Stuck In My Bra

I started writing Stuck In My Bra in 2011. I’ve needed to wear a bra since I was 1982. Personally, I have never been terribly happy about wearing a bra, but the truth is I still need the support. Are you following?

In the summer of 2011, I was prescribed emergency respite from my life. I booked a week-long surfing retreat with a new company called Swell Women and spent a week with a group of brilliant and beautiful strangers. It was magical AND every day I struggled to get myself in and out of my swimsuit, my rashguard, and my sports bra while I was wet, sandy, sweaty, and exhausted. It was during this week that I realized that my relationship with my bra was a metaphor for my life. I was struggling for my own liberation! My life had become overly restrictive and focused on everyone else’s goals and dreams and cares. I had gotten stuck and I needed to find my way back to myself. I was determined to never get stuck again.

At the time I met my surf sister warriors, I was somewhere near the beginning of what turned out to be an extremely challenging end of marriage to the father of my three beautiful kids. He and I had known each other since we were kids ourselves. We were married for a total of 12 years and the last three were really miserable because we were locked in battle. I had battled invisible illnesses for all of the years of our marriage and I needed to gain my strength back so my counselor wrote me a simple prescription:

(1) go outside every day and just look up at the sky

(2) get skin to skin contact

(3) take a two-week minimum vacation by myself where someone else takes care of me.

I did my best to follow the prescription.  I spent one week lying on a surfboard in the ocean, floating in the water, using all of my strength and balance and will to surf, staring at the water and the sky, laying in the sand, practicing yoga, eating raw, vegetarian food prepared by someone else, getting massages, and spending time with five other amazing women who were all doing the same thing.  These women encouraged me to share my thoughts and my stories.  They told me my words were powerful and funny.  “Offensively hysterical” were the exact words from one of my new friends. Admittedly, I do tend to offend (unintentionally). And I think I’m hysterical. These women encouraged me to write. 

Since then many others in my life have encouraged me to share my stories, start my own non-profit, run for public office, write a screenplay, do standup . . . it goes on and on.  People tell me I am witty, funny, strong, fiercely independent, deep, inspirational, energizing, kind, committed, supportive, crazy, too serious, too sensitive, a visionary, a good friend, a good mother, a strong advocate, a sounding board, a rock, weird. I can be all of those things, but what I know about myself is that I know who I am and what I stand for. I stand up for my kids and for others and I strive to always do what I think is the right thing to do. I also absolutely understand that my perspective is only that . . . my perspective.  My truth is only mine and no one else’s. I consider myself to be a peacemaker and a bridge builder in my bones and I almost always feel solid. But I am sensitive inside and I’m still learning how to be protective of myself.

I have been a writer for as long as I can remember and I have wanted to write books since I was a young child, but instead I’ve mostly written legal decisions and kept my own stories and ramblings rolling around in my own mind. I now realize that I have never had a choice in the matter.  I need to write whether anyone ever reads it.  I know that these people are all giving it to me straight and I am taking their advice.  I might as well spit it all out.

I have always felt compelled to share my experience.  The problem I have had is that it can make people uncomfortable. Sometimes I can be too personal and too blunt.  I dislike the use of labels, but the ones that feels most suitable are Gifted and Autistic. I don’t mean to make people uncomfortable.  Throughout my life, my sensitivity to how my sharing makes people feel  has affected the way I express myself and that has not been good for me.  I believe it has actually been a key factor to what has disabled me at times in my life.  I really don’t ever want to be disabled like that again, so I am going back to who I really am.  Someone who shares.  This is my life and this is my perspective. If my thoughts somehow make you feel uncomfortable just don’t read this. That’s my best advice. I never mean any harm.

So these are my thoughts.  This is my truth.  This is my contract with myself.  This is my advice to my children. This is who I am and what I stand for. This is what I know right now.  This is what I believe.  This is what I’ve learned. This is my therapy. This is my caring bridge. This is my holiday card. This is my chat with friends and family I don’t see or speak with often enough.  This is my thank you note.  This is my apology. This is my collection of thoughts.  This is my book, my series, my movie, my play, my blog, my newsletter, my poem, my art.  This is my manifesto.  This is my platform.  This is my masterclass.

This is my gift to myself and to the universe.

In 1m3s (peace) and with 6sd2s (love) always,



14 thoughts on “Stuck In My Bra

  1. Love it so far and look forward to reading more! I’ve always appreciated how real you are and wish more people offered the same. Cheers to your manifesto and your journey. xoxo

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Thanks for this Lisa! I just wrote something on a private Instagram account I have about the loss of a baby and struggling with secondary infertility. It’s ok, to not always be ok. Not quite ready to put it on my actual account but hey, baby steps. (pun intended) Love ya!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I knew immediately that I liked you! I have been fighting my bra since 1974 + find myself rebelling at age 61… I can’t wait to read more stuckinmybra!

    Liked by 1 person

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