From Claudio's Journal

I often ran errands for my mother when I was 15 years old, walking the familiar route from our house to the business district of our small town. That morning in 1943, as I passed the cemetery, my eyes were drawn to an unusually large, dark shape atop a wall near the front gates. The typical early-day mist had still not cleared, so I could not quite make out what it was. I went closer. Very soon I would regret my curiosity.

As I drew near the cemetery, the form of a huge man came into focus. Dressed in his Nazi military uniform, he lay face down on the stone wall, dead. I instinctively averted my eyes from this disturbing spectacle, but in doing so caught sight of something else off to the right. Something bizarre and far more horrible. Strangely lined in a row on another low wall were the bodies of several infants, some so tiny they looked as though they had been torn from their mothers before birth. All had still-attached umbilical cords, which dangled between the lifeless babies like snakes amidst prey.

Repulsed, I turned and ran. But as fast as I ran, or have ever run since, memories from that time in my youth are inescapable. After awhile, I learned to put them into safe corners of my mind, where they could exist harmlessly while I faced the day ahead. Some of my experiences lie so deep they are inaccessible. The mind will protect us for the sake of our survival.

And survive I did, through instinct, perseverance, and luck.

The place where I was born and raised - Fiume, Italy - is no longer. Along with countless resources, lives, and dreams, it was lost to the ravages of World War II. Originally a port town in the northeastern part of the “boot” of Italy on the Istrian Peninsula, it was occupied in the early 1940’s by the Nazis, then handed over by the victorious Allied forces to Yugoslavia in 1945. During the upheaval, Fiume and its name vanished. The peaceful and prosperous city where I had grown up was overtaken, disappearing along with my youthful illusions about people and the world.

During my early childhood years, I thrived within the well-defined (or rigid, to be more accurate) structures imposed by my parents, the Roman Catholic Church, and Mussolini’s Fascist regime. My family was considered well-off, as my father was a successful furniture manufacturer and importer. I was never in want of food, clothes, or a warm bed. Our lifestyle, however, was black and white. Personal freedom and individuality were not tolerated if they clashed with obedience to authority. If one is born into a society ordered in this way, rebelliousness is rarely an issue. But despite being quite regulated, mine was a happy boyhood. Certainly I was secure in the knowledge of what was expected of me.  

All of this changed around 1939, when the cloud of Hitler’s quest for European domination intruded upon my tightly-controlled world. While still a youth, I witnessed the collapse of Fascism and subsequent occupation by a force even more dogged and brutal: the Nazis. Watching one-time allies become unscrupulous enemies, neighbors being forced to work in German labor camps, and my own brother being unwillingly conscripted into the Nazi army, I became intimately acquainted with “the evil that men do.”

Even now, the sound of planes overhead never goes unnoticed by my mind, which instantly attempts to calculate the aircraft’s size and type. Am I somehow still awaiting the terrifying thunder of a dropped bomb, still wondering how close it will be to where I am standing? In Fiume, we civilians tried to go about our lives as though things were “normal.” But what is normal about random bombings, panicked flights to the crowded shelters, and the constant fear of being mistaken as a Jew? I saw what happened to them in the shadow of the mountain where our shelters were built. Executed point-blank. The location was conveniently close to the cemetery, where piles of bodies were deposited for disposal. Like the shelters, the cemetery was overcrowded.

When the town was handed to Yugoslavia under Tito’s Communist regime, the new party promptly seized the money and property of its citizens, and set about to rid the area of all “enemies of the state.” I was still just 17 and now in a new type of danger. My older brother had already been jailed by the Communists for his former alliance with the Italian military, which had invaded Yugoslavia a few years earlier. I knew that if I stayed there, I would be under rigorous scrutiny and likely also be arrested. One summer day in 1945, I ran to the jail and signaled to my brother with our secret whistle. When I knew I had his ear, I shouted one word: “cut.” I was cutting out of Fiume, by now renamed Redeka, to take my chances as a refugee.

