ve had a passion for acting since I was fairly young, and while in Middle school, I felt an almost prophetic feeling that it was what I was meant for. But I ignored these feelings, because how could I possibly bare my soul (and face) to a whole audience, when I could hardly stand to make eye-contact with a single person, convinced they were fixating on my acne?

In 7th grade I went to a new dermatologist, hoping to find a respite, since nothing over the counter seemed to work. He instantly told my parents that I needed to go on Acutane, a potentially harmful and permanently damaging drug. My only hesitation was over the required monthly blood tests to make sure my kidneys weren’t failing, because I hate needles. My parents, on the other hand, were nervous because it sometimes can cause suicidal tendencies, and I had already struggled off and on with depression (although I didn’t know they knew this at the time).

I despaired over having every inch of my face covered in acne for another second, let alone the rest of my teenage years, so my parents agreed to put me on the toxic drug. Within a month of taking it, I had to hold an ice cube to my mouth every morning to ease my cracked lips apart. My angry, red hands looks like they belonged to Freddy Krueger, every pore visible from cracking and splitting. Because of these side-effects, I decided to stop taking Acutane at the six month mark, instead of taking it for the whole nine months.

To this day, I still question whether I should have kept taking it, even after hearing of all the class action lawsuits for side-effects of infertility, Crohn’s disease, and other gastrointestinal issues. Who knows though? The payoff may not have been worth it, considering I was so sensitive to the drug only a month in. Either way, here I am, 12 years later and well into my adulthood, still suffering from acne.

Having acne as an adult gives me an unpleasant sense of deja’vu, in which I am once again the only person with acne covering her face. Sure, a couple of my friends will complain of a pimple here and there, but whether it be my acting class or a backyard bbq, I am the only one with acne.

I went through a period of time, leading up to my sister’s wedding in May, in which my on-going fear of wedding guests noticing my acne was so prominent in my mind that I was able to stop myself before my habit of unintentional self-mutilation took over. This, along with my hormones taking pity on me and not wreaking havoc on my face, allowed me to have relatively clear skin day-of, something I was profusely grateful for. Unfortunately, it would seem that once the adrenaline of wedding activities left my system, all of the built up stress, along with my being unhappy with turns my life had taken, caught up to me, bringing on a vicious break-out that has taken up residence on my face ever since.

Without consciously intending to, I have provided fuel to my current predicament, as break-outs plus being unfulfilled have resurrected my bad habit, further damaging my confidence as I now feel shame over my actions along with disgust toward my features.

In typical Candace fashion, I had to hit a sort of self-esteem “rock bottom” to finally gain clarity. Months ago, I had a huge break-through in regards to body image and the pursuit of self-improvement. I wrote about how, for the first time, I was approaching fitness from a place of love, not a place of shame or self-loathing. I had to learn to love myself as I was, cellulite, stretch marks and all, before I could successfully achieve a healthier lifestyle. No longer were my workouts or meals developed as a response to hating my body, or trying to be “good enough”. Instead, they fed my already existing confidence and self-worth. I deserved to love myself.

Somehow, I have lost sight of that in recent months in relation to my skin. Of course, I shouldn’t be that caught off guard, as it’s difficult to love someone when you can hardly bare the sight of them. The issue of acne as it pertains to my confidence and self-esteem is significantly different and infinitely more damaging than the issue of weight, as I have a certain level of control over my weight. My body had never been built to be skinny, and it clings to every gram of fat with an iron-grip, but I don’t have a condition preventing me from being fit. If I eat moderately healthy the majority of the time, and exercise regularly, I am perfectly capable of being fit and healthy.

My skin is not so accommodating to my wishes and efforts. Even when I do effectively shackle my bad habit and (as I always do) wash my face daily, apply expensive acne medication, and apply expensive sulfur masks multiple times a week, my skin still is subject to the whims of the acne goblins. Every once in a while, I may get to enjoy only having 5 or 6 pimples, but without fail, there will be times like now, in which I have upwards of 20 pimples. I then spiral into this vicious circle of hating my skin/face, which then cripples my self esteem and subsequently contributes to my habit breaking free, as I want to peel these offensive blemishes from my face, never to be seen again.

This toxic level of disgust for my own face affects every aspect of my life. I have avoided social outings because I don’t want my friends to notice how bad my skin is. I find myself avoiding prolonged eye-contact and conversations (both of which I am normally an avid participant) because that involves people looking at my face. I sometimes wonder if I am offending whoever I am talking to by coming off as uninterested or antisocial, but still can’t seem to force my normally outgoing and talkative self to make an appearance.

