Can People Change?

As I thought about this post, I quickly realized there are no simple answers, as there are an infinite amount of scenarios from which to draw one’s conclusions. My thoughts on this matter are based on my own personal experiences and my observations of the world at large which I can summarize in two short answers:

1) Yes, of course people can change; 2) it depends…

There are too many factors that go into someone’s ability to change to address in one short blog post. So I’ll touch on a few of these points.

I would love to hear about other people’s experiences and thoughts on the subject.

To my first point, Yes, people can change: Personally, I have been fortunate to have experienced changes in the most significant relationships in my life – and I suspect these are the result of subtle changes and growth that resulted not only in their growth but in mine.

When I was going through my divorce, my friend would often quote her mother, who was fond of the expression, A Leopard never change it spots; a phrase that is attributed to a verse in the bible, ; Can the Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his spots? then may ye also do good, that are accustomed to do evil. Jeremiah 13:23.

Sumeet Moghe

Her point was that I had been trying for 30 years to change my husband, who was less than considerate and often oblivious to other people’s needs. Once during a marriage counseling session, our counselor referred to him as a “Lion Heart”. He was so impressed with my husband’s large stature and feigned timidness that he seldom held him accountable when he didn’t show up for appointments or was caught telling lies.

What happened during the course of our marriage was that we both were becoming the worst versions of ourselves. Tied together for 30 years, I tried numerous tactics to get him to be someone other than he was, and he did the same with me. Several years after our divorce, we are on friendly terms and have found partners more suitable to our personalities. We are both happier and, I think, better people than we were when in a constant power struggle.

The second scenario that comes to mind is with my father. For many years our relationship was fraught. I felt I was a disappointment to him for my failings during my college years, and I was angry at him for being an absent father who cut me out when I needed him the most. I was both thankful that he had persevered during what must have been a living hell for him, raising four kids and dealing with my mom who had paranoid schizophrenia. When she was in and out of the hospital, he relied on others to take care of us. When she was home from the hospital, he was often away working long hours, and there were lots of things that went on that we had to deal with on our own. When he was home, I often played counselor to him, listening to how her illness impacted him, while the extent of his support for me was to tell me to just stay out of her way. When he kicked me out of the house with only a $50 bill, I felt alone and abandoned.

It wasn’t until my mom passed away many years ago, that my relatioship with my dad started to change. He is 90 years old now, and over the years we have grown closer, and he has become a more open, expressive person, who has been there for me during some tough times. He is still prone to talking only about himself, and I’ve spent a fair amount of time taking care of him, but there is a softer side to him now, and I am so grateful that we have a relationship now that I never would have dreamed would be possible in an earlier time.

Which leads me to my second point; people’s ability to change depends on many different factors. In my mom’s case, her illness made it difficult for her to sustain any sort of change in her ways of interacting with my family. Resources were few, medications were helpful but often caused debilitating side effects, and she was locked into a viscious cycle of paranoia and stupor which greatly impacted her relationships. Nonetheless, she bravely tried to meet the needs of our family, cooking, cleaning, shopping, etc. Adverse childhood experiences impacted her as well, and she was prone to rages when she was unable to cope.

Poverty and environment can be a big factor in whether or not a person is able to change. When all of one’s energy is going towards survival and there are no resources or people around to assist, then making significant gains is extremely difficult, leading to generations of people who are stuck in a rut. Society contributes to this dilemma by maintaining systems and judgments about who is worthy and who is not, drawing invisible (and often real) borders that make it almost impossible to break through. Lack of education, housing, medical care, and support can hold down the most resiliant of people, and yet there are still so many examples of people who through extreme circumstances were able to raise themselves up.

The problem is when everyone is expected to be able to “pull themselves up by their bootstraps” regardless of their individual obstacles and barriers.

It seems like many in society are quick to blame the less fortunate for their circumstances, as if we were all able to choose where we were born.

Power is another factor that seems to make it difficult for a person to change. One need only look at some of the recent leaders as well as those historical figures who have committed horrible atrocities with no remorse, driven by ideaologies that they are so entrenched in despite the harm they cause. What is so perplexing about these people is how they are able to get so many others to follow along with them to do their evil in the name of politics, religion, bigotry, and hatred. It is as if the world is afflicted with it’s own version of an autoimmune disease, with these entities destroying their own cells.

One story that gives me great hope is that of Megan Phelps-Roper, who was able to completely change her point of view and resulting hateful actions. Megan grew up in the Westboro Baptist Church, whose members were known for their hateful messages, views against gay people, and harassment of public figures such as picketing a soldier’s funeral with signs that said “Thank God for Dead Soldiers” and “You’re going to Hell”. Megan learned from an early age to eshew these viewpoints, and was out there picketing with the rest of the church members. She regularly posted her hateful views on Twitter, and would get into debates with people on that platform. Eventually she started listening to their viewpoints, and was able to completely change and walk away from this destructive church, even though it meant leaving behind people that she loved. If you want to be inspired by her story, I suggest reading her book Unfollow.

