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Become Your Own Bliss

Dearest Loves,

As most of you know, I've been working on Become Your Own Bliss, my debut as a published author. My original release date for the book was set for Monday, July 14, 2014. 

Due to a last-minute massive edit, I am forced to push the release date for #BYOB a few weeks. Don't worry, it will be available for purchase before the summer ends. I will make announcements on every social media front, and every single one of my websites for the final release date.

However, I am honoring my original release date by publishing the corresponding website to Become Your Own Bliss, and I will be posting gifts leading up to the release of the book. 

We have much to look forward to! 

Blissfully yours,
Veronica

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Get Your Blissification on The Talk 2 Q Radio Show

Tonight at 8:00 CDT/9:00 EST, get your Blissification on The Talk 2 Q Radio Show! Click on the link for details. 


It'll be my first time as a guest on a radio show, and I'll be chatting with Q about my upcoming book, Become Your Own Bliss, (#BYOB) and how much I love being a life coach, and other stuff.
Join us!



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Project: Fresh Start

During some of the most trying times in my life, I went to my mother for advice. The common thread that wove the events together was that they were the turning of the page from one chapter of my life into the next. "Change is the only constant in life," my Mom would say, "get used to it."

That has been the singular best piece of advice I've ever received, which is why I have learned to brazenly swim into the turning of the tides.

Change 

Starting anew is deliciously terrifying. There are fewer things that can blissfully rattle the human psyche more than a fresh, bright, new start. 

When we make the conscious choice to move forward while using fear as power rather than a hindrance, we not only do we allow ourselves to grow by leaning into our edges; we give others permission to do the same.

A month ago today was my first day completely devoting my life to my coaching practice and my writing. I've never felt more liberated, and the transformation has not only been surprising, it has been awe-inspiring. I am bravely putting my future on the line by betting on myself.

Stop doing what you dread and give yourself a chance.

My soul is grateful that I have.

"Do what you love and everything else will fall into place."



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Late Night Confession

I confess:

I LOVE honest people. God, do I love honest people. People say the truth hurts, but I'm OK with a little bit of pain.

BS - low tolerance for.

I do my best to think differently, every day (but Facebook makes it so darn hard).

Swearing feels so good sometimes. Fucking loooove.

I surround myself with my books and my dogs.

I stay up most nights writing, finishing stuff up, crafting words and absorbing them.

I hate that my best friends are so far away, but we text every day.

I'm obsessed with lip balm.

The past couple of months have been kind of hectic for me; I owe some of you mail. It's coming!

And lastly, I truly believe that people are not told enough that they are loved. So, whoever you are, wherever you are...You are enough, and I love you, from the floor of my thumper. <3 <3 <3

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Amy Schumer's Speech at the Annual Gloria Awards

Image from Inside Amy Schumer Facebook Page







































I am a big Amy Schumer fan. F'ckin' LOVE her! She has been a girlcrush since I came across her stuff on YouTube. Needless to say, I was thrilled when Inside Amy Schumer hit the air on Comedy Central. She reminds me of the hilariously blunt and sexually liberated best friend I never had.

On Thursday night, Amy gave a speech at the Annual Gloria Awards held by the Ms. Foundation for Women, in honor of Gloria Steinem's 80th birthday.

That gross sexual encounter that catalyzes the change in our perspective, self-love, self-image... It's here.

Every young woman should read this transcript:

          "Here I go, and if it doesn't go well, please just don't blog about it.

Right before I left for college, I was running my high school. Feel it. I knew where to park, I knew where to get the best chicken-cutlet sandwich, I knew which custodians had pot. People knew me. They liked me. I was an athlete and a good friend. I felt pretty, I felt funny, I felt sane. Then I got to college in Maryland. My school was voted number one ... for the hottest freshman girls in Playboy that year. And not because of me. All of a sudden, being witty and charismatic didn't mean shit. Day after day, I could feel the confidence drain from my body. I was not what these guys wanted. They wanted thinner, blonder, dumber ... My sassy one-liners were only working on the cafeteria employees, who I was visiting all too frequently, tacking on not the Freshman 15, but the 30, in record-breaking time, which led my mother to make comments over winter break like, "You look healthy!" I was getting no male attention, and I'm embarrassed to say, it was killing me.