At 5:00 am the next day, I darted covertly through the city, then scaled walls to gain access to the railway. Jumping aboard a freight car headed for Trieste, in the free part of Italy, I possessed nothing but the clothes I was wearing. My adventure in survival as a homeless immigrant had begun.

When We "Lose" In Love, Have We Really Lost?

Most of us have had our hearts “broken” by a failed romance, some of us many times over. That special someone – the person with whom you shared your secret self, your problems and successes, your dreams, your feelings, your body, maybe even your living space – is gone. What we thought would never, ever happen while we reveled in the ecstasy of deep love and trust, has indeed come about and ripped us away from our beloved. It seems surreal, like a nightmare being played out in front of us. We think, how could this have happened? I thought he or she loved me! How could this person betray me, hurt me, and worst of all, abandon me, for reasons I can’t control or even understand?

In our grief, we cry and ponder what could have been. If only... she hadn’t cheated with someone else, he hadn’t been addicted to drugs, she hadn’t been afraid of commitment, he had treated me better, she hadn’t had baggage from her past that prevented us from getting closer, and on and on. With tightly-closed throats and stinging eyes that finally burst tears, we feel immersed in acute pain that seems to come from some unknown space between our brain and heart. What we had is gone. Something precious has been lost to us, something we wanted and believed in and were grateful for, even if we didn’t realize it before. Loss. Its sadness is unmerciful, its longing for a different outcome overwhelming and unrelenting. How, we think, can we possibly go on?

Terrible as this experience can be, we can and will survive. Fortunately, we have a safety net that is always there, one which never, ever abandons or betrays. God. For those of us aware, God was the One who created our loving feelings in the first place. What a privilege, what a “piece of heaven” to feel that much love for another! It is time to be grateful that we were able to experience this, no matter how it turned out in the end.

Romantic love and intimacy are special gifts from our Creator, a tiny glimpse of the ecstasy we will find in trusting Him with all our needs. Graced with the close, wonderful feelings, the joy, the sense of communion with another, we need to remember that these sensations existed within us. They were and are part of us, whether or not their target was able to return them.

In thinking about relationships, spiritual and emotional maturity demands that love not only be expressed in words, but in actions. When our partner’s actions don’t match our instinctual sense of the supportive, nurturing, gentle, thoughtful nature of real love, we are aware of this on some level. It may take awhile for us to become truly conscious of the lack of consistency between our partner’s words and actions – our own emotions can blind us for awhile – but eventually, the pain catches up to us. No one of us wants to face the possibility of a loss of love, the possibility that the other person either cannot or will not be able to reflect our love back to us in its original, intense, selfless, beautiful form.

But in the end, and no matter how long we try to push it away, the limitations of our partner and their effects on the relationship become undeniable. This is the point at which we are forced to make an agonizing decision. Can we live with our beloved’s shortcomings, whatever they are? We absolutely cannot change someone else, and trying to negotiate their limitations is basically fruitless. Ultimately, the choice to be in the relationship - or not - is our responsibility. What do we want for ourselves? Conflicting feelings of pain and longing can make this decision seem impossible. At this point, think about that safety net: the sure guidance and comfort of God, Who has been loving and helping us all along (whether we knew it or not). By turning to this Source of all love, we are strengthened to take care of ourselves. There really is no earthly hurt or dire situation that cannot be handled for you by God.

Nothing happens by accident. If your “romantic ideal” lets you down in a way you cannot accept, try to see this as an indication that something better is planned for you. Be grateful for “better,” which means something more fulfilling and more satisfying is waiting for you. The door is open now. All that caring, happiness, physical and emotional ecstasy, closeness – they are not lost when their particular object disappears for some reason. They are still there inside you, part of your wonderfulness. You do not have to grieve their loss, because they are within you like a light that shines no matter how dark it is outside. Remember this!

Loving helps you to grow, but losing love can help you grow even more. If you can understand this on a deep level, with the awareness that an ever-caring God is handling all the details of your life, you will walk forward with courage, faith, confidence, compassion, and forgiveness. You will love again.

