Welcome to Honor Your Truth, The “Is It True? Series” Episode One Hundred Two “If It’s not broken, then why fix it?”

I broke up with a boyfriend over a metal shelf. We were trying to put it together in the basement. He got mad and bent the frame in two with his bare hands. Although it may sound Incredible Hulk-ish, the thing was so chintzy that I could have done it with one hand. But why would I? It’s a shelf.

It was also a straw, the last one. It is interesting to me how I choose to live with intolerables for years and then all of the sudden… I’m done. Time served. Lesson learned. Move on. This man was angry. He would go into rages. His son and I would sit there holding hands and our breath, until it would pass. Then, he would act like nothing happened and wonder what was wrong with us.

I was scared of him, but I didn’t trust myself. Now, as I look back, I wish I had gotten out sooner, much sooner. However, I accept that I couldn’t. I did the very best I could do at the time.

I would rather go to the dentist than put IKEA furniture together. I cannot believe there are some people that actually enjoy such things. They consider it “fun.” Not me! When I’ve been running around, making decisions and schlepping it home, the last thing I want to do is put the darn thing together.

The directions overwhelm me. Something as simple as connecting this with that, has been so detailed out that it confuses me. The simple appears far too complex, so I don’t use thedirections. Then, when I need them, I have no idea where I am in the whole scheme of things.

Do you remember the test we all took (at least once) while serving time as students…? At the top it says, “Do Not Take This Test.” The teacher stresses the importance of reading the directions thoroughly. Was your pencil down or was your head down? Were you already a few questions into it by the time the gig was up? I know I was. By the time my head came up, everyone was staring at us. I am not unique, nor am I ever alone.

“Gadgety-fixity” types get off on that IKEA stuff. I must admit I like that in a person. They can put anything together and fix just about everything. If they don’t know how… they figure it out. They work on cars, disposals, gutters, computers and even guitars.

However, there is one combination I avoid… a “gadgety-fixity” crossed with a “clutter-keeper.” Trust me. They never throw or give anything away. They rationalize keeping everything, because they will fix it one day (they really mean to and worse yet, they can).

But, projects pile up. Everything they come across on the side of the road is gonna be something golden. They create fantastic detailed solutions for issues that I didn’t even know I had. These hybrid-types are going to make this, fix that, put this with that and turn it into this or that. The result is rooms lined with stuff like wallpaper. They see potential in everything. I must remember that the glass is always half full.

Everyone and everything does have its positives and negatives. I don’t want to discuss how to get the mattress up the stairs. I just want to get the mattress up the stairs. I don’t want to map it out. I don’t want to discuss all the possible problems and their solutions… problems I don’t know I have or will ever have.

In the moment, I’ll figure it out. However, that does leave some poor souls wrestling with a piece of furniture in a corner or on the stairs. One is pinned to the wall and one is blue-in-the-face. I’m better off staying out of it entirely I suppose. I had a box-spring in my garage until I sold it because I never did figure out how to get it up to the bedroom. Options were discussed.

My idea was to move the bedroom to the living room and vice-versa. The other involved cutting out a part of the ceiling. It could have been done, but I opted for buying an entirely different bed frame, requiring the mattress only. I have a bed that I like and no hole in the ceiling that may or may not get fixed. Case closed, but that’s me.

I am rarely able to fix what is broken, let alone what isn’t. I fixed a lamp cord that had an on-off switch once. I have fixed some broken things. It does take a considerable amount of patience, knowledge, effort and most of all… time. I’m certainly not going to try fixing what isn’t broken. I have a list of things that are… the rubber flooring of my garage, the light over the back door, a gutter, the ladder that is permanently attached to my house and electrical wires overgrown with vines from the fence (left over from “a project”), the tail light on my car, a buzz in one of the frets on my guitar and so on. I’ll address these and others, as they arise. I would rather move on to repairing broken hearts and dreams, mine and anyone else’s I can positively affect, not by “trying” but by being. Honor Your Truth!

Debra Hadraba

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Welcome to Honor Your Truth, The “Is It True? Series” Episode One Hundred One “A rolling stone gathers no moss”

There is a beach on Washington Island that is covered with rocks, not sand. The beach consists of millions of smooth white “perfect” rocks. When you emerge from the trees out into the open air, you find yourself gazing upon an awe-inspiring site. The water looks bluer than the usual greenish brownish blue. It is called SchoolHouse Beach, if you ever find yourself stranded on an island and it’s this one. There isn’t much typical touristy stuff to do there, not as much as on the peninsula, but it’s peaceful. You can get to it by taking the ferry from Gills Rock in Door County, on the tip of the “thumb” of Wisconsin.

There are 2 FYI’s when visiting Schoolhouse Beach. First I should define FYI because I discovered some people actually don’t know what it means. I work for Julie’s Park Café & Motel during “the season.” It is my job to train the staff who come from all over the world. One season I had taken to using the acronym FYI.  I use the word “nuts” right now instead of “S _ _ T.” At one time or another I have used, “fiddlesticks, crumb-balls, katywompus, dude, word” and so on. I use them for a while and then I move on. I still use FYI at work but unless I preface it with a definition undoubtedly someone is going to say, “Debra please what is FYI?” So just in case… it means, “for your information.”

