It's time to look back on the last year and how my One Word has played out. For 2017 that word was PURPOSE.
In anticipation, I expected I would approach things with purpose. That I would more consciously choose what I did and choose things that had a real purpose. A purpose of value. That instead of running around putting out fires, which my life has so often been, I would take a breath and choose. I would ponder, if only for a minute, what was the proper use of my time and energy. And that did happen. Some.
But often it played out differently. I had something I wanted to do or needed to do and tried to find a deeper purpose in it. I need to go to the library to pick up a book for my daughter. But what is the greater purpose for this. My daughter is currently house bound. I'm going to the library as an act of service. I am doing something for her that she can't currently do for herself. There were many instances of that.
Or I tried to give something purpose. I'm going for a run. This run is to build my running base. Or I dedicate these miles to a friend who is struggling. Things such as this.
But most often it happened in the middle of something I was doing. I'm on hour three of a Netflix binge. Why? What is my purpose for spending so much time this way? It's an effort to avoid the struggles of my life. It's an attempt to dull the things I'm feeling that I don't want to feel. It's a weird way I can feel like I'm accomplishing something, as I check episodes off. There was way more of this type of analysis than usual.
I'm big on examining my motivation for things. But this was a bit different. Looking for a purpose. And asking myself if my purpose was a healthy one. Was it good for me? Did it serve a larger purpose? What general direction were these choices taking me, and did that lead to my bigger purpose? To the broader goals, the long-term goals, I have for myself.
I can honestly say I sometimes did well with this and sometimes didn't. Finding out what my purpose for doing something was sometimes stopped me in my tracks and made me change direction. Other times not so much.
I think this one will stick with me. And it leads well into 2018's word. Coming soon.
Showing posts with label Change. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Change. Show all posts
Thursday, December 28, 2017
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
With Purple Hair
On December 2, 2014 my family and friends received a bit of a shock. Without telling anyone - not my husband, best friend, or children - I dyed somewhere between six and eight inches of my hair purple (actually, my amazing hairdresser did). Bright purple. Troll doll purple.
Reactions varied. My husband and my best friend both loved it. My kids had mixed reactions; mostly I think they just needed time to adjust. My son worried that it increased the chances that I would hurt myself (I had received a diagnosis of Bipolar 2 shortly before this, although I'd had symptoms for years, and have a history of self-harm). We got through that. They adjusted. Everyone adjusted. And even though people were surprised, there seemed to be a general, "Oh, that's just something Robin would do" attitude.
They asked why. I said it was just time.
The reasons are many. First let me say, I'm color-blind. I've done various things in shades of red in my hair many times in the past. It has to be very bright in order for me to see the red in my brown hair. When it fades, which it does very quickly, I can't see it anymore. Other people can and they still comment on how great it looks, but I can't. And that bothers me. I dye my hair for my own entertainment. For my own pleasure. Because I like the way it looks to me. That effect is nullified when I can't see it. And that's a lot of money to like what I see for only a few days.
Also, a part of me has always wanted to do something bold and shocking with my hair. I'm generally only rebellious in subtle ways. I'm not really a whole-head-purple or shaved-head person. I'm more of a comes-out-with-a-couple-washes purple-streak-for-Halloween person. But for some reason, it was just time.
And purple has never been a favorite color of mine. But since my daughter was diagnosed with a Chiari malformation a couple of years ago and purple is the color of Chiari awareness, it's grown on me. Purple has a special place in my heart now.
My hair has gone through many phases as it's faded. My hairdresser told me it would, but I wasn't quite prepared for it. When it lost the very intense brightness I was sad. But then I saw all the variation emerging and it became fun on a different level. It became My Little Pony purple.
Truthfully, once it got to this stage I still only saw it as purple. My husband would point out where it was purple, where it was blue, and where it was pink - but it just looked purple to me.
And, see, that's part of the point. While I couldn't see all those colors, I could see the purple. Every step of the way I could see the different color from what it used to be. That made me happy.
Then it faded more and my friend told me it looked like Meryl Streep's hair in Into the Woods.
Seriously, how can you go wrong when you're being compared to Meryl Streep? Even if it's when she's playing a witch. (By the way, that's one of my favorite semi-recent photos of myself. My hair looks good. You can't see the bags under my eyes or my double chin. It'll be my profile picture for a good, long time.)
That was about a month ago now. It's faded a lot more. There is definite white showing through. Since we had to bleach my hair in order to dye it, just letting my hair go back to its natural color isn't going to happen. Without the color my head would look like the hoof of a Clydesdale.
It's time for something new. Tomorrow I'll be getting it colored again.
So I thought today would be a good time to reflect on what I've learned in the last two and a half months.