Marketing Sample: Robert's Healing Massage

My emergence as a massage therapist/healer began in 2001, when I took a three-month course in relaxation and Swedish massage at the Vitality College of Healing in Solano Beach, California. Within this brief period, I deeply sensed my calling to be a healer and made the decision to leave my longtime job as a salesman.

Over the next several years, I continued studying massage at Vitality College, receiving my Massage Therapist Certification after completing 500 hours of training. In 2005, I obtained the national certification required to maintain my practice in San Diego. Throughout this period, I was able to work full-time as a massage therapist and strengthen my skills in all areas of massage healing.

My earlier years in the field provided me a great variety of experiences, including performing countless massages for guests requesting this service at high-end resorts in and around San Diego. I became very adept at communicating with all types of people, and able to successfully assess their needs in the realms of massage and healing.

My areas of concentrated study include Therapeutic massage, Deep Tissue massage, Reflexology, Cranio-Sacral, Trigger Point Therapy, and Myofascial Release. A few years ago, I was introduced to Ayurvedic massage (I spent four weeks in India learning this technique), as well as another body of knowledge called Ortho-Bionomy (for a more thorough discussion of these various techniques, see my website and blog).

The methods I’ve mastered serve a variety of purposes, depending on the needs of the person with whom I am working. Sometimes it is merely relaxation. Other times, the goal is pain relief, rejuvenation, or spiritual integration. This is what I find so exciting about massage therapy - it is a specialized, personalized, and oftentimes complex process, unique to each individual. 

The ability to actually rid my clients of pain, whether it is from a new injury or a chronic and unresolved issue, brings me intense gratification. Some people have come to me believing that they must learn to live with certain types of pain simply because they’ve had it for such a long time. They are then amazed to find that they can be pain-free after I correctly identify the source and target my healing work.

I am also greatly rewarded when I can bring peace of mind to many of my clients who scare themselves by self-diagnosing their condition as cancer, arthritis, or some other serious medical condition. Imagine their relief when, after some sessions using Trigger Point therapy in particular, I am able to resolve the pain completely!

My approach to healing is primarily holistic and medication-free. I am not a fan of introducing foreign substances into the body. I find some of my clients have been taking various prescriptions for years and years, and although I certainly realize that medicine is necessary in some cases, my focus is the use of Trigger Point therapy, Myofascial Release, and/or Ortho Bionomy to gently work out identifiable sources of pain.

While many of my clients are referred by chiropractors, acupuncturists, physical therapists, and doctors - as well as life coaches and personal trainers - I am proud that many people find me through word of mouth from other satisfied clients.

Answering my calling to be a healer has been key to realizing my potential and finding my wholeness - a true gift. The circle is only closed, however, when I can share that gift with others. In another part of this site, I share my thoughts on massage, meditation, and spirituality, addressing the less tangible - but equally or perhaps even more significant - benefits of holistic massage.

Mi Papa

I’m nothing even close to Italian, but I like the sound of mi papa. Mi papa – my dad. I love him so much, I simply have to say why. Also, I’ve spent a good part of my life not appreciating him the way I do today. This is sad, but the reality.

Mi papa’s picture can be seen in the dictionary under “good man.” I remember papa taking the four of us on camping vacations all over the country, in our van-conversion (converted by him, of course). Strong, totally smart - brilliant, as my mom says - and competent, he knows how to do everything from fixing a stalled car engine to making full-course bacon-and-egg breakfasts on a Coleman stove. I remember when our camper stopped dead in the middle of “the longest bridge in the country,” a 10-or-20-mile monstrosity we were traversing in some distant state I can’t remember. I was scared and crying, but as usual, my dad found a way to get us going again. As long as my dad was there, I always knew we would be alright.

Papa is level-headed and a good model for slowing down in the midst of a problem to reason it out. I took it for granted how reassured I felt when he didn’t panic about stuff. Steady, quiet, modest, moral, responsible – these are the things I see in my dad as I try to be them myself these days. Consistent and always there for us as I grew up, I relied on his presence and comforting assurance. I remember when I had the measles – or was it the mumps? Down-and-out on the couch in the porch, I felt awful. But papa was working in the yard close by. I could hear the lawnmower and smell the cut grass. And even though I was sick, I felt better just knowing he was there, nearby.