The first FYI for SchoolHouse Beach is that you should definitely have a pair of shoes on, preferably ones with more substance than flip flops. You come upon this magnificent beach and when you actually go to walk on it, it hurts! You cannot stroll this beach, nor can you throw a towel down and bask in the sun. Ideally, bring the cushion from your lawn chair. The second FYI is, although I cannot imagine the law actually being enforced; do not take any rocks as a souvenir. There is a fine. While the rocks may appear perfectly pristine, they are not without certain drawbacks. Not only is “no one” perfect, but “no-thing” is perfect either.

In California, on your way to Palm Desert from San Diego, you will come across a very unique terrain as you begin heading up into the mountains. It is filled with varying sizes of large boulders. They are round and covered with moss in spots. Big patches of very grass-green moss cover these rocks and make it look like Hobbitville, to me anyway… although I’ve never been anywhere inhabited by Hobbits.

I imagine people living in humble dwellings underneath the rolling hills. The rocks look like large mushrooms of all sizes. Some moss is edible I hear. I’ve not partaken of this fare, but I would if I absolutely had to. I should study up on lichen so I know which kind are safe. I wouldn’t want to make a mistake. If there are really hobbit houses in those hills, I want to live in one.

I want to wake up in the morning, stretch my arms out and breathe the fresh air. I want to skip along with a back pack or jump onto a bicycle with a basket. I could wear my Girl Scout sash and show off all my badges, although it probably wouldn’t impress them very much.  They know about all that stuff… like citizenship, community, first aid, sewing, gardening, cooking, etc. They know about the Girl Scout Law.

“I will do my best to be honest and fair, friendly and helpful, considerate and caring, courageous and strong, and responsible for what I say and do. And to respect myself and others, respect authority, use resources wisely, make the world a better place, and be a sister to every Girl Scout”

Actually, I could abide this law now. I don’t need to move to Hobbitville to do it. I could make the world a better place from where I am and be a sister to everyone. I could use resources more wisely and recycle EVERYTHING. I could take responsibility for my life and what I do and not fall into blaming, being apathetic, letting life happen “to me” like a victim. I could ask myself these questions, Am I honest, fair, friendly, helpful, considerate, caring, courageous, strong?

I could even ask these very same questions of the chatter in my head. Is it helpful, etc.? Is the answer yes?  Or is the noise up in my head completely of no value to myself and others? Am I operating from a conscious place where I observe this useless chatter and let it go… or do I listen, react, and act as if it’s real? I  am not the chatter in my head. I exist beyond my mind. Therein lies my truth and I honor it. HONOR YOUR TRUTH!

Debra Hadraba

If you would like to pre-order my new 7-song CD, “Time On Fire” which includes a lot of extra goodies like an eBook called “Lessons from the Heart,” just step on over to the home page at HonorYourTruth.com

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Welcome to Honor Your Truth, The “Is It True? Series” Episode One Hundred  “One is too many, one hundred is never enough”

Dad always told me “when you have the ball, keep running.” Growing up, his dream was to coach major league football. Much of his wisdom was imparted to us using the football model, minus the blackboard and the chalk. He told me that I should never turn around to see what trailed behind me, so I didn’t. I looked ahead. He never warned me not to look ahead. Maybe I shouldn’t have looked ahead because it was then that I choked. Inches away from finishing projects, I have been know to panic. In the language of my dear ole’ Dad, I came up with my own “play”… focus on the next 10!

Call it fear of failure, fear of success, its fear of something. With just a few more strides to get there, my head will take command of my feet. This has been one of those times…my head said, “feet, stay in bed.” I know exactly how it happened. I started thinking, thinking, thinking… and I froze.

I was walking along just fine… doo da dee da doo da dee… and someone or something threw a cup over me like I was part of a magic trick. I immediately shrank to the size of a little person living on the island of Lilliput – the island that Gulliver stumbled upon in his travels. Suddenly, I am reduced to a small girl, one 12th the size of normal girls. I’m 6” tall and I’m living under a cup. I am like a child and I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing anymore. I no longer trust myself to know. These thoughts seem wild and out of my control, but they aren’t. It’s just a little game my mind plays.

Here I am and I can’t see a thing from underneath this cup. There are forces outside, currently unknown to me, swirling me around. They are hoping to confuse and elude the eye of any passerby who might stop and guess my location. I want to scream, “Pick me, pick me,” so someone will come free me, but it doesn’t work that way. I hyperventilate and worry. There isn’t any air. I mumble to myself, “I’m never getting out of here,” though I know it also doesn’t serve me to be so doom-and-gloom and negative. But it is dark and I feel trapped as I’m going through motions that don’t seem to be my own.

