By Donna

After losing my 31-year-old daughter to cancer, I truly learned that there are some things in life you cannot change even if you work hard, love greatly, and are the most positive upbeat person you know.

Until I accepted I did not control my life or anyone else’s, I prided myself on my ability to change my mind, my approach, or whatever was required in any given moment to survive. In fact for most of my life, I turned on a dime when necessary and did a phoenix-rising-from-the ashes routine with the grace of prima ballerina dipping and twirling to Swan Lake. I honestly thought I knew what it meant to accept change until I saw someone I loved make the ultimate one and leave this world.

My daughter died in June of 2010 and in August I finished my first novel. Even though it was a romance like my other work, that first book was a tough story full of mysticism, philosophy, and large soul-searching questions about life after death. I wrote what I needed or wanted to believe was possible. It was cathartic to write, but it’s still in my desk drawer. Why? I decided that there were enough tough stories out there. I decided that I wanted to make people laugh. Life is hard and terribly short for many people. I decided that if I was really going to earn a living from writing, I would give people the best few hours I could in their life with a story that would be entertaining, full of fun, incredibly sexy, and ultimately uplifting. At least this was my hope.

Now I get empty faster and the negative space inside me isn’t so easily filled up anymore. Fortunately after a year of caring for her followed by another year grieving her death, I am finding that life does goes on just like everyone says, even when you’re not sure how it’s doing so. Maybe that’s why I am drawn to hopeful stories about people going through change. I’ve become the person standing in line to see the sappy movie with the happy ending over and over because I accept that I personally don’t have all the answers. I understand now that I need the help of others to show me the way.

Some six novels and a year later, I think I have done that. My first series of four books features older characters between 40 and 50 years old. Their stories are all about starting over in life, about changing, about accepting. The heroes of two of the four books are dealing with the loss of a wife to cancer. I can’t avoid reality, but I don’t dwell on their pain. Instead I show them finding love again. I show the best result of change. Though I have accepted I cannot control real life, I am happy that in my writing I can control the world of my characters and make sure they get a happy ending no matter what.

To find out more about Donna, please visit her website www.donnamcdonaldauthor.com.

Identity readers tell us what they accept in their lives and within themselves. What have you accepted?

I’ve learned to accept that what I desire in a partner will not change. So adjusting to make someone fit into my life is not advantageous for either party. -Jennifer

I have accepted my curves, In the very image-conscious world of public relations in Los Angeles, I have finally accepted I will never be stick thin. Once I accepted my extra pounds and decided not to let outside pressures change my self image I have realized people respond to my confidence and my business is growing. -Stacy

I have accepted that a super clean house is highly overrated. No woman will have on her grave marker, “Here Lies the Best Housewife in the World.” -Fran

I accept my curvy hips, long face and big lips. They are what make me who I am. -Lorneth

I have accepted that I cannot control every situation. -Meagan

I accept that I am not in control of anyone but myself. -Allison

I accept that in order for me to move forward with my daily routine of working out, I have to take responsibility and stop making excuses. There are no excuses. Act and do already! - Susan

By Linda

As a teenager in the 1960’s, I loved watching a Breck shampoo television commercial, in which a beautiful girl would swing her gorgeous long hair side to side in slow motion, the camera capturing a glorious waterfall of thick, glossy, healthy hair. I was very proud of what I considered to be my best asset; my own shiny, long brown hair, and I used to practice that same move in front of my bathroom mirror, knowing that my hair was pretty enough to qualify for a Breck commercial.   I fantasized that some day I might be ‘discovered’ and would become a Breck Girl myself.  That fantasy came to a screeching halt when I began losing my hair in 1964 at the age of 16, a few months into my junior year of high school in Pacifica, Cali.

I had just entered Terra Nova High the year before, after having spent all my childhood moving around the state of Kansas and California. I was the second oldest of eight children, born to parents with wanderlust who were not interested in nurturing their large brood.  Our life, to me, was not normal.  With low self-esteem, I always felt shy and reluctantly endured being the new kid in the succession of schools I attended, trying very hard not to be noticed. I wanted to be invisible, and was careful never to draw attention to myself.

When my family bought our first home in Pacifica in 1963, I knew that we would not be moving for awhile, and I decided to avail myself of  the opportunities my new school offered in a way that I never had before.  I joined clubs, vocal groups, and even the Pom Pom squad.  I started to feel that, finally, I belonged. I was making friends, and I realized that it was fun to be noticed.  I began to feel like a normal kid for the first time in my life.