It was just today, after another awesome work-out with my boot-camp group Training For Life, that I reflected on how much my body image has changed in recent months, and connecting that with my acne struggles. I may have to deal with acne for years to come, and allowing my acne to hijack my self-esteem and crash it into the ground is only going to provide it more fuel, while bringing my artistic productivity to a halt. Whenever I have particularly bad break-outs, I stop submitting for roles and, most recently, have allowed all my nice, new filming equipment sit, neglected as I wait for my skin to clear up.

Why isn’t having bad skin treated like struggling with weight? Why aren’t there people in the media/on the internet promoting self-love and “owning” your skin, regardless of how blemished it may be. Sure, there are inspirational quotes about loving your imperfections as the things that make you unique, but having blemishes all over your face isn’t the same as having a prominent nose or freckles. It is a parasite that is trying to over-take and upstage your face.

This is why I have an issue with the quote “Beauty is only skin deep.” I understand the intended sentiment; it is saying that beauty is not important in the scheme of things. And maybe it isn’t. But this quote has another, unintended message that surely is most clearly heard by people with bad skin, “Beauty is skin deep, so if you have bad skin, you can’t be beautiful.” So, while I have come to a point where I can feel sexy and confident in my body, despite it not at all resembling the idealization of beauty, I do not feel the same about my skin. And why should I? When people slather pancake batter on their faces and spend upwards of an hour applying layer after layer of make-up, while showing you “How to cover up your acne, and bring out your true beauty.”

Why can’t bad skin be treated like not having the ideal body type, in which we are encouraged to wear it proudly? While this is certainly not a prevalent message in the media or on social media (#nomakeup challenges regularly taken on by women who have enviably clear skin need not apply), for my own well-being and for the sake of my being able to finally pursue life, no holds barred, I need to approach it this way. I need to accept that I still have acne, and not hide it in shame from everyone, thereby hiding my own face, and stifling the conduit of my connections with the world and people around me.

I need to stop being ashamed of my face, so that I can finally turn it toward the sun and put the shadows behind me.

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#nomakeup #noshame

Until next time,

Candace

Realizing That Happiness Isn’t Size Specific

/ Candace Smith / Leave a comment

From the time I was a High School freshman to now, my weight has fluctuated by 30 lbs and I have had to alternate between my “skinny” jeans and the ones I desperately avoid looking at the label. My greatest frustration through all of this has been looking back at how healthy and fit I was at different times and then looking at myself, wondering how I let it all go. Weight loss has never been easy for me, particularly because of the unfortunate pairing of a seemingly MIA metabolism and my extreme love of all food (spicy/seafood need not apply).

At a young age, I charmed my parents by growling “I’m a carnivore” while devouring baby back ribs and the like, while I would go to great lengths to avoid green food. As an adult I have a fairly balanced diet, but it is still a constant struggle to achieve a certain physical fitness and capability that has always eluded me.

A few weeks back, I began a 10 week “Training For Life” program to help push past my personal preconceived physical limitations. I have been making slow but steady progress and can already feel a drastic difference in my energy levels and my growing strength. The area that I haven’t yet noticed a distinct difference in is my size/weight, which normally would have discouraged me, but through subconscious changes in my mindset I am unaffected.

This big change has been how I feel about myself while seeking self-improvement, particularly in regard to my body. In the past, I sought self-improvement from a place of hate. I harbored deep hatred for my body, my skin, even parts of my personality that were misunderstood by others. Even at my most fit, which was little over a year ago, I still held myself to impossible standards of beauty, which left my self-esteem hardly improved in spite of my not being over-weight for the first time since going through puberty. Every small imperfection was placed under a magnifying glass, instantly noticed the moment I caught my reflection.

It is precisely that toxic self-loathing that made any of my progress destined to be temporary. It is near impossible to feel disgust toward your physical body, without that sense of hatred also latching itself onto your entire being. You become a constant cell-mate with your worst bully, who knows every insecurity, every doubt, and can cut you to the quick with nary a word spoken. Living with these feelings and thoughts endlessly circulating through your mind make it impossible to successfully adopt a healthy lifestyle, because, deep down, you believe you are unworthy of such happiness, vitality and contentment. What you initially felt toward your body, which you always felt betrayed you, has now redirected itself to you as a person. “Why are you like this? Why do you look like that? Those other women make it look so easy, you must be weak. You are weak. You are undeserving.”