My mind’s a good magician. It could take a while to spot a sneaky slight-of-hand. It’s had a lot of practice to keep me stuck in my own head. But the odds are one in three, fairly good compared to most. So I leave it up to chance and I wait. I do nothing, spin my wheels. I’m at the mercy of deception, if I’m letting fate decide. Will a stroke of luck come find me? Am I a bunny in the hat and I will jump around the room? Am I a flower in the jacket that bursts out in a bloom… or a white dove in a scarf that spreads its wings to fly?

No, It wants me stuck here curled up in a ball, hiding under one of its little plastic cups. It tells me that it’s safe here, that nothing needs to change. I know what to expect when everything stays the same. It fools me with its reasons and all its lies start making sense. But I can stop this if I choose to. I can picture the ball rolling.

All I need to do is tip the cup over and say I’m done. Tell my mind that I’m done playing.

This is really nothing new. I’ve been in this place before. I’ll be going along just fine and then I start to doubt myself. I’m not enough. I think too much. I analyze. I make it much more than it is. My mind starts singing its own song, thinking it’s so cool, “perfectionisticfragilisticexpialidocious.” If I stop moving and I listen, I get real busy, stuck in time. I’m swirling, spinning, churning in my mind, Yah, it’s safe to stay sheltered underneath the cup. But it’s a trick. You can’t breathe there. I’m not free to move around. No matter what I do, if I move or I stand still, I never will be perfect; nothing will be perfect… unless of course I say it is, I see it is, I know it is… it is perfect in my eyes. I Honor My Truth.

Debra Hadraba

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Welcome to Honor Your Truth, The “Is It True? Series” Episode Ninety-Nine “Reach for the moon, if you miss, you may land on a star”

The moon goes through phases. It isn’t static, it changes. Although I am on my way to get there, it could be very different once I do. And when I get “there”, then I’ll be going somewhere else. We are energy which needs to be in motion. The moon continually orbits the earth. It’s not going to stop and wait for me to secure my target. But it’s not what I accumulate, it’s what I’m willing to let go of so my journey can be lighter, freer. The purpose is never in the destination or what prize is waiting for me when I arrive.

For a long time I wanted to know beforehand what was going to happen. I wanted to avoid all pain. Taking action, particularly the first step, is kinda scary when we don’t know how or if it will pan out. Will there be a piece of gold left when I finish sifting through the stones? If I let it, this fear can paralyze me. I can easily find countless reasons to derail and postpone my life under the covers of a bed… reasons that seem logical and safe. But I suspend those thoughts and make some room for possibilities.

The alternative is to let life happen to me. With or without me, my life is going to change. We can’t stop things from changing if we try. I can allow indecision to be my decision. I can relinquish all responsibility and live a life finding someone or something to blame. I don’t want that. I want to follow my heart. It isn’t a clear cut path. It has twists and turns. There are times when no matter how many people I ask for help, all directions lead to lost. I wander around trying to make sense of it all. I look up to the sky and I can’t even see the stars. I wonder if they disappeared or if they never did exist at all. Maybe I made them up in my own head. But the stars are always out; sometimes we just can’t see them. We must have faith that they are there regardless.

More is always revealed and then we know the reason. We see everything with hindsight if we’re lucky. We are given the opportunity to learn. My life has fit together like a puzzle and the sky has been the hardest part. Once the edge is complete, there are very few clues and all the pieces look the same. As I assemble little masses here and there, it gets easier and easier and easier. The picture comes together in a much more rapid pace. Once it is complete, we run our hand over the surface, back and forth we feel a peaceful pride. We did it. It is done. We may look at it for a while as it shines there on the table. Our masterpiece radiates achievement, but you can only gaze at it for so long. While we may frame it and put it on a wall, most often we take it apart so we can put it back together again. The real joy was in the making.

Recently I have become more aware of the moon as it cycles. Not only does the moon constantly reinvent itself, but so do I. As it is waxing, I begin to feel heavy and edgy. By the time it’s full, I am weepy or like a pissed-off cat. I am irritated or as apathetic as a stone. This was brought to my attention by those who choose to deal with me under all conditions. It isn’t as if I’m out there howling at it, but there is some kind of a pattern. I forget about it until I feel weird and then someone else will check the sky. I did hear somewhere that people are affected now more than ever before. However, I will not take this into consideration and own it as a “syndrome.” Many things affect me. It is my choice how much they do. My mind has energy and influence. Mind has much more power than matter ever does.

Things are not always as they seem. Outer space is not a dark night. It is a bright sunny day that has a black sky because there is no air to scatter the light. Stars are too dim to see in space. When we are walking the streets of the city, or sitting in a stadium, the sky looks black and empty. The stars are sparkling just the same. There may be a lot more going on underneath the surface than I am aware of. Maybe I’m a starseed and if I don’t do what I came here to do; I will burst like a gamma ray and turn into a black hole forever. I cannot comfortably settle in and sit idly as my life passes by me. I must remember who I am and why I’m here. Am I willing to expand and to evolve? Or will I choose to shut down and turn off the light already shining? I am in-Lightened. In the light of the moon and the stars, I can see everything. I know who I am. I can see my truth as it glimmers and it dazzles deep within me. I have all that I need. Our nature is divine. Honor Your Truth!