Once my hair began to fall out, I wanted to be invisible again.  I crept back into the little shell that I had lived in all during my childhood.  I stopped making eye contact, and quit the clubs, vocal groups and did not try out for Pom Pom for a second season.   I knew I was on my own when I tried to tell my mother what was happening to my hair. She turned away from me and said, “That’s ridiculous. Women don’t lose their hair! Get your ironing done!” I was sad, lonely and felt like a freak.

I skipped college and immediately got a job after graduating, so that I could afford to visit doctor after doctor, hoping to find the cause of, and cure for, my hair loss.  I spent much of my time crying, raging and being in denial about what was happening to me.  After searching unsuccessfully for decades to find the right doctor, the right meds, the right kind of shampoo to cure my problem, I finally found a doctor who diagnosed me correctly.

I was 35, and had been married for about 9 years when I was told that I had inherited the female version of male pattern baldness, called Androgenetic Alopecia. The doctor said that not only would my hair never come back, but it would continue to shed until my entire scalp was visible and no amount of ‘comb overs’ would camouflage the thinning.  “But,” he said with a grin, “at least you know it isn’t life threatening.”  I was devastated.   Having female pattern baldness was, to me at least, quality-of-life-threatening.  This news was especially hard to accept since I had always assumed I’d find some medication or treatment which would bring back my glorious hair; the one asset I had, of which I had been so proud.

After the diagnosis, I spent several months in a deep depression and my fear of being around people became almost phobic. One day, however, I woke up and realized I was tired of the tears. I was tired of ‘living my hair loss.’  For years, I had been told by people very close to me that I was being vain and shallow for crying about my hair and I felt very guilty that it had bothered me so much.   I took a deep breath and decided to find a way to live with my condition.  It was too exhausting and demoralizing to continue crying and grieving over something I could not change.

About that time, my husband suggested I start wearing a wig.  Although it was a shock at first, and I was offended at his suggestion, it did make me think and it got the ‘ball rolling’ towards acceptance of my condition.  My wonderful mother-in-law generously offered to buy me a beautiful hair piece and soon after, I met a sweet woman about my age with the same hair loss condition.  She and I began to search for information and options and together found a fabulous hairpiece and an equally fabulous stylist named Charle Dewitt.

After Charle styled my hair piece, it was apparent that she and I had a great rapport, and I began working with her in the hair replacement industry, consulting with other women who were also losing their hair.  Several of Charle’s clients were breast cancer patients, and I can’t even count the number of times a woman with breast cancer would tell me that losing a breast was not such a big deal, but losing their hair to the chemotherapy treatments was devastating.  Those comments did two things for me; one, they validated how traumatic hair loss is, and two; they helped me realize that being devastated about your hair loss is perfectly normal.  These women helped me feel good about myself again.  I felt vindicated for the anguish my hair had caused me, and it felt wonderful to let go of the guilt, and start to feel ‘whole’ again.

It was satisfying to work with women who were distraught about their hair, offering them the support, nurturing, and understanding that I had not been given when I went through my own hair loss. My mother could not talk about what I had experienced, and of course could not offer me any kind of support, emotional or otherwise. Years later,  she literally scampered  from the room when I started to remove my hair piece, hovering in the hallway, then asking in a quivery little voice whether it was ‘safe’ (i.e., had I covered up my thin hair so that she would not have to see it?)  to return to the room. I think she must have thought I was contagious.  It’s a good thing I had long since gotten over feeling like a freak!

I have made women’s hair loss a kind of calling.  Several years ago, I was invited to appear on the Today Show, and was interviewed by Katie Couric, who asked me on national television how it felt to be called ‘baldy’ by my best friend in high school.  Quite a cathartic experience!  I am currently writing a book entitled “Coping with Chronic Bad Hair Day”, and have recently signed up to be a general volunteer for the American Cancer Society’s “Look Good, Feel Better” program.

I have also designed a line of headwraps and accessories for women who have lost their hair, and I often communicate via email or face to face consultation with cancer patients and women with any type of hair loss.  In addition, I write a blog entitled “Alopecia Musings” about the emotional ramifications of hair loss.

Accepting my hair loss taught me to appreciate what I have, what I’ve done, and who I have become.  I’m a lucky woman.

See how Linda answers our Identity Five Questions:

What have you accepted within yourself and/or within your life?

I have learned to accept the fact that my hair fell out (at age 16), and I will be wearing a hair piece or some type of head covering for the rest of my life.  Throughout my life, I have used  coping techniques that I developed for myself during my teen years to deal with any upheavals in my life.

What do you appreciate about yourself or your life?

