Monty walked into the living room last night and asked me who I was talking to.
“My computer,” I said.
“It sounded like you were arguing with it.”
“I was,” I said. “Stupid thing keeps telling me I need to update it and I don’t have time right now. And my volume button just decided not to work. How can I do anything without volume?”
Monty shook his head. “That is so. . . Irish.”
“What?”
“Arguing with an inanimate object.”
“Well,” I said, “if you’d prefer, you’re welcome to sit down. I’ll argue with you.”
“See?” He said. “Irish!”
Monty has always teased me about being Irish, which doesn’t bother me because I’m quite proud of it. Yes, there are some less than flattering Irish stereotypes, but I have to admit that most of them are true, at least as far as I’m concerned. The Irish are said to be stubborn, moody, ready to fight anyone at any time, and unable to handle their alcohol. Based on that checklist, I’ll do a little inventory: Am I stubborn? Check. When I make up my mind to do or not do something, I will not be moved. Am I moody? Check. I’ll tell Monty that I’ve decided to quit writing and retire to a hermit’s cabin because I’m so terrible at it. Five minutes later, I’m telling him that there’s nothing more rewarding than putting my thoughts into words for other people to read. Am I a fighter? Irish writer Domhnall O’Huigin said, “If we’d run out of Irish people to fight, I firmly believe we would have started fights with rocks, the ocean, the sun, and anything else that was looking at us funny.” Okay, so check—I’m a fighter, too. I won’t get in a bar fight with you, but I will argue with you just for the fun of it. And yes, as Monty so kindly pointed out, I will even argue with inanimate objects. Finally, am I unable to handle alcohol? Check and mate.
I would like to point out that the Irish are also fiercely loyal to the ones they love. And they’re magnificently literary. Ireland is, after all, the nation that gave us Louis MacNeice, Oscar Wilde, Brendan Behan, Samuel Beckett, Edmund Burke, George Bernard Shaw, W.B. Yeats, Patrick Kavanagh, Seamus Heaney, Seamus Deane, James Joyce, R.B. Sheridan, Flann O’Brien, Sean O’Casey, Oliver Goldsmith, and Jonathan Swift, to name a few. Many of their words and phrases have become part of our own vernacular. An Irish phrase that I especially love is “Tis Herself.” Monty gave me a mug for Christmas that has that phrase on it. The card that came with the mug explained the expression like this:
“The term ‘Tis Herself’ or ‘Tis Himself’ is an affectionate expression for someone who is the queen or king of their home. It started in Ireland, a country made of tiny villages, where one was identified by whose child they were, by personal characteristics, stories of notable lifetime experiences, and many forms of gossip. It was easy to confuse oneself with the projections of others. Ultimately, one needed to come to terms with who they really were, to wrestle with the shadows in the dark night of the soul. At issue was one’s own identity and self-image. Therefore, when the question arose as to whom one was, the natural response would be ‘Tis Herself.’”
I’ve had many of those dark nights of the soul, steeped in shadows and melancholy, wondering who “herself” is—what my identity is at this particular time in my life. I’ve asked myself who I am, who God says I am, and who I want to be. I’ve realized that if I don’t define those answers for myself, I’m very likely to believe the answers of other people. And other people, even the most well-intentioned, tend to label and define, if only to fit people into a box where they can be more easily understood. I’ve been labeled by others, and I’ve labeled myself to the point that I could almost see the words scrawled across my skin: Addict. Alcoholic. Broken. Damaged. Sick. Unstable. Fragile. Those labels kept me captive to an identity that I was desperate to break free of. But I didn’t know how because I believed those labels were true.
During one of those long, dark nights, God lovingly reminded me of a principle that I’m particularly passionate about: words matter. I’ve built my life on that principle. The words we say to ourselves and the words we choose to say to each other are indescribably impactful on our thinking. I realized that I’d forgotten how to choose the right ones for myself. God began to show me how to flip the script—how to change those labels into words that were positive. Words that reminded me of my worth and my purpose. Words that made me lift up my chin and say, ‘Tis myself.’ Words like recovering. Persistent. Fighter. Stable and strong when I’m clinging to Jesus. A survivor of tremendous pain. Those are the words I choose to define myself.