Debra Hadraba

Please, visit and join my BraveHeart Women Global Community at Honor Your Truth.

I have two Facebook Fan Pages: One is for Braveheart Women and the other is for my own Honor Your Truth Music Company.

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Welcome to Honor Your Truth, The “Is It True? Series”  Episode Ninety-Eight “If you build it, he will come”

I sat on the edge of my bed and my sister sat on a chair facing me directly. I had called her into my room to help me. At the time, I was not in my body… already operating rather unconsciously for  a number of years. This is theoretically known as dissociation, a result of trauma. It is a way of protecting oneself from further pain. The spirit simply goes away because it cannot take the physical harm anymore.  Nevertheless, while the body is then merely a shell, it does remember. I really don’t know what I was thinking except that on some level I couldn’t take the isolation and I guess I wanted someone to know. I believe this would be called “acting out” if I was 5, but I was 16 or so.

I had grabbed two tall plastic tumblers, filled them to the brim with whiskey from the cabinet and walked gingerly upstairs. I was gonna get as drunk as possible. I had no idea what that meant, being that I only drank once before at a slumber party. I had stolen a 6-pack of Old Milwaukee from the basement frig and hid it in my overnight bag. I considered sharing to mean 3 for me and 1 for each of the other 3 girls. I was the one who dared to steal them after all. I got hysterical. I spent the entire evening in tears. It wasn’t very fun. Why I would want to do it again is beyond me, but I did. I was making quite a step up from those few beers to what amounted to probably half a quart of hard alcohol.

Running from myself was what I did back then and for a very long time after. My heart was trying to say what my mind wanted to escape knowing. I was going to drink it all down and go to a Swing Choir rehearsal… one of the many bright ideas I had in my teens. Because we had won some competition, we were invited to Washington, DC to perform on the steps of the Capital. It was a major deal. I was not only a singer/dancer in the group, I was also the choreographer. I told my sister to make me drink it all down. I elected her as my cheerleader. She kept saying,”drink it, drink it, drink it.” I am the oldest and despite all threats from my parents, I was exactly what they feared most – a very bad influence. I got blamed for anything that anyone did wrong in the family.

I succeeded in drinking both tumblers.  I vaguely remember my boyfriend honking the horn. He was the drummer in the band. I don’t recall standing up, going downstairs, or getting into the car. The next thing I remember, I was asking him to drive up to the school doors because I would never be able to walk from the parking lot. I don’t know why in the world he would drop me off there and not conceal me, or make some excuse or something. I don’t think he knew what to do with me. I made it to the rehearsal and the next thing I remember is my Mom coming to pick me up. I was screaming and I would not go with her. Finally, my Dad showed up and I got in the car. He asked me what the matter was, what was wrong with me. Frankly, I had no idea.

Grounded, I got in the shower and left it running. I jumped out the window onto the deck, climbed over the fence, and ran the 2 miles back to school. The neighbors from a few blocks away said I was the only one they have ever seen cut through their rose bushes in the back. They were very thick and thorny. I tried going forward and ended up backing through them. I tore my clothes and kept going.

I hid outside until the rehearsal was over like a crazy person. When they all came out, the smokers – which included my boyfriend – went to “the fence” across the street. I followed them and he broke up with me. I don’t remember exactly what he said but the basic gist was that word was getting out and I would be tomorrow’s gossip at school.

He said something like, “I can’t handle it.” No matter how much mascara was running down my face, he would not reconsider. He kept telling me to calm down and then my Dad drove up again.

The next day I looked green. I wore my favorite black satin pant suit with the patent leather strappy heels to try and offset it. I always wore a floor length lacey white shawl with blue flowers on the back with this outfit. I have no idea why. This is not a get-up one can hide out in, but it was my favorite and I had a reputation to salvage. No matter how cool I thought it was, it did nothing to thwart the rumor that I was crazy and something was definitely wrong with me. This is something that I always believed and it would appear I was trying to prove true. The news flew around school and by lunch time I was in the bathroom stall asking God to help me. I could not handle the non-stop battering and humiliation.

From the first day I walked into that school – a transfer-student from Catholic school – I was in my own private hell. I could not find a clique that could contain me and therefore, I had no homies.  In a situation like that one, you gotta have homies or you’re pretty much screwed. I had no filter, no protection. I was who I was and I could not keep my pain a secret. I needed someone who could hear me and it felt like there was no one who would. Despite my 8+ years of religion, I didn’t believe there was a God who could either. I still don’t know if there is. I am still searching for a God of my understanding. I am still wishing to let go of the punishing God I know so well. I was a good student.  I Honor My Truth!

Debra Hadraba

Please, visit and join my BraveHeart Women Global Community at Honor Your Truth.

