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	<title>WIRL Project &#187; Stephanie Volkert</title>
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	<description>What It&#039;s Really Like.</description>
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		<title>Double the Blogs, Double the Fun, Except Maybe for the Husband</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/double-the-blogs-double-the-fun-except-maybe-for-the-husband/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/double-the-blogs-double-the-fun-except-maybe-for-the-husband/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 27 May 2015 20:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Stephanie Volkert]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[WIRL Challenge]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[blog]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[blogger]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[blogging]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Food]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Obsessed]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[photography]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Talk]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[WIRL Blogging]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=6404</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I&#8217;m Stephanie, and I&#8217;m maybe-slightly-kind-of addicted to blogging. I don&#8217;t need, like, group meetings and an intervention or anything. I just really, really like it. I can quit anytime. I swear! (No, you don&#8217;t need to speak with my husband. Let&#8217;s just keep this between us. *wink wink*) I started several years ago, have been through three domain names as I finally narrowed down my focus, and now I have two blogs, run a wonderful Facebook group for bloggers, and contribute to several websites. “All the V&#8217;s” is my primary blog, where I share my love of photography, beauty, fashion, and writing. “Janus Lane” is a new venture and it&#8217;s where I let my creative side out through recipes, crafts, and homemaking. By the way, naming a blog is about as stressful as naming your new baby. That name is forever. I finally settled on “All the V&#8217;s” because our last names start with a V, as do our dog&#8217;s names. And one snake. Janus Lane is a throwback to a street I use to live on, so that one was actually pretty easy. By the way, naming a blog is about as stressful as naming your new baby. Blogging is a unique experience in that I never really turn “off.” I see the world in terms of, “Can I blog that?” My camera – be it my smart phone and/or one of my three digital cameras – are my faithful travel companions. My phone is filled with blogging ideas and reminders. I go through a LOT of Post-It Notes. My desk doesn&#8217;t know what it&#8217;s like to stay uncluttered. It was clean last weekend, I swear, but now it is littered with a portable hard drive, a camera, my wallet, a jar of maraschino cherries, a recipe, two picture frames, an iPod, an empty cupcake wrapper, Poster Putty, eye drops, a mostly-empty bottle of beer, my “I&#8217;d die without this” notebook, my cell phone, a syringe, and a seashell. Every single one of those items somehow relates to blogging. Except the beer. I just like beer. I started blogging because I like to talk. I like to talk a lot. It wasn&#8217;t until a few months in that I realized I could maybe make a little pocket change from it, and then I had to let go of the idea that I could have a successful blog for little-to-no investment. I had to spend money. My blog-related expenses so far this year are over $1,000. I have seen no monetary return&#8230; yet. I am hopeful to at least see both of my blogs become financially self-sufficient. I don&#8217;t see myself making six figures a month from blogging, but I do have long-term goals that are doable and probably lucrative. You have to think “big picture” if you intend to blog as a profession. It&#8217;s like choosing your major in college – there&#8217;s a lot of small goals you&#8217;ll need to achieve along the way, and you can&#8217;t slack off, but they all lead to your future. I blog full-time. I work 6-10 hours per day. I&#8217;m up between 4 and 8 am, depending on when I went to bed. I often do blog-related tasks until midnight or later. I have insomnia, so it&#8217;s not uncommon for me to be awake at 3 am, on Twitter or Pinterest, or editing photos. I&#8217;m on Pacific time, and so the rest of the U.S. is often awake before me, which means no sleeping in if I want to get in on link parties and anything else before I&#8217;m the last one to show up. The early bird gets the readers. Speaking of photos, one of the most time consuming and expensive aspects of blogging, for me, is photography. My costs and time spent in that area are higher than most, because photography is one focus of All the V&#8217;s, but any blogger that intends to have traffic from Pinterest will have to learn photography and invest in a good camera, or be skilled at finding and using stock photos. There&#8217;s just no way around it. You&#8217;ll often find me chasing the good lighting around the house so I can get the best photos. Like last week, when I set up a cupcake photo shoot on the living room coffee table. It felt a little silly, but the photos turned out great. You may be wondering what is so great about blogging. I&#8217;m wondering what isn&#8217;t great about it. There are so many things that I love about blogging. I get to interact with people from all over the world. I learn something new every single day. I have a place to share my thoughts and talents. Blogging pushes me to be the best that I can be in all areas of my life. You, the readers, hold me accountable. As long as I am a blogger, I will never stall, never stagnate, never stop learning and improving. What&#8217;s not to love about that? Speaking of that husband I mentioned at the beginning, he&#8217;s written up what it&#8217;s like to live with a blogger. Here&#8217;s his take on it: I am prepared to answer the following questions at any time, with zero stress: Which is the best tank of the Second World War? Which is better: Godzilla, or the Kaiju from Pacific Rim? How do I get a 70 ton tank across a river? (See end of post for answers.) I am not prepared at all to answer the following questions: Which of these shades of very similar/so-different-as-to-not-even-be-remotely-comparable colors is more attractive? Do you know any berries that have a really red color?  