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. 
*Please note that I am no longer The Type 3 Woman. Here's why.*

Well, everyone else is doing it. I might as well do drugs and jump off a cliff too.

Mark it in your journals people, I wore color on my lips.

These big lips wear nothing but Chapstick Medicated.

So what does that mean?

It means I only have one lipstick color...from four years ago. 

Buried deep within the dark part of my bathroom drawer, hadn't seen the light of day in several months, to be pulled out for "Just In Case" moments.

Like today. Thanks to The Crazy for making me keep it.

So I had to get a little creative. 

Type 1's lipcolor = The lipstick +  white liquid shimmer eye shadow
Type 2's lipcolor = The lipstick + a dab of this (brunette). No joke.
Type 3's lipcolor = towel burned lips (I did T3 last) + light brown shadow to bring back to "normal".
Type 4's lipcolor = The lipstick + a bright pink eye shadow that also bunks with lipstick.



While I should have gone all out and done a full face of makeup with each Type, I didn't. I had the burning desire to get this all done now, and to do that would take several days, if not all day. And motivation. Which comes at random.

Maybe makeup can be another day.

Perhaps. 

Eh.

My conclusion on wearing each Type:
Type 1 - I laughed at myself with this look. I look ridiculous. And like a man. My nose looks eww. And I felt like I was suffocating myself with trying to be excited in this photo.
Type 2 - I felt like I was forcing myself to be the romantic we all know I'll never be. I hated trying to be soft and sweet, yuck. Reminded me of times past when I wasn't myself.
Type 3 - DUH, how do YOU think I felt?
Type 4 - I had three different Type 4 tops and after doing those photos, I felt like I had a knot in my stomach. I can see why people feel anxiety for reasons not found as I was on the verge of having an attack myself wearing such bold colors. I threw off my last top and didn't hang it back up. I'd rather go naked, I've decided.

But I have a confession. 

I have one color that I love beyond my love for chocolate turnovers that, according to the Type 3 mold, is not a color I should be wearing.

Sorry?

No, I'm not. Will I ever place myself in a mold again? 

Crud, I hope not.


I really don't know what this color is called. It's a deep grey with a hint of blue. Looking online I found a site that called it "pewter" but that brings me back several years ago when I was debating with my friend that pewter was more of a grey-brown than a grey-blue.

According to Wikipedia, we're both right.

But regardless, I don't see this color as "pewter". 

I loved this pewter shirt as it sat for weeks in my closet, unworn. Something about that shade me happy, but I figured it wouldn't look good on me as grey was just for the Type 2s. 

Encouragement of a friend had me trying it on.

How could I look so good in such a "wrong" color? I don't know! But the rebel inside smirked and said, "Who cares? I like it!" I took a pic and sent it to my friend with this message, "Screw brown, this is my black".

And then I was introduced to the beautiful name Zyla. I know little of Zyla. 



...except that Zyla calls me "The Sexy Librarian". 

Hello, best name ever!

I sure as hell like her. 

Or him. Whoops yes, HIM.
(My bad.)

Especially after hearing my friend, Jane, say this:
"Zyla does NOT determine your (type) by your...colors, you are (your type) first and then those are your special additional colors, that might even seem out of range."

Why does this make me so stinkin' happy?

Because it allows me to be a rebel without really being a rebel! Ya know that I'm sayin'?

That's like God saying, "No one can cheat in college and expect to become a high-paying doctor... Except. For. You. You are immune. Enjoy."

My "First Base" color is technically my black! And my energy color is a darker version of my first base color which therefore would make sense why I love wearing it and why I feel so darn good doing so!

Sometimes being a rebel is being right.
I'm a conclusion jumper. It's a habit...a flaw of mine. I don't even know if it's a Type 3 trait.

Sometimes I'll make assumptions of people and situations without fully assessing the picture; what the people involved may be going through, why someone may be acting how they are.

And while I feel that being a conclusion jumper can be used for good as I have made quick decisions and they have worked out for the better, that doesn't mean that being this way all the time is A-OK.

