Happily Ever After: The Life-Changing Power of a Grateful Heart (7 page)

T
HE
N
EGATIVES AND THE
P
OSITIVES

On
MathIsFun.com
, students learning basic math are told, “Subtracting a negative is the same as adding.” If only people in the midst of negativity could take themselves back to elementary school math and apply that lesson to their lives, they could embrace this piece of common wisdom: “Every time you subtract negative from your life, you make room for more positive.” To remove negativity, though, you must first acknowledge that it exists. As journalist Oliver Burkeman stated in a 2012
New York Times
article titled “The Power of Negative Thinking,” by deliberately visualizing the worst-case scenario, you usually conclude that you can cope.

However, allowing a negative thought to momentarily enter to keep us safe from harm is one thing. Allowing negative thoughts to persistently dominate our psyche and destroy our self-respect is another. So other than scheduling regular sessions with a licensed psychological expert, how do we overcome those nasty little notions and maximize our happiness level?

After doing a little research, I found a really interesting three-part study coauthored by Richard Petty, a psychology professor at Ohio State University. In the first part, the scientists showed that if you want to free your mind of a negative thought, you need to literally throw it out. They started by asking eighty-three high school students to write down a positive or negative thought about their body. After three minutes, they were all asked to reflect on what they wrote. Half of them were then told to throw their written thought in the trash and the other half were told to check for any grammatical mistakes and hold on to their piece of paper. Next, everyone rated their attitudes toward their bodies.

The results showed that for those who kept what they wrote down, their ratings were directly influenced by whether their written thought was positive or negative. If they had initially written something positive, their positive attitude was accentuated. If they wrote something negative, that too was accentuated. On the flip side, for those who trashed their recorded thought, their attitudes weren’t affected by what they first thought of their bodies. In fact, their first thought wasn’t even a blip on their radar, whether negative or positive.

In the second part of their study, Petty et al. asked a different set of 284 students what they thought about the Mediterranean diet. They separated them into three groups: those
who threw their thoughts away, those who kept them on their desk, and those who protected their thoughts by keeping them in their purse or wallet. As in the first part, Richard Petty said, “Those who kept the list of thoughts at their desk were more influenced by them when evaluating the diet than were those who threw them away. However, those who protected their thoughts by putting them in a pocket or purse were even more influenced than those who kept the thoughts on their desk.”

He went on to say that the second experiment suggested that “you can magnify your thoughts, and make them more important to you, by keeping them with you in your wallet or purse.”

“At some level, it can sound silly. But we found that it really works—by physically throwing away or protecting your thoughts, you influence how you end up using those thoughts,” said Petty. “Of course, even if you throw the thoughts in a garbage can or put them in the recycle bin on the computer, they are not really gone—you can regenerate them. But the representations of those thoughts are gone, at least temporarily, and it seems to make it easier to not think about them. Your body can control your mind, just as your mind controls your body.”

How cool is that? Treat your thoughts like material objects and do with them what you will. Trash or treasure—it’s up to you.

I
MPERFECTLY
P
ERFECT

Learning to embrace the not-so-perfect-you and the mistakes you’ve made along the way can be just as important as acknowledging the everyday things that deserve merit. Just as
the pianist Vladimir Horowitz once said, “Perfection itself is imperfection.”

For most of my childhood, I was a pretty good kid, but I do vividly remember one bump in the road. The day still sticks out “like a sore butt.”

I was seven or eight years old, playing at my neighbor Nikki’s house. Before I headed home, I decided that her lipstick, seashells, and a school picture of our shared babysitter deserved to be mine, so I stuffed them in my bag. My memory is a little foggy about the details of how my parents found out about my sticky fingers, but I do remember that they forced me back across the street to look my friend in the eye, apologize, and return all her cherished goodies. Afterward, my dad introduced me to what a belt felt like against my backside—oh yes, a good old-fashioned lesson on the consequences of theft.

I had been spanked before, but the belt opened my eyes to a whole new world of hurt, and I was not a fan. Couple that with the profound disappointment I saw in my parents’ eyes, and my life of crime was over (at least until I turned sixteen and had my first unsupervised date with peppermint schnapps). I couldn’t bear that look, and from that day forward, I was pretty much branded a rule follower. I knew that if I made my parents happy, I would be happy—in theory, at least.

Looking back, I can laugh at how I was so pathetic at being naughty that I actually chose lipstick, common seashells, and a picture the size of a cracker to establish myself as a badass. From where I stand now, I can also appreciate my naïveté and know that my punishment was necessary to teach me right from wrong. I wasn’t too keen on it at the time, and don’t know that I will do the same as a mom if my little buggers go
down a path of thievery, but I know my parents cared enough to set me straight, and for that I am one lucky square peg.

Although I will continue to strive toward perfection, I will always appreciate the imperfections that helped mold me into the person I am today. I may not be able to change the past, but I can try to make the future better for having lived it.

G
OING TO
E
XTREMES

In December 2011, I was asked to be part of a photo shoot that would end up on the cover of
In Touch Weekly
in January 2012. Smiling alongside me in their just-as-itsy bikinis would be two of the beauties who had also been given the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity as
The Bachelorette
: Ashley Hebert and Ali Fedotowsky. I was honored that I had even been considered because, next to them, I was no spring chicken.

