Who says I'm too old to write? Probably the same folks who say you can't teach an old dog new tricks. Or the ones who say you can't find love after 40. To this, I say, I am reinventing myself at 50. I have found love at 50. And, I am 50 times a writer! My mission is to write, out of my Being, words that illuminate and evoke honesty, liberty and connection.



Monday, August 10, 2015

It's Raining Men, Hallelujah!


Tonight's the night!  See you at the summit!!  You must register to get dial in information at www.suzetterhinton.com.  If you have problems or can't locate the dial in information, contact our team at contact@suzetterhinton.com.  We'll get you connected something snappy!

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Friday, August 7, 2015

My Validation My Healing

Isn't it wonderful when you meet someone who gets you.  Where others minimized what you went through, this person bears witness that it mattered.  This is the real attraction.  We think that it's his biceps or her hips, but while certain things about the opposite sex ring my bell, it pales in comparison with a sustained respect for what matters to me.

Stories of love found and love lost are as unique as the two people in each love story.  

I remember listening as Valerie Simpson of the famous 1960's Motown duo Ashford & Simpson recalled what she described a very passionate relationship with her late husband.  When asked if they fought.  Valerie laughed while reminiscing.  They would call each other names, scream to the top of their lungs, and slam doors.  They caused such a raucous in fact, that their next door neighbors, The Cosby's, sent them a thank you for keeping them up all night long.  One would think that theirs was the most terrible marriage ever, but they were solid as a rock.  

I couldn't have been in a relationship like that.  It would have been the death of me.  That's why it is so important to know what helps you become your best self.  Each relationship helps us get more clear.  

Every wound needs a witness.  But should you marry the witness?  

My first two marriages were to a man who bore witness.  It was comforting at first.  When I revealed my pain, he understood.  He even shared his own.  It felt so good to finally be with a man who got me. It bonded me to him to the point that everything else was dismissed or rationalized away. They don't understand him like I do was my thinking.  

What I learned from that marriage was marriage can't survive on the witness alone.  While we are drawn to someone who validates what we've been through and holds our vulnerability sacred, we are doomed to relive that misery unless the other person involves him or herself self in the healing.  This is something I didn't understand.  His hands could only support my pain; they could not support my healing.

Pain reliever or healer, which are you?

Once my heart was broken, my esteem went with it.  All I could focus on was validation.  I needed someone or many someones to understand.  I was broken and I was hurting.  Validation offered me two Tylenol with a full glass of water.  While that helped for a moment, after a while, even pain relievers weren't enough.  Broken hearts are healed with pain relievers.  They require more. 

Pain reliever or healer?  This is the question.   I am not Ashford & Simpson.  Just the same, they found their healing in each other. And though they fought like cats and dogs, they were a safe place where intimacy found a resting place.  Part of determining the future of a relationship is to define this for yourself.  Life was trying to teach me that.   

I think that is what the discovery phase of a relationship is most about.  It gives us a chance to see if a person is a pain reliever or an agent of healing.  Little by little that fog of euphoria dissipates and you are able to see a little bit more and a little bit more.  

"Only your mother could have been married to your father." 

While our opposite sex parent is usually the template of our romantic relationships, the day I heard these words changed my life. Up until that point, I was drawn to and accepted the same familiar type.  My dad was not emotionally available and I kept trying to heal that pain by finding him in other men and righting that wrong.  It didn't work.  

It wasn't until I became emotionally available for myself and owned my feelings and needs wholeheartedly that I stopped the insanity.  Wrong relationships weeded themselves automatically. My now husband was different.  

Healers aren't forced.  They are revealed.  

In order for something to be revealed, it has to first exist.  The ability to heal is inherent in the body. Doctors in alternative or holistic medicine believe that.  Stands to reason this is true of emotional healing as well.  My husband has a wonderful capacity for healing like I've not seen in anyone else. His level of empathy is rare.

There was an ease about him from the start.  He wasn't easily agitated.  He was warm and helpful. Not only that.  We enjoyed hanging out with each other.  Still do.  But it wasn't until we were at do-or-die points in our relationship that his extraordinary empathy was magnified.  Even if we did not agree, when the smoke cleared and intense differences died down, steady as always was his willing spirit.  His love is truly healing and makes me better. 

Monday, August 3, 2015

He's Here


Ah, married life! The toilet seat left up. Shaved hairs in the sink. I, like any other woman, cringe when I see it. But what would it matter to have the toilet seat down if my husband weren't here with me?

When I got married, I was tempted to shift my focus from loving my husband to changing these behaviors. I was walking around the house and to be sure, there was some evidence of my husband in every single room in the house. A pair of shoes by the door, the wrinkled bed in the guest room, and yes the pots and pans he left soaking from last night's dinner in the sink. My initial thought was this house is a mess. Shoes go in the closet. Bed covers should be smoothed after you get up. Pots and pans need to be washed and put away. But then something higher said. "Suzette, he's just marking his territory." He laughed with a "that's right," when I pointed it out.

I remember a part in my dialogue with one of the speakers for my upcoming You Asked? Good Men Answered! telesummit. We were talking about how men feel when women say to them, "We need to talk." Then he clarified, "But, I'd rather have her talking than quiet." That was profound. He understood what we women know. When we get quiet, it ain't good. But what he was saying went deeper than that.

He went on to talk about how much he needs and treasures her voice: her talking, her singing, her way of being and what it does for him. It's her sound that he treasures. It's her sound that he needs. When we are able to get beyond what's upsetting our orderly world and cherish the sound that a person brings to our life, then we truly love that person.

I don't want my man to be quiet. Sure, I'd prefer that the toilet seat were lowered, shaved hairs were removed from the sink, pots and pans were washed, shoes were put in the closet and the bed were smoothed after he's laid on top of it. But if I had the choice between his compliance and his sound, I'd choose his sound. His sound is his presence. His sound is him. He is in every part of my house. It's his fragrance. Wherever I go, I carry his fragrance. When I come home, I need it. He's here. He's home!

I love him.