I am the second oldest of eight children born to parents who were dysfunctional, nomadic, and not at all interested in raising and/or nurturing their children.  I appreciate my life now, which is stable with a loving husband and a brilliant child who is a recent college graduate. I get vicarious enjoyment out of the kind of secure upbringing my husband and I were able to give our child.

What have you achieved, or what are you working to achieve personally, physically, or mentally?

I have made women’s hair loss a kind of calling.  I  think that having lost my hair at such a young age has  made me an empathetic person who is always looking for ways to help solve troublesome issues that others are experiencing. I  write a blog on the emotional ramifications of women’s hair loss (headwrapguru.blogspot.com). I also started a home-based business offering the headwraps and accessories I have designed especially for women with any type hair loss. My “Headwrap of Marin” collection (available on www.ninisniche.etsy.com) has been called ‘a work of art’, and ‘couture.’  A frequent customer writes to me ‘Linda, I love everything you do!’  This makes me incredibly proud! I was given an opportunity when I lost my hair. Wwhen life handed me a lemon, I made lemonade!

What is your not-so-perfect way? We are all unique with quirks and imperfections, so why not flaunt them and embrace them!

When I am working on wonderful designs and new ideas  for items to add to my Etsy shop, my working style could only be described as messy and  ‘chaotic.’  But that’s OK, because out of the chaos comes creativity!

How would you complete this sentence, “I Love My…”
This has to be about you, physically or mentally. 

I love my ability to think outside the box, my creativity,  and my high energy level.  I love my positive attitude, my tenacity, and the fact that I’ve gone from being a shy introvert to being a woman with something to say, who’s not afraid to say it (with tact and diplomacy, of course!).

Women tell us what they have accepted within their lives and themselves.

What do you accept?

I’m an African American woman who has been divorced twice. I was brought up to speak properly and always had a corporate job. I have accepted my body-type even when my counterparts didn’t. I’ve learned to ignore people in my race because of the way I speak. It doesn’t make me white or a sell out and I’m OK with that. I’ve learned divorce doesn’t make me a failure; it has just made me wiser. -Aleasa 

One day I said to my husband, “Hon, you see me now? This is probably where I will be weight-wise, give or take 10 pounds in either direction, for the rest of my life.” It was incredibly liberating making that statement and to accept my body the way it is. -Sarah

What I have accepted in my life is that no matter how much you plan, life does not follow that plan. I have learned to appreciate that the reason life does not follow that plan is because sometimes life gives you lessons along your path that were not planned for so that you can grow and appreciate all the little things. Sometimes we are so focused on all the things that we want that we overlook all the little things that make us happy. You can’t appreciate until you learn to accept. -Michelle

As a Mother of one I’ve accepted the fact that my body will never be what it was when I was younger. I’ve accepted that stretch marks and a big butt make it easier to carry a toddler around on your hips. That it’s OK to love your imperfect body because your child doesn’t care. You’re still going to get the same snuggles. The trade out was well worth it. -Meghan

I’m working to accept that I am in control of my thoughts, beliefs and the results in my life. I’ve had to accept that prince charming may be here,but he’s not here right now to sweep me off my feet. That the fairy tales we read as a child are not a healthy reality and that the more I accept and love who I am and what I am on this planet to do, the more good  things come my way. -Holly

By Jennifer Hawkins

On February 4, 2009, I woke up to find that my husband had died in his sleep from an undetected heart condition. He was 49 years old; I was 39. It was the biggest shock of my life. The first two hours were a blur of emotion, pain, fear, shock, and denial. The next two and a half years have been a lesson in living life much more openly, deeply, and presently.

In the immediate aftermath of his death, I discovered I had two choices. I could either surrender to what had happened, or instead, choose to fight the reality of it all.

Initially, I fought the reality and life was hard. I felt alone, afraid, hurt, angry and even guilty. With Mark gone, I was instantly and solely in charge of our home, cars, finances, and children.  I thought ‘Til death do us part?’ Well, what if I wasn’t ready? I felt abandoned, and could not overcome the thought that Mark was supposed to be there with me to help me take care of everything. Deep down I knew he couldn’t be there, but accepting that meant accepting the fact that he really was gone. And I wasn’t ready for that, so the battle continued.

A few weeks after Mark died a close friend said something to me that changed my perception at the core. She said, “Jennifer, no matter what happens in the future, you will always have lost your husband. There is nothing you can do about that. For the rest of your life it will be a part of who you are. You don’t have to ever ‘get over it.’”

I realized with those words that I didn’t have to act any certain way. I didn’t have to get rid of my grief. I didn’t have to be anything I wasn’t. I was a widow and nothing would ever change that. Not even my deepest thought that it wasn’t true. It gave me the long-term view I needed in order to let go of the pressure I was putting on myself to be ‘fixed.’

