Motivational Monday: Writer’s Block

Yesterday I had writer’s block.  I can’t even remember the last time I struggled with getting my thoughts out on the page.  It seemed the more I wrote, the more frustrated I became since my words and feelings didn’t match with my thoughts in my head.

So I did what anyone would do – I asked Facebook what to do.  And then I went to Pinterest to find inspirational quotes.

That is when I realized fear were getting in my way.  

Fear and self-doubt were stifling my story I wanted to get out.

See, I am trying to write a piece for the Listen to Your Mother audition. I know that there are a few people that read this blog.  I have spoken in front of students, presented at a conference, and been on a panel on TV several times; but reading a personal story out loud makes me nervous.  Wonder if it is no good?  Wonder if I can't say what is in my heart?  Wonder if I fail?

But then I remembered this:

So I am not going to wait for it to come out perfectly

I am going to just breath and work through this.

Have you ever had writer's block?  How do you work through your fear?

Thanksgiving Turkey Recap to the Raw Poultry Dare

I just wanted to give myself (and those hanging on the edge of their seats) a little closure about cooking the turkey for the Thanksgiving.

I waited this long a.) to make sure no one had any delayed serious and/or fatal cases of salmonella poisoning, and b.) manhandling a 21.4-pound beast is exhausting. 

At first, I was super nervous. Looking at this thing was like staring long and hard at your biggest fear.

But I lifted it into the sink and got to work.

Yikes!

Please Note the rubber glove was worn out of safety since I took a chunk off my thumb while preparing roasted root vegetables, not because I was scared.

Hey, little known fact about turkeys: there is a metal wire holding it together which is damn near impossible to take out. My mom, who was assisting, told Harrington, who was photo documenting, to do it. I shut that shit down. When I commit, I commit the whole way. So after I yanked that metal piece out, I lathered up that bird in an olive oil paste of garlic, sage, thyme, and rosemary.

The smile says, "Gross, but totally doing it! Yay me!"

See, here I am separating the skin from the meat because what good is the flavor if it is only on he outside. (See, I commit all the way).

Look at the look of concentration. Maybe I missed my chance at being a surgeon. Or a butcher.
Also, please don't judge the scruntchie.  I needed my hair out of my face
and still look good later that day.

Then I popped it in the oven and put the electronic thermometer in the correct spot (or so I thought).

I washed my arms like I was scrubbing in for surgery.

And bleached the kitchen (along with my soul).

I started to get nervous because the bird was cooking so fast. I kept on turning the oven down and down. And let the bird rest. And it wasn't done. So long story short, my mom and my mother-in-law were ripping the legs of the turkey to pop back in the oven. 

Pink juices were flowing onto my counter.

I repeat: Pink juices were flowing onto my counter.

Luckily, I was preoccupied with obsessing about the rest of the bird and drinking my wine, because obviously.

While obsessing, I notice that part of the breast near the bone was questionable so I popped it in the oven and had more wine.

And proceeded to make the most amazing gravy ever.

I put the rest of the stuff on the table. I kept mashed potatoes warm with this trick.

Boom.

And everyone lived happily ever after without any trips to the ER. The end.

Afterwards:

There is this weird thing about facing a life long fear and surviving. I thought I would only feel joy and triumph. But I feel kind of pissed I spent that much time being scared. And then I felt sad that I was that sick with OCD and didn't even know it. I just thought it was normal since I wasn't totally and completely destroying my life.  

Don't get me wrong, there was a feeling of accomplishment, but I was taken off guard by the other feelings.

Have you ever conquered a fear only to feel sad?

Raw Chicken Dare: Thanksgiving, Roasted Turkey, and Anne Burrell

Awhile back, Elizabeth from Flourish in Progress dared us to do something that scared us. I chose the only fear that I could reasonably conquer while still raising babies: my fear of raw chicken. I made progress, but never did the final step of cooking a whole raw bird. And for a little background, I had a terrifying fear of raw poultry. At my lowest of my low, I refused to buy it and eat only precooked chicken strips I a bag. On the rare occasion when I did cook raw chicken, I had some weird rituals about cleaning with bleach and using paper towels, but a lot of that has been alleviated with the new recommendations of not rinsing the chicken before cooking.

 Well, that and therapy.

I decided it was time to just do it already.  Mostly because we are hosting Thanksgiving. I was excited, yet the whole never having cooked a turkey before was looking over me. And because I'm one to prepare, I decided to practice on some chickens before the big day. I mean, I didn't want to fail and have to make peanut butter and jelly for everyone. I just don't think the wine would have paired well with that, no?

So I finally decided to try Anne Burrell's recipe from Cook like a Rock Star. The chopping of herbs and vegetables was totally in my comfort zone, but the separating of the skin to apply the herb paste and trussing the chicken was totally not in my comfort zone.

Here is a photo essay of how I conquered my fear if raw chicken.  All photos are taken by my dad since Harrington decided it would be better to take the kids out of the house incase I freaked out and had a nervous breakdown.

First, I got a kick ass pan. It made me feel really grown up, not unlike the first time I wore red lipstick to a dance in junior high. 

Then I chopped up vegetables - easy peasy.

The bag of guts. So gross. But not as gross as the blood that drained out. Blech.

Then, as Anne Burrell said, I lubed up the chicken. I cut my nails so incredibly short that there was no way a colony of salmonella could grow under there.

My hand is in between the skin and the flesh.  I don't even know who I am anymore.

I can't believe that I am doing this.

Trussing was confusing. I watched Anne Burrell's YouTube clip like 5 times because my spatial relations skills rival that of a 3 year old. So I practiced.

 On my mom's thumbs.

Kinda like Cat's Cradle, no?

Trussing for real.

I did it! Yay!

Then I put the birds in the oven so I could start my OCD sanitizing rituals. I wash my hands and forearms as if I was scrubbing in for surgery.

I am scrubbing in for surgery!  Doesn't everyone wash their forearms after handling raw poultry?

Then I wipe the counter clean as many times as it takes my soul to feel clean. This day it was only 3, but I've gone as many as 10 20.  I may have changed my shirt in fear that some contaminated paste may have gotten on it. Extreme? Perhaps. But I have a raw effing chicken in my kitchen so let's just focus on the positive.

When the birds came out delicious and juicy, I felt elated. I was just aiming to not kill anyone with undercooked poultry. But it tasted delicious! I'm thinking this is similar to someone jumping out of Airplane to conquer her fear of heights. I feel invincible! Roasted turkey? Yes! Roast beef? Let's do it!   Pork roast?  Bring it.

Ta Da!  The final product!

Have you ever conquered a fear?  How did you go about doing it?