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Welcome to Honor Your Truth, The “Is It True? Series” Episode Ninety-Seven “Money can’t buy happiness”

I remember a set of markers that caught my eye like candy in a convenience store. There was every color you could possibly imagine in that set. Yellow wasn’t just yellow, it was lemon or school bus, dandelion or mustard. There were a hundred different shades of every different shade. I’m exaggerating somewhat but that’s the way I picture them, an array of color blazoned in my memory. They were good ones, pretty pricey, more than the usual pocket change I carried around. I dreamed about having those markers, but not necessarily using them. They were perfect and I wouldn’t want to ruin that. The thought of them made me feel safe and as if everything would be ok, Years later, I did buy a similar set, which I then moved from apartment to apartment unopened, but they always looked good.

I wished I had them with me while traveling with a boyfriend when our luggage was lost. It would have given life to them, a purpose beyond “just for show.” We were in quite a pickle. It meant possibly having to attend a fancy-shmancy dinner thingie in sweat pants. For some reason, he and I had taken to traveling in sweat pants. While they are very comfortable and in the event of a water evacuation much easier to manage than say heels or even jeans, if your luggage is lost, you’re in a situation. I just stood there waiting. I was certain my bag would fly out from behind the rubber curtain at any minute. It didn’t. Finally in a state of panicky acceptance, we advanced, not to baggage claim, but to “lost” baggage claim. Trust me; you do not want to see yourself at that counter upon arrival at your destination. Been there, done that, more than once.

They asked us to describe our bags of course. My boyfriend writes down purple. They weren’t purple. He scratches it out… blue. They weren’t blue. Ok, what the heck are they? Periwinkle. They were periwinkle. We actually had an argument over the color. I still maintain that I was right. The clerk of the domain of the lost bags didn’t know what periwinkle was either. As you know, oh ‘ye of the black bag club, all bags are black. Which is another topic… black bags… why are they all black? I don’t think it’s our fault. There is some kind of no match, multi-color stigma and black… well, it goes with everything. I don’t know what the deal is. People gave jeans a break. Jeans are understood to go with everything when clearly they do not. That being said, they were both making fun of my adamantcy. I maintained the bags were periwinkle which is its own color. You can’t liken it to blue-violet or plum, lilac or lavender. They aren’t even close. In that moment, I would have loved nothing more than to grab a marker from my holster and say… “I’ll show you periwinkle.”

But, I don’t even know what happened to those markers. Last time I saw them was sometime in the 80’s in some apartment in Chicago. I don’t remember ever using them. They could have plead my case so much easier than my attempt, all alone. Money does that. It can make things easier. It can help people. Money can’t buy the time I wish that it could, but it can buy freedom… freedom from having to worry about making it. With this freedom, we have the time to focus on what we love and how we can help people. We don’t have more time, but what we do have, we can use more freely. Happiness, we can’t buy it, so lucky us, it’s free. We can have it at any point along the way. It is there for the taking. Not from things, not from places, not from people… not from being, doing, having… it just is. Happiness. Honor Your Truth!

Debra Hadraba

Please, visit and join my BraveHeart Women Global Community at Honor Your Truth.

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Welcome to Honor Your Truth, The “Is It True? Series” Episode Ninety-Six “Don’t put all your eggs in one basket”

I make a rockin’ egg salad but you have to like hot stuff. I put sweet crunchy pickles, horseradish and jalapenos in mine for starters. My favorite sauce is Sriracha, the one with the rooster on the bottle. I put it on everything. One of my favorite beverages is squeezed lemons, real maple syrup and cayenne pepper. I love chocolate with chili peppers. You catch my drift. Above the restaurant where I work, lives the sweetest little family, along with as many as 15 other employees. Lilly is the baker and Mario is our maintenance guru. They have 3 darling children. The 2 little boys with cowboy boots and hats, hair slicked; impeccably dressed can be seen running in, out and around the kitchen. They will come whizzing through at any given moment. One boy likes the chocolate we use for the donuts and the eclairs. You will often catch him with a wad on a spoon. The other one likes anything spicy and hot. He carries around a spice jar. He runs, shakes some in his mouth, and runs some more. He loves it. I am that kid.

If I’m not sweating, then what’s the point mind you? If you hold your hand over my head, you should be able to feel an aura of heat pulsating back against your palm. Heck, you should see it. Our fabulously fun cooks are always trying to see if they can make me squirm. I order something and I see them waiting with a smile behind their eyes. When it gets that hot, I can’t really taste anything, nevertheless I will eat it. It’s not just a meal, it’s an experience. I am always looking to feel different, anything other than what I am feeling. Hot stuff will take my mind off everything else, kinda like a drug does. When I’m on fire, that’s all there is for that moment in time. Some may find this quite odd I know, but I find it a relief.