As much as I pondered this, (and it was planned for more than two weeks before I did it) I didn't think through all the ramifications. I was prepared for the way my family, friends, parents, neighbors, and ward (parish) members might react. I wasn't prepared for the way strangers would react. They either stared or refused to look at me. Except the younger ones. The ones my kids' ages and younger would come right out and comment on it or just move past it. The ones my age and older either glared at me (seriously?) or glanced and then turned away quickly (while sneaking secret looks when they thought they were out of my field of vision).
I get it. Especially when it was bright purple it was a bit shocking. But some of the looks I got, many in fact, felt like judgments. Like me having purple hair meant I was a certain type of person who believed a certain type of things and acted in a certain type of way. And worse, like it was something to be embarrassed about. My daughter (who shaved her head almost two years ago in support of her sister who was having brain surgery) said she went through similar things. In fact, she was flat out told to hide her head more than once.
Let me tell you something, judgy-judgers, most of you would be hard pressed to find more conservative people than me and my daughter. We are both very active in our church and attend every week. Neither of us has a tattoo. Neither of us has ever done drugs or had illicit sex. Neither of us has been to jail. We both vote in every election and take that right/responsibility seriously. In fact, neither of us has even ever had a ticket. By most measurements of the world, we are quite boring. We just did something fun with our hair.
The other thing I wasn't prepared for was how I would feel about these reactions. It's not that I care so much about how others feel about how I look, although the first time (when I was completely unprepared for it) I felt very self-conscious and couldn't wait to get back to the safety of my own home.
No, the reactions of other people served to point out how public this experience was.
Okay, so that should have been obvious before I did it, but it wasn't. I dyed my hair the way I did for me. I wanted it to be distinctly different from my natural hair. I wanted the lift it would give me in the middle of winter. I wanted the fun of that little bit of rebellion. But I was irritated by the fact that I couldn't do this fun thing - that I couldn't play - without the whole world watching.
I went to a high school basketball game a week or so after I had it done. I don't know how many people fit in our gym, maybe a couple hundred. But as I walked in and felt the eyes of so many people on me I realized I was the only person in the room with purple hair. I don't think I've ever felt so much in the spotlight as I did in that moment. And it was not something I enjoyed. I prefer to blend into the crowd. That moment kind of freaked me out.
But I've adjusted. I've acclimated to the new temperature of the waters. As I prepare for the next color, I'm ready for whatever it brings. Because I've been there before and the personal joy it brings me is well worth the cost.
 |
| Troll doll with purple hair |
 |
| Me with purple hair |
They asked why. I said it was just time.
The reasons are many. First let me say, I'm color-blind. I've done various things in shades of red in my hair many times in the past. It has to be very bright in order for me to see the red in my brown hair. When it fades, which it does very quickly, I can't see it anymore. Other people can and they still comment on how great it looks, but I can't. And that bothers me. I dye my hair for my own entertainment. For my own pleasure. Because I like the way it looks to me. That effect is nullified when I can't see it. And that's a lot of money to like what I see for only a few days.
Also, a part of me has always wanted to do something bold and shocking with my hair. I'm generally only rebellious in subtle ways. I'm not really a whole-head-purple or shaved-head person. I'm more of a comes-out-with-a-couple-washes purple-streak-for-Halloween person. But for some reason, it was just time.
And purple has never been a favorite color of mine. But since my daughter was diagnosed with a Chiari malformation a couple of years ago and purple is the color of Chiari awareness, it's grown on me. Purple has a special place in my heart now.
My hair has gone through many phases as it's faded. My hairdresser told me it would, but I wasn't quite prepared for it. When it lost the very intense brightness I was sad. But then I saw all the variation emerging and it became fun on a different level. It became My Little Pony purple.
 |
| My Little Pony with variegated purple hair |
 |
| Me with variegated purple hair |
And, see, that's part of the point. While I couldn't see all those colors, I could see the purple. Every step of the way I could see the different color from what it used to be. That made me happy.
Then it faded more and my friend told me it looked like Meryl Streep's hair in Into the Woods.
 |
| Meryl Streep |
 |
| Me |
That was about a month ago now. It's faded a lot more. There is definite white showing through. Since we had to bleach my hair in order to dye it, just letting my hair go back to its natural color isn't going to happen. Without the color my head would look like the hoof of a Clydesdale.
 |
| Clydesdale hooves |
 |
| My bleached hair before the purple |
So I thought today would be a good time to reflect on what I've learned in the last two and a half months.
As much as I pondered this, (and it was planned for more than two weeks before I did it) I didn't think through all the ramifications. I was prepared for the way my family, friends, parents, neighbors, and ward (parish) members might react. I wasn't prepared for the way strangers would react. They either stared or refused to look at me. Except the younger ones. The ones my kids' ages and younger would come right out and comment on it or just move past it. The ones my age and older either glared at me (seriously?) or glanced and then turned away quickly (while sneaking secret looks when they thought they were out of my field of vision).