I understand what it is to be lost—to have no idea who you are or what your purpose is. I know how it feels to listen to other people’s voices until your own is drowned out. And I’ve felt the pain of hiding in the shadows because I didn’t feel worthy of my own light. If you’ve felt that, too, and want to change it—if you want to redefine yourself and you need a place to start—think of the one label that hurts you the most. The word that makes you flinch, the word that causes a physical ache in your heart when you hear it. What is it? Failure? Loser? Victim? Say it and then flip it. A failure is a person who’s ripe for a new beginning: courageous. A loser is someone who took the wrong path but has decided to fight their way back to life: warrior. And a victim is a survivor who just doesn’t know their own strength yet. Make sure to choose your labels very carefully. You’re worth the thought it takes to look deep inside your soul and define your identity. There’s no better feeling than living in the light, unashamed of who you are. You’ll know you’re getting it right when you can meet your own eyes in the mirror, lift up your chin, and say, “’Tis myself.” Pretend you’re Irish, if you need to: decide who you are and be ready to fight anyone who disagrees. You might discover that, like this Irishwoman, you relish the fight, especially when it’s yourself you’re fighting for.
“When anyone asks me about the Irish character, I say look at the trees. Maimed, stark and misshapen, but ferociously tenacious.”
Edna O'Brien
A manifesto for all of us who are learning to accept who we are:
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Comments 16
Okay, I am going to adopt your Irish saying ’tis herself!!! It may the only way I can survive at this point !
This was an exceptional post on all fronts, I have read it a number of times now to let it all sink in.
The first paragraph had me laughing out loud, I find myself talking to things too, even if I’m not Irish?
Can be quite embarrassing when you catch yourself doing it. I thought it had to do with living alone, so you provide your own feedback? I suppose its okay when home, but when you catch yourself saying something out loud in public, well–that’s another story, and yes that happened to me not to long ago.
As for that one word I continue to work on?? Rejection — Acceptance by Jesus. Even as He may be the only One to do that for me right now–I will continue to look in the mirror and accept myself as I am and as I come to Him. I have also learned the valuable lesson that God instituted family, He build the foundation for it, and the evil one likes to start his destruction within the family, where he tears and rips on a continues basis as can be so evident at times. Yet we are to be soldiers, or as you mentioned ” warriors”, be ready to fight the good battle. I must remember the battle has already been won–it is finished, I need to trust a lot more then I can at times. Another battle started this weekend,, this time between my two children and I am a bit weary at this point. I shall remember this post as ” as being worth doing battle for”, Irish or not!
Klara–thank you so much. You may have some Irish in you after all! I talk to myself all the time–though it is handy to have the cats to blame it on. The word you chose is the one Monty struggles with (he said it was ok if I mentioned that)–the flip side being acceptance by Jesus is so good. That’s such a comfort. I think you’re so right about how the evil one attacks within families; he wants to take the things we hold most dear and tear them down. I understand being battle-weary–especially for you, as you have had some difficult times lately. I will continue to lift you up in prayer, my friend. So much love to you tonight.
Thank you so much Renee, you have no idea how battle weary I am at this point. My one daughter just replied ” I was being dramatic”. Sure, you put me in the middle as a mom who loves both of you and now it is me? Give my love to Monty for sharing his word. Tell him he is beautiful inside and out. Never mind about what others think, Monty is a peach! I just love that great big smile of his!
Klara–I will tell him that, for sure. You’ve had some hard, heart-exhausting hours lately. Maybe it’s time to withdraw for a bit and recharge. “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”- Matt. 11:28
I love the true love story of two people ,one trying hard to put into word’s what is in her heart. She is having trouble with what she is using, I truly understand that. Sweetheart keep trying it is worth it in the end and will be beautiful. You two are beautiful. Love you
Fran–thank you for the kind comment. I so appreciate you taking the time to read my words and sharing your thoughts.
I have friends that send jokes. Surprisingly Many lean toward Irish jokes. But hey. It’s all in good fun. The Irish have had it rough. My last book was about the potatoes blight that killed neatly all the peasants of Ireland. I’ll look it up for you. It was a conspiracy by Irish nobleman. Just a sec. . Scott Mariani ” the Forgoten Holocaust”! Another good read!!
Yep–all in good fun. If we can’t laugh at ourselves, then we have big problems! I’ll check into that book. I’m starting to sense a theme that you like conspiracy theories. . .
I edited out the worst one.?
You asked for it ?
Irishman’s first drink with his son
While reading an article last night about fathers and sons, memories came flooding back to the time I took me son out for his first pint.