During my interview with the writer from the magazine, we joked about my “maturity” and how my impending fortieth birthday was affecting my body image. Without a thought as to how it would be conveyed to readers, I poked fun at the gravitational changes that were showing themselves a bit more obviously than they had in years past. I laughed at the deflated water balloons that occupied my chest after nursing two children for a year each, the veins that were appearing on the backs of my legs, the impact my sun-worshipping days were having on my face, and the scoreboard that showed genetics winning out over the elasticity of my right eyelid.

When the issue showed up in our local grocery store, the captions under the picture on the cover told anyone walking by that the other girls were focused on fitness. Mine shouted out that Trista had “plans for a boob job and Botox”!

I was horrified.

Yes, I had joked about it with the writer, but to me the cover insinuated that I was gung ho about going under the knife and couldn’t wait to beat Heidi Montag’s record number of surgical procedures performed in one day. That couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Before that shoot, I never thought of myself as someone who wanted, needed, or would even consider what seemed like extreme methods to change my appearance back into someone I wasn’t anymore or to something it had never been in the first place. To each his own, but I never thought it would be for me.

I had supported friends who had chosen to undergo cosmetic procedures and envied celebrities who were “aging gracefully,” but I didn’t think I’d have the guts or the desire to ever go there. Like I said earlier, I am deathly afraid of needles and, more important, I have kids for whom I hope to always be a positive role model, especially when it comes to my daughter and her body image. In my mind, plastic surgery was painful, always criticized, and anything but positive.

On the flip side, though, lack of self-confidence and not trying to be the best possible version of yourself aren’t all that great either. I didn’t want Max and Blakesley to witness my seeds of doubt, and they had certainly been watered enough inside of me to start taking over our household garden soon. What was right and what was wrong?

After the story hit newsstands, my insecurities became very real and no longer just the butt of my “I’m getting old” jokes. The printed words really hit me. As fate would have it, they also made an impression on a prominent plastic surgeon in Houston.

Dr. Franklin Rose, the father of my fellow
Bachelor
alumna Erica Rose, had performed thousands of mommy makeovers. Erica told me that her father had said that if I was serious about looking into my options, he would be happy to speak with me. We scheduled an initial chat, and then another, and then quite a few more. I got advice from people I knew who had been through procedures, as well as from those who hadn’t but knew all about my insecurities. I spent months contemplating the pros and cons and discussing them with my husband and close friends, who I knew would love me no matter what I decided.

It was a battle between the inner demons that teased me every time I looked at myself in the mirror or in a photo, and those that reminded me that not only do I have an intense fear of sharp objects but that I would be up against some pretty harsh critics. One little voice inside said, “Go for it!” and the other said, “You are nuts!”

Ultimately my inner realist convinced me that what truly mattered was how I felt about myself. As Shireen Haiderali said, “The world doesn’t have to think you are beautiful, but you do.” She was right. With the medical technology and training of the doctors of today, I could correct a genetically drooping eyelid and through breast augmentation and an internal lift get back the full breasts I had been endowed with for most of my adult life.

Did my decision mean that I wasn’t proud of my heritage (my mom has the same droopy eye)? Not in the least.

It also didn’t mean that I, for even one millisecond, regretted sacrificing my body to provide my children with the most natural form of nourishment on the planet. My body was created to breast-feed (among other things) and I was honored that I was able to share that incredibly precious time with my
babies, kick-starting their immune systems and bonding with them in such a special way.

With my heart convinced that it was the best decision for me, I scheduled my surgery for July 18, booked my round-trip flight to Houston, and spent the weeks leading up to it stockpiling hugs and gathering reassurances that I wouldn’t regret my decision.

The surgery went “perfectly,” per Dr. Rose, but I beat myself up for weeks afterward. I let the fear of judgment cloud my reality for a while. I tried to beat my naysayers to the punch by criticizing myself for what I had done, wallowing in pain and guilt. However, I had the unconditional support of my family and friends and, in time, saw through that dark cloud.

Ultimately I learned that outer beauty is (as they say) in the eye of the beholder. I am pretty sure that I will continue to have days of self-doubt, and that’s okay, but I will always try to rise above my demons and focus on the parts of my body that I tend to invest more pride in.

I made a decision to correct a couple of my physical insecurities, and no matter what anyone said or says, I won’t let that decision define me. I am the one who has to look at myself in the mirror, and now that things are settling into position, I am grateful that the dominoes of this story fell as they did. With a little help from the trained hands of a plastic surgeon, I was able to smile more confidently than I had in years. In a world full of highlights and lowlights, padded bras, eyelash curlers and lengthening mascaras, facials, moisturizers, tanning salons, acrylic nails, and the genius invention of Spanx, we all are just trying to look and feel our best. I could’ve done without the scalpels and pain, but for me the “extreme” decision was the right decision.

As William Shakespeare said, “To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.”

In your own personal quest for happiness, remember that you don’t have to search far. As Iyanla Vanzant, an inspirational speaker, has said, “Joy is not what happens to you; it is what comes through you when you are conscious of the blessing you are.” Each night, reflect on one thing you appreciate about yourself. You can write it down or keep it stored away in the archives of your mind—it’s up to you—but just do it, and be ready to feel the joy.