This blog had been infected to serve up Gootloader malware to Google search victims, via a common tactic known as SEO (Search Engine Optimization) poisioning. Your blog was serving up 59 malicious pages. Your blogged served up malware to 19 visitors.
I tried my best to clean up the infection, but I would do the following:
Gootloader (previously Gootkit) malware has been around since 2014, and is used to initally infect a system, and then sell that access off to other attackers, who then usually deploy additional malware, to include ransomware and banking trojans. By cleaning up your blog, it will make a dent in how they infect victims. PLEASE try to keep it up-to-date and secure, so this does not happen again.
Sincerly,
The Internet Janitor
Below are some links to research/further explaination on Gootloader:
https://news.sophos.com/en-us/2021/03/01/gootloader-expands-its-payload-delivery-options/
https://news.sophos.com/en-us/2021/08/12/gootloaders-mothership-controls-malicious-content/
https://www.richinfante.com/2020/04/12/reverse-engineering-dolly-wordpress-malware
https://blog.sucuri.net/2018/12/clever-seo-spam-injection.html
]]>When I first started graduate school in the late nineties, this book was something that piqued my interest. There was something that made sense about it. After many years of working with couples, I now realize that the familiarity about it had to do with being able to express your needs and having your partner meet them. However, being confined to having my needs in 2 (primary and secondary) out of 5 love languages, I don’t find particularly helpful. Sure I, like others with “receiving gifts” as a primary language, enjoy the thoughtfulness of my partner buying me my favorite candy bar while at the store, but sometimes I have other needs that are outside of my primary and secondary love language. (Sometimes a need doesn’t really even fit nicely into any of the categories.) If my partner and I were only to focus on primary and secondary love languages, we would be missing out on many opportunities to connect with each other in meaningful ways.
That being said, I don’t think knowing your and your partner’s love language is a bad thing. I think it is a place to start. It can help you and your partner begin to give words to the things that you each need from each other. Just please don’t stop there! It’s OK if you have needs outside of your love languages. It’s good to recognize them and be vulnerable enough (if your relationship is safe) to ask your partner to meet them. Sometimes they’ll meet your needs like a rock star and the connection will be amazing, other times they’ll miss the opportunity, but most of the time they will fall in between the two extremes. Remember, though: connections between you and your partner can only happen if the opportunity is there.
The amazing connections between two partners happen when you feel safe enough to veer from your “regular” needs and ask your partner to be there for you (Johnson, 2008). The consistency of expressing these needs is what is important. The more opportunities your partner has to meet your needs, the greater the chance your needs will be met. It is definitely scary, even in relationships where vulnerability is safe. When we are vulnerable, we risk having our partner reject us, coming off as whiny or too needy, or having our partner not meet our need. It is a risk, but the experience of connectedness that can follow is something that we strive for in our life’s journey.
Johnson, S. (2008). Hold me tight: Seven conversations for a lifetime of love. Little Brown and Company: New York, NY.
]]>The perspective their family therapists took were most certainly incorrect. I was actually a bit surprised that a family therapist would take such a position. A large part of my training as a marriage and family therapist was to begin to see things from a systems’ perspective. In all situations but abuse, a systems’ perspective precludes placing blame on any one individual. Instead, the perspective talks about a shared responsibility in working together to improve overall relationship and individual functioning.
Many times I am asked to help find out why someone exhibited some behavior: “I need to know why she cheated on me.” “I need to know why I keep getting into damaging relationships.” “I need to know why I can’t stop doing this.”
I think that why is like the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. The more we chase it, the more hopeless we feel, because it doesn’t exist. Similar to the idea of a shared responsibility, there are usually so many events, thoughts, behaviors, and emotions that go into anything we do, a simply why doesn’t exist, which also contributes to any explanations of behaviors don’t seem to fit or satisfy.
One of the reasons it’s so difficult for us to not chase the why is because we are raised on a pretty stringent diet of linear causality. Think back to science class. Remember the scientific method? This is all about establishing the why relationship; it’s all about cause and effect. Add liquid A to liquid B and presto, we get some new glow-in-the-dark chemical. Even outside of school, we learn cause and effect. Talk back to a parent, we get grounded. Fall off our bike, and we get hurt.
Seeing things from this simplistic perspective helps structure and organize our lives; it’s not a bad perspective in and of itself. The problem happens when we begin applying the perspective to complex situations. So what do we do rather than chase this pot of gold?