Off we went to our local pub only two blocks from the cottage.
I got him a Guinness. He didn’t like it, so I drank it. Then I got him a Kilkenny’s, he didn’t like that either, so I drank it. Finally, I thought he might like some Harp Lager? He didn’t. I drank it.
I thought maybe he’d like whisky better than beer so we tried a Jameson’s; nope!
In desperation, I had him try that rare Redbreast , Ireland ‘s finest whisky. He wouldn’t even smell it! What could I do but drink it!
By the time I realised he just didn’t like to drink, I was so shit-faced I could hardly push his stroller back home!!!
——————‘
Irish Confession
I went into the confessional box after many years of being away from the Catholic Church.
Inside I found a fully equipped bar with Guinness on tap. On one wall, there was a row of decanters with fine Irish whiskey and Waterford crystal glasses. On the other wall was a dazzling array of the finest cigars and chocolates.
When the priest came in, I said to him, “Father, forgive me, for it’s been a very long time since I’ve been to confession, but I must first admit that the confessional box is much more inviting than it used to be.”
He replied, “You moron, you’re on my side.”
———————–
AN IRISH BLONDE IN A CASINO
An attractive blonde from Cork , Ireland arrived at the casino. She seemed a little intoxicated and bet twenty-thousand Euros on a single roll of the dice. She said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I feel much luckier when I’m completely naked.” With that, she stripped from the neck down, rolled the dice and with an Irish brogue yelled, “Come on, baby, Mama needs new clothes!” As the dice came to a stop, she jumped up and down and squealed: “YES! YES! I WON, I WON!” She hugged each of the dealers and then picked up her winnings (and her clothes) and quickly departed.
The dealers stared at each other dumbfounded. Finally, one of them asked, “What did she roll?”
The other answered, “I don’t know – I thought you were watching the dice.”
MORAL OF THE STORY:
Not all Irish are drunks.
Not all blondes are dumb.
But all men….are men.
_____________________________ _________
Irish Fun
Mick says to Paddy: “Close your curtains the next time you’re shagging your wife. The whole street was watching and laughing at you yesterday.”
Paddy says: “Well the joke’s on them stupid bastards, because I wasn’t even home yesterday.”
Paddy & Mick find three grenades, so they decide to take them to a police station.
Mick: “What if one explodes before we get there?”
Paddy: “We’ll lie and say we only found two.”
______________________________ __
Mick goes to the vet with his goldfish. “I think it’s got epilepsy”, he tells the vet.
Vet takes a look and says, “It seems calm enough to me”.
Mick says, “I haven’t taken it out of the bowl yet”.
______________________________ __
Paddy spies a letter lying on his doormat. It says on the envelope: “DO NOT BEND “.
Paddy spends the next 2 hours trying to figure out how to pick the bloody thing up.
______________________________ __
Paddy was driving home, drunk as a skunk, suddenly he has to swerve to avoid a tree, then another, then another.
A cop car pulls him over as he veers about all over the road. Paddy tells the cop about all the trees in the road.
Cop says “For God’s sake Paddy, that’s your air freshener swinging about!”
______________________________ __
Reilly went to trial for armed robbery. The jury foreman came out and announced, “Not guilty.”
“That’s grand!” shouted Reilly. “Does that mean I can keep the money?
______________________________ __
Paddy’s in jail. The Guard looks in his cell and sees him hanging by his feet.
“What the hell you doing?” he asks.
“Hanging myself”, Paddy replies.
“It should be around your neck,” says the Guard.
“I know,” says Paddy, “but I couldn’t breathe.”
______________________________ __
An answer I can understand…..
An American tourist asks an Irishman: “Why do Scuba divers always fall backwards off their boats?”
To which the Irishman replies: “If they fell forwards, they’d still be in the bloody boat.”
______________________________ __
Mrs. Feeney shouted from the kitchen, “Is that you I hear spittin’ in the vase on the mantle piece?”
“No,” said himself, “but I’m gettin’ closer all the time.”
______________________________ __
Finnegin: “My wife has a terrible habit of staying up ’til two o’clock in the morning. I can’t break her out of it.”
Keenan: “What on earth is she doin’ at that time?”
Finnegin: “Waitin’ for me to come home.”
______________________________ __
Slaney phoned the maternity ward at the hospital. “Quick!” he said. “Send an ambulance, my wife is goin’ to have a baby!”