I was super starving in LA. I’d been at some seminar that started at dawn and I could barely get out of bed let alone eat breakfast. The most I could manage was coffee. I know. It’s not food, but to some, it kinda is. Before I knew it, I was having a late night hunger crisis. I found an authentic Mexican restaurant. Score! They’re the best. It was packed, but I was holdin’ a number and waitin’ for food. There was a condiment cart of sorts behind me filled with guacamole, limes, cilantro, green salsa, red salsa, all my faves….and peppers, all kinds of peppers. If there were chips, then the meal would have been nothing but a garnish, but there weren’t so I snuck a handful of peppers instead. I wolfed them down cuz I was way too hungry. Steam was coming out my ears. I seriously felt like I was going to pass out. I had to sit down. My hair felt hot. I kid you not when I tell you I considered leaving for the ER. I ate. I felt better.

There was another time that I harvested some peppers from my garden. I had planted all kinds. I had no idea what I had. That year not only did I cram my designated plot full of stuff, I had things planted all over the yard… tomatoes, cucumbers, and rhubarb mixing with the flowers and lettuce with the grasses. Regardless of their differences, the friends and enemies socialized alike. This allowed me quite a bit of room for tons of basil, rosemary, and of course peppers. This evening was not unlike any other, so I’m out there milking the crop in the dark. Occasionally I bring a flashlight, usually I don’t bother. I came in and was chopping up the peppers. In a matter of minutes, my hands were stinging, then sizzling, then burning. I considered calling 911 or just driving to United. Word travels fast in our town, the recovery capital of the world. I can imagine the news. Woman rushes self to hospital. Apparently believing her hands to be on fire and concerned they would simply fall off. I have quite an imagination.

So, as I was eating the egg salad I thought, people oughta know. For those who rock the hot stuff like me….they should have this recipe. But then I remembered how small the world is and the oatmeal. It took the longest time for me and my oatmeal recipe to disappear from the top of a Google search for my name. I actually wrote the magazine in which the article had been published and asked them to “take it down.” I’m sure they had a good laugh. In those days I didn’t, nor did most of my friends, have a computer. I had no idea what one measly 3 minute telephone interview would mean to my internet presence. If anyone was searching me, my rock star ex-husband, future husbands and so on…..according to the internet….I didn’t graduate high school, my brother was a racket ball champion, there was a Czech painter with my last name and I knew how to keep oatmeal from turning out like glue in a microwave.

I am extreme. Put it all on red. I will save a dollar in my pocket. As much as I am risky, I am also cautious. It’s an odd mix. I only lend what I am able to lose. I lend or bet it all if I believe. It would be nice if I believed more. I am a girl with a head full of chatter on her shoulders. Some would call it rational. I‘d often call it fear. My parents warned and then accused me of “burning the candle at both ends.” I didn’t listen and now at this point, I consider it a skill. I cannot do the sensible thing, and do “the other” on the side. I cannot save what I love for later or for spare time that never comes along. It didn’t work for me, so however crazy or impractical it may be, I do them both. I play it safe, but I play hard. There is no other way for I must pick up my own pieces if they fall, so I do not let them fall. I admire those who do though, those who dare to wage it all. Lose it all and get back up again. Today this is my story, tomorrow may change it all. I Honor My Truth!

Debra Hadraba

Please, visit and join my BraveHeart Women Global Community at Honor Your Truth.

I have two Facebook Fan Pages: One is for Braveheart Women and the other is for my own Honor Your Truth Music Company.

Get the latest insights and instant alerts to fresh posts by following me on Twitter:  @honoryourtruth.

My official Website can be found at: HonorYourTruth.com.

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Episode Ninety-Five: “Don’t worry, bee happy” and Honor Your Truth in the “Is It True?” Series

I generally don’t buy a Christmas tree. I am usually with my family in Chicago where there is always a tree with plenty of trimmings, along with a plethora of other holiday knicky-knacks. However, this particular year, I was throwing the annual work Christmas party at my house. Rather than having it at yet another restaurant, I thought it would be nice to experience something different. Most of us spent the majority of our waking hours spinning plates at the local diner. For a change, I’d make a home cooked meal.

So, in addition to the usual Debra-style decorations, a giant snowman in the front yard and what not, I felt the need for a good ole traditional pine tree. Besides, my mom, being the all around crafty type person that she is, makes one or two ornaments by hand every year for all of us kids. I never get to use them. They are delicately wrapped in tissue paper and stored in a plastic tub in my basement. The most I ever do is open the lid, put next year’s design inside, and slide the tub back under the stairs until next year. I was inspired by the idea of actually hanging them on a tree.

I set out to buy said tree at the neighborhood tree-buying place. Although it was a very snowy evening, it was warm enough to gleefully saunter around, the way I’ve seen people do in the movies. I suppose that is commonly known as being in the Christmas spirit. One of the first trees I saw was a teeny tiny one tilted against the fence and resting on a huge gorgeous one so as not to fall down. It was an interesting, seemingly parent-child type relationship.

I pulled it away from the fence and stood it upright. Straining to stand as tall as it could, it barely met my waist and it was really misshapen. There was no side that looked quote-unquote normal. The little tree had pretty many needles and stuff, kind of pudgy actually, but it was sad. I could feel it. Although I was in fact looking for a small one to match my small house which would be crammed with 20+people, I leaned it back against the fence just as I had found it.