It was my dad who took us out sailing on boats he himself built, and his skillful hand that kept us flying over the waves of Seneca and Canandaigua Lake. He it was who took us to the golf course after dark in the summer to pluck night-crawlers off the watered grass for fishing bait the next day. It was my dad who took us tobogganing in the nearby hills in the wintertime. Who helped construct a five-foot-long paper mache model of a grasshopper, in all its scientific detail, for a school project. And Dad who painted and refinished every single wall and floor inside our house, sanded and painted the outside, and laid new shingles on the roof. He who installed our backyard above-ground pool, while letting the neighborhood boys help with this important, grown-up construction project. He planted tomatoes, grilled hamburgers, explained math problems, supported us working as a mechanical engineer for Bausch & Lomb for over 20 years. And these are only some of the things I remember from the oblivious haze of being a kid.

It wasn’t always easy growing up with papa – he was loving, but got angry and yelled too. I learned to be afraid of him sometimes. Why did I let the bad stuff overshadow the good in mi papa for so long? I know a big part of the answer: me and my “issues.” Seems as though I’ve had those since almost my birth. They stressed me and caused so much rushing around looking for approval that I never realized mi papa did love me the whole time. In his special, perfectly papa way.

Mi papa, I love you too.

Losing A Daughter

It’s not a case of death taking her from me. She got just old enough to decide she didn’t want me in her life. Old enough but not mature enough. She didn’t make this decision on her own. She had help from someone who convinced her that I am despicable, ruthless, and hateful. It was the surest way for her father to avenge my leaving him and reassure himself that I was again, as always, in the wrong. Vulnerable in the midst of adolescence and her parents divorcing, my daughter was likely an easy sell to his way of thinking. But five years later, it’s still the same. She’s still gone, still lost to me.

The hardest part is that each time I try to reach out to her to no avail - hear news of her through her sisters - think about her on holidays we used to celebrate together - I get visited by my old friends, grief and tears. I don’t like it when those two come to call, but they show up anyway. Somehow their mission must be essential. While they’re here, I am a bit slower, more tired, and would prefer some of my day be spent curled into a fetal position inside my closet. I look around and notice that God is nowhere in sight, leaving me to entertain these exacting guests all by myself. Or so it seems.

The loss of my daughter was collateral damage from other, previous losses which cast their domino effect on various parts of my life. When I was just a child, I lost certain things, certain birthrights – trust, security, and self-esteem, to name the most critical - that led to bad decisions as I got older. Unfortunately, one of the most devastating of these decisions was my marrying a man who guaranteed the impatience and unkindness that hurt yet was comfortably familiar to me. I don’t blame myself for this choice - how could it have been otherwise?

Thank God, literally, this is all history now, and I’m finally a grown-up who’s learned to take care of herself. And let go the past. But the wreckage has remained to haunt me. In these years since my daughter’s rejection of me, I’ve been left to wonder... Did she ever love me? Will she ever want me in her life again? Who is she now? Will she ever be truly happy if she has been brainwashed to hate? Like her father, are there portions of her stuck in a black-and-white world, incapable of change? How will her loss of me – even if by her own choice – hurt her in the end? And how will it hurt others whom she loves or who love her?

My thought was to persist, to never give up. But after five years of separation and no response to the letters, cards, gifts, emails, and text messages I’ve sent, I am tired. So tired that I’ve finally decided to release her to live in her way, without me. We may or may not have a relationship in the future, but finally and with some relief, I will let God decide about that. Like all our children, she was only mine on lending basis for a time anyway - too short a time, I feel.

I do recall, and very clearly, spending years throwing my love into people who were like dark and bottomless wells. The love disappeared into the blackness, gone forever, and still there was no water in the bucket to quench my thirst. It has been nearly impossible to think of my daughter, once so joined to me, as such a person. But the years of grieving have changed me, given me perspectives I couldn’t grasp before. This may sound like gloomy resignation, but it is not. It is acceptance of reality, and once again I thank God for it. I set her free, and I am freer myself to give love to people who can return it. Life will have its way with her and with me. Change is good.

