Here are the next twelve rights from Charles Whitfield’s observations and beliefs.

I have the right to:

13. Make mistakes and not have to be perfect.

14. Expect honesty from others.

15. All of my feelings.

16. Be angry at someone I love.

17. Be uniquely me, without feeling that I’m not good enough.

18. Feel scared and to say, “I’m afraid.”

19. Experience and then let go of fear, guilt and shame.

20. Make decisions based on my feelings, my judgment or any reason that I choose.

21. Change my mind at any time.

22. Be happy.

23. Stability, i.e., “roots” and stable healthy relationships of my choice.

Oh and I love this one as I sit in our new

spangled office with our snoring dog at my feet.

24. My own personal space and time needs.

I am in the process of reading an ancient ( ok, just from1993 ) self help book written by Charles Whitfield, M.D. All of his advice was gathered from patients and therapy groups he facilitated. The wisdom still holds true today. The title of the book is Boundaries and Relationships: Knowing, Protecting and Enjoying the Self. He is famous for helping people; finding and healing their inner child, working with co-dependents and supporting recovery.

One idea I wanted to share with you was his personal bill of rights he compiled. “Healthy boundaries can help us formulate our rights, and in a reciprocal fashion, knowing that we have these rights can strengthen our boundaries” he notes.

There are 36 rights he believes every human being has a right to. I will share the first 12 today, followed by twelve more tomorrow and the next day. Stay tuned and see if you OWN any of these already.

If you are under twenty six or so, you probably think this is silly, but for us older folks, who were not treated special or held in high regard, this bill of rights needs to be stated; it probably will resonate and possibly rock your world.

I have the right to:

1. Have numerous choices in my life beyond mere survival.
2. Discover and know my Child Within.
3. Grieve over what I didn’t get that I needed or what I got that I didn’t need or want.
4. Follow my own values and standards.
5. Recognize and accept my own value system as appropriate.
6. Say no to anything when I feel I am not ready, it is unsafe or it violates my values.
7. Dignity and respect.
8. Make decisions.
9. Determine and Honor my own priorities.
10. Have my needs and wants respected by others.
11. Terminate conversations with people who make me feel put down and humiliated.
12. Not be responsible for others’ behavior, actions, feelings or problems.

To be 26 on 2/16/2016. Very Lucky and Happy Date!

There never before was a time when I felt such a vast opening of my heart, like this very day, twenty six years ago, laying eyes on my first born. It is because of him, we just had to have more children and I truly adore and love each one with all of my heart and soul which I now know is infinite.

But when M was born, it was the first time, and I suddenly cared about everything profoundly. In an instant, windows and doors were flung wide open and streams of color and light entered my psyche as I realized in a vivid flash what a miracle and mystery love and life was.

Thank you M, M, J, V and E for being my most awesomest family!

I remember my dad swinging my son in Redlands at the park. The swing started to go higher and faster and it must have been too much or too long of a ride for him and he started yelling at my dad, “Enough is enough” over and over again, kicking his legs back and forth to further emphasize his plea. My dad started cracking up and tears came to his eyes as he grabbed the chain and slowed him down to a dead stop.

I suppose I had used the expression or he heard it at home.

My heart was full as I watched my dad push him and laugh so hard when his little grandson scolded him. He adored him. He was his sunshine.

My son was precocious and my dad loved that. He especially reveled when my son would in some way out smart me. He thought my son was clever and had a special, superior scientific brain, like himself. He couldn’t keep his eyes off him and I watched him savor every minute and every move my son made or listen to every word he spoke. It was incredible to him. I went to visit often because I thought my son was pretty awesome too and relished seeing my dad be so content, in awe and full of love for him.

My dad would enlist my son’s help finding snails in the garden and placing them in an empty Chock full of Nuts brand coffee can. They used to take off into the backyard garden and then my son would be entranced by the foamy, bubbling death by salt of the slugs. My dad loved to share anything that was practical like how to take something apart and put it back together but also any violent side of nature. He taught me to hunt and skin rabbits upside down. He took me fishing, hooking worms, reeling in flapping eels and fish and then de-boning them. He wanted to make sure I could survive.

My dad taught his grandson how to continue the tradition of drinking Mate. He patiently explained and held the gourd while my son learned how to sip. He put in extra sugar for him so it wouldn’t taste bitter. He insisted I take a picture. It is one of my favorites.

My son followed my dad around like a puppy dog. He imitated everything he did and that made my dad proud. His mind was quick and his wittiness uncannily like my dad’s. They seemed to understand each other and they spoke a language unknown to outsiders.

I was the son my dad never had. He taught me how to hunt, fish, go clamming and how to build a fire from scratch like a Boy Scout. But when his first and only grandson arrived, his heart burst open, he changed into a softie yet he also wanted to hand down his macho skills to a real male heir.

I know my dad is happily boasting to all who will hear him, somewhere in the after life.

I write before anything else in the morning. When I don’t, it shows.

I write when I am blue. It helps me unravel my twisted thoughts.

I write when I am happy. It underscores and documents the good times.

I write whenever I can. I write to fix. I write to learn. I write to develop.

This is my way.

I write because I can’t imagine a better way besides reading to spend my alone time.

I write because it’s an escape. I write because it is a discovery.

I write with a pen in my journal because I relish writing in script. I write manually because I love the sound of the pen to paper as it rolls out its gel. I write by hand because it is the quickest way to my heart and mind. I write on leaves of wood because I love stationery.

I write because I don’t have to do it. I write because it’s not on my to do list. In this way, it seems sweeter like a treat and it helps me go inside and unfold out.

My heart and soul pours out on the page and sometimes it’s just noise that needs to come out.

I write because there is realization in unloading your deepest darkest secrets.

I write because it’s a conversation with my inner critic but also my highest self.

I write because I release the garbage, distractions and nonsense in my head.

I write because it is authentically true, there’s no limiting or editing, I learn who I am and what makes me tick, what turns me off and it helps me sort out my feelings.

It is a sacred relationship.

I write because it’s the most intimate, personal form of expression I know.

I write because it spells things out for me.

I write because I admire writers and artists most.

I write because it’s a pastime I adore and cherish. When I write effortlessly it brings me joy. When it is frustrating, it lets me know something is wrong.

It is a practice. It is the most meaningful way I connect.