When I gained all my weight back over the past year, and then some, I was at first frustrated and discouraged, as I felt it was indicative of an endless cycle, in which I would never achieve a sustainable, healthy, happy lifestyle. I recognized the toxic feelings trying to rear their heads again, demanding to be heard, and, for once, I did not frantically try to shed the weight or stifle those feelings with food. Instead, I just existed in that state. I switched back to my larger pant size, kept eating a mostly balanced diet, and got occasional exercise through activities I enjoy, like walking my dog and going on hikes.

I was determined to get to a place in which I felt confident and beautiful in my skin, regardless of my size, because my body very well may fluctuate for the rest of my life, particularly since I am a woman who plans on having children. When the time comes that my body does change for whatever reason, I don’t want my love for myself to change too. Just as I love my family unconditionally, I want to love myself, all of myself, without disclaimers. Instead of feeling as though my self-love is in spite of myself, I wanted it to be BECAUSE of myself. And I truly believe I have achieved that. Although I still struggle with insecurities that stem from life experiences, or, in some cases, lack thereof, I have come to a place in which I don’t feel the need to hide myself under baggy clothes to hide my body “until it looks better”. I have attained something much more vital to thriving than being fit and I just realized it this past weekend.

While on a trip to Vegas with my mom and sister, both of whom are less than 22% body fat and have never been overweight a day in their lives, my mind tried to revert back to its old ways, by comparing myself to them. However, after only a brief moment, I found that I felt sexy, albeit conspicuous, in my slinky dress that I had initially bought while 20 pounds lighter. Instead of trying to blend in, so as to distract from my body, I wore dramatic make-up and stilettos. If I caught someone looking at me, I didn’t assume they were judging my body, instead I held my head up and enjoyed how I felt, curves and all.

I like this place of self-love I have found, for it has enabled me to seek self-improvement not because I find myself lacking, but because I find myself to be deserving. I deserve to live a long, healthy life. I deserve to be able to do all the things I’ve always wanted to do, like swing dancing, and wake-boarding. I deserve my own love, unconditionally, no matter where I am in life.

In the words of Helen Keller: “Be happy with what you have while working for what you want.”
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Until next time,
Candace

They Know Me Well, They Know Me Not, I Knew Myself, But Then Forgot

/ Candace Smith / 1 Comment

It is a fairly common occurrence; you find yourself in an environment in which you are surrounded by strangers, none of whom seem to have the slightest inclination to become acquainted with you. Most of the time, I couldn’t care less in these situations, as it is unlikely I will see any of those people again. Other times it can feel alienating, such as sitting in the staff lounge when no one engages you in a group conversation. Even then, I can brush it off fairly easily as they are not the sort of people I would enjoy knowing better in the first place.

However, something that seems to be a recurring struggle in my life is that I find myself feeling alienated from my own friends, through no fault of their own. Looking back, I can pinpoint when this first became an issue and why. I had been targeted by several classmates from 4th grade through 8th grade as an outlet for their aggression both verbally and physically. From name calling, such as: witch (because of my mole), pizza face (obvious), godzilla (never quite understood that one, maybe because I was tall at the time?) and others, to girls drawing on my face while I slept at a sleep-over and bragging about it at school the next week, I felt despised and found myself becoming reserved and quiet whenever I was away from home.

This behavior carried on into High School and even as an adult, without my being completely aware of it. At times, I would be painfully conscious of how shy I was behaving, and would be frustrated as that is not at all part of my natural personality. When my family would hear me referred to as shy and quiet, they were baffled and would even laugh, as I was notorious at home for being a very silly chatter-box.

For the most part, I have been able to rid myself of this shyness born from self-preservation, but I have realized a more subtle by-product of my being bullied. Very few of my friends have witnessed the full range of my personality traits. It is a strange cycle, in which I seem to shackle myself to the original circumstances of each friendship. I have subconsciously splintered aspects of my personality and reserved them for certain groups of friends. While some friends are likely to refer to me as feisty, snarky and outspoken, others are just as likely to define me as sensitive, anxious and serious. When I analyze my different relationships, it saddens me to realize how many people who know me have witnessed and interacted with only a few facets of my personality.