We practice acceptance. Acceptance doesn’t mean we justify, rationalize, excuse, or surrender. To me, it means coming to terms with what is. I like the words of Pema Chödrön:
“We have a choice. We can spend our whole life suffering because we can’t relax with how things really are, or we can relax and embrace the open-endedness of the human situation, which is fresh, unfixated, unbiased.”
What does acceptance mean to you?
]]>Being good enough, just like happiness, is not something that we achieve. It is a perspective, a philosophy, and a way of living life. It encompasses our strengths, weaknesses, beauties, uglies, and embraces them all. It means we own our talents but also the one thing we are all experts in: making mistakes. Our blemishes, after all, are what makes people interesting. Look around at nature. It is full of asymmetries, blemishes, and imperfections. Yet we still enjoy the beauty of sunsets, mountains, forests, deserts, and so on.
This way of living is not a way of excusing or justifying our actions that hurt others. It also does not imply that there is no room for growth (I believe that we are unable to grow until we accept all parts of who we are and practice being good enough). It also doesn’t mean that we will never do something amazing; and it certainly doesn’t mean that we will never fail.
What it does mean is that we are good enough to be accepted by others, to be loved by others. It means that we can be amazing without pride and we can fail without being a failure. We can work hard at developing our talents and laugh when we make mistakes. We can apologize, jump when startled, and hold on to someone’s hand in a haunted house at Halloween. We can get excited over silly things and cry during touching commercials.
It is also important to realize that when we practice being good enough, we also recognize that those around us are good enough too. We don’t need to judge, hate, envy, or wish we were someone else, because they too are doing the best they can.
]]>Before I could change my mind, I grabbed my clothing bag and started throwing in over due items (e.g. SOCKS). Remembering that there was a clothing donation drop off outside the laundromat, I gave my closet a good, hard look. Space and storage being a coveted thing in NYC, I have been blessed with an abundance of closet space. Turns out, the more space I have, the more I act on my tendency to fill it up.
Stacks of folded (ish) clothing stood before me. Every nook seemed to be packed with a forgotten clothing item. I recalled the countless times I’ve been meaning to clean out the closet, then firmly shut the doors and walked away. If I don’t see it, it’s not there, right?
I reached up and grabbed a few shirts to add to the donation pile and a cascade of fabric fell around me. One thing led to another, and suddenly piles of clothes were on my bed and on the floor. I felt more and more relief as the closet started to empty. Why have I insisted on holding on to these things for so long?
Cleaning my closet suddenly took on an entirely different meaning. I began to unpack my closet both physically and mentally. I broke it down into a few categories and questions I had for myself:
Why do I always keep a stack of old jeans?
Every time, every closet, I have a stack of jeans that I am just so sure I will fit in again one day. That I’ll have an occasion for these ones or these ones (even the bell bottomed ones). As I unfolded the pairs, I realized many things:
1. Superficially, I held on to my first favorite pair of “nice” jeans. They oddly represent this change into adulthood, of buying nicer things that lasted. Of finding that perfect pair after hours in the mall and feeling too short, too wide, too petite, too little or too much of something. Each pair came to represent a distinct period in my life, bringing up memories and nostalgia the way a song of the past does. Truthfully, for much of my life I only wore skirts and pants for cultural reasons. Transitioning into pants and truly choosing my own clothing is a momentous memory for me and not something everyone will understand. Though that’s far in my past, I don’t want to forget that it’s a part of me and was once a struggle/cultural barrier that I overcame (that’s a whole other post).
2. All that said, there is NO reason they should be taking up physical space anymore. I will NOT fit into them. Now into my late 20’s, my body and metabolism has taken a life of it’s own. That stack of jeans became a fear of growing into myself: a thicker, fuller, older, wiser (but not taller) woman. I look into the mirror every day and oh so subtly change over time. I know it’s happening, but it’s only when I see old pictures that I believe it. Yet no longer fitting into clothing feels more sudden and unexpected. While I cherish and celebrate my mental and intellectual growth, physically changing is a little scarier. I have to acknowledge that however youthful I look, I can’t treat my body the way I used to. That I over time, whether with age or sheer happenings of life and illness, I won’t be able to do as much, as quickly.