I get it. Especially when it was bright purple it was a bit shocking. But some of the looks I got, many in fact, felt like judgments. Like me having purple hair meant I was a certain type of person who believed a certain type of things and acted in a certain type of way. And worse, like it was something to be embarrassed about. My daughter (who shaved her head almost two years ago in support of her sister who was having brain surgery) said she went through similar things. In fact, she was flat out told to hide her head more than once.
Let me tell you something, judgy-judgers, most of you would be hard pressed to find more conservative people than me and my daughter. We are both very active in our church and attend every week. Neither of us has a tattoo. Neither of us has ever done drugs or had illicit sex. Neither of us has been to jail. We both vote in every election and take that right/responsibility seriously. In fact, neither of us has even ever had a ticket. By most measurements of the world, we are quite boring. We just did something fun with our hair.
The other thing I wasn't prepared for was how I would feel about these reactions. It's not that I care so much about how others feel about how I look, although the first time (when I was completely unprepared for it) I felt very self-conscious and couldn't wait to get back to the safety of my own home.
No, the reactions of other people served to point out how public this experience was.
Okay, so that should have been obvious before I did it, but it wasn't. I dyed my hair the way I did for me. I wanted it to be distinctly different from my natural hair. I wanted the lift it would give me in the middle of winter. I wanted the fun of that little bit of rebellion. But I was irritated by the fact that I couldn't do this fun thing - that I couldn't play - without the whole world watching.
I went to a high school basketball game a week or so after I had it done. I don't know how many people fit in our gym, maybe a couple hundred. But as I walked in and felt the eyes of so many people on me I realized I was the only person in the room with purple hair. I don't think I've ever felt so much in the spotlight as I did in that moment. And it was not something I enjoyed. I prefer to blend into the crowd. That moment kind of freaked me out.
But I've adjusted. I've acclimated to the new temperature of the waters. As I prepare for the next color, I'm ready for whatever it brings. Because I've been there before and the personal joy it brings me is well worth the cost.
Saturday, January 3, 2015
A Time to Heal
It's a new year. A fresh start. Sure, there's no big difference between December 31st and January 1st, but there actually is. People all over the world are taking this opportunity to examine their lives and decide what they want to change. How they want to improve.
I love that! It feels like a moment of unity for our entire species. That doesn't happen often.
I don't do resolutions, but I do examine my life and look for a new focus. I choose ONE WORD. There will be one word that guides my year. I never know exactly how it will play out. Some of it is how I change my actions; some of it is the natural flow of life; and I believe God brings people and experiences into my life to help me, because I've opened my heart up to Him in that way.
In the past I've sometimes stewed over what word to choose for the next year. Other times I just instantly knew. This was one of the latter. As soon as I thought about the new year and what I wanted to focus on, a word came to my mind. Clear and strong and spoken.
Would I go so far as to say God chose this word for me? Yes, I would.
This year God wants me to HEAL.
The word and a feeling came strongly. But the feeling was an open one. Heal is my word, but much of how I interpret that will morph throughout the year. What I do with that word is largely up to me.
So when I was given that word the first thing that came to mind was working on my physical health (which I think is the direction most people who know me would also go with it). I have some health struggles that I've sought answers for over the past several years - to no avail. They interfere with the life I want to live. They interfere with relationships. They interfere with who I want to be.
Then I felt selfish. Always looking at how my life will change. Always focused on me. Maybe it's meant to be an outward thing. Maybe I'm meant to heal others. Who would I want to heal? My family, my friends, my parents, the world. But I don't actually have the power to heal others. I have the power to help others heal, but only God can truly heal. And maybe He and I will spend some time working together to help others heal. I'm open to that.
In order to figure out what God was really asking of me, I pulled inside of myself. I took a deep breath. I opened my heart. And I asked, "What does this mean, this word heal, for me this year?"
And then I wrote:
- finances
- past
- Christmas
- physical health
- food issues/habits
- house
- garden/yard
- car management
- Mother's Day/Father's Day/Parents' birthdays
- my boundaries/obligations/desires for relationship with my parents
- mental health separate from my past
- spiritual health?
- daily habits/time management
- relationships?
- from relationships
- coping strategies
- self-soothing
- self-care
- household
- computer
- writing
- my relationship with my body*
- wanting
- codependence
- control issues
So, not much. (Just kidding on that not much thing.)
The question marks were because I'm not sure if He and I think that is an area I need to work on this year or if it's just something I felt I should add (seriously, a moment of allowing myself to be directed by societal expectations; sheesh). The asterisk is because I felt added intensity from Him on that one.
I know some of these may not make sense. Some of them don't seem to fit. But they do. And they do make sense in my head and my heart, even while they are still left free-floating and undefined - waiting to be discovered.
Because that is part of the magic of choosing one word. My year is spent in discovery. How and why does my word apply in this situation, whatever the situation may be? How does applying my word to this experience affect my growth and my happiness and my peace? How will this word change who I am?