But one guy paid me some attention — Matt. Matt was six feet tall, he looked like a grown-up von Trapp child, and he was five years older than me. What?! An older boy, paying attention to me? I must be okay. Uff. I made him laugh in our bio lab, and I could tell a couple times that we had a vibe. He was a super senior, which is a sexy way of saying "should have graduated, but needed an extra year." He barely spoke, which was perfect for all the projecting I had planned for him. We grew up in the same town, and getting attention from him felt like success. When I would see him on campus, my heart would race, and I would smile as he passed. I'd look in the mirror and see all the blood rise to my face. I'd spend time analyzing the interaction, and planning my outfit for the next time I saw him. I wanted him to call. He never called. But then finally, he called.

It was 8 a.m., my dorm room phone rang. "Amy, wassup? It's Matt. Come over." Holy shit! This is it, I thought. He woke up thinking about me! He realized we're meant to start a life together! Let's just stop all this pretending that we weren't free just to love one another! I wondered, would we raise our kids in the town we both grew up in, or has he taken a liking to Baltimore? I don't care. I'll settle wherever he's most comfortable. Will he want to raise our kids Jewish? Who cares? I shaved my legs in the sink, I splashed some water under my armpits, and my randomly assigned Albanian roommate stared at me from under her sheets as I rushed around our shitty dorm room. I ran right over to his place, ready for our day together. What would we do? It's still early enough, maybe we're going fishing? Or maybe his mom's in town, and he wanted me to join them for breakfast. Knock-knock. Is he going to carry me over the threshold? I bet he's fixing his hair and telling his mom, 'Be cool, this may be the one!' I'll be very sweet with her, but assert myself, so she doesn't think she's completely in charge of all the holiday dinners we're going to plan together. I'll call her by her first name, too, so she knows she can't mess with me. "Rita! I'm going to make the green bean casserole this year, and that's that!" Knock-knock. Ring ring. Where is he?

Finally, the door opens. It's Matt, but not really. He's there, but not really. His face is kind of distorted, and his eyes seem like he can't focus on me. He's actually trying to see me from the side, like a shark. "Hey!" he yells, too loud, and gives me a hug, too hard. He's fucking wasted. I'm not the first person he thought of that morning. I'm the last person he called that night. I wonder, how many girls didn't answer before he got to fat freshman me? Am I in his phone as Schumer? Probably. But I was here, and I wanted to be held and touched and felt desired, despite everything. I wanted to be with him. I imagined us on campus together, holding hands, proving, "Look! I am lovable! And this cool older guy likes me!" I can't be the troll doll I'm afraid I've become.

He put on some music, and we got in bed. As that sexy maneuver where the guy pushes you on the bed, you know, like, 'I'm taking the wheel on this one. Now I'm going to blow your mind,' which is almost never followed up with anything. He smelled like skunk microwaved with cheeseburgers, which I planned on finding and eating in the bathroom, as soon as he was asleep. We tried kissing. His 9 a.m. shadow was scratching my face — I knew it'd look like I had fruit-punch mouth for days after. His alcohol-swollen mouth, I felt like I was being tongued by someone who had just been given Novocain. I felt faceless, and nameless. I was just a warm body, and I was freezing cold. His fingers poked inside me like they had lost their keys in there. And then came the sex, and I use that word very loosely. His penis was so soft, it felt like one of those de-stress things that slips from your hand? So he was pushing aggressively into my thigh, and during this failed penetration, I looked around the room to try and distract myself or God willing, disassociate. What's on the wall? A Scarface poster, of course. Mandatory. Anything else? That's it? This Irish-Catholic son of bank teller who played JV soccer and did Mathletes feels the most connection with a Cuban refugee drug lord. The place looked like it was decorated by an overeager set designer who took the note "temporary and without substance" too far.

He started to go down on me. That's ambitious, I think. Is it still considered getting head if the guy falls asleep every three seconds and moves his tongue like an elderly person eating their last oatmeal? Chelsea? Is it? Yes? It is. I want to scream for myself, "Get out of here, Amy. You are beautiful, you are smart, and worth more than this. This is not where you stay." I feel like Fantine and Cosette and every fucking sad French woman from Les Miz. And whoever that cat was who sang "Memories," what was that musical? Suze Orman just goes, "Cats." The only wetness between my legs is from his drool, because he's now sleeping and snoring into me. I sigh, I hear my own heartbreak, I fight back my own tears, and then I notice a change in the music. Is this just a bagpipe solo? I shake him awake. "Matt, what is this? The Braveheart soundtrack? Can you put something else on, please?" He wakes up grumpily, falls to the floor, and crawls. I look at his exposed butt crack, a dark, unkempt abyss that I was falling into. I felt paralyzed. His asshole is a canyon, and this was my 127 Hours. I might chew my arm off.