I have so many qualities and I want them all to be expressed with abandon whenever they arise, instead of being internalized. As I contemplated why it is so difficult for me to give these traits free reign, I came to the inevitable revelation that, once again, the cause is a lack of all-encompassing self-love. A quote that really resonates on this idea says, “I need to learn to love the parts of me that aren’t applauded.” While I have self-love for myself in a general sense, I do not always feel affection for my particular qualities unless I receive some form of validation from others, confirming these qualities to be desirable. The day that I love every aspect of myself, even if others do not, is the day I will finally be living truthfully.

my traits

Until next time,

Candace

My Prickly Security Blanket of Living in Fear

/ Candace Smith / Leave a comment

How can fear be comforting? Succumbing to our fears allows us to remain safely in our comfort zone. You know, that splendidly boring place where you won’t experience rejection, failure or heartbreak? Or much of anything else for that matter.

Shedding my security blanket and no longer allowing my life to be dictated by fear has been my primary struggle since adolescence. When I watch home videos of my early years, I see someone who is almost a stranger to me. I see a young girl who is free of self-awareness and does not hesitate to act on her impulses. Now, some level of self-awareness is necessary as an adult, for I doubt that it would be quite as amusing for a grown woman to lick the lens of someone’s expensive video camera as it was when I did it as an 8-year-old. I am grateful for having a self-awareness that enables me to be in-tuned to how my actions and words affect those around me. This quality has formed me into a highly empathetic person who is frequently relied on as a confidante.

However, when I am faced with a situation I am inexperienced with, my self-awareness morphs into self-consciousness. I become hyper aware of every little thing I say and do, convinced that whoever I am interacting with is just as focused on what I perceive to be flaws. It is a frustrating cycle in which I avoid these situations out of fear, even though I know living through them is what would help cripple my fear and allow me to leave it behind.

From making the first move with a guy whose affection I am unsure of, to boldly pursuing connections in the industry, I have faltered time and time again. I start off with an internal mantra, “What’s the worst that could happen?” But, even though I logically know that it would hardly be the end of the world if any of these situations were to go poorly, my body gets seized by an invisible straight jacket, deceiving me into believing the stakes are much higher. Except, the stakes are high, if I continue to avoid experiences out of fear.

What I’ve come to realize is that the trick isn’t being fearless, but learning to be okay with feeling nervous and uncomfortable. Those feelings are just as much a part of life as any other emotion, and the more often I push through these feelings, the less scary they will be. It may take some trial and error, but I will strive to live courageously and fully.

Until next time,

Candace

Can Sweat, Tears and Pain Pave the Way to Healing and Happiness? My First Time at SoulCycle.

/ Candace Smith / Leave a comment

Some of you may have no idea what SoulCycle is, most likely because it is a fairly new company and currently only resides in affluent communities, justifying its hefty price tag of approx. $30 a class. While that is certainly out of my desired price range for a fitness experience, I was able to justify the purchase when it was specifically for a fundraiser organized by Jacqui Saldana of BabyBoyBakery.com. If you haven’t heard her story, I highly recommend going to her site. She is an amazingly raw, inspirational and openhearted woman who is living through her darkest hours with her husband as they grieve the loss of their 3-year-old son, Ryan Cruz.

As I entered the cheerfully bright lobby of SoulCycle, I immediately noticed the crowd of athletically attired people, each equipped with fitted cycling pants, sweat bands and cycling shoes. I didn’t quite stick out like a sore thumb, as there was a handful of others who were clearly there for the first time, with shared characteristics of yoga pants and loose fitting gym tops. Fortunately, SoulCycle offers shoe rentals and the attendants at the front desk were excited to prepare us for our first ride. To be clear, I have attended numerous spin classes, both in college and at 24 Hour Fitness, but what I was about to experience is in a completely different realm in both intensity and significance.

Once in the cycling room, it’s uniqueness from any other fitness class is instantly apparent. The lights are dimmed, almost completely off, and flickering LED candles are interspersed throughout the compact room filled with dozens of cycles. I was about to embark on 45 minutes that would test my endurance, both physical and mental, and would bring out a part of myself that I am not yet well acquainted with. Led by an energetic and sincere instructor, who demanded of us that we give it our all, the class was asked to support each other, to motivate our cycling neighbors by pushing through and sending them compassion and acceptance. We were asked to acknowledge that each and every person in that room is going through something, whether good or bad, and that for those 45 minutes we would let everything else fall away and be present in that room with those people.