“Tell me, is this her first baby?” the intern asked.
“No, this is her husband, Kevin, speakin’.”
______________________________ __
My Mother wanted me to be a priest. Can you imagine giving up your sex life; and then once a week people come in to tell you the details and highlights of theirs?
Lol!!!
Steve–you’re right; I asked for it. Surely you had to look for some of these and didn’t just know them all?! Favorite one is about Paddy driving home and thinking his air freshener was a tree. Other favorite is about Paddy and the envelope on his doorstep. You managed to include nearly every stereotype–well done! And thanks for the smile.
Renee, Love this Blog. “Fightin’ Irish”, I said, “wow”, Renee is going to write about “Norte DameFootball”. but, alas not t be. Being. Only 1/4 Irish, I have never been prone to argue with inanimate objects. Debbie, my better half, is half Irish, yes she does “fuss”, a nice term, with the computer, her cookbook,etc. Anyway, growing, as a pre age 5’er, I always wanted to help Mom, with vacuuming, housecleaning, etc. Growing up, my “helper-it’s”, kind of took a “back burner”. Early teen years, with argue, till I turned Blue in the Face, with friends about baseball,”My Yankees are. better, Your Dodgers,”stink”. Then I entered “never wanting to fail” stage, but have discovered, you can “slip up”, just ‘try” again, Case in point. U.S. Army, being trained as a “Pole Climber”, looking at those 40 foot poles , with my “climbers”attached to each leg, the first 5 or 6 times, yup, “skinned the pole”. But, starting the next day, never “skinned” another pole. Failure, not an option for me. I went from Loser to Warrior, failure to courageous, survivor to strength,”Live I The Light”. Continuing my journey in life, started to get “anxious”, about any darn thing I could think of. “Over plan”, “over think”. Now, finally, am learning, turning towards Jesus, who said, “Do not worry about your life”. “Look and Consider”, The Birds, they appear happy, not sleep deprived, or lonely. They “whistle”, they “soar”.How do we disarm anxiety? I am learning to stockpile with God’s thoughts.Birds and Flowers fall under God’s care, God will care for Us as well. Thank you, Miss “Fighting Irish”, for helping me, get in to my brain, being able to express my Godly thoughts. I will give your Blog, another name, “Renee’s Blessings” , , You Are our “Precious Jewel”, Sparrow. Will close, That song, “Thisis Me”, Powerful.
Harold–no, sorry, I wouldn’t know a thing about Notre Dame football! I like the word “fuss” that you used about Debbie–that’s definitely a good word for it. Beautiful way to describe your journey: “from loser to warrior, failure to courageous, survivor to strength, live in the light.” That’s a life journey that truly matters. I also like what you said about “stockpiling” God’s thoughts; what a wonderful habit to get into. Thank you so much for all of your insights. Oh, and I’m glad you liked the song.
BTW you verbalize this so very much better than I can. I’m the get the information out and let it fall where it my. You can make it relate to people! You are so good at what you do Irish!?
Oh my Lord Renee!!! I LOVE THIS!
This is exactly what people need to learn.!
Of course this is predicated on your good deeds and humble love of Jesus!
No one one this earth is perfect period. We have all sinned…… When you’re forgiven there’s no conditions.
Of course we can all stray but we MUST know we just say help me Jesus. No need to verbalize your shame. He knows it.
Another factor here is one that exists in a relationship. If someone you love professes to love you and you want to believe it yet they verbally abuse you…get out!!! It’s a horrible prison. I’ve been there.
So on the Irish thing… My wife believes she’s part Irish because her dad believed it. For his half of it they were functional drinkers. Her mother…not so much. I digress.
She is the most humble person until you cross her. You should take shelter at that time. I can only stand my ground with her for a short while and then pull back into my tortoise shell. By the next day were good ???
Good one Renee. I truly enjoyed it.
Want some Irish jokes? I have a ton.
Steve, thank you so, so much! What a blessing your words are to me tonight. I especially like what you said about your wife–“take shelter.” I know Monty can relate to that! Thank you for telling me that I’m good at what I do; I know that you’re not a person who just says things to flatter, so I appreciate that very much. I’m glad you liked this one. And it doesn’t surprise me at all that you know a bunch of Irish jokes; I’d be more surprised if you didn’t! Thank you, my friend, for your encouragement.