Repairing my broken mermaid tail--and my confidence

Have you ever lost your confidence and your inspiration all at once? I have. But a mermaid helped me find my way again.

I draw strength and inspiration from being near the water, so it's only natural that I'd be inspired by mermaids. Some people insist mermaids are mythical creatures, but I've met mermaids and have photographic evidence to prove it. 

When my cousin, Donette and I brought the Whidbey Island Mermaid an offering of our leftover pizza, she kissed my forehead (the mermaid, not my cousin). 

The Whidbey Island Mermaid kissing my forehead

Once I met the Whidbey Island Sirens Pod, who invited me to sit a spell with them. They even entrusted me to hold their treasure chest brimming with jewels. 

Me hanging out with mermaids

My admiration of mermaids began 14 years ago when I was starting over after my divorce. A friend gifted me a confidant, cheeky mermaid that hangs from a beaded wire. Written on her fin is this favorite Oscar Wilde quote:

Be yourself.

Everyone else is already taken.

 

My cheeky mermaid 

In those early days of standing on my own again, I needed those words. Often. 

In my first apartment post-divorce, I hung the mermaid in a prominent place as a reminder to be my authentic self. Over the years, the mermaid and I moved many times: from that first tiny apartment to the World War II era duplex to Wisteria Cottage (with no running water, heat or bathroom!) to a lovely mother-in-law suite in the home of friends, to a fifth-wheel RV on a ranch in wild Eastern Oregon and back to my friends' suite.

Somewhere along the way, the mermaid's tail fell off. And then the beaded wire hanger fell off, too. I tucked her safely into a zippered bag and planned to repair her--one day. Instead, I forgot about my confidant, cheeky mermaid. 

Sometimes in the darkest moments, without the cheeky mermaid to cheer me on, I lost my confidence. I forgot how to be my authentic self.

Recently, I moved again when I bought my own home. As I unpacked box after box, I found my treasured mermaid. She was broken. Disheveled. Her confidence and cheekiness had waned considerably. I vowed I would reattach her tail and her hanger so that she can again be her confident, cheeky self. 

First, I tried reattaching her tail with jeweler's wire, but it fell off. I reattached it again. Same result. And again. The third time was not the charm. Sometimes when I have a vision of creating something or fixing something, it doesn't go as smoothly as I had envisioned. Can you relate?

So I moved on to Plan B: Use a rubber band AND jeweler's wire to reattach her tail. I grabbed my little jar of doo-dads. (Do you have one of these, too?) Inside the jar I save plastic closures for bread bags and wire twistees. Around the outside of the jar I wrap rubber bands I salvage. I found the perfect rubber band.

My jar of doo-dads

It worked! Within a few minutes, I had repaired the mermaid and hung her in my bathroom window. 

From now on, every morning as I am getting ready for the day, my cheeky mermaid will encourage me to be my authentic self. And her confidence and cheekiness is sure to inspire me to dig deep and find my own.

With my mermaid encouraging me every morning to "be myself," how can I fail?

My cheeky, encouraging mermaid hanging in my bathroom window

Learning positive self-talk from Emma Peel

When I was seven, I wanted to be Emma Peel.
What girl wouldn't want to be beautiful, sexy, smart and confident?

Think back to a time when you felt beautiful, powerful, intelligent, confident. Maybe even sexy. What inspired you to feel that way about yourself? I clearly remember my inspiration: Emma Peel.

When I was seven, the TV screen was populated by one Western program after another, and few offered any suitable role models for a young girl looking for adventure. I tried pretending to be Miss Kitty from "Gunsmoke," but she was uninspiring.

Then one night, my older sister, Becky, tuned our TV to "The Avengers," and the confidant, beautiful, sexy Emma Peel entered our living room wearing a tight, black leather catsuit, black boots and lipstick. She drove a convertible sports car too. Mrs. Peel exuded confidence like no other woman I'd ever seen. She had my attention.

An expert at karate, fencing and all manner of weaponry, Emma Peel was not the usual kind of female TV character who needed to be rescued by a man. In fact, she often rescued Mr. Steed from danger. Emma Peel was a spy. A secret agent. And she was super cool. Now here was the kind of woman I wanted to become!

My cousin, Donette and I had spent our time playing pioneers and "I Dream of Jeannie," but now we started playing "spy girls." I don't remember much about our spy missions, but I still smile when I think of how much fun we had creating exciting adventures as invincible girl spies solving crimes and saving the world.

All the way through elementary school, I felt I could do anything. I was an intrepid girl spy, after all. But then something happened to my self confidence.