At the peak of our pain, our instructor refused to let up, declaring that this pain is temporary, similar to whatever pain and trials we experience during our lives, it is temporary, so long as we keep moving. Perhaps the most unexpected, was the segment in which we all cycled standing up, with our eyes closed and our heads bowed, reflecting on whatever struggle is at the forefront of our life right now. Those couple of minutes, sweat poring down my face, arms, back and legs, dripping in between my finger-tips, were laden with self-realization.

I was in an environment in which I felt safe to acknowledge my fears that are frequently on my mind: being helpless to protect my loved-ones, letting my dreams and goals slip through my grasp, and a fairly recently acquired fear of losing touch with my essential self, the part of me that has been a constant throughout my life, that has influenced who I am and who I want to be, as well as how I connect with those around me. In those moments I struggled to breathe through the tears choking me, fighting to get out. Tears that were born from pain over the trials of every person in that room but were transformative in their release. Somehow, after such an emotionally and physically exhausting set, I was flooded with an electric energy that shot out from my spirit and stayed with me long after the class was over.

SoulCycle, while financially draining, is without-a-doubt worth it. Even if you only go a couple times a year, when you most need it for a physical and spiritual renewal, you will walk away feeling empowered and centered. This experience has left me feeling ready to take on whatever may be coming my way, with the knowledge that it is okay to have moments of despair. For once we trudge through the doubt, grief, etc., we become that much closer to actualizing our full potential and strength.

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Until next time,

Candace

I’m not a FemiNazi, I’m a Feminist

/ Candace Smith / Leave a comment

I’m not a Feminazi, I’m a feminist

Supporting equal rights; get the gist?

Call me a man-hater, or even a bitch

Because other women have hijacked the cause?

Hold up; PAUSE

You say, Give it another name

Call it something else

Because its meaning has changed

That Feminists are deranged

Demeaning to men

and bring only strife.

All because a few select women

Distort the message

and yell the loudest

Don’t you recognize the wreckage?

A worthy cause

Rewritten, Reshaped

To allow for a complete disregard of laws.

Westboro Baptists exist,

Should Christianity cease?

Violent looters persist,

Are there no flaws within the police?

There are soldiers who abuse civilians, declaring their might,

Are there no more terrorists we must fight?

One individual, or even many

Can commit horrendous acts

Under the guise of a cause

Spreading chaos that distracts

From important goals

That we yearn for, deep in our souls.

Although he may not know it,

Dad raised me to be a feminist

Taught me to value my body, mind, and heart

That I am not inherently weak, or lacking

a vital part.

Both parents encouraged me

To stand up for myself

and my beliefs.

 Although we don’t always agree

They know what I think

Because I feel free

To at least try to put a kink

In the workings of their minds

So that, one day, they may find

The reasons for my beliefs.

Either way, they always listen

Hear me out

Give me a chance

Which is what it’s all about.

They’ve raised a daughter

Who is sharp of mind

Full of heart

and is not afraid to speak up

From the start

To defend this cause

That has been ripped apart.

I’m not a Feminazi, I’m a Feminist.

A person who strives for a reality

In which victims are not blamed

For daring to venture out on their own

Or for wearing certain clothes.

A reality in which

Someone has flipped a switch

and everyone will see

The hypocrisy

In a woman being called a whore

Whereas a man is called a man, for doing much more.

Wherein a confident, ambitious woman

Is deemed capable and equal

To her male counter-part

Instead of being written off as bossy and selfish.

Where women’s bodies are no longer a commodity

Used to sell a product, and support subjugation.

A daily flood of images

Finally seen through clear eyes

Disgusting de-humanization.

I can almost see it

Off in the horizon

A reality in which all these things are true

But only if we pull through

Don’t abandon the cause

Speak out, loud and clear

So they all know what it’s really about.

I’ve been very discouraged by how many strong women I’ve encountered lately, whether in person or in the media, who have denounced Feminism. Each of these women live the values of Feminism every single day. They expect equality, whether it be in the work place, in media or within their own household. And yet, they have bought into the false-prophets, if you will, of the cause. I won’t disagree with them on one point. There are plenty of vicious, man-hating women out there. I’ve met them, and been very sickened by their complete disdain of men, and women whose main goals are to create a traditional nuclear family. Although it is not a primary focus for myself at this time, I completely respect a woman wanting a happy marriage and to raise healthy, happy children more than anything else. The whole point of Feminism, is that every single woman should not be expected to fall into this same category by default. Some women want their career to be the nucleus of their life. There is nothing wrong with that, they merely have different goals and priorities. They are not failing at “Womanhood” by deciding not to reproduce.