Not like, raspberry red, but really red? What do you think about hosted advertising on my blog? &#160; Needless to say, given the nature of this post and the fact that I am married to a blogger, you can guess which questions I am asked on a daily basis.  At any time, at any point, no matter if I’m on the computer, making dinner, or futzing around with my hobbies, that inquiring tone will sneak into what I’m doing and leave me to answer one of those highly crafty or bloggy questions. Not that I mind.  I actually enjoy being involved with Steph’s projects, and I’m happy she trusts me enough to ask my opinion (even if I’m totally clueless on the matter!) and I am continuing to encourage her to do more food blogging because she’s an awesome cook, and having to wait a few minutes to dig into dinner for photos is okay and worth waiting for. Being married to a blogger means you don’t really get to wander by random objects or consumables, because anything, at any time, could turn into a new project that you’ll be asked to hold up part of, or assess if it’s better THIS way or better THAT way. It means also accepting the small legion of projects in process, or the small scale disaster areas left by projects in the kitchen.  It disappears in due time, but the fact that 90% of the dishes in the house have been consumed by culinary experiments, or the dog has attempted to become entangled in wreath making materials, can occasionally be slightly trying. On the other hand, any healthy relationship includes being supportive of your spouse, and it remains a two way street for us. Just as much as I support Stephanie&#8217;s blogs and craftiness, she supports my desire to paint insane amounts of model tanks, or play board games that require four or so hours TO READ THE INSTRUCTIONS AND SET UP ALL THE THINGS before even starting play. So it&#8217;s really not at all that bad. I&#8217;m happy she&#8217;s found something she likes, and I&#8217;m happy to help her make the cupcakes she just made disappear. The occasional odd questions or requests for help are well worth that much. (1. M4 Sherman.  Not the toughest or biggest, but having a tank all the time beats having a tank sometimes. (2. Depends.  Godzilla because it’s classic, but the variety of the Kaiju beats out fifty shades of green rubber lizard monster) (3. Haha oh God that was fun times.) So there you have it, a glimpse into being a blogger and being married to one. I&#8217;m incredibly grateful to have such a supportive spouse, although he kind of owes me. He did run off to South Korea for 18 months to have fun with tanks.]]></description>
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		<title>Living with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/living-with-post-traumatic-stress-disorder/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/living-with-post-traumatic-stress-disorder/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 21 May 2015 09:00:44 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Stephanie Volkert]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Health/Fitness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[abuse]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Anger]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[anxiety]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Emotions]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Medication]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[mental illness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Pain]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Post Traumatic Stress Disorder]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[PTSD]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Synthetic]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Trust]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=6297</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[When most people hear “PTSD,” they envision war veterans, assault victims, and survivors from a catastrophic accident. Those are the people who make the news, the people that are used online as click-bait. They are attractions in a world of people who experience trauma by proxy. I will not be one of those people, but I will tell what I can comfortably share of my story. PTSD, like any other mental illness, has it&#8217;s share of naysayers and unbelievers. The thing is though, the only ingredient needed for developing PTSD is trauma. Everyone responds to traumatic events in different ways. Your “no big deal” could be my traumatic event, and vice versa. There&#8217;s no defining criteria for what makes a traumatic event so, well, traumatic. Let&#8217;s get this straight: If I say it was traumatic, it was. There are no “buts” or caveats. It is solely my decision, based on how I was effected. It is not about you. It never was, and it never will be. PTSD, like any other mental illness, has it&#8217;s share of naysayers and unbelievers. My own PTSD manifested due to childhood abandonment, emotional neglect, immersion in the drug culture when I was too young to have a say in where I went and with whom, and acts I witnessed that are so staggeringly awful that I refuse to speak of them anymore. I became a stereotype; a statistic. Girl from broken home marries abusive man. It&#8217;s a tired, ancient story that has played out over centuries, in homes the world over, no matter race, culture, social status, or intelligence. Perhaps I could have healed sooner if I hadn&#8217;t married my ex. Perhaps without the years of emotional sabotage he inflicted, I would not be as scarred and scared as I am today. The past cannot be changed though, and no one is immune to what life throws at them. My PTSD manifests itself in a way that looks outwardly similar to Borderline Personality Disorder. I hurt myself; I hit myself about the head with closed fists because I feel deep down that I deserve it. I punish myself for having feelings, because those were not allowed, unless they were feelings that made someone else feel good. My own negative feelings had consequences that were, to say the least, unpleasant. I can go from calm and collected to screaming with fear-parading-as-rage in less than one second. That is not an exaggeration. I never learned to self soothe. I never learned to regulate