I could feel I was losing myself to this girl in this bed. He stood up and put a new CD on. "Darling, you send me, I know you send me, honest, you do ..." I'm thinking, "What is this?" He crawled back into bed, and tried to mash at this point his third ball into my vagina. On his fourth thrust, he gave up and fell asleep on my breast. His head was heavy and his breath was so sour, I had to turn my head so my eyes didn't water. But they were watering anyway, because of this song. Who is this? This is so beautiful. I've never heard these songs before. They're gutting me. The score attached to our morning couldn't have been more off. His sloppy, tentative lovemaking was certainly not in the spirit of William Wallace. And now the most beautiful love songs I've ever heard play out as this man-boy laid in my arms, after diminishing me to a last-minute booty call. I listened to the songs and I cried. I was looking down at myself from the ceiling fan. What happened to this girl? How did she get here? I felt the fan on my skin and I went, "Oh, wait! I am this girl! We got to get me out of here!" I became my own fairy godmother. I waited until the last perfect note floated out, and escaped from under him and out the door. I never heard from Matt again, but felt only grateful for being introduced to my new self, a girl who got her value from within her. I'm also grateful to Matt for introducing me to my love Sam Cooke, who I'm still with today.

Now I feel strong and beautiful. I walk proudly down the streets of Manhattan. The people I love, love me. I make the funniest people in the country laugh, and they are my friends. I am a great friend and an even better sister. I have fought my way through harsh criticism and death threats for speaking my mind. I am alive, like the strong women in this room before me. I am a hot-blooded fighter and I am fearless. But I did morning radio last week, and a DJ asked, "Have you gained weight? You seem chunkier to me. You should strike while the iron is hot, Amy." And it's all gone. In an instant, it's all stripped away. I wrote an article for Men's Health and was so proud, until I saw instead of using my photo, they used one of a 16-year-old model wearing a clown nose, to show that she's hilarious. But those are my words. What about who I am, and what I have to say? I can be reduced to that lost college freshman so quickly sometimes, I want to quit. Not performing, but being a woman altogether. I want to throw my hands in the air, after reading a mean Twitter comment, and say, "All right! You got it. You figured me out. I'm not pretty. I'm not thin. I do not deserve to use my voice. I'll start wearing a burqa and start waiting tables at a pancake house. All my self-worth is based on what you can see." But then I think, Fuck that. I am not laying in that freshman year bed anymore ever again. I am a woman with thoughts and questions and shit to say. I say if I'm beautiful. I say if I'm strong. You will not determine my story — I will. I will speak and share and fuck and love and I will never apologize to the frightened millions who resent that they had it in them to do it. I stand here and I am amazing, for you. Not because of you. I am not who I sleep with. I am not my weight. I am not my mother. I am myself. And I am all of you, and I thank you.

"

Most young women have experienced a version of this awkward, desperate encounter, and sadly, some young women have resigned to versions of this as their primary form of interaction with the opposite sex. They settle. They also allow societal standards to ruin them. Being a woman, whether we're viewed as skinny, fat, ugly, gorgeous, plain, is irrelevant, because there's so much more, but only if we demand to be seen as more than the facade that is judged while facing the world.

I loved Amy before I read this speech, and now I have even more respect and admiration toward her. Ladies, you are so much more than attention from men that you are willing to settle for. 

Thank you, Amy!  



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5 Steps to Living a More Blissful Life

1. Surround yourself with people you love. 

If they fall under the "People I Tolerate" category, skip the party. Treat time as currency; don't waste it on people who don't benefit you.

2. Find your purpose. 

Because, sure, working that job that rewards you with a paycheck every couple of weeks that pays your bills, but does it make your soul shine? If the answer's no, figure out what will. Chances are, what fulfills you can be monetized.

3. Stop giving a damn what people think about you. 

I honestly can't remember the last time I wondered how I was perceived. You can't please everybody, so you might as well please the person facing you from the mirror.

4. Play harder. 

As in, work hard, play harder.

5. Take advice from people whose life you wish to live. 

Otherwise, it's like taking health and fitness tips from someone who's 200 lbs. overweight.

