My friend Jane, wrote this:

I think DYT has taken a beautiful system and made it accidentally a tool of judgment. (...) What happens is we want to say "I AM" and "YOU ARE" definitely this type. And if you're wrong, then you're fooling yourself. Don't you see it? And thus self-judgment and judgment of others. 

And it had me thinking.

Why? Because I am guilty of this. Have I been upfront and told my friends that I thought their Typing was wrong? I hope not. Sure, I find frustration when a friend is beating a dead horse over something we all already know is her Type and yet she won't listen or is continuously wanting confirmation on a Type.

Does it really matter if we know what our Type is?

For me, and for some I know, yes.

But for others?

I don't think so. Or maybe the better answer is: Not yet.

I'm part of a Facebook group that houses a kaleidoscope of women. All of different ages, all from different parts of the world, all with their own, unique story.

And I have found that knowing your Type does not come easily as I thought, and as a lot of others believe. A friend's recent posting has had me feeling somber and turning inward, knowing that I needed to write and praying as to what I should.

Time and again we fail to understand that if we walked a mile in our friends' shoes, that we would see life and ourselves differently. Maybe knowing who we are isn't so "black and white" or an eye-opening experience.

While I can't always state a person's dominant, I am pretty fair at knowing what their two strongest energies are. And there are several instances where I talk to my friends, who are dead set at claiming a certain Type and here I wanna yell, "No, you're not a 3! You're a 2/4 or 4/2!" and yet what I'm not seeing is why they claim that type. What if Dad was an abusive Type 4 and Mom, an avoiding, beat down Type 2, who didn't know how or even appear to TRY to protect her children?

What if someone believes that being a certain Type meant being safe? What if it meant that all people would love them if they were that Type? Or, what if being a certain Type provided protection to a very wounded inner child?

Can you see now, why someone would want to claim anything other than those Types that may appear to harm, even if that is their true nature? We condition ourselves at a young age to learn what is good, what is bad, and how the hell to survive, even if those conditions we placed in our minds are distorted. They are nevertheless, TRUTHS to us. And yet, we tell them they are wrong, as though they are stupid and we are know-it-all Yodas.

Maybe what is most important in our life is happiness. That's it: Happiness.

Does it matter if you claim Type 2 today, embrace it and love yourself for it and in a few years realize that you are actually a Type 1?

Does that matter at all?

No!

What matters most is that you love yourself. What matters most is that you can heal from any past wounds and move forward, knowing that you are doing the best you can do, embracing all aspects of yourself; the good and the bad.

If we are forced to believe that we are a Type that we are not ready to accept, I fear we will regress and only turn inward, avoiding any and all aspect of that Type, which in turn will lead us to a life of pain.

I tell ya, had I not spent years of learning self love, having read a handful of books about self help, and experiencing trials that I know only the Good Lord gave to me as He was seeing my need for self knowledge and betterment, I would have wrongly typed myself by the time Carol Tuttle's book had reached my hands.

So when a friend says, "I'm a Type 2" when clearly they are a Type 4/1, do them a favor and congratulate them. And unless they ask for your opinion, don't give it. We do not know the paths our friends are leading. We do not know the darkness they are trying to escape from. We can't see the path they labored through to get to where they are.

Help them love themselves, all of themselves. That's better than telling them what they are and what they aren't.
Once upon a time there was a brace-faced girl.

Who religiously over-plucked her eyebrows.


And spent her teenagers years a chameleon. She would be whatever the majority of the group was. Or the type of person that she figured would get her the boy she liked.
(Heartbreak much?)

And while that seems like no big deal, for this suppressed Type 3 girl, it was a challenge. She tried matching her Type 1 friend's high energy, but it drained her and even she knew she was coming off fake. She tried being serious and strict like her Type 4 friends, but she didn't agree with their "It is or it isn't" opinions. She tried being confident and pushy like her Type 3 friends but she considered other's feelings way too much...plus she thought she was ugly. 

Every day she would question her actions, her motives, wondered what the hell she was doing and why did it not feel right for her to be the way she tried so desperately to be when personalities came so effortlessly to her friends.

Being a Type 2 "fit", albeit the mold was itchier than chigger bites all over ones ankles.

Sure enough this woman grew up, "blossomed", if that's what you consider finally knowing how to master makeup, symmetrical eyebrows and fashionable clothes.

She met a man, a real kickass, charming man. And together they started a family.

Everything seemed right.

But this woman, wife, mother wasn't wholly happy.

But she didn't complain. She had everything in life she had always dreamed.

...including as much food as she wanted to eat. 

And eating away her emotions, her dissatisfaction with herself, she did.
(End of third person narration.)

5' 3" 210lbs

At my heaviest, the day before delivering my youngest.

How I hated this picture. My mom insisted we take it so we can "document" this moment of sheer obesity pregnancy. I know this is a poor picture but I refuse to ask my mother for the original copy. I was miserable and in terrible pain. That's all you need to know.

I was determined to believe that all 65 pounds gained would just melt off within a couple weeks of delivery.

Size 13 pants

Yeah, right, Ladee. When does that ever happen?

A year or two later, my friend and I decided to go on a diet together. We would track our calories, keep it at a healthy number and whaddya know, Ladee started losing weight.

And while my body was finally a sight that I no longer cringed looking at, I continued to feel that something was missing.

But I didn't know what. Nothing made sense. I had everything. 

So I thought that this was it. This was the happiest I would ever become. And I was ok with that.


...but I still found food as my source for comfort. My weight was a constant yo-yo. I would be strict and then I would toss all my healthy desires to the wind as I ate whole bags of M&Ms and a whole box of ice cream Drumsticks. And you think I'm kidding.

And then one day my family and I heard the most tragic news, Grandpa was sick and would pass soon.

Such a traumatic moment became the moment of awakening. While I spent weeks in mourning over my precious Grandpa, the walls that I did not realize I had placed for safety around me crumbled. I was at my most vulnerable. I was broken. 

And one day I realized I needed to wipe those tears, pick myself up, and live.

I started changing. A little Ladee was coming forward and from deep within, her voice quiet at first, but as I embraced her, she became more prominent. 

After a couple years of this, this little Ladee now my main personality, I thoroughly believed I had gone through some sort of identity crisis. But could it be a "crisis" if I'm freakin' loving who this new chick is?!

I found Carol Tuttle's Book, "It's Just My Nature" and my life my sense. 

I decided then to let myself be more authentic, more natural, embracing my natural looks (except those eyebrows, those will remained penciled) and no longer trying so hard to be someone I'm not.

This inner love for myself, finally seeing myself as the Lord sees me, gave me the desire to be healthy and mostly, to. be. happy


Mr. Hunter has stated that I'm not the same person he married. But he never once as said he wished for the old Ladee back. He senses my happiness, my confidence, and while it was a momentary culture shock for me to not turn to him for his every opinion, desire, or action on something, he has welcomed my "inner blossoming". 

And I couldn't have asked for a better companion.

While some things have changed, both inside and out. Some things, clearly, haven't:
Fact: Ladee was a dork then and Ladee is still a dork now.