3. As I round out my late 20s, I am much more aware of what it means to have one healthy body in this life time, enabling me to walk and run and do all the things. Still, I know that I take it for granted every single day. But, I have been working on the skill of listening to what it’s telling me I need more of, even if I don’t always respond as I should. I’m going to bring this back to jeans and keep it real: I can’t fit into my current favorite pair.Instantly, my mind goes to negative thoughts about how I don’t exercise or eat well enough, which is not all true. Without wanting it to be this way, pants have become a temperature check for weight and subconsciously dictate how I FEEL about that weight.
4. But, maybe it’s not all about that— maybe this part of that growth I just talked about, and maybe I just need to buy new pants and not hold on to the ones that aren’t making me feel great. This isn’t the metaphor part here, I am literally talking about getting rid of those pants. And REALLY getting rid of them, not stacking them in the closet for the “one day that I will wear them again.” An article that has stuck with me is one where a woman in her final thoughts of life regretted how much time she spent lamenting or feeling bad about her body. I try to live by that and usually do, so out with the pants that test my will!
Now that I’m to this part of my post, I had no idea I would have so much to say about jeans or pants. But, if I think about it, for me it’s also about letting go of: Friends/people that create too much negative energy, thoughts and coping mechanisms that no longer make sense for the present, complaints, life plans that need an overhaul, and whatever else I try to force on myself that is NO LONGER GOOD FOR ME. It’s good to try and see if there’s a fix, to work on things and contemplate their benefits. But just as I outgrow clothing, I outgrow people and habits and if I cling to them, I won’t make space for new ones or quality time for the great ones.
Why do I keep things with tears or holes in them?
I loved them so much I thought I would mend them later. I thought I would re-wear them.
Nope. Still there, with holes and tears. If I don’t have the commitment to fix it, I didn’t want it that badly. Out they go.
Why do I have so much STUFF?
T-shirts from different events and schools. A weird amount of pillow cases. Boxes from different electronics. Do I really need to look at them all to feel like that represent success and abundance? As I threw out more and more things, I truly felt a weight lifted. I stood still for a moment and took stock of my own internal clutter; the negative thoughts and past memories that have become deadweight. I envisioned tossing them out along with the clothing, breathing them out as I created space for spring. Every experience does have a purpose, especially the hard ones. But, some of them have had more than their fair share of time and space. It’s time to let them go. It’s time to welcome new experiences and mistakes and lessons.
Why didn’t I give it away sooner?
Guilt. I felt guilt that I was hoarding warm or professional clothing that I no longer needed. Clothing that could have benefited someone else over the winter or for a job interview. Because I waited, it’s not as useful. I have the privilege of holding on to things for memory or” just in case that I might want to wear that one day,” and I really took advantage of it. Note to self: Don’t wait until spring. If I don’t need it, get rid of it or give it away. This will be a slow process, but I hope to get there.
Anything else?
Old, new, worn, torn, I have gratitude for everything that has passed through my closet, for allowing my self-expression, for covering me, for being with me on my little ol’ journey.
Also, I need to attack my closet for a second round, because old habits die hard. And, I miss having my little sister hovering over my bags, snatching hand-me-downs. Miss you, sister(s)!
Happy Spring Cleaning! What’s in your closet?
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her wounds
denying
her wounds came from the same source of her power.” Adrienne Rich, “Power”
Adrienne so beautifully writes about Marie Curie, how the work she pioneered in radiology ultimately led to her demise.
This line has become a source of inspiration for me, one that I keep going back to time after time. I find that the root of my power has gained life from the water of my wounds.
It is easy to want to dispel the wounded parts of myself. Like fresh cuts, I hoped that my trials and tribulations would quickly heal and fade into unnoticeable scars. It had its place in the moment to wake me up, to remind me that I am not immune from pain, to appreciate my wholeness, but then as most people do, I wanted to put those dark parts behind me.
How many times have I wished things to pass too quickly, not realizing that those very moments were building up my source of power? How many times have I disregarded times of difficulty as only negative memories? As annoyances? As the parts of life I wish to skim over?
As the thick of winter approaches, I find myself back in this place of contemplation. For as long as I can remember, winters have held very evocative emotions for me, representing a turn of change within myself within a change in season. The last two winters in particular have coincided with large life changes that primed me to think this winter would offer up the same variety of blues.
Something is different this time, I am different this time. While I am tempted to gear up for battle, I realize I do not need the same layers of protection. Slowly, over time, I have been reshaping my wounds, but not eliminating them. Instead of being ashamed of them, I read them out loud. I let people in. And as I embraced my struggle, they embraced me. Expecting rejection, I found myself reeling. I had let myself go to the worst place, not believing I deserved a full place of acceptance. Having giving others a chance, it turns out the person I was most scared of disappointing and hurting was myself. I held that fear so high on a pedestal that I masked that fear onto others. Meanwhile, they had masks of their own.