Now, on the other matters of Feminism, I am even more baffled when women undermine the goals. It’s frustrating enough to hear men shame women for their clothing choices and “reckless”  decisions to *GASP* walk to their car by themself, or leave their house at night without a male chaperone to protect them. But when women engage in this behavior, I am appalled. Unless you had constant male companions throughout your childhood, until you got married, and subsequently remained glued to your husband’s side, I doubt you have been impervious to the toxic conundrum of trying to assert your independence as a GROWN ASS ADULT when you frequently had to wait after clocking out during a night shift so that a male co-worker could walk you to your car. I don’t usually get this heated, or long-winded (apologies for the run-on sentence) in my posts, but this topic hits very close to home.

For over a year, I worked at a dive-bar in downtown Pasadena. Once I began working closing shifts, it was all I could do to not sprint to my car the second I clocked out at 3 AM, after six hours of being trampled and shoved around by drunk people in an establishment that, without fail, would smell of putrid vomit by closing time. Somehow, I contained myself, and would end up waiting at the entrance, sometimes forty minutes after I had clocked out, waiting for a bouncer to escort me to my car. You can imagine how frustrating this would be, when the sun will be rising in a few hours, and I am no longer getting paid, and yet I cannot leave. Because that would be irresponsible. Because I am a woman. Which translates into : I am a likely victim, particularly in bar districts in the middle of the night. Imagine my building anger, mostly at what our society is like, when I watch several of my male co-workers calmly walk out the front door, turning down my offer to drive them to their car, if they walk me to mine.  Multiple times I started walking out the door, but the bouncer stationed there, who could not leave, no matter how much he wanted to, pleaded with me to wait until he clocked out, also reminding me that if our closing manager found out I had walked by myself, I would have gotten in trouble. The worst part wasn’t even the fact that I had to wait so long. It was the fact that, had I chosen to walk by myself, and had I been assaulted, the first thoughts the average person would have would be along the lines of, “Why did she do that? That’s so irresponsible. What did she expect to happen? She should have waited.”

Why is the occurrence of a woman being assaulted more easily overlooked than the occurrence of a woman behaving as any adult should be able to, by walking to her car unaccompanied? That is why I am a feminist, among several other reasons. I detest that I am expected to behave as a child, and only venture out with appropriate supervision. I want to live in a society in which I can feel empowered as I am, and not with the assistance of a man.

To all the strong women out there. Never give up, the day will come.

To all the men who understand, and treat us as equal human-beings, with respect and consideration. Thank you.

Until next time,

Candace

An open letter to that person who keeps harrassing and shaming me:

/ Candace Smith / Leave a comment

You beat me down, I’m bleeding out

Dreams shatter on the floor

Can’t walk out the door

This shame I feel

Is all too real

 When you batter me

Loathe me

Disarm me

And disrobe me

Standing naked before you

Thinking, once, I adored you

And now, I implore you

Love me again

Be a true friend

See the beauty within

Forgive the sin

Of my lethargy

And decaying dreams

A soul that’s imploding

From all this self-loathing

Stifling trepidation

Highlights every imperfection

Deteriorates my hope, my joy

All things that uplift

Fall into a void

An eternal stalemate

With this viscous ingrate

Clawing

Ripping

Shredding throughout

Fueled by a deep, dark pool

Filled only with doubt

I know this place

I’ve been here before

Sometimes I forget

But I’ll prevail once more

Never giving in; I’m Rising up

I know, I know. I was tricky, making you think this was directed at someone other than myself. But that’s the thing. That part of me, that judges and inflicts so much pain feels as though it is other than myself. I am never that cruel of a person. I am forgiving and compassionate and encouraging. Except, unfortunately, with myself. I would chalk it up to the fact that I am an actor, but this toxic self-judgement is not unique to actors. So many people get caught up in measuring their self-worth with the ideals of others. Whether it be appearance, hobbies, career, parenting style, or even personality, which is essentially who you are, we are constantly finding ourselves to be lacking.

Let’s have a “Mean Girls” Moment. Raise your hand if you’ve thought one of these:

I’m too fat.

I’m too skinny.

I wish I was funny.

I am so stupid.

I am so lame.

I am a loser.

