Why do so many women, often at about 50 years of age, lose the ability to say “no” without making excuses or providing an explanation? Are we so indoctrinated with the belief that our purpose is to serve others? Do we not understand that unless we serve ourselves first, we lose the ability to serve others?
Psychologists have found that happiness is likely a combination of genetics (50%), situation (10%), and individual effort (40%). We can’t control the first two factors, but we have complete control over the third. Here are seven happiness rituals you can adopt today, each one backed by science.
You’d think that with increasing age would come increasing misery. After all, isn’t that what TV ads and the like would have us believe?
Depression, anxiety, fear, insecurity and not to mention the worry of cognitive decline, debilitating physical changes. We are bombarded with these gloomy messages almost daily.
I don’t know about you, but one of the hardest things about aging is my lack of energy.
At the end of the day, I wonder where the time has gone. I’m too tired to keep going, but I’ve done so little. There’s much more I planned on, yet I really don’t have the energy to keep going.
“The one thing you can control is how you treat yourself. And that one thing can change everything.” – Leeana Tankersley
Sometimes we get so caught up with our day to day routines that we lose sight of what is really important to us. We stay in a job that is no longer giving us satisfaction. We devote ourselves to relationships that we know are not good for us. We put others needs and wants before our own.
Doing dress-ups as a child, I could visualize all kinds of gala costumes. Dresses, accessories and textures that would befit the most beautiful expressions of the wishful designs.
In my imagination there were many special events to attend in those fabulous creations. These were events that only I could see.
“I said I’d take a dog, but I’m not sure I want that one.” “He’s a real sweetheart,” Brittany, a staff member, assured me. He was big with the smushed-in face of a bulldog, but the height of a boxer. He had a barrel chest, and his front legs were shorter than the back ones making his back bow in the middle. Truth is I was a little afraid of him.
He is tall. 6’4”. I am short. 5’2”. As his mother, I sometimes wonder, when I look at his big feet, how he ever grew to be such a giant when he was born a preemie, 35 years ago.
The news alert flashed on my cell phone as I was caring for my young granddaughters. There had been another mass shooting, this time in Florida. I quickly read the horrible details and immediately thought of my grandchildren.
What kind of world would they have in 20 years?