I had to do this over and over. This, meaning the uncovering and sharing of my wounds; some which were not wounds at all, but natural and beautiful consequences of growing up and challenging the world. Each time I did this, I fed my roots. A sight unseen, I became stronger.
I interpret Rich’s poem to mean that the source of wounds and power come from the same well. As I dip in to quench my thirst, I do not know what I will draw out. But I do know that I no longer have to categorize hurt and strength into light or dark, as good or bad.
It took both for me to really come alive and fiercely into my own, to find my power.
]]>In interest of full disclosure, this is my go-to reaction. For those with me here, when we experience shame, we don’t just take a time out from the source, we disappear– completely. Sometimes it’s only from those who are the source of shame, other times it may be from our social support in general. For me, it’s an attempt to avoid experiencing any shameful feelings. Certainly this, and the other reactions, is not the most healthy way to handle shame. By withdrawing from the people who support us, either emotionally or physically, we deny ourselves the opportunity to experience the antidote to shame: empathy and connection.
This is the reaction for the people pleasers. In order to avoid shame or in an attempt to resolve the shame we feel, we please those around us. In reality, this is just another way to hide. We put aside our authentic selves by conforming, putting aside our feelings, beliefs, or values to please someone else in order to avoid scorn, criticism or whatever brings up our feelings of shame.
Occasionally, I’ll find myself in this reaction. When we move against, we come out swinging. Not necessarily physically, but we attack others. For me, this happens when my feelings of shame turn into anger. Usually the objective is to make other people feel shame. Sometimes is the person who is the source of shame, but sometimes it is also toward people who are perceived as being less powerful than us such as employees, group members, children, partners, students, etc.
This is not my first post on shame. Probably won’t be my last either. But in my practice of self-acceptance it is important to be aware of times when I am pushing others away through one of these reactions rather than reaching out to those that I know I can count on to provide connection and empathy. It is so crucial to have others in our lives that provide this in our lives. The only way someone can be an island is by cutting off all connections and living a life in numbness (been there, done that too). Connections make life meaningful.
]]>As a Palestinian-American, I faced over 7 hours of interrogation at the Tel Aviv airport and was almost turned away. Sitting in a windowless waiting room, I longed to walk the dirt roads and smell the distinct Palestinian fresh air—one tinged with the smell of burnt trash, a smell that oddly makes me nostalgic. When I finally made it to the other side, I knew I was home.
This is a blog post I wrote in October 2011, a couple of weeks into my stay. I want to dedicate this to my cousin Kawthar and the thousands of lives lost in Gaza and Palestine.
The sun always sets, the sun always rises.
Over the day and into the night, I felt a familiar ache spread over my chest. I could feel it tightening, constricting, and then finally exhaling, settling in comfortably after weeks of this same routine. After sleeping just a few hours the night before and waking up early for my 7 am class, I noticed my energy depleting, and not just because I taught four classes of adolescent boys in a row. I learned quickly that heartbreak wasn’t just a metaphor and that my body isn’t just my body, it’s a protector that warns me when my mind silences the pain.
In Palestine, it can be hard to tell what it is that is affecting me. Are they just normal symptoms of transition or roosters keeping me up at night? I learned the hard way that roosters don’t just crow at dawn, but at midnight, 2 AM, 4 AM…and on an on. Is it anxiety about planning for classes, for the pressure of teaching something when they are in fact, teaching me? Are they the faces of the children from the refugee camp who gleefully pronounce the only words in English they know? “Hi Miss.…How arrreee YOUUU??” It’s so fitting that they ask about you before asking of themselves.
I absorb my parent’s homeland with fresh eyes, studying wise and gnarly branches of olive trees, accepting countless cups of mint tea, and learn that at every lost corner, a stranger will kindly give me the same directions as the person before them….. “doogri, doogri, doogri, o shmal. That translates to, Straight straight straight, and then left. Always, without fail.
Despite the excitement of this journey I am on, this is not a vacation, and each night the innocent sun sets onto an occupied land. This mixture of awe and sadness swims together into a well of life and grief and home. Each new moment I experience and every person I meet has made it into this well. At times, it is brimming with energy, and other times it feels like I am gasping for air.
