Constance G. Jones's Blog
March 10, 2020
Transformations are an inside job!
If you want to change the world, you begin with yourself. It’s a truth as old as time, echoed by many of the greats. Mohandas Gandhi urged us to “be the change you wish to see in the world.” Michael Jackson reminded us to start “with the man in the mirror.” Marianne Williamson said: “Personal transformation can and does have global effects. As we go, so goes the world, for the world is us. The revolution that will save the world is ultimately a personal one.”
I’ve been fortunate enough to experience this firsthand. As a kid, I had a fiery spirit, big imagination, and an itch to tiptoe out of my comfort zone. Lots of people tried to extinguish my light throughout my childhood and adulthood. Yet many compassionate individuals saw goodness and potential in me and encouraged me to pursue my dreams and make something of myself. They believed in me until I learned to believe in myself. I gradually redefined myself. I am not broken or incomplete. I am not a victim or a sick person or half a woman because I deal with epilepsy, grappled with depression, or could not have a child. I am not the projection of anyone else’s shortcomings or biases.
I am a warrior, a writer, a lover, a protector, an empath, a believer, and a survivor.
Up to a certain point, my life had become a pattern of toxic environments, disappointing role models, and bad decisions made by myself and by those around me. My family was—to say the very least—dysfunctional. For a long while, I raged against an alcoholic and often-absent father and an overwhelmed mother, growing up in a chaotic, painful, and disenchanting household. I remained unaware of the immense impact my childhood had on me and how it helped mold the attitude, behavior, and choices I’d make as a young adult. When I hit rock bottom, I realized that my life had to change if I was to endure it.
And the only person who could substantially and truly transform it was… me.
Which is to say: transformations are an inside job. But what exactly does this mean for you? If you want to change your world—to change yourself—how do you begin?
Here are a handful of ideas that just might give you the nudge you need.
• Be the master of you!
Focus on your personal project of self-improvement. Learn to master your thoughts, visualizations, and actions. No matter what stage you find yourself in life, take a moment to breathe and look around you.
First, look over your shoulder. Look where you came from. See all that? That’s what has made you into the person you are to this day.
Now take a look at your current reality. Ground yourself and ask the tough questions. Do you enjoy what you do? Do you feel you’re pursuing a passion? Do you feel that you have a purpose? Is this the life you want? Is this the work you were meant to be doing? Are you the person you want to be remembered for?
Time to look forward. Because the future is a murky thing to see, practice visualizing it—physically and mentally. Imagine what you want. Imagine exactly what you want. A visualization board--a collage of words and pictures that represents your goals and dreams—is easy to make and an invaluable tool.
• Reframe your reality!
How do you perceive problems? If they always scare, upset, and give you loads of anxiety, the real challenge lies in your perception. Worrying about an issue does absolutely nothing to solve it. Worrying just gives you extra pain—often unnecessary and always unhelpful pain that clouds your judgment and hurts your body. Too much stress can literally kill you.
Did you know that the Chinese character for “problem” and “opportunity” is the same letter? Everything depends on your interpretation. As Anthony Robbins said, life is 5% what happens to you and 95% what you make of it (how you deal with it).
Reframe how you see yourself. Reframe your self-concept, and you’ll find that it transforms your world view and outlook on others, too.
• Be generous!
Be generous with your gratitude. Be generous with your wisdom. Be generous with your compassion. This begins on a personal level: be kind to yourself. Don’t beat yourself up. When you falter or fail, encourage yourself like you would your best friend. Remember, you are your best friend—you’re the only person who’s with you your entire life.
When you sow kindness in the world, you reap it back tenfold. Not just thanks to that awesome element called karma, but because being kind and good is super healthy for you. Just as stress kills you, kindness nurtures you. By spreading the love and gratitude, you’re also making the world a better place around you. You bring joy and inspiration to other people, and like attracts like. It’s the ultimate win-win situation.
I’ve been fortunate enough to experience this firsthand. As a kid, I had a fiery spirit, big imagination, and an itch to tiptoe out of my comfort zone. Lots of people tried to extinguish my light throughout my childhood and adulthood. Yet many compassionate individuals saw goodness and potential in me and encouraged me to pursue my dreams and make something of myself. They believed in me until I learned to believe in myself. I gradually redefined myself. I am not broken or incomplete. I am not a victim or a sick person or half a woman because I deal with epilepsy, grappled with depression, or could not have a child. I am not the projection of anyone else’s shortcomings or biases.