It's a wonderful journey for me. Full of magic. And wonder. And inspiration. And challenge. And failure. And growth.
I can't wait!
I love that! It feels like a moment of unity for our entire species. That doesn't happen often.
I don't do resolutions, but I do examine my life and look for a new focus. I choose ONE WORD. There will be one word that guides my year. I never know exactly how it will play out. Some of it is how I change my actions; some of it is the natural flow of life; and I believe God brings people and experiences into my life to help me, because I've opened my heart up to Him in that way.
In the past I've sometimes stewed over what word to choose for the next year. Other times I just instantly knew. This was one of the latter. As soon as I thought about the new year and what I wanted to focus on, a word came to my mind. Clear and strong and spoken.
Would I go so far as to say God chose this word for me? Yes, I would.
This year God wants me to HEAL.
The word and a feeling came strongly. But the feeling was an open one. Heal is my word, but much of how I interpret that will morph throughout the year. What I do with that word is largely up to me.
So when I was given that word the first thing that came to mind was working on my physical health (which I think is the direction most people who know me would also go with it). I have some health struggles that I've sought answers for over the past several years - to no avail. They interfere with the life I want to live. They interfere with relationships. They interfere with who I want to be.
Then I felt selfish. Always looking at how my life will change. Always focused on me. Maybe it's meant to be an outward thing. Maybe I'm meant to heal others. Who would I want to heal? My family, my friends, my parents, the world. But I don't actually have the power to heal others. I have the power to help others heal, but only God can truly heal. And maybe He and I will spend some time working together to help others heal. I'm open to that.
In order to figure out what God was really asking of me, I pulled inside of myself. I took a deep breath. I opened my heart. And I asked, "What does this mean, this word heal, for me this year?"
And then I wrote:
- finances
- past
- Christmas
- physical health
- food issues/habits
- house
- garden/yard
- car management
- Mother's Day/Father's Day/Parents' birthdays
- my boundaries/obligations/desires for relationship with my parents
- mental health separate from my past
- spiritual health?
- daily habits/time management
- relationships?
- from relationships
- coping strategies
- self-soothing
- self-care
- household
- computer
- writing
- my relationship with my body*
- wanting
- codependence
- control issues
So, not much. (Just kidding on that not much thing.)
The question marks were because I'm not sure if He and I think that is an area I need to work on this year or if it's just something I felt I should add (seriously, a moment of allowing myself to be directed by societal expectations; sheesh). The asterisk is because I felt added intensity from Him on that one.
I know some of these may not make sense. Some of them don't seem to fit. But they do. And they do make sense in my head and my heart, even while they are still left free-floating and undefined - waiting to be discovered.
Because that is part of the magic of choosing one word. My year is spent in discovery. How and why does my word apply in this situation, whatever the situation may be? How does applying my word to this experience affect my growth and my happiness and my peace? How will this word change who I am?
It's a wonderful journey for me. Full of magic. And wonder. And inspiration. And challenge. And failure. And growth.
I can't wait!
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Creating the World of My Dreams
As I come to the end of the year, I start thinking about what the next year will be. What do I want to do in the next year? How will I define it? How will I change and grow? This alone makes it a proactive activity.
Approaching the new year understanding that I can define it is empowering.
Many years in the past I have been carried along like a twig in a current. Go with the flow. Wherever life takes me is where I'll be. No thought or effort to change my own direction, just reacting to things as they happen.
But a couple of years ago, when I decided to choose a word to define the year, a word for my focus, things began to change. My word was KINDNESS the first year and SEE the next. Both of those years were powerful and changed me in amazing ways. The one word for a year thing totally works for me.
I am so excited about my word for this year. I pondered all the things I want to change, all the things I want to do, all the ways I still need to grow. I pondered who I am and who I want to be. I pondered my world and what defines it. Many words came to mind as options. But eventually one floated to the top that encapsulates everything I want.
CREATE. My word for 2014 is create.
This is the moment in my life when I am ready to truly make my world what I want it to be, in so many facets. It fits where I am now. And where I want to go.
My vision is that I will examine my life and decide what I want it to be. I am usually so whatever in my life. I am a very content person, happy with whatever life hands me. And I think there is value in that. But there is also value in choosing. In making it what I want it to be.
It will be less about what I don't want and more about what I do. Not focusing on the things I want to change or get rid of but focusing on what I want my life to be. Less about getting rid of things and more about creating space. Less about not feeling bad and more about feeling good. Less about avoiding people who cause me stress and more about filling my life with people who bring me joy. Less about overcoming negative behaviors and more about establishing habits of good behaviors.
A big part of this will be examining my life (which I love and am good at) and figuring out what I want (which I'm not as good at).
I have already started, because I just couldn't wait. I've taken up a new art form (Zentangle). I've begun creating space in my home. But there's so much more room to create. I can't wait to see what this year will bring.