It is in these times that loss compounds loss, and it all comes rushing back.
I am surrounded by people who are also no stranger to loss; who may never reveal what they endure, day in and day out: The brother or father that’s in prison without trial. The degradation and humiliation faced at each checkpoint on the way to and from work. The struggle to explain to their children why a towering wall shuts them out and how they must never stop resisting.
As I hear story after story, I imagine the unthinkable smells, images, and sounds carried within each Palestinian– whether they are stored and hidden in the deep recesses of their mind or held daily within their calloused hands.
They are tough, but they too need to gasp for air.
Is there anything more humbling than loss? The loss of a loved one, the loss of land, a job, an olive tree, or your own pride?
It brings me to my knees. It’s hollowed me out but only through this emptiness could I start over again, could I appreciate the very moment in front of me and not just the one I left behind. I will cry and at times feel hopeless. My heart will ache, but it will feel.
And in between those times, I know I am not alone. If there is anything being Palestinian has taught me, it is that we take care of our own… and our neighbors, too.
And so as I observe the Palestinians continue to laugh and serve one another, I know that I too will find my own meaning.
]]>I threw around the word “sorry” carelessly instead of reserving it for actions or words that necessitated a need for forgiveness or relationship mending. I constantly apologized for who I was and how I expressed myself. I feel in the way, I’m sorry. I don’t feel confident about what I’m about to say, so I’m sorry. I am about to say no, and I hate saying no, so I’m sorry. SO sorry.
No. More. Apologies.
I will always try my best to own up to my flaws, but I will not apologize for them. If my mistakes do hurt you unintentionally I will apologize for the mistake, but not for the flaw. I am a work in progress and my imperfections constantly challenge me and raise me to be my best self.
I will not apologize for how I default to how I feel or how others feel to inform many decisions. It is my natural tendency and it does not make me weak. My own capacity to deeply think and feel can be the very thing to make me stumble, to feel ache, and to sometimes want to close off to others. Empathy can simultaneously be so heavy and light. But it’s also what truly brightens my world. I feel most connected to others and life when I’m not just experiencing one level of any feeling. My “happiest” moments have followed my hardest ones, because I was able to genuinely feel the difference.
I will not apologize for thinking differently than you or not doing things the way YOU think is right. This is a big one for me. It’s so easy for me to get caught up in comparing myself to others and thus feel less resolve in my work or decisions because it goes against the grain OR because I just don’t have enough confidence to believe in it. Deep down I KNOW that if you don’t do things authentic to your style and beliefs, the quality of your work and life is reduced and it is at service to no one.
I will not apologize for asking questions. I will not apologize for taking your time, especially if you are offering it to me. I will not apologize for being too sad, or too happy for that matter. I will not apologize for my truths, even if you disagree. I will not apologize for taking my own timeline to grieve. I will not apologize for standing up for what I believe in. I will not apologize and attribute my thought or feeling towards being a woman.
I will not. And if I do, I will forgive myself and try not to apologize the next time.
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It seems that the ushering in of the new year brings new life for many. Everywhere you look – the television, radio, social media, magazines, texts and emails exchanged between friends and loved ones – you will find public pronouncements of new year resolutions.
It is exciting…this thought of a new year, another chance to take a stab at long held dreams and goals. We often become so entrenched in this excitement that we hop aboard the resolution train (go ahead and picture it) to make a list that soon begins to resemble something like this…
You get the picture. Most of us wind up with a list of resolutions that, in all honesty, soon become daunting. And, eventually, result in disappointment for many of us. The next year rolls around and we realize that we were not the best person possible (e.g., shouldn’t have snapped at my significant other so much), we haven’t lost the 15 pounds promised, we went to the gym off and on for only a month, and our journal entries only extended through the first week of January.
I do not write this to discourage you. Rather, I am writing this blog entry to encourage you to try something different with me. Nix the resolutions and embrace a word to guide you through 2014!
I attended a yoga workshop this past weekend that encouraged me to do just this very thing that I am speaking of. What resulted was a list of 5 words that I eventually narrowed down to 1 – strength. Strength to get through the tough sh%&. Strength to embrace all of the good. Strength to attempt my goals, both big and small (e.g., a handstand, taking a huge chunk out of my dissertation, growing my therapy practice). Strength to realize that I have a lot to offer this world, even on the days when I feel insignificant.
Just something that I’m throwing out there for you to chew on!
Cheers to a wonderful promising 2014!
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