I continued to stroll along, combing the aisles. They were all beginning to look the same to me. I was waiting for the perfect one to reach out and grab me while singing “pick me Debbie, won’t cha just pick me.” I made a final swoop through the lot. There was that tree again, only this time its father was gone. I almost sat down and cried right then and there.

I kept thinking about it as I finished my last loopedy-loop through the man-made forest. I could not get my mind off that lonely, sad, little tree, so I took it home. Previously, I had anticipated proudly parading around town with it strapped to my roof, which is, by-the-way, an integral part of the tree buying process, but it fit easily in the back seat.

This tree was just plain different all around. I couldn’t get it to go into the tree stand. It was as if the thing was talking to me from the time I put it in my car. It didn’t like the screws boring holes into its trunk. Call me crazy, but that tree spoke to me! It begged me to take it home and it begged me to listen.

Every time I walked by that tree, I’d notice it grew prettier, more colorful and even brighter. It joined the other artifacts in my house that draw me to them when I pass. Myron’s picture on the frig, a friend of mine since passed away, that will catch my eye and tell me what I need to hear, when I need to hear it. The miniature white fur coat I wore when I was 3, hanging in the closet, that also speaks to me. Reminding me that there is always the precious element of time, of what once was and what will never be. Like these and other things, the tree spoke its own wisdom.

When the guests made their way over, we laughed, we ate, we laughed. The room was all aglow, a fuzzy haze of light. I felt the tree get stronger; I felt it liked its life. Me, the freezing snowman, mom’s ornaments and more, had the history we knew and the possibility of more.

Even when I feel so sure that it will never work, that something-to-look-forward-to, to laugh about, will never heal my pain… it’s the simple things, the gratitude, a friend who cares that can save me. In the middle of the party, wrapping paper and mistletoe, the tree looked like it was peaceful, even happy. Because laughter is infectious and with the dream of something new, a curtain comes unveiled… and there’s always something new. Inspiration is contagious, it leads unto the other. Hold onto special moments. Be true. Be you. Be Now. Honor Your Truth!

Debra Hadraba

Please, visit and join my BraveHeart Women Global Community at Honor Your Truth.

I have two Facebook Fan Pages: One is for Braveheart Women and the other is for my own Honor Your Truth Music Company.

Get the latest insights and instant alerts to fresh posts by following me on Twitter: @honoryourtruth.

My official Website can be found at: HonorYourTruth.com.

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Episode Ninety-Four  “You bloom where you are planted” in the Honor Your Truth, “Is It True?” series

The point is to bloom. Bloom wherever you happen to be. We’ve all been planted here on Earth together… it matters not the place. I am not always cognizant of just how many people there are in the world and that there are so many different places and cultures. It’s cool, but kind of freaky when I do think about it. It’s a “Big World”. I even have a song with that title. A song I wrote many years ago. When I wrote it, I was looking outside myself for any person, place or thing that would assure me I belonged, that I mattered. “anxious hearts lurk under each roof, of everywhere you are, in our haste, to change the place, and the lives we’ve been liven, we looked outside, looked around, instead of to all what we’ve been given.” I was restless and uncomfortable, and even though I was living where I had spent most of my life, I felt lost. I didn’t fit. I knew the streets of Chicago like the back of my hand, but I never felt the peace of home. Just when the chaos would begin to settle and I would start to feel the ground, I’d also want to run.

I thought I’d move to Oregon. We used to go there every summer when I was growing up. I figure it was the nostalgia mostly. I have many fond memories of that time. I would sit for hours and watch the waves crash against the rocky coast. The water would rush through canals and crevices you’d be sure to drown in if you fell. I always feared dying at the Devils Churn or the Devils Punchbowl yet I’d go there tempting fate. It seemed something always kept me from feeling safe. No matter how much I liked a thing, I feared it just the same. I loved the feel of the salt air brushing against my face and the way it whipped my hair around. I would stroll along the beach in a wistful trance and fantasize about what my life would be like. I wanted to go back to those days when I believed that anything was possible if I only dared to dream. I thought I must go there and recapture what I lost…the innocence of a child, the eagerness of a kid. If only I could go there, then my “real life” would start. I would finally feel at home within myself. I’d connect my center to the ground and I could breathe again.

Selling happily the things you wished would disappear, even though their spirit lingers in the air and in the tears. You leave behind what you can’t carry. You can wash the man out of the hair, but the ghosts keep turning up. You see him at the Walgreen’s, at the SA or the Cub, when you haven’t had your coffee; you’re puffy or messed up. So you pack up what’s leftover and you cram it in your car. You head for greener pastures, sometimes near, sometimes far. This, my friends, is known in the recovery circle as a “geographical cure.” The accusation would sound something like this “you know she’s doin’ a geographical.” Although most in the circle would argue that it doesn’t, I believe it does work….sometimes. Sometimes one needs to get out of dodge and start over. Maybe they can’t set boundaries like they’d like to, or there are way too many memories, or for whatever reason a fresh start sounds good. It works like a jump start but you gotta keep it going. The glitch is whatever you’re running from never really leaves. It resurfaces. It’s you. And it’s you who has to change.