I am a warrior, a writer, a lover, a protector, an empath, a believer, and a survivor.
Up to a certain point, my life had become a pattern of toxic environments, disappointing role models, and bad decisions made by myself and by those around me. My family was—to say the very least—dysfunctional. For a long while, I raged against an alcoholic and often-absent father and an overwhelmed mother, growing up in a chaotic, painful, and disenchanting household. I remained unaware of the immense impact my childhood had on me and how it helped mold the attitude, behavior, and choices I’d make as a young adult. When I hit rock bottom, I realized that my life had to change if I was to endure it.
And the only person who could substantially and truly transform it was… me.
Which is to say: transformations are an inside job. But what exactly does this mean for you? If you want to change your world—to change yourself—how do you begin?
Here are a handful of ideas that just might give you the nudge you need.
• Be the master of you!
Focus on your personal project of self-improvement. Learn to master your thoughts, visualizations, and actions. No matter what stage you find yourself in life, take a moment to breathe and look around you.
First, look over your shoulder. Look where you came from. See all that? That’s what has made you into the person you are to this day.
Now take a look at your current reality. Ground yourself and ask the tough questions. Do you enjoy what you do? Do you feel you’re pursuing a passion? Do you feel that you have a purpose? Is this the life you want? Is this the work you were meant to be doing? Are you the person you want to be remembered for?
Time to look forward. Because the future is a murky thing to see, practice visualizing it—physically and mentally. Imagine what you want. Imagine exactly what you want. A visualization board--a collage of words and pictures that represents your goals and dreams—is easy to make and an invaluable tool.
• Reframe your reality!
How do you perceive problems? If they always scare, upset, and give you loads of anxiety, the real challenge lies in your perception. Worrying about an issue does absolutely nothing to solve it. Worrying just gives you extra pain—often unnecessary and always unhelpful pain that clouds your judgment and hurts your body. Too much stress can literally kill you.
Did you know that the Chinese character for “problem” and “opportunity” is the same letter? Everything depends on your interpretation. As Anthony Robbins said, life is 5% what happens to you and 95% what you make of it (how you deal with it).
Reframe how you see yourself. Reframe your self-concept, and you’ll find that it transforms your world view and outlook on others, too.
• Be generous!
Be generous with your gratitude. Be generous with your wisdom. Be generous with your compassion. This begins on a personal level: be kind to yourself. Don’t beat yourself up. When you falter or fail, encourage yourself like you would your best friend. Remember, you are your best friend—you’re the only person who’s with you your entire life.
When you sow kindness in the world, you reap it back tenfold. Not just thanks to that awesome element called karma, but because being kind and good is super healthy for you. Just as stress kills you, kindness nurtures you. By spreading the love and gratitude, you’re also making the world a better place around you. You bring joy and inspiration to other people, and like attracts like. It’s the ultimate win-win situation.
November 17, 2019
I’M MORE THAN MY MISCARRIAGES
Women aren’t broken if they can’t have children.
I felt as if someone had raided my body and pummeled my heart until it bled and broke. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think.
Hell, it hurt to live.
I couldn’t fathom what had just happened. Mere hours ago, there had been a living being inside of me. I’d heard her heartbeat. I’d seen her on the ultrasound. I’d even felt her kick as she shuffled within my womb. I’d fantasized about her beautiful bright eyes, her smile, her chortle, the way she’d feel in my arms when I first held her, and the incredible and sacred mission of raising her.
The notion of having a child after trying so hard was both nerve-wracking and exhilarating. Every time I traced my hands across my belly, an indescribable wave of compassion, delight, and longing flooded through my body, warming me with the certainty that I’d do everything in my power to ensure a good life for her.
And now? Now there was emptiness. Abysmal loss. Anger. Maddening sadness. Despair.
Hydrocephalus, the doctor explained to me and my husband, Claude. In hydrocephalus, the build-up of CSF — the body fluid found in the brain — can raise the pressure inside the skull, which squashes the surrounding brain tissues. This can cause the head to steadily grow in size… convulsions… brain damage… death. He strongly advised us to get an abortion. I felt I had no choice; I did.