Maybe it will be the year I finally do the small remodel on the bathroom I've wanted to do for years. Maybe it will be the year I tackle the backyard and make it the oasis I want it to be. Maybe it will be the year my bedroom becomes the haven I want it to be. Maybe it will be the year I find a schedule that works for me and brings me peace of mind. Maybe it will be the year I create a system for our finances that eases my worries.
It's about understanding what my heart needs and making it happen, inviting it into my life.
My life is not quite a blank canvas, but it's got lots of open space and I can easily paint over so many parts I don't like. I'm excited to see what the final creation looks like.
Approaching the new year understanding that I can define it is empowering.
Many years in the past I have been carried along like a twig in a current. Go with the flow. Wherever life takes me is where I'll be. No thought or effort to change my own direction, just reacting to things as they happen.
But a couple of years ago, when I decided to choose a word to define the year, a word for my focus, things began to change. My word was KINDNESS the first year and SEE the next. Both of those years were powerful and changed me in amazing ways. The one word for a year thing totally works for me.
I am so excited about my word for this year. I pondered all the things I want to change, all the things I want to do, all the ways I still need to grow. I pondered who I am and who I want to be. I pondered my world and what defines it. Many words came to mind as options. But eventually one floated to the top that encapsulates everything I want.
CREATE. My word for 2014 is create.
This is the moment in my life when I am ready to truly make my world what I want it to be, in so many facets. It fits where I am now. And where I want to go.
My vision is that I will examine my life and decide what I want it to be. I am usually so whatever in my life. I am a very content person, happy with whatever life hands me. And I think there is value in that. But there is also value in choosing. In making it what I want it to be.
It will be less about what I don't want and more about what I do. Not focusing on the things I want to change or get rid of but focusing on what I want my life to be. Less about getting rid of things and more about creating space. Less about not feeling bad and more about feeling good. Less about avoiding people who cause me stress and more about filling my life with people who bring me joy. Less about overcoming negative behaviors and more about establishing habits of good behaviors.
A big part of this will be examining my life (which I love and am good at) and figuring out what I want (which I'm not as good at).
I have already started, because I just couldn't wait. I've taken up a new art form (Zentangle). I've begun creating space in my home. But there's so much more room to create. I can't wait to see what this year will bring.
Maybe it will be the year I finally do the small remodel on the bathroom I've wanted to do for years. Maybe it will be the year I tackle the backyard and make it the oasis I want it to be. Maybe it will be the year my bedroom becomes the haven I want it to be. Maybe it will be the year I find a schedule that works for me and brings me peace of mind. Maybe it will be the year I create a system for our finances that eases my worries.
It's about understanding what my heart needs and making it happen, inviting it into my life.
My life is not quite a blank canvas, but it's got lots of open space and I can easily paint over so many parts I don't like. I'm excited to see what the final creation looks like.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Tucked Safely Under My Wing
My third child is graduating from high school later today. It's a wonderful day that marks the successful completion of many years of hard work. Hers and mine.
But it also marks the beginning.
She is eighteen. She is legally responsible for her actions. She could move out and do whatever she wants without my approval.
Those of you with small children will read this and think eighteen sounds so old. You won't be able to imagine that tiny baby or toddler so far into the future. And you probably think by the time they turn eighteen you'll be ready. You'll see how smart and independent they are. You'll see them reaching for the world and you'll do everything you can to help them grab it. You'll know it's time for them to leap into the wonder around them and learn to fly. You think you'll be ready.
You're kidding yourself.
They'll feel like they're all grown up and you'll still see that five-year old, crying because she hurt herself on the playground They'll be making plans to take off on their grand adventure and you'll think of all the times they called you from school begging you to bring them something they forgot.
How will they make it in the big, bad world without you? Why aren't they content to stay tucked safely under your wing forever?
Well, they outgrow that wing. They just don't fit anymore. They eventually see the fragility of that wing and realize it's not as safe as they thought and they need to create their own shelter. And they need to learn to fly.
You will understand all this in your head, but your heart will still ache for simpler times. You will yearn for those days when all they wanted was to climb into bed with you and snuggle up. Those days when a juice box or a popsicle made everything all better.
And with the strength of Hercules you will open your heart and release them into the world.
But it also marks the beginning.
She is eighteen. She is legally responsible for her actions. She could move out and do whatever she wants without my approval.
Those of you with small children will read this and think eighteen sounds so old. You won't be able to imagine that tiny baby or toddler so far into the future. And you probably think by the time they turn eighteen you'll be ready. You'll see how smart and independent they are. You'll see them reaching for the world and you'll do everything you can to help them grab it. You'll know it's time for them to leap into the wonder around them and learn to fly. You think you'll be ready.
You're kidding yourself.