After I heard those words I began to surrender to all of my emotions, including grief. In these moments of surrender, there were glimmers of hope, love and life. For lack of a better way to explain it, angels took over and miracles began happening. Almost mysteriously, life began taking care of itself. The right person walked in the room at the right time, needed items appeared without even asking. It was as if the universe was saying, “Yes, this happened, and yes, it will all be OK. Because no matter how hard it seems, there is something right about this.”

Upon surrendering, I was able to acknowledge all of the people who appeared who wanted to help me with my kids, my home, my work…everything. And, more importantly, I learned how to let them help. I’d always thrived on handling everything on my own, but because of my new life I had to let go of that independence. It was impossible for me to handle everything Mark and I had handled before. I HAD to let people help me. I even had to ASK for help. It was an entirely new concept. Like no other time before I saw that there were lots of people in my life who wanted to help, who even felt helpless if I didn’t let them help. So, I started to let them; and in the process I became closer to them. I really felt their love and energy in my life.

After my world started to smooth out a bit from the huge turbulent waves of the first few months, I knew there was another step. I had to rely entirely on myself for one thing—taking care of me. Nobody else could do that in the long run. So, each day I began to do something for me. 

I quickly realized that it didn’t have to be anything big. I could make a cup of tea and breathe in the steam for a few minutes. Or, take a short walk around the block with my dog. Or, listen to music that made me happy. Or, go to a funny movie. These little ‘me’ moments kept my spirit afloat at times when the alternative was to drown.

Even now, after years have gone by and times still sneak up on me and grip my heart and gut like nothing else can, I breathe and remember to surrender and feel everything I’m feeling. Because one thing I know for sure is that Mark is still a part of my life. Sometimes it’s just a glimpse of something that could have been, which leads to sadness in missing him. But I know that the sadness is simply a reminder that I’m human, alive and can love. And that reminder is a blessing that I will always cherish.

See how Jennifer answers our Identity Five Questions:

What have you accepted within yourself and/or within your life? Is there anything you are working on accepting? 

I’m working on accepting that there is no way to be the ‘perfect’ person I have as an image in my mind. That nothing matters so much that I get anxious and stressed.

What do you appreciate about yourself or your life? 

I appreciate being alive. I appreciate that there are people in my life that I love and who love me. I appreciate nature.

What have you achieved, or what are you working to achieve personally, physically, or mentally?

I’m working on finding time for myself. Finding ‘myself’ in the process is a perk I’m hoping will show up too. 

What is your not-so-perfect way? We are all unique with quirks and imperfections, so why not flaunt them and embrace them!

I am a sprinter at heart. I swam competitively for eighteen years. I’m not sure it’s possible to erase all of the programming of being fast and perfect. I’m very, very fast mentally, physically, emotionally. And sometimes that is not the best way to live, however it’s a part of me I’m working to either slow down or use the speed to my advantage.

How would you complete this sentence, “I Love My…” This has to be about you, physically or mentally.

…ability to love and be resilient.

Jennifer Hawkins is a highly successful Real Estate investor. In 1988 she earned a spot as a swimmer at the Olympic Trials. She married Mark in 2001 and started her family. She lives in Texas with her sons Connor and Brannon. For more information about Jennifer and her memoir, The Gift Giver, please visit www.thegiftgiverbook.com.

“It took time, it was a struggle, I still have a long way to go, but what I have learned is ‘it’s never too late to be what you might have been.’” -George Sand.

By Sandhi

I was the quiet kid, drawing in my room. The weird teenager hanging out in the art room. But when it was time for college, my girlhood dreams did not find footing in the real world. Maybe it was my insecurity, the lack of encouragement, or the times just prior to the women’s movement. And, the endless loop of “no one makes it as an artist.” My parents expected me to be a wife and mother – not a professional and certainly not an artist.

I thought I had talent, but I was a shy and quiet kid.

So, I did a million other things instead. I worked my way up in retail, all the way to the buying offices and management, and then chucked it to be a display artist. Dressing mannequins and making beds and doing window displays was incredible. I opened a business doing displays, creating props, designing stores, but my partner and I were not always watching the bottom line. I became exhausted and closed after six years.

I got married and put my first husband through law school. Someone had to have the “real” job; the one with a steady paycheck and benefits. I had a baby. By this time, I was a breadwinner, parent, housekeeper, cook; there was no time for art and no support from my husband.

I ended up in non-profits. No matter what though, I always had room in my home for artsy stuff. Husband one moved my art room into a closet, then into the laundry room, then the car port. And I eventually moved myself out of the house.