I caressed my belly as if my hands could magically conjure her back inside, back to life, back to how we were paired up so perfectly for the past nineteen weeks.
As a woman and as an individual, however, statistics did nothing to comfort me in my time of darkness. I stayed in the hospital overnight, my pillow clutched to my face to muffle my moans as I grieved. My husband had gone home to care for our pets; the hospital staff did their best to comfort me, bringing me a consolation card with our dead child’s footprints. This did nothing to stem the tears.
For that hospital, I was one more statistic. 10–25% of all clinically recognized pregnancies end in miscarriage; I was part of the unlucky 1% that suffered through 3 or more consecutive first trimester miscarriages. With three prior miscarriages under my belt, my risk for another miscarriage was at 43% (another statistic that would come true months later).
Why is this happening? What did I do to deserve this? How can I possibly cope?
I hated God for punishing me. I hated my body for betraying me. Throughout my childhood, I’d been haunted by the demons of abuse, alcoholism, and absence. My mother had nine children naturally without even trying and I couldn’t have just one. Throughout much of my adulthood, I’d battled through toxic relationships, grand mal epilepsy, and depression. I wept a river that night, unable to come to terms with the reality.
The grief of losing a child — no matter the age, no matter the cause — can not be contained in words. When an unborn child dies within you, usually without a defined reason, a piece of you seems to die with them. What you face in the wake of their absence is unique to you. There is no “right” or “rational” way to cope with a miscarriage, and nobody deserves to tell you otherwise.
The pain is real and raw. The loss is physical, emotional, and it will scar you. The shock strikes like an electric volt. A miscarriage jars you from delight to devastation in no time. The sense of emptiness and helplessness consumes you, and this may be the most frightening of all. Humans are hardwired to instinctively fear that which we cannot control and miscarriages are just that, uncontrollable.
We must give ourselves time to grieve, accept, and heal from our loss. Therapy may be necessary, I know it was for me.
In my journey, amidst the nightmare of it all, I was lucky to have an incredibly supportive partner by my side who respected my needs and feelings, and who loved me for all I was. Each miscarriage taught me how strong I could be. Claude and I poured our love and purpose into a philanthropic endeavor we co-founded, Elevate Foundation, which has enabled us to make a difference in young people’s lives. In a way, these are the children we never had.
Women aren’t broken if they can’t have children. We don’t have to conform to society’s idea of what a woman should be. We don’t have to be ashamed of being childless — or childfree, for that matter — whether it’s a matter of personal choice or by fate. It’s important to be compassionate to each other, and above all, to ourselves.
I felt as if someone had raided my body and pummeled my heart until it bled and broke. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think.
Hell, it hurt to live.
I couldn’t fathom what had just happened. Mere hours ago, there had been a living being inside of me. I’d heard her heartbeat. I’d seen her on the ultrasound. I’d even felt her kick as she shuffled within my womb. I’d fantasized about her beautiful bright eyes, her smile, her chortle, the way she’d feel in my arms when I first held her, and the incredible and sacred mission of raising her.
The notion of having a child after trying so hard was both nerve-wracking and exhilarating. Every time I traced my hands across my belly, an indescribable wave of compassion, delight, and longing flooded through my body, warming me with the certainty that I’d do everything in my power to ensure a good life for her.
And now? Now there was emptiness. Abysmal loss. Anger. Maddening sadness. Despair.
Hydrocephalus, the doctor explained to me and my husband, Claude. In hydrocephalus, the build-up of CSF — the body fluid found in the brain — can raise the pressure inside the skull, which squashes the surrounding brain tissues. This can cause the head to steadily grow in size… convulsions… brain damage… death. He strongly advised us to get an abortion. I felt I had no choice; I did.
I caressed my belly as if my hands could magically conjure her back inside, back to life, back to how we were paired up so perfectly for the past nineteen weeks.
As a woman and as an individual, however, statistics did nothing to comfort me in my time of darkness. I stayed in the hospital overnight, my pillow clutched to my face to muffle my moans as I grieved. My husband had gone home to care for our pets; the hospital staff did their best to comfort me, bringing me a consolation card with our dead child’s footprints. This did nothing to stem the tears.