They'll feel like they're all grown up and you'll still see that five-year old, crying because she hurt herself on the playground They'll be making plans to take off on their grand adventure and you'll think of all the times they called you from school begging you to bring them something they forgot.
How will they make it in the big, bad world without you? Why aren't they content to stay tucked safely under your wing forever?
Well, they outgrow that wing. They just don't fit anymore. They eventually see the fragility of that wing and realize it's not as safe as they thought and they need to create their own shelter. And they need to learn to fly.
You will understand all this in your head, but your heart will still ache for simpler times. You will yearn for those days when all they wanted was to climb into bed with you and snuggle up. Those days when a juice box or a popsicle made everything all better.
And with the strength of Hercules you will open your heart and release them into the world.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Taking Stock of My Progress
It's a good idea to take stock of life every now and then. I tend to get so focused on the mountain ahead I still have to climb that I forget to look back at how far I've come. I don't take that moment to look out over the view I've already got because I'm so fixated on getting to the top. And then I just get frustrated and down on myself. Plus, if I don't take stock, I don't realize I've left the trail entirely and wandered.
So tonight I'm taking stock. It's been almost a year since I went to the psychiatrist and she basically told me to change my entire life. Okay, not really, but it felt like that. I took it seriously. I worked really hard at it. Where am I now?
Let's break it down to the different areas she wanted me to work on:
Sleep: I am getting more sleep. I am going to bed earlier (not consistently at the same time, but consistently earlier). I used to be up until 1 or 2 almost every night, frequently 3 or 4. I then got up to get the kids off to school and crawled back into bed for a nap -- every day. Now I shut down for the night around 11:30 or 12 (earlier many nights) and am up at seven. I get the kids up and off. Sometimes I go back to bed for a nap, but not every day. And the waking at seven is consistent. Even on weekends I wake about that time, without an alarm. My body is becoming conditioned to it. It even lasted through the summer last year. Instead of seeing how well I'm doing, I've been noticing the occasional naps and the inconsistent bedtimes and feeling ashamed of myself. I really am getting much more sleep and have made great progress toward undoing a lifetime of bad habits. To the point where my family is feeling the effects. Most nights our house is completely shut down (lights off, most of us asleep) by 9:30 or 10. On the weekends it might be 11 or 11:30. For a house full of teenagers who used to routinely stay up until 11 or later on school nights and whenever during the summer, it's incredible progress. We are night owls by nature, but we've fought that nature and tamed it enough to be healthy.
Water: I'm drinking more. For a long time I was hitting that 96 ounces a day religiously. I've slipped a bit. I'm working on this one. Seriously, the hardest part is to remember to take my water bottle to the kitchen with me and fill it up. If I get back to my room and realize I didn't, I'll usually just put it off. That means I don't hit my total for the day. And, no, my kitchen isn't that far from my room. It's a very poor excuse. But I am drinking more than I used to and I am working on it. I have made progress.
Exercise: She wanted me to walk 20 minutes a day 4-5 times a week. I suck at this one. I worked hard at it for a while, but it was making my shins hurt. I looked it up and realized that my lengthened stride (which I remember training into myself in high school when I spent a lot of time walking with a much taller friend) had to be adjusted back to a natural stride. This helped. But I have another problem with exercise (other than the tired and lazy part). Whenever I do anything physical for more than a few minutes, my face and chest flush. I go bright red and hot. Not the traditional exercise overheating. This can come from simply sweeping. Even singing does it. Almost like clockwork, at 20 minutes in I flush. It's very uncomfortable (the doctor has no idea what this is). The psychiatrist suggest that I do 2 ten-minute sessions instead. Yeah, use your logic on me. Some days I do. Most days I don't. Walking outside is less likely (which is too bad because I'm sure the vitamin D from the sun would help). A bit of dancing with Just Dance 4 on the Wii is more likely. Even though I'm not where I should be, I am still doing it more than I used to. Tiny progress, but progress nonetheless.
No soda after 3:00pm, because it interferes with sleep: Yeah, I kind of completely forgot about this one until I just reread my post from a year ago. Once I started sleeping better I quit worrying about this. I may or may not take another look at it.
Food: I still suck at this. In a big way. It's still way too easy for me to not eat. To forget to eat. Or to decide it's not worth the work of preparing food. I'm supposed to eat three meals and three snacks a day. For months after my visit with her I did this meticulously. I tracked everything I ate, making sure I was eating every two and a half hours. Tracking how many servings of vegetables and how many of protein and how many of dairy and so on. I did fabulously! Seriously, my therapist and the psychiatrist were pretty much speechless at how well I did and how hard I was working. And I remember when it fell apart. My best friend got really sick. I spent a lot of time in the hospital by her bedside. I was careful even then. I packed things to take with me so I wasn't dependent on finding something in the cafeteria. I was still about 90% compliant with what the psychiatrist wanted. And after my friend went home and I was no longer spending 8 hours a day taking care of her, I felt like I deserved a break. I felt like it was okay to relax a bit. I felt like I had earned a week of not tracking, of not being so careful. And that week turned into another and another. I tracked here and there but never really got back on it. While I work to make healthier choices, I'm not doing fabulously. There is progress. I usually eat 2 or 3 meals a day and 1 or 2 snacks. It used to be 1 meal a day and a snack or two on a good day. And when I eat junk, I eat less of it. Usually much less.