How old were we when we began doubting ourselves and stopped believing we could do anything? Was it at puberty? When we first began noticing boys? When other girls starting demeaning us?

Entering the awkward, geeky junior high years, my confidence waned. I certainly did not look like Emma Peel. Nor did I feel powerful and confident. I didn't need other girls to demean me because I did a pretty good job of it all by myself.

Through my teens, twenties and even thirties, my inner conversation with myself went something like this: "You're not good enough. You're not pretty. You're fat. Your nose is too big. Your breasts are too small."
The saddest part is that I often vocalized my self-talk even after I became a mother, and my daughter heard me belittling myself constantly.

Shame on me. A woman should love herself. And that includes loving her body.

It wasn't until I was in my late forties that I began to channel Emma Peel again. Don't get me wrong. I know I am never going to be a spy. But I began to find that strong inner voice again.

When I catch myself thinking negative thoughts about myself, I replace them with positive thoughts. "You can do this!" has become my new mantra.

I've since apologized to my young adult daughter for putting myself down in front of her. All of her life, I've made a point of telling her that she's beautiful and smart. She is.

Now I can admit that I too, am smart. And even beautiful.

In the past few years, I hope that I've shown her that any woman, even a middle-aged woman, can be smart, confidant and beautiful if she believes in herself.

The next time you have a negative thought about yourself, stop. Take a deep breath. Then pretend that you're Emma Peel, confident, sexy spy. Tell yourself how marvelous and brave you are.When you hold your head up high and believe in yourself, others will believe in you too.

Seeking inspiration from Ilchee, who paddled her own canoe

A vivid blue sky flecked with clouds calls me yet again to the north bank of the Columbia River to the sculpture of Ilchee. Friends and family know that on a sunny day, they may find me sitting on a bench near Ilchee, dreaming great dreams, planning  great plans, and scribbling in my journal.

Who is Ilchee and why does she inspire me in my new journey of adventure and joy?

At the base of the Ilchee sculpture are these words:

"In recognition of the People who have inhabited this region for thousands of years
--Ilchee, Moon Girl--

"History says she was born along the Columbia River about 1800, daughter of Chinook Chief Comcomly, and later wife of Chief Casino, leader in the Vancouver area.

"Lore tells us she had the power of a shaman and that she paddled her own canoe, the sign of a chief. By both accounts, she was remarkable."

Remarkable, indeed! More than 200 years ago, Ilchee was born at the mouth of the Columbia River, the eldest daughter of the great Chinook Chief Comcomly. She would have been a little girl when the Lewis and Clark expedition wintered at the mouth of the great river. I like to think that she met Lewis and Clark and even Sacagawea.

As a teenager, Ilchee was married to Duncan McDougall, the chief factor (head honcho) of the American fur trading post established in 1811 at the mouth of the river in present-day Astoria, Oregon.  Her marriage to McDougall was a wise political move for her chief father and increased both Comcomly's and Ilchee's stature among the Caucasian leaders at Fort Astoria.

However, when the War of 1812 broke out, the American Pacific Fur Company, owners of Fort Astoria, folded. The post in Astoria was too isolated to receive military protection or support. McDougall and his company abandoned the fur trading post, and he left his wife Ilchee behind with her people.

(The assets of the Pacific Fur Company, including Fort Astoria, were bought out by the Canadian North West Company, which renamed it Fort George.)

Later, a marriage was arranged between Ilchee and Chief Casino, the Chinook chief upriver in present-day Vancouver, Washington. Ilchee left her people and started a new life with Casino. They had a son. When their son became ill and died. Casino blamed Ilchee for his death and planned to have her killed.

Fleeing from her husband's village, Ilchee sought refuge at Fort Vancouver, a British fur trading post on the north bank of the Columbia River. She stayed at the fort until her people could be summoned from downriver to come bring Ilchee home.

Very little has been recorded about Ilchee. After all, she was not only a woman, but a native woman. But the lore that has been passed down is that Ilchee was a woman of strength and fortitude. She paddled her own canoe, the sign of a chief.

Recently, with historian Donna Sinclair, I had the opportunity to meet Cliff Snyder, a direct descendent of Ilchee. He, too, spoke of Ilchee's strength.

I have sought both refuge and inspiration at this spot on the banks of the river near Ilchee's statue. Perhaps in this very place where I now stand she gazed at the river and dreamed great dreams as I do now.

It is here that I first summoned the courage to imagine that I could choose a happier, joyous life brimming with adventure and discovery. Here I first believed I could be strong enough to paddle my own canoe. And thanks to the inspiration of Ilchee, I am doing just that.

Paddle on!