I am a failure.

Why can’t I be more like THEM?

Granted, these are only a handful of criticisms we often have of ourselves, but we seem to hold them in such high regard that we are blinded to the attributes we do have. We do not have to look like that person, act like that person, or live like that person. I am an individual, as are you. Each of us with unique life experiences and insights that influence who we are and what we do. Now, once you remove the useless comparisons, what is left? Your goals and dreams. Who do you want to be? What do you want to accomplish during your time here on Earth?

A few months back, I finally got my second wind after a long bout with crippling insecurities paired with grief. I reacquainted myself with my goals and dreams and started this blog to give myself an outlet as well as a way to hold myself accountable to the pursuit of my dreams. Unfortunately, I faltered and have not written a new post in several weeks. I have had countless ideas for posts and would acknowledge them thinking, “That would be an interesting post.” So why didn’t I ever write them?

That nasty creature, that resides somewhere within me, reared its nasty head again: doubt. I questioned my abilities, talent, and a number of other things and, before I knew it, three months had passed without me posting anything. Even more damaging than the doubt, though, was my inability to forgive myself. After acknowledging that I had faltered, and why, I still did not take up writing again. Because I was so frustrated and angry with myself for faltering in the first place. “Think of where you’d be now, Candace, if you had kept at it!”

It seems that, regardless of what you are internally shaming yourself for, the same viscous circle begins to take form. “So you want to lose weight? Well, why did you eat those Oreos?! You’re such a pig! You are weak! You’re never going to lose weight!” While the supposed “sin” and insults can be substituted, the sentiment cannot. What is most harmful to your success and happiness is not faltering in the first place, but a failure to forgive yourself and move on.

Bouts of insecurities and doubt seem to be a part of growing and evolving. We question ourselves, doubt ourselves, and, hopefully, challenge those doubts. The poem or “open letter” was something I wrote the other day during an hour long drive with my mom. The first three-fourths of the poem are fairly negative and difficult to give life to, but in my heart I knew where the words were leading to, and I didn’t want to give-up until I reached that message of redemption and resilience.

Instead of making a bunch of New Year Resolutions that are supposed to make me more successful and happy, I am going to make an oath to myself.

Candace,

    I vow to be forgiving. To allow you to stumble and fall, without censure.

    I vow to be your biggest cheerleader. Constantly reminding you of what you are capable of achieving.

    And, lastly, I vow to love you. As I love my family and friends. With my whole heart.

“You’re Always With Yourself, So You Might As Well Enjoy The Company”

/ Candace Smith / 1 Comment

Dag Nabit (excuse my midwesternese). Don’t you hate when you come up with this brilliant concept and then do a Google search and realize it’s nothing new? Such is the struggle of existing in the 21st Century. Billions of people have come before us, sharing their own philosophies on life and claiming ownership of new ideas and break-throughs.

The other day I was driving in my car. Alone. Which usually leads to some pretty odd behavior. Whether it be really bad attempts at embodying that elusive fierceness Beyonce has, or talking in weird voices as though I’m performing a variety show for an audience of one.  I’m not even aware of how weird my behavior may be considered by outsiders until a car happens to be driving even with me for an extended period of time.

Suddenly *POOF*, the illusion that I am invisible to the rest of the world through the magic of driving at 65 mph (who are we kidding, 72..3….okay maybe 5 mph) disappears and I instantly revert to “traditional” driving habits. Meaning: no whipping my hair back and forth, no over-the-top impressions of pop stars like Kesha and Miley Cyrus and DEFINITELY no Beyonce inspired seated dance solos. Just good ‘ol hands at ten and two (do people actually do that?), chair and tray in the upright position…wait that’s not right.

So after the sudden onslaught of self-awareness, I begin to question my behavior. Is it strange to have so much fun when I am by myself? Don’t movies and TV shows tell us that being by yourself equals loneliness or boredom? While that may be true for many people, and some of the time even  myself, isn’t it strange to have the expectation of boredom while with your only constant companion? You are the only person who is privy to every thought, every hope, every fear you have ever had. And unless you have mastered a Buddhist monk level of meditation, I doubt your thoughts are ever completely quiet. You are constantly carrying on a dialogue with yourself. “What is that smell? Oh, it’s them. Ah! I can’t breathe! Okay, don’t be obvious, it’ll hurt their feelings. Inhale through the mouth. Oh man, I’m starting to feel light-headed. Finally! NEVER want to be stuck in a check-out line with them again. *GASP*”

It’s a strangely specific example, I know, but I had a particularly unpleasant check-out experience the other day at Vons. The point is, you are stuck with yourself, so why not be good company? (Sound familiar? Yeah, apparently I’m not as brilliantly enlightened as I had thought.)