But the thing that made me slip up on the food is the same thing that makes me slip in the other areas. There is still a part of me that says I've earned a break. When I've worked hard or my life is heavy, I feel like I can stop taking care of myself. Where does that come from? When you spell it out like that it doesn't even make sense. When I've worked hard or my life is heavy, I deserve to take better care of myself. I deserve more of my attention. I deserve to feel better.
Because those months when I worked my fanny off on this program, I felt better. Not healed. Not healthy. But better. I keep forgetting I deserve that. But now that I've taken stock I remember.
So tonight I'm taking stock. It's been almost a year since I went to the psychiatrist and she basically told me to change my entire life. Okay, not really, but it felt like that. I took it seriously. I worked really hard at it. Where am I now?
Let's break it down to the different areas she wanted me to work on:
Sleep: I am getting more sleep. I am going to bed earlier (not consistently at the same time, but consistently earlier). I used to be up until 1 or 2 almost every night, frequently 3 or 4. I then got up to get the kids off to school and crawled back into bed for a nap -- every day. Now I shut down for the night around 11:30 or 12 (earlier many nights) and am up at seven. I get the kids up and off. Sometimes I go back to bed for a nap, but not every day. And the waking at seven is consistent. Even on weekends I wake about that time, without an alarm. My body is becoming conditioned to it. It even lasted through the summer last year. Instead of seeing how well I'm doing, I've been noticing the occasional naps and the inconsistent bedtimes and feeling ashamed of myself. I really am getting much more sleep and have made great progress toward undoing a lifetime of bad habits. To the point where my family is feeling the effects. Most nights our house is completely shut down (lights off, most of us asleep) by 9:30 or 10. On the weekends it might be 11 or 11:30. For a house full of teenagers who used to routinely stay up until 11 or later on school nights and whenever during the summer, it's incredible progress. We are night owls by nature, but we've fought that nature and tamed it enough to be healthy.
Water: I'm drinking more. For a long time I was hitting that 96 ounces a day religiously. I've slipped a bit. I'm working on this one. Seriously, the hardest part is to remember to take my water bottle to the kitchen with me and fill it up. If I get back to my room and realize I didn't, I'll usually just put it off. That means I don't hit my total for the day. And, no, my kitchen isn't that far from my room. It's a very poor excuse. But I am drinking more than I used to and I am working on it. I have made progress.
Exercise: She wanted me to walk 20 minutes a day 4-5 times a week. I suck at this one. I worked hard at it for a while, but it was making my shins hurt. I looked it up and realized that my lengthened stride (which I remember training into myself in high school when I spent a lot of time walking with a much taller friend) had to be adjusted back to a natural stride. This helped. But I have another problem with exercise (other than the tired and lazy part). Whenever I do anything physical for more than a few minutes, my face and chest flush. I go bright red and hot. Not the traditional exercise overheating. This can come from simply sweeping. Even singing does it. Almost like clockwork, at 20 minutes in I flush. It's very uncomfortable (the doctor has no idea what this is). The psychiatrist suggest that I do 2 ten-minute sessions instead. Yeah, use your logic on me. Some days I do. Most days I don't. Walking outside is less likely (which is too bad because I'm sure the vitamin D from the sun would help). A bit of dancing with Just Dance 4 on the Wii is more likely. Even though I'm not where I should be, I am still doing it more than I used to. Tiny progress, but progress nonetheless.
No soda after 3:00pm, because it interferes with sleep: Yeah, I kind of completely forgot about this one until I just reread my post from a year ago. Once I started sleeping better I quit worrying about this. I may or may not take another look at it.
Food: I still suck at this. In a big way. It's still way too easy for me to not eat. To forget to eat. Or to decide it's not worth the work of preparing food. I'm supposed to eat three meals and three snacks a day. For months after my visit with her I did this meticulously. I tracked everything I ate, making sure I was eating every two and a half hours. Tracking how many servings of vegetables and how many of protein and how many of dairy and so on. I did fabulously! Seriously, my therapist and the psychiatrist were pretty much speechless at how well I did and how hard I was working. And I remember when it fell apart. My best friend got really sick. I spent a lot of time in the hospital by her bedside. I was careful even then. I packed things to take with me so I wasn't dependent on finding something in the cafeteria. I was still about 90% compliant with what the psychiatrist wanted. And after my friend went home and I was no longer spending 8 hours a day taking care of her, I felt like I deserved a break. I felt like it was okay to relax a bit. I felt like I had earned a week of not tracking, of not being so careful. And that week turned into another and another. I tracked here and there but never really got back on it. While I work to make healthier choices, I'm not doing fabulously. There is progress. I usually eat 2 or 3 meals a day and 1 or 2 snacks. It used to be 1 meal a day and a snack or two on a good day. And when I eat junk, I eat less of it. Usually much less.