With humility I realize that finding some serenity about losing my daughter was always within my reach, but I was not ready to see it. “Send them love everyday,” said Pearl, a 77-year-old friend whose daughter returned to her life recently after a 12-year absence. How simplistic, I think to myself at first. Then I see. How willing have I truly been to work on forgiving my daughter and my ex-husband, as I’ve done before with my parents and myself? Not very, I’d have to respond. But therein lies the key to peace and freedom about this heartbreaking loss, I feel certain.

So now I’m saying those words – “I send you love” – each day, liking it or not, meaning it or not. Experience has shown me that with willingness and persistence, someday I will be fully sincere as I repeat them. Someday very soon, I think. Maybe I already am... perhaps since the day I started doing it. It’s so simple and yet the last thing I try. Forgiveness. The balm for wounds of any sort, including even the profoundest, losing a daughter.

Resume

Christine E. Miller, M.S.
4232 Vista Panorama Way, #222
Oceanside, CA 92057
(760) 207-0685
www.tellmewhatyouwanttosay.com

• Experienced, intelligent, and educated professional with high-level, broadly-applicable writing skills.
• Over 16 years experience as a writer and editor. Currently working as a freelance consultant.
• Superior computer skills, including very extensive experience in internet research and social  media. Extremely proficient in Microsoft Office and a variety of other programs and software.
• Extensive and long-term experience in marketing writing and practices, for my own businesses, employers, and clients.
• High personal integrity, able to generate trust in others.
• Ability to prioritize tasks, adhere to deadlines, and maintain positive attitude under pressure.

Career History:

10/09 to Present    Tell Me What You Want To Say    http://www.tellmewhatyouwanttosay.com

Owner - Writer/Editor

–Provide writing and editing services in a wide array of written genre, including but not limited to:

§         Non-fiction Book Proposals

§         Ghostwriting and Editing of complete book manuscripts

§         Blogging, articles, essays

§         Marketing copy

§         Business reports/correspondence

§         Academic papers/reports

§         Resumes

–Background includes in-depth knowledge and practical use of scientific, medical, and legal terminology.

7/99 – 2/06            Done-Write Services

Owner - Writer/ Editor

–Specialized in writing and editing technical reports, business contracts, marketing / advertising copy.

–Provided high-level editing for additional genres, including book manuscripts.

–Utilized prior experience in investigations, medical terminology, and Workers’ Compensation / insurance issues.

–Marketed the business.

–Interacted with clients / handled all issues, including customer satisfaction, invoicing and accounting, other office management practices as needed.

10/93 – 6/99    Kelsey Investigations – Agoura Hills, CA
Office Manager / Marketing Representative / Report Writer

–Established branch office for investigative firm (undercover surveillance specialists) in San Diego North County.

–Through designing and implementing a variety of marketing techniques, acquired several major insurance companies as new and eventually long-term clients.

–Wrote detailed and time-sensitive investigative reports.

–Generated marketing / advertising copy and professional correspondence.

–Handled business licensing; oversaw development of business logo / letterhead.

–Acted as liaison between clients and investigators.

Other Employments:

·         3/09 – 4/09            Department of Commerce / U.S. Census Bureau

      Enumerator

·         6/08 – 12/08          Ipitek (Telecommunications)

      Executive Secretary

·         4/07 – 6/08            The Judge Group (Personnel Recruitment)

      Administrative Assistant

·         9/06 – 2/07            Gatzke Dillon & Ballance, LLP (Law)

      Legal Administrative Assistant

·         3/06 – 9/06            Grancell, Lebovitz, Stander, Barnes & Reubens (Law)

      Legal Administrative Assistant

Education:

Cornell University

Bachelor of Science, May 1983

University of Southern California

Master of Science, May 1985

Excellent References Available

Being Sensitive in an Insensitive World

Do you sometimes think you get your feelings hurt too easily? Would you describe yourself as a little – or maybe a lot – sensitive? If so, I can relate! Well do I know the agony of having someone hit me with cruel words or reckless criticism, watching much-anticipated plans fall through, being let down by a friend, or not getting something I was hoping for or thought I deserved. Ouch! I want to back away, isolate myself, get angry, cry perhaps, and lick my wounds. Then I berate myself for taking things so hard, for being “so damn sensitive.” After all, sensitivity means weakness, right?