This is just the tip of the iceberg. Stay tuned...

Incorporating a little bit of bliss into your life is important. I don't mean this from a new-age perspective, I mean it from a matter-of-fact, you-need-this perspective. I can't tell you how many people I've encountered who, for intents and purposes, have everything one could possibly want but are still miserable. There's an art to living blissfully, and I know just the person to show you how.

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Non-Judgmental Love

My world changed the moment I stopped judging people. It helped me love better and become better.

I no longer got caught up in putting a "good" or "bad" label on people. Flaws are no longer the first thing I see.

Remaining in a state of non-judgment has given me permission to love unconditionally. It allows me to view perfect strangers as I view my loved ones: as my kin, sisters and brothers roaming this space, occupying the same time I've been privileged with.

I no longer waste time thinking someone as good or bad. I am able to listen better, without forming an opinion before the other person is finished speaking.

Mostly, what has startled me is how much I've learned since this I've begun practice. I've learned about people and about myself. I've opened myself up to countless possibilities in which bliss became possible.

In order to shift one's perspective from perpetually analytical to objectively loving, refreshing the perspective is necessary. In effect, we must un-know what we've learned in order to gain the ability to see past what we believe already exists. Non=judgmental love is the root of unconditional love because when we cease to put "our stuff" into people's situations, loving them is all that's left.

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Spring Detox: Clear Away the Bull$#!+

My favorite time of year is upon us once again. Springtime summons blooming flowers, longer days, and shorter skirts. The urge to begin anew rears its pretty little head, along with the inevitable need to clear out the old.

Bad habits, toxic friends, a job you hate, are a few examples of the things in life that may take away your joy. Giving space to any of the above keeps you trapped in a cycle of tolerance for bullshit that you shouldn't subject yourself to. Yes, quitting smoking isn't easy, and you may have known that friend your entire life. I'm sure that job sustains you in some way, but is it fulfilling you? 

If it does not serve you well, slowly work it out of your life. There is no shame in evolving, and don't let anyone make you feel otherwise. 

Kick that habit. 
Send that friend on his/her merry way. 
Figure out your life purpose and chase it with all your heart and soul. 

No more excuses. 

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An Open Letter to Moms

Mothers,

Teach your daughter that she is precious. Teach her to forgo kissing the frog in hopes of the metamorphosis into royalty because it's nearly impossible to "fix," "transform," or "change" anyone. She only has control over her own evolution.

Teach her to love herself so that she won't feel the need to seek out some unhealthy, unfortunate love to fill the inescapable void we all experience.

Teach your child that she holds the pen to the book of her destiny. If she wants to be treated like a queen by someone who deserves her, settle for nothing less. Anyone who invalidates her efforts and desires are unworthy.

Most importantly, teach that respect and love beget respect and love. She should never have to beg anyone to treat her the way she wants to be treated. If her significant other loves her enough, treating her right will come naturally and she'll be made to feel like the queen you raised her to be.

Warm love,
Rx


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Mind Control

One of the key reasons why some people allow themselves to freak out is because they are not aware of the fact that they have control over their own thoughts and emotions. I used to be one of these people. At the drop of the hat, I would lose my shit because I could.

It was not only until a few years ago when it was brought to my attention that I am responsible for everything I think.

Prior to my realization, I believed thoughts were fleeting bursts of words and images that uncontrollably passed through my brain. It didn't occur to me that I could actually choose, manage, and direct the energy that flowed through my neurons. In other words, the thousands of thoughts that flickered between the synapses my brain are my responsibility.

This is was an empowering realization, because not only did I take back my thoughts, I was also able to begin controlling the way I emote. I could choose creative thoughts which made me feel empowered. I shifted toward loving thoughts versus being harshly judgmental. All of these shifts were incremental in improving my overall state of being and helped me become a happier person. Choosing thoughts that allowed me to function at a higher energy level empowered me to be feel more love and to not dwell on "mental clutter" that didn't benefit me.

How was I able to process my thoughts and emotions differently? By deliberate, mindful steps. I began to meditate, which allowed my brain to silence itself. This important first step gave me practice when it came to filtering thoughts that would allow me to keep my peace, versus destructive "mind clutter."

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Freedom Friday

Liberate yourself from all of your perceived limitations. If you believe it, you can manifest it into existence.

You are great beyond your wildest dreams.

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