I could continue you with many other examples from various angles and points of view. In a later post, I will share more details about my own transformations over the years, and I would love to hear from others as well.

Blogging and Working From Home


“Practice any art, music, singing, dancing, acting, drawing, painting, sculpting, poetry, fiction, essays, reportage, no matter how well or badly, not to get money and fame, but to experience becoming, to find out what’s inside you, to make your soul grow.” – Excerpt from Kurt Vonnegut’s letter to Xavier students

Over the past couple of years I’ve been working from home. I recently took a short 3 month break and started a new job. My aspirations for my time off were to write a book, but instead I enjoyed my new found freedom by getting out in my garden, biking, swimming, exercising, and spending more time with my family and friends. Being at a computer all day on zoom calls and working on difficult projects had worn on me, and I did not have the energy to do any significant writing other than participating in the writing challenges I mentioned in a previous post.

So, here I am back in the same situation, although this job thus far does not seem to be as demanding. I don’t have to manage anyone, and I am working with a lovely small team of young, ambitious men and women. We have calls without cameras on, which I personally prefer. It can be exhausting being on calls all day with a camera on. At least it is for me — an extraverted introvert. I do kind of miss seeing everyone else’s faces, but not having to show mine.

Working from home is challenging for me because there is no separation between what needs done at work versus what I see that needs done around the house. I can’t simply tune it out by leaving the house; instead I need to ignore my impulses when I notice all of the things that need done around here when I am supposed to be on the clock working. The upside is that for someone like me who has trouble sitting still for very long, I can break away and do some of the smaller chores during the day, leaving more time in the evening to enjoy myself.

When I had my previous blog, Shirley’s Heaven, I would go into the office very early in the morning, and that is when I seemed to do my best writing, when nobody was around. I tend to have a lot of thoughts and ideas in the morning, so it was a perfect time to get things onto paper. My tendency when working from home is to sign in first thing, so that my little green light shows I’m available, and I put pressure on myself to be “on”, pushing my creative voices aside.

The nice part about this job is that everyone else is in central time zone, so I can take that first hour of the day when nobody is signed on to do my blogging.

I don’t always even know what I want to blog about, but I love the idea that Kurt Vonnegut put forth in his letter to his students about practicing any art – and that is what I love about blogging. It allows me to venture into different areas each day.

I’m setting aside my fear of being judged or worrying about how it turns out. I’m blogging today for the sake of feeding my soul today.

Blogging Dilemmas

May we all write fearlessly today.

I am excited to be blogging again, after taking a couple of years off. My previous blog had grown over several years, and I had a pretty good following. The blog was focused on mental health issues and morphed into other areas as I started doing some of the writing, poetry, and photography challenges. It was a lot of fun and made each day’s events potential topics for a post.

My dilemma is, I know I want to keep blogging but I haven’t quite decided what I want my blog to be about.

As I go about my days, I often find myself thinking of ideas to write about but by the end of the day I have forgotten all about it. It seems to be easier to think about writing than to actually write!

In the past year I started doing a couple of things to encourage my creativity.

1) I subscribed to the Isolation Journals with Suleika Jaouad . She is the author of Between Two Kingdoms, and started her the Isolation Journals on substack during the peak of COVID lockdown, when everyone was feeling so isolated. She is a true inspiration and is now writing about her recent cancer relapse. I started getting her email writing prompts and participating in her 100 day project, which helped me think of things to write about. Unfortunately I didn’t complete a project.

2) I participated in Jami Attenberg’s 1000 words, which encouraged writing 1000 words a day for two weeks. Knowing I was participating in a project with so many others who love to write was encouraging and fun.

My biggest obstacle in writing is my own inner critic combined with my somewhat guarded personality. I’m an extroverted introvert by nature. I like a certain amount of attention and gain energy from being with others, but I am also inhibited and highly self conscious when it comes to sharing my thoughts and ideas. It makes for an interesting combination when trying to write freely without all of the worries about being criticized and judged.

My takeaway from participating in those projects is that we write and create as a way to express ourselves. It is hard to shamelessly present myself to the world. It feels like a huge risk and yet I am compelled to do so. I’ve felt this way since I first held a pencil and started writing, and drawing, and day dreaming.

Whenever my granddaughter spends the night, I tell her a bedtime story that I make up as I go along. She sometimes throws out prompts for me to follow, such as Myeshia is 17 now and can drive, and I’ll kick it off by saying she gets to take a trip to the moon.

It is in the imagination that we can set ourselves free, and though I’m not always sure where my imagination will take me, I feel compelled to follow, nonetheless.

Favorite Chilhood Memories – Washing My Sisters’ Hair

One of my favorite childhood memories is of those weekday mornings when my mom slept in, and I was in charge of taking care of my baby sisters. After feeding them a breakfast of French toast (which I usually ended up eating most of) my favorite thing to do was to wash their hair at the kitchen sink.