Being touchy like this certainly makes a person prone to getting hurt by others and the world, at high risk for suffering pain in all its excruciating extremes. And who wants that? I have learned from my experience as a fairly thin-skinned person, however, that I make things infinitely harder when I criticize myself for being that vulnerable in the first place. Wishing my eyes were blue instead of their actual hazel color doesn’t change the fact. And in the same way, wanting to be less sensitive than I am is nothing more than an avoidance of reality.

When I’m harsh and judgmental with myself about this personality trait – sensitivity - honestly looking at my reactions and feelings is nearly impossible. The brutal inner critic takes over... Why do I have to get so emotional about that? I shouldn’t care so much. I’m overreacting. I’m being childish. This doesn’t bother other people, so there must be something wrong with me because I’m upset. And on it goes, with my peace of mind spiraling downward.

It’s enough! These kinds of thoughts just sabotage me by pulling me away from acceptance and from taking responsibility for myself. Now when I sense myself going down this road, I pause and take a self-caring breath. What is bothering me, and why? If I do some self-examination about the source of my hurt feelings, I can learn a lot! Sometimes I am reacting to something in the present that subconsciously reminds me of a troubling situation from my past. Or perhaps I’m exploding over one issue, but my melt-down is just a “symptom” of difficulties I’m having in one or more other areas of my life. Sometimes I need to look at what my expectations were regarding whatever is bothering me – were they reasonable? In every instance where I find myself disturbed, I’m either losing something I have, or being deprived of something I want. Trying to identify what was or is at stake leads me more quickly to accepting my feelings.

Digging a bit to get to the root of my “hot buttons,” if you will, is a compassionate approach that gives me new information about myself. Not only that, it’s the first step to healing from the pain. Taking a close look at and becoming aware of why certain people or circumstances affect me so strongly can give me insight, help me notice patterns, and hopefully lead to talking about what I uncover with myself, God, and someone I trust. By being gentler with myself, I can lessen my distress immediately; and if I’m patient, it’s possible for me to stop reacting negatively altogether. It takes some work, but wholeness and calm will ultimately replace the angst.

Over my many years of being a sensitive person, I’ve come to see that my reactions – particularly the upsetting ones – present opportunities for personal growth. Obviously no one likes pain, but I’ve learned that until I’m able to really feel it and take an honest look at it, it keeps repeating itself in situation after situation, and with person after person.

Ironically, by acknowledging and being more tolerant of my vulnerable side, I’ve actually become less sensitive. But I know I’ll probably always have this tendency; it’s a part of my nature, after all. Changing my attitude towards this trait has helped tremendously, though. Stop and consider that sensitive people are some of the most loving and creative individuals in the world! With the ability to experience all of life with extra “intensity,” they perceive themselves and the world around them with greater depth and awareness. And because they have generally suffered more, sensitive people possess greater understanding and compassion towards others in pain.

My lesson from being sensitive is that the more comfortable I am with this part of myself, the less it presents problems in my life. I believe this generally holds true for most characteristics we wish we didn’t have. The more quickly I can accept myself right now – with my positive traits as well as my defects – the faster I can move past the issues that cause me misery.

Be cautioned, however, this kind of growth – which is really the process of developing a healthy love of self – takes courage and the willingness to feel some discomfort. In my own case, I’ve never been able to do it by myself. It’s way more than my ego can handle, I’m afraid. So I rely on a Source that has far more power, One whose strength and love are basically guaranteed every second - God. With help like that, things about me that once seemed like total liabilities turn into blessings of self-discovery and growth. After all my struggles in this area, I am rewarded by seeing miraculous improvement in my attitudes and behavior. Truly, I’m even beginning to think being sensitive is one of my best qualities!