For that hospital, I was one more statistic. 10–25% of all clinically recognized pregnancies end in miscarriage; I was part of the unlucky 1% that suffered through 3 or more consecutive first trimester miscarriages. With three prior miscarriages under my belt, my risk for another miscarriage was at 43% (another statistic that would come true months later).
Why is this happening? What did I do to deserve this? How can I possibly cope?
I hated God for punishing me. I hated my body for betraying me. Throughout my childhood, I’d been haunted by the demons of abuse, alcoholism, and absence. My mother had nine children naturally without even trying and I couldn’t have just one. Throughout much of my adulthood, I’d battled through toxic relationships, grand mal epilepsy, and depression. I wept a river that night, unable to come to terms with the reality.
The grief of losing a child — no matter the age, no matter the cause — can not be contained in words. When an unborn child dies within you, usually without a defined reason, a piece of you seems to die with them. What you face in the wake of their absence is unique to you. There is no “right” or “rational” way to cope with a miscarriage, and nobody deserves to tell you otherwise.
The pain is real and raw. The loss is physical, emotional, and it will scar you. The shock strikes like an electric volt. A miscarriage jars you from delight to devastation in no time. The sense of emptiness and helplessness consumes you, and this may be the most frightening of all. Humans are hardwired to instinctively fear that which we cannot control and miscarriages are just that, uncontrollable.
We must give ourselves time to grieve, accept, and heal from our loss. Therapy may be necessary, I know it was for me.
In my journey, amidst the nightmare of it all, I was lucky to have an incredibly supportive partner by my side who respected my needs and feelings, and who loved me for all I was. Each miscarriage taught me how strong I could be. Claude and I poured our love and purpose into a philanthropic endeavor we co-founded, Elevate Foundation, which has enabled us to make a difference in young people’s lives. In a way, these are the children we never had.
Women aren’t broken if they can’t have children. We don’t have to conform to society’s idea of what a woman should be. We don’t have to be ashamed of being childless — or childfree, for that matter — whether it’s a matter of personal choice or by fate. It’s important to be compassionate to each other, and above all, to ourselves.
The Story Behind the Story (and What It’s Like to Write a Book)
As a little girl, I always had the sense that there must be more to life than I could see… more than our shabby little home on “the hill” in the ghettos of San Diego… more than the cramped two-bedroom apartment I shared with ten other people, half of whom always seemed to be squabbling or squalling… more than me sharing the fate of my heartbroken mom or drunken dad.
Everything around me screamed that struggle was the only way of life; it was the only thing I heard and the only thing I saw. My survival instincts kicked in from a really young age. I saw the raw pain in my mother’s eyes, her tears of abandonment, and an avalanche of kids she couldn’t take care of. She was the primary female figure of my childhood. I knew I wanted something different for my life.
I escaped through my imagination those days… my mother told me around the time when I was six years old, I would say to her: “One day, mommy, I am going to get a mobile home and travel the world with you.”
I had no idea how I would make that happen, but I knew one essential thing: I wanted out. Even then, there was this light inside that kept me dreaming and believing. No matter how many punches and kicks life threw at me, that light persisted throughout my childhood and even adulthood.
Over the past decade of my life, I have indeed had the opportunity to travel the world. My most recent trip was to the Maldives, all the way on the other side of the Earth. As I sat and sun-bathed on the bungalow deck above the water, the sea stretched out endless and perfect before me. Immersed in the peaceful sounds of the waves and feeling the sun warm my skin, I began to reflect on my life, the lessons I’d learned, the hardships I overcame, and the people I met who helped me at critical times in my life. I looked back on where I was and at how far I’d come… and I shed tears of joy.
I felt, then, that if I could feel uplifted and inspired by reflecting on the painful obstacle course of my life, why couldn’t I extend this hope and this encouragement to others? Look, I wanted to say. I’ve been there, done that. If you’re at a low point, don’t give up. If you’re going through Hell, keep going. You’ll break free. You’ll break through. I did. Why not you?
Books have always been a source of escape and inspiration for me. If I could write a book that could inspire and uplift and encourage others in their own times of hardship, I wanted to achieve that.