I go to church on Sundays. No biggie. It's the first of the only two good habits I have.

I try not to come to church with the week's stresses. Sunday, especially church, is a time away from the norm, a time to reflect on your week, finding where to improve, a time for spiritual uplift.

It's my recharge...albeit half the time I'm bouncing my leg, twiddling my thumbs, or will roam the halls during class before I suddenly combust due to an over-snuffing of my energy.

Quick overview: Church is 3 hours long.
-Hour #1: "Sacrament Meeting" where we take sacrament to renew our covenants made at baptism and to hear talks/sermons from scriptures.
-Hour #2: "Sunday School" 'nuff said.
-Hour #3: "Relief Society" where the ladies 18+ years old attend to hear a lesson on spirituality; how to be a better person, how to receive Christ in our life, how to serve and love others, etc.

I only attend Sunday School about a quarter of the time I should. It honestly varies on my level of energy.

One Sunday I was in the halls during Sunday School, chillaxing the ADHD and talking with one of my friends that I hadn't seen in a while.

Our close friend comes barreling past us. While she wasn't technically walking fast and was actually very silent, I could sense she was in high-stress mode. And I felt she was trying to project that to the Sunday School Ditchers.

And at the feeling of this, although I love our good friend, I was getting irritated. Like a T3 would, I guess? She was zooming back and forth and stirring the cohesion around my bubble to become confused and suffocated and dramatic. And for someone like me, who relies on those three hours as time away from the chaos of life, to find chaos come barreling back into it, is a recipe for a little active/reactive. When people do this, my first emotion is I sadly find no pity for them.

I have no heart, I believe. In my truest of true forms, I think my heart is black. My "give a damn" is broken when situations like these happen. To top it off, Carol Tuttle justified this by saying my (and other T3s) heart chakra is weak.

Clearly she is saying, "Sorry Ladee, you are bound to be a big, fat meany, especially if you wear black."

The friend I'm talking to turns to our friend and offers to help her. I could not help our friend as I was already asked to play piano for a class. I turn to my friend and say, "That's nice of you." to which she responds, "Well yeah, I'm doing this for her, just because I know she's having a hard day." And then she proceeds to tell me about what our friend is going through. All of these issues appeared like something that has happened last minute or with not much warning.

And I agreed, that is stressful to have sudden changes dumped on you.

I love church. But I have found that church is just that, CHURCH. It is not a time to be fretting and going crazy because there's a slight change in the normal church routine. It's just three hours, let it go. If it's gonna be a wild church day, oh the hell well. That doesn't mean each week will be that way. And that doesn't shed a light on the person that you are. And my good friend, the one that was stressed, is amazing. I admire the person she is. Anyone that knows her, knows that one bad Sunday does not mean that she, herself, is bad.

I see myself reacting how I wanted to. I wanted to roll my eyes and say, "Oh get over it!" Church will work itself out.

But this is where my Type 2 pushes me back, shushes me before I get a word out (or contort my face to show how much I think this situation is being blown up to be bigger than it is), and will tell me of times where I have been in high-stress mode for reasons I felt were legit, even when no one felt I was being reasonable...other than my husband who has to agree with me. ;)

And then I felt bad.

Because I was in Christ's church and was feeling far from Christ-like. Here I saw that there was a person in need, regardless of how stupid I thought the need was, it was an important need for her. And I wrongfully excused that. Type 2 reminded me of the times where I have knelt in the most humbling of circumstances, begging the Lord for solace to a problem that to anyone else, would have their heads shaking in confusion, as to them, my need for solace made no sense. I have asked for help in situations where clearly to another person, I shouldn't need help. I have said no to opportunities that could have been of benefit to me and others but because of where I was in life, I could not do more than be a simple homemaker; making it one day at a time.

And at that very moment, I wished I was more Type 2. A little more considerate at the first sight of seeing someone in stress...that I had a little more heart.
There comes a time when you just have to say no. Even when temptation is knocking. And even when it's so not.