The sessions started with the squeak of our ironing board, as I opened it up and adjusted the height so that it was level with the edge of the kitchen sink. Next, I would lay out a fresh, clean towel on the board, set the baby shampoo on the counter, and playfully lift my 3-1/2 year-old darling sister up onto the board.  I still recall the scent of her neck and strawberry blonde locks against my cheek as I lifted her, a mixture of a fresh summer breeze, syrup and milk, and a dash of sweet toddler sweat.  She would obediently lie down on the board, following my instructions to “scooch up a bit and cover your eyes with this washcloth” while I tested the running water with my forearm and then filled a plastic sippy cup to the top.

“Here comes” I would say, as I poured the warm water over her fine curls, watching her pink cheeks fill up until they reached a darker shade of magenta as she giggled “it tickles”.  I’d sing “This is the way we wash our hair” to her while I lathered her hair with the baby shampoo, in between deep inhales to catch a whiff of its signature smell, formulated to linger on the heads of babies and toddlers everywhere to the delight of everyone who held them. Perhaps this scent is what made it so hard to resist them, despite their occasional temper tantrums.

Once the washing was over (usually after a couple of wash, rinse and repeat sessions) she would sit up and I would wrap a warm towel around her head, turban style, massaging the towel gently around her head as I wrapped. I’d remove the wet towel from around her shoulders and drop it onto the counter, wrapping another fresh towel around her shoulders to stop her from shivering.

Standing by impatiently, waiting her turn, was my 2-year-old sister, a tiny little blonde-haired angel. I would sing to her a made-up tune – “your turn is coming soon” and I’d offer her a couple of animal crackers, which she adamantly refused. Animal crackers were not enough of a distraction for this clever little one, jumping around under my feet.

The fine locks of a toddler are easy to towel dry, and in no time the oldest would be running about proudly, showing off her beautiful golden pink curls framing her rosy cheeks, looking like one of those cherubs in a Michelangelo painting. The session wasn’t complete until I’d dressed her up in one of the home-made sundresses I’d made especially for her. When she was all done, I’d send her off to play, with an animal cracker in hand; unlike her younger sister, she never refused an animal cracker.

Next up, the 2-year-old, who was more outspoken about her aversion to the slightest drop of water that might penetrate the washcloth she pressed against her tightly closed eyes. She wriggled about and vacillated between giggles, “that tickles”, to crying out “ouch – hair! No! too much!” All this carrying on invariably turned the rinsing process into a mini wrestling match.  Her hair was soft and fine, and each strand seemed to be growing at a different rate. It took only a couple of minutes to dry her hair, and with her long eye lashes, big blue eyes, and shaggy blonde tendrils, she looked like a baby version of Goldie Hawn.

There was something so delightful about seeing my beloved sisters dancing about with their freshly washed hair, dressed in the dainty sundresses I had sewn. In those moments, I could block out all the other things going on at home. I had a purpose and could endure anything for these two. I was the big sister, not the burdensome daughter who could not even be trusted to dress herself appropriately. I was no longer the awkward teen who might be banished to her room for weeks if she did not meet some unspoken, impossible to decipher expectation. My world felt rational, peaceful, and beautiful, as the girls took their turns with me swinging them around playfully, dancing, laughing, and hugging them, the scent of baby shampoo lingering in my memory until the day’s end. They were the center of my world, and what kept it rotating, no matter what else was going on in my life.

The girls showing off with our brother

Thank Goodness for Family and Friends

I am so grateful for my sisters, my daughters, my husband, friends, and my in-laws. They have provided me with the moral and physical support I needed to get through this mishap. I now have a “bionic elbow” (replacement), and things are going well with the help of all of these people in my life.

I used to be somewhat apprehensive about spending a week in Michigan, in such close quarters with 30 of my husband’s family members, but now, back in the quiet of my home, I realilze I miss them and am so glad to have them all in my life.

I don’t like to depend on people, but sometimes we all need a little help. It makes me think about the times I was “too busy” to reach out and provide support when someone was going through a tough time, and I want to remember this and do better in the future.

I start my new job on Monday, and if today is any indication of how it will go, then I think I’ll do fine. I am able to type this blog post without much difficulty or pain, using both hands. That’s a big relief for me, and I’m feeling quite optimistic right now.

R. B Photographer

Wishing for Blue Skies Ahead

It’s hard to type with my arm in this contraption. I’m having surgery tomorrow on my elbow and hoping the outcome is good. I want to get back to enjoying my swimming and running as soon as possible. I’m not so sure about the biking. I’ll have to see how it goes. At the moment I feel like throwing my bike in the lake!

Right now I’m just wishing for blue skies ahead.

Vacation Blues – Broken Arm

We are leaving this beautiful place today. I have a broken arm and a broken ego from the fall I took on my bike two days ago. My helmet saved my head but I had trouble acting quickly enough when making a U-turn on a gravel road to get out of my new clips. Sadly, My elbow took the brunt of the fall. I want to throw my bike into the lake with those darn clips right now!

I’ll be out of commission for about six weeks. I’m typing this on my iPhone with my right hand, which happens to be my non-dominant hand. Everyone has been so kind and helpful the past few days. My husband has the nicest family.

I’m practicing the mantras “shit happens” and “this too shall pass”. I’m trying not to think about the other shoe that dropped.

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