I created a new life for myself. Single parent with an art filled house. I made funky lampshades, I painted murals, I broke tiles and made a mosaic counter top. I made my own shutters; I put together a chandelier. Those “itches” were fun, but they were never really scratched in a way that made me feel fulfilled.

Then, many years later, I met and married my dream husband – at 50! He adores me, supports my artistic dreams – built me a studio – gave me time and space to work and grow as an artist. A year into our marriage he said, “the only way you’re going to make it is to put everything into it – quit your job!”

I held my breathe and took the leap. No golden parachute. No trust fund. No MFA. We sacrificed a lot. We didn’t go on vacations. We went from Kiehl’s to Oil of Olay. We ditched the suits. It was work, work work. Make art, find shows, galleries, sell, market, create a web site, pack, ship, file… Oh yeah, and make dinner, do the laundry and help a kid through school.

I spend time every day in my studio. I spend time every day exploring every possibility – from researching galleries to looking for opportunities for PR, to writing a blog, sending out emails, networking and planning art festivals (which includes filling out forms, applications, etc.) and then booking travel.

Today, my work is in several galleries in Los Angeles, Phoenix, Chicago and more. It is in museums, and in private and corporate collections throughout the world.

I had to accept the fact that I AM AN ARTIST. I didn’t need someone outside myself to tell me that. I appreciate my husband’s love and support. I put in the time every day. It is my dedication and focus to make this happen on my own terms, in my own way.

What I have achieved is not an accident. And I am always excited about what’s next. I have more goals for myself, and am looking forward to more adventures!

I accepted I didn’t need a professor, a degree or a family member to tell me what I knew inside. I am an artist. I am an artist because I say I am.

I love my life. I get to be who I am on a soul level every day. I have the love and support of my family. I love my family. I love my art. I love it when other people love my art.

I appreciate the opportunities. The opportunity to love: to be a parent to the greatest kid and to be the wife to the greatest husband. The opportunity to make art, show art and sell art. The opportunity to help others.

My most rewarding achievements are: parenting, being a wife that loves and is loved, and finally having a career that I designed. I am doing what I love to do.

I am not perfect in this way – I don’t follow the rules. I am not sure I even know what the rules are. I do what I want, when I want, the way I want. Do you like what I do? Great. I didn’t get a formal education in my [now] chosen career. I know there are prescribed steps. I don’t have time to suffer in silence for my craft. I want to be happy, I want to be successful. There, I said it.

You can find more on Sandhi’s art at www.schimmelart.com.

Photo of Sandhi provided by www.schimmelart.com

By Daylle

Self-acceptance was impossible when I saw myself as fat and ugly. For many years I endured pain from being an out of control people-pleaser with low self-esteem to compensate for my VERY unfair self-perception. People took advantage of me and gave me no respect. It made sense, since I was a door-mat and didn’t respect myself.

Happiness was an elusive state that I thought I’d get from the people I went out of my way to please. But other than snippets of joy when someone I’d done a lot for threw me a bone of appreciation, happiness eluded me.

My first awakening came when I attended a neighbor’s make-up party and got many compliments on my good skin and beautiful green eyes. I never knew I had them until someone put a mirror in my face and forced me to pay attention! I wore makeup to work the next day and was startled when people said the makeup made me look prettier. I questioned it and got puzzled looks from people who thought I was attractive and couldn’t understand why it surprised me.

Then I read a quote by Anais Nin: “There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”

After many years of unhappiness, I recognized that the time had come to make a choice: remain stuck in a place that made me unhappy or set boundaries on what I gave others and do more for me.

I chose the latter!

 The more I turned down requests I didn’t want to do, the better I felt. I only helped people to be kind, not to buy acceptance. It was the beginning of accepting me, in my imperfect but wonderful shoes. Each small victory over my fears felt delicious! My forehead no longer says 'welcome' and I’m filled with self-love. 

Today I’m a self-empowerment counselor, speaker, and author.

Even with wrinkles and cellulite, I’m VERY happy being me! What’s most important is to accept me as I am and treat myself lovingly. Every kind gesture to myself was a brick in the foundation of my self-love. Looking back I realized that I was depressed when I had no self-love. Life seemed like a chore.

Developing self-love fueled learning to take care of me. Today people can’t believe that for a majority of my life I felt worthless, fat, and ugly—all because I wasn’t perfectly thin. Accepting all of me with love, and appreciating the beauty of who I am, flaws and all, keeps me smiling and giving back for my blessings.

You can read more about Daylle at www.daylle.com or www.HowDoILoveMe.com