I was running from a lot of things. I never made it out to Portland. I landed in St. Paul. Not exactly the coastal breeze I was looking for. I hid. I had secrets. I never talked about my life, what happened and what my dreams were. I never forgave myself for all I failed at, what I did or didn’t do, what I said or didn’t say. I could have been anyone if I wanted, but I couldn’t be myself. I sometimes wish I had another life. I feel insignificant like George Bailey did. I’ve seen the movie. I know it’s not good. I sometimes wish there were do-overs like friends let you have when you were young. I’d probably make the same mistakes…and probably on purpose. They’ve made me who I am, they’ve taught me what I know. You can’t bloom where you are planted if you don’t resist and grow. I’ve grown and gone through seasons. I’ve blossomed as I choose to and even more as I let go. I allow it all to happen, effortless as it does. As it will, right where I am. I Honor My Truth!

Debra Hadraba

Please, visit and join my BraveHeart Women Global Community at Honor Your Truth.

I have two Facebook Fan Pages: One is for Braveheart Women and the other is for my own Honor Your Truth Music Company.

Get the latest insights and instant alerts to fresh posts by following me on Twitter: @honoryourtruth.

My official Website can be found at: HonorYourTruth.com.

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Welcome to Honor Your Truth, The “Is It True? Series”  Episode Ninety-Three  “Not Everything that shines is gold”

No one knows this like the gold digger. Pan after pan, hope after hope, kinda like pull tabs. I’m not judging, just saying, because if I was sitting there with a beer in my hand, I may pull like the best of them. However, I have never pulled a tab. I might even be saying it wrong, not using proper pull tab lingo. I didn’t even know they existed until recently. I can’t remember where I was, but they were in piles on tables all over the place. I was my usual doofus self and said, “are those coupons?” I don’t really know what one does with them. I would venture to say there are many things I am completely out-of-the-loop on.

I haven’t played the lotto much either, maybe 3 or 4 times. Frankly, I was thinking about this and it might not necessarily be something to brag about. What does it mean when I can’t even fantasize ever winning? My mom did always say “We are a family that is not meant to have money.” She repeatedly implied that if we did, it would be nothing but trouble. If we had any money above and beyond the bare minimum, we’d all be dead, crazy, stupid or otherwise. Interestingly enough, all of us are at best making ends meet, some are really struggling. My Dad at 76 is still waiting for his “ship to come in” and my mom is still rolling her eyebrows. Now odds are I won’t win the lotto. It is probably not in my best interest to live my life as if it’s only a matter of time, so let me just go ahead and kick it on the couch with a bag of chips. On the other hand, it still might be interesting to reflect upon why I don’t ponder the possibility… imagine what it would be like, if only for a moment.

Nevertheless, I have made some progress. I used to say, “I never win anything,” whenever the conversation called for a response of that nature. I do have a sister that says she never wins anything and when challenged, would argue her case with certainty. Yet even with this negative mindset, she often does win… money, prizes, games, etc. You definitely want to bring her to the fair. It appears to work just fine for her. But I saw “The Secret.” I know thoughts have energy. I know about the power of intention. Although in addition to envisioning, I lean even more towards the idea that, “if you build it, he will come.” The smallest bit of action is where the real power lies. It affirms that I believe the thought and therefore, adds more oomph. Meaning, not only do I focus my attention on that which I want, I begin to take the steps towards it. I must build the bridge that spans the gap between where I am and where I need to be in order to receive what I desire. It may be a physical bridge; it may also be emotional, spiritual. Regardless, I must begin to act. So if winning the lottery was my dream, for starters I must buy a ticket. Because of course it is true, you gotta play to win.

I must be fluid. What might look like something I desire might be something different all together when I get closer. My perception can color a thing. With more information, my perception can change. I see further when I get there. As a kid, we would comb the coast of Oregon, hunting for rocks and shells. Sometimes a beautiful shiny colored thing would pop up at you. You’d reach to grab it, and discover it was neither rock, nor shell…but green glass from a bottle. I love the color green and I love those little glass pieces softened by the water. I imagine they come from someone’s love note in the sea. The note’s been found and the eager lover left the bottle in the sand. What means nothing to some, might mean everything to others. What looks like “gold”, might not be. What looks like only shiny rock, may actually be “gold”. I might find that I don’t want the “gold” when I get it or think I don’t want it when I do. I can’t get too far ahead of myself. My mind may be miles away from my spirit. It’s best I keep it all together in the present. Presence, patience, calm consistency, more will always be revealed. I Honor My Truth!

Debra Hadraba

Please, visit and join my BraveHeart Women Global Community at Honor Your Truth.

I have two Facebook Fan Pages: One is for Braveheart Women and the other is for my own Honor Your Truth Music Company.

Get the latest insights and instant alerts to fresh posts by following me on Twitter:      @honoryourtruth.

My official Website can be found at: HonorYourTruth.com.

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