So here I am, one year later. Emerging Butterfly is complete and I am starting a new chapter in my life. I’ve never done this before—I haven’t written and I haven’t spoken up, not formally and not officially. I’ll be honest: it’s a little scary opening up to the entire world. It’s scary being vulnerable and exposed to scrutiny. But if I can help just one person… it will have been worth it.
Writing a book is not easy. It takes time, commitment, and hard work to see it come to life. It takes collaboration and patience, going back and parsing through memories. It takes teamwork, working with an editor and designer and publisher. It’s also a very cathartic experience. I cried on so many occasions going back in time and reliving some of the most devastating memories I had buried deep within my soul. Feelings emerged, carrying me along as if on the wings of a butterfly, and I flew all the way back to the beginning.
So yes, it was hard. It was emotional. It was beautiful. I had to forgive people who hurt me, thank those who held me up when I could barely hold on to life, and throughout it all God was there guiding my footsteps. It’s true that He will not give you more than you can bear, even when you feel like you’re a feather that will be knocked over from a breath of wind. I see now how everything that has happened to me served to make me stronger, more grateful, and better. This is who I strive to be today: a strong, determined, resilient, kind, loving, and happy person.
The sky is the limit… so I will keep flying and embracing life… and I hope to take you with me on a journey of self-discovery.
Everything around me screamed that struggle was the only way of life; it was the only thing I heard and the only thing I saw. My survival instincts kicked in from a really young age. I saw the raw pain in my mother’s eyes, her tears of abandonment, and an avalanche of kids she couldn’t take care of. She was the primary female figure of my childhood. I knew I wanted something different for my life.
I escaped through my imagination those days… my mother told me around the time when I was six years old, I would say to her: “One day, mommy, I am going to get a mobile home and travel the world with you.”
I had no idea how I would make that happen, but I knew one essential thing: I wanted out. Even then, there was this light inside that kept me dreaming and believing. No matter how many punches and kicks life threw at me, that light persisted throughout my childhood and even adulthood.
Over the past decade of my life, I have indeed had the opportunity to travel the world. My most recent trip was to the Maldives, all the way on the other side of the Earth. As I sat and sun-bathed on the bungalow deck above the water, the sea stretched out endless and perfect before me. Immersed in the peaceful sounds of the waves and feeling the sun warm my skin, I began to reflect on my life, the lessons I’d learned, the hardships I overcame, and the people I met who helped me at critical times in my life. I looked back on where I was and at how far I’d come… and I shed tears of joy.
I felt, then, that if I could feel uplifted and inspired by reflecting on the painful obstacle course of my life, why couldn’t I extend this hope and this encouragement to others? Look, I wanted to say. I’ve been there, done that. If you’re at a low point, don’t give up. If you’re going through Hell, keep going. You’ll break free. You’ll break through. I did. Why not you?
Books have always been a source of escape and inspiration for me. If I could write a book that could inspire and uplift and encourage others in their own times of hardship, I wanted to achieve that.
So here I am, one year later. Emerging Butterfly is complete and I am starting a new chapter in my life. I’ve never done this before—I haven’t written and I haven’t spoken up, not formally and not officially. I’ll be honest: it’s a little scary opening up to the entire world. It’s scary being vulnerable and exposed to scrutiny. But if I can help just one person… it will have been worth it.
Writing a book is not easy. It takes time, commitment, and hard work to see it come to life. It takes collaboration and patience, going back and parsing through memories. It takes teamwork, working with an editor and designer and publisher. It’s also a very cathartic experience. I cried on so many occasions going back in time and reliving some of the most devastating memories I had buried deep within my soul. Feelings emerged, carrying me along as if on the wings of a butterfly, and I flew all the way back to the beginning.
So yes, it was hard. It was emotional. It was beautiful. I had to forgive people who hurt me, thank those who held me up when I could barely hold on to life, and throughout it all God was there guiding my footsteps. It’s true that He will not give you more than you can bear, even when you feel like you’re a feather that will be knocked over from a breath of wind. I see now how everything that has happened to me served to make me stronger, more grateful, and better. This is who I strive to be today: a strong, determined, resilient, kind, loving, and happy person.
The sky is the limit… so I will keep flying and embracing life… and I hope to take you with me on a journey of self-discovery.