Warning!

Side effects may include: increased self-esteem, decreased sense of boredom, increased levels of fun and laughter.

Until next time,

Candace

Did Everyone Learn to Apparate but Me?

/ Candace Smith / Leave a comment

A Tale As Old As Time…

…Or at least I assume it is. You meet someone. They are funny, nice, but also enough of an a-hole that you don’t feel like a jerk around them. You banter, laugh until you cry, make somewhat inappropriate comments about today’s questionable fashion, and when the time comes, comfort each other. They’re the Beavus to your Butthead, the Rosecrans to your Guildenstern. A fun time with them need not consist of anything more than a late night run to Target, where you accidentally leave a trail of popcorn and get brain-freeze from a Coca-Cola icee. Your friendship is low-maintenance and constant. So you went two months without texting? No big. Your reunion will just be that much more epic and hilarious. You’ll tackle each other and talk a million words per minute, attempting to retell every novel moment you’ve lived since you last saw them. You talk about going bar hopping and having a crazy, memorable night; instead, you lounge on the couch watching Friends reruns or trashy television. These moments are so awesome in their simplicity. There’s no expectation of having to make something happen. You just hang out, talk, laugh, and probably eat more than you normally do.

As time goes on, whether it be through High School, College or just adulthood, the frequency in which you see this person will fluctuate. When your lives serendipitously sync up and you have a whole day off to go to the beach, you rejoice. Other times you sacrifice your minutes to have a two-hour run on phone conversation that is about everything and nothing. Regardless of how long it’s been since you’ve seen this person, you don’t question your friendship. Because this is a unique friendship, one which you don’t have to validate with “Bestie” posts and copious amounts of “Usies”. Ick. Those terms really make me cringe.

So you’re going on as usual. Thinking of them occasionally, throwing them a text now and then to see how they’re doing or to share a cute puppy video. When, gradually, you begin to notice that your tried and true friendship seems to have gone AWOL. The ridiculous text-messages and Facebook posts have been one-sided for some time and when you attempt to connect with them through a more concrete medium they are unavailable, with no apparent desire to reschedule. You think back through the months since the last time you’ve seen them, trying to locate a catalyst to this change. Did I say something hurtful? Did I forget a birthday?

Most likely the answer is less involved with conflict than you think. Your friend has apparated. For those of you who somehow managed to remain ignorant of this Harry Potter terminology, it is the ability to suddenly disappear from one location and appear in another. There was no falling out, hurtful words exchanged, or even aggravation over annoying Facebook posts. Your friend simply left the friendship. I’ve witnessed this happen so many times, not just to myself, but with countless other friends. We all wonder where that friendship disappeared to, without a trace. For whatever reason, be it from being overwhelmed from too many relationships or just re-prioritizing due to new life circumstances, that person is no longer invested in your friendship, and very likely thinks of you as an acquaintance, or “That girl/guy I was really good friends with once.”

When you’re the one who turns around and realizes your friend apparated, it can be a very unpleasant revelation. You were fully willing to maintain the friendship through the years and have no desire to shift your view of them. How am I supposed to see them as someone from my past when they’re still here? Why should I have to? Do I get no say in this?

 The answer is, no, not really. Relationships, healthy ones that is, need to be mutual and reciprocated. You may be able to go on a few more outings with this person, but unless they become invested in the friendship again, your interactions will feel forced and you’ll end the outing feeling dejected. It’s a difficult revelation to have, but sometimes friends want to leave a relationship for no distinct reason, and if they want to you should as well. It’ll be better for your self-esteem and you won’t develop resentment toward them for not being as invested as you. There is nothing wrong with someone falling out of friendship with you, but it does hurt when you are not in the same state of mind.

Over time you will get to the point when you look back fondly on your friendship with them and are grateful for it. Who knows? Maybe you’ll reconnect someday and will have that much more to talk about because of your hiatus.

In the meantime, focus on the friends you do have. The ones who will have Netflix marathons with you without judging and will make you laugh just by making eye-contact and knowing you’re having the same immature thought.

Until Next Time,

~Candace

 

(To my friends, I love you)

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