painful emotions. Every hurt feeling is an avalanche barreling towards me and I am terrified. I can go from calm and collected to screaming with fear-parading-as-rage in less than one second. That is not an exaggeration. I trust no one. Not even myself. I have not personally known a man, with the exception of two, who did not betray their partner. The women in my life have not had a better track record. I was dragged along through the twisted dramas of affair after affair. I was there the night my uncle found his wife in bed with another man and burned every article of clothing she owned right there in their front yard. I stood in my grandma&#8217;s kitchen as my aunt and her lover, her in just a robe and him in just boxers, pleaded for a car and a credit card to escape the 160+ miles to El Paso. The only reason the police weren&#8217;t involved is because we all lived so far out of town that there were no neighbors or passers-by to witness the flames. There was no one to keep me sheltered from The Bad Stuff that night, nor countless other nights. The adults would try to tell me half-hearted lies so that I wouldn&#8217;t ask questions, but I saw right through them. Kids are a lot smarter than you think. There are days I am absolutely convinced that my existence is a mistake. Surely the universe has sent me a message: “You weren&#8217;t suppose to be here, and now look at the havoc you have caused. You need to rectify this.” I have felt suicidal since I was 15. The only reason I am still alive is my absolute stubbornness to keep going, and my daughter. I would never intentionally hurt her, so no matter how I feel, I put her first. I put one foot forward, hour after hour, and do my best to be the kind of parent I should have had. There are days I am absolutely convinced that my existence is a mistake. Surely the universe has sent me a message: “You weren&#8217;t suppose to be here, and now look at the havoc you have caused. You need to rectify this.” I live with PTSD every second of every day. It colors my world a timorous gray. It touches every corner of my mind like ants swarming on a carcass. I&#8217;ve always gravitated towards hobbies and interests that other people find repulsive and frightening, like insects and reptiles, or which can be achieved solo, like photography and writing. It&#8217;s been questioned if I chose hobbies that required no one else, so that I would not have to interact with others. I suppose that&#8217;s partially right; I&#8217;ve always been a complex mixture of intensely personable and comfortably introverted. I was never going to be a cheerleader anyway. This kind of PTSD takes years to recover from, because it took 29 years to develop it. I am 33 now. I&#8217;m remarried, in a drastically different environment in so many ways, and I do see improvement. My husband sees improvement. I rejected medication for so long, because I am very sensitive to anything synthetic, but I now take 50mg of Zoloft each day. I don&#8217;t like that I feel dulled, I don&#8217;t like that my libido has tanked, but I do appreciate the edge it takes off of my anger and anxiety. I have gained much-needed weight because I am no longer too anxious to eat, and I have insomnia less often. I rejected medication for so long, because I am very sensitive to anything synthetic&#8230; I don&#8217;t like that I feel dulled&#8230; but I do appreciate the edge it takes off of my anger and anxiety. My friends and family find me more tolerable, which is conflicting for me. On one hand, I don&#8217;t want to have to chemically alter myself in order to be loved. I resent it. I resent them for it. On the other hand, I am terrified of abandonment so stopping the medication feels like voluntarily drowning. I can put myself in quite the quagmire sometimes. Every person with a mental illness has their own version of it. There is no right or wrong way to be sick. There is no right or wrong way to be traumatized. Next time you are confronted with someone else&#8217;s mental illness, just remember: It is not your story, so just let them tell it, and resist the urge to critique it.]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>I Don’t Want To Be A Champion For Abused Women</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/i-dont-want-to-be-a-champion-for-abused-women/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/i-dont-want-to-be-a-champion-for-abused-women/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 04 May 2015 09:00:57 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Stephanie Volkert]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[abuse]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Marriage]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[My story]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Relationships]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=5798</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I’m doing a challenge to blog every day in May. Today’s prompt is “The story of your life in 250 words or less.” I don’t know how to fit 33 years into 250 words, but here goes: I grew up a poor black child….. no wait, that was Steve Martin in The Jerk. Okay okay. I can try to be serious for like five minutes. I’ve never been good at talking about my life. Confusing, I know, because I blog, but I blog about the things that I don’t mind sharing. I don’t want to talk about life pre-age-28 or so, because it’s not so pretty, and it’s not me anymore. I’m in a new marriage, in a new state, with a new house, new pets, nearly new everything. This life does not feel like that life, because this life isn’t that life. This life is better. This life is happier, more fulfilling, less scary, and more stable. This life has less abuse. This life has laughter filling quiet moments, while the past life had fear that forced silence. This life has wonder, adventure, and good wine. This life has date nights and love notes. The past life had isolation and betrayal. I don’t want to be a champion for abused women by talking about abuse. I don’t want to be an advocate. I just want to enjoy this life that I have now, so that’s the life you hear about here. That’s the stories you’ll be getting from me. This life is the life I’ve made for myself, and it is absolutely the best life for me, full of love and laughter and a whole lot of dog hair. &#160;]]></description>
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