But the thing that made me slip up on the food is the same thing that makes me slip in the other areas. There is still a part of me that says I've earned a break. When I've worked hard or my life is heavy, I feel like I can stop taking care of myself. Where does that come from? When you spell it out like that it doesn't even make sense. When I've worked hard or my life is heavy, I deserve to take better care of myself. I deserve more of my attention. I deserve to feel better.
Because those months when I worked my fanny off on this program, I felt better. Not healed. Not healthy. But better. I keep forgetting I deserve that. But now that I've taken stock I remember.
Saturday, December 22, 2012
A Year of Kindness
This last year I decided to let KINDNESS be my guide. The one word that would be on my mind and in my heart as I lived my life. And I learned a lot.
I learned that any time I make something a chore it becomes less fun for me. I did okay tweeting every day for a long time. Then it got a little more erratic. I think I pretty much stopped all together around July.
I also learned that choosing one word, one idea, to focus on for the year is awesome! I loved it so much more than I ever liked setting goals or resolutions. It works for me. Plus, it gave me plenty of time to really internalize things. Change takes time. Usually a lot longer than we think. A year allows for effort, failure, correction, learning, and more effort.
And I learned that I am so much happier when I am kind. I'm a pro at the quick, sarcastic quip, but I don't like being that person. It feels false. I like being genuine. I like saying what I mean. I like telling people how wonderful I think they are. I like choosing to ignore things that bug me so that others feel uplifted in my presence. And the more I choose to ignore those things, the less they bug me. The more kind I choose to be, the more beautiful the world becomes.
I can't speak for the entire world, but in America we live in a society that praises both kindness (openly) and unkindness (subtly). News stories of service and giving capture our interest and sometimes change our behavior for a while, but we sure do like our sarcasm and teasing. Our entertainment is filled with biting remarks. The verbal slam is what gets laughs and praise. There are entire tv shows dedicated to pulling pranks on people -- the soul purpose of which is to embarrass someone else for our entertainment. Political discourse is less about discussing a point of view and seeking to understand the other side than it is about tearing the other argument (and often, the other person) to shreds. We seem to say we want kindness, we like kindness, but our actions so often support the opposite side.
I've learned to keep my mouth shut more. Since my brain still isn't fully converted, I have to control what I can. The unkind thoughts still enter my head, but I can stop them from leaving my mouth. I'm not always successful, but I'm doing so much better.
And I've learned that listening is one of the most kind acts I can perform. So many people just need someone to listen to them. Not to fix things. Not to give advice. Just to listen. We all need our hearts to be heard. Honest listening, with support and love and an intent to understand, sends value to the speaker. There are just too many people who have no one to listen to them. Taking the time to truly listen fills my heart in a divine way. It makes me more than I was. It enhances me. It strengthens me. Listening is a good thing.
I've also learned that being kind sometimes means speaking up. Maybe it's the compliment I thought in my head but wouldn't always say in the past. Say it. It matters. Or it's asking others to stop or change the conversation when it becomes unkind, even if it's about someone not present. It may not ever get back to that person to hurt them, but staying silent hurts me. Staying silent is participating. It's passively saying that behavior is okay. And it's not.
And I've learned that as with most things, it's more difficult to be kind with family. And it's more important.
I notice kindness so much more. There are so many kind acts every day, everywhere I go. I notice unkindness more as well. There's still way too much of that. And I notice how my efforts to change and be more kind make a difference. I am changing the world. One person, one moment, at a time.
Kindness will go forward with me. It is a part of me now. It's in my heart. But I've already chosen my word for next year and can't wait to get started. More on that next week.
I learned that any time I make something a chore it becomes less fun for me. I did okay tweeting every day for a long time. Then it got a little more erratic. I think I pretty much stopped all together around July.
I also learned that choosing one word, one idea, to focus on for the year is awesome! I loved it so much more than I ever liked setting goals or resolutions. It works for me. Plus, it gave me plenty of time to really internalize things. Change takes time. Usually a lot longer than we think. A year allows for effort, failure, correction, learning, and more effort.
And I learned that I am so much happier when I am kind. I'm a pro at the quick, sarcastic quip, but I don't like being that person. It feels false. I like being genuine. I like saying what I mean. I like telling people how wonderful I think they are. I like choosing to ignore things that bug me so that others feel uplifted in my presence. And the more I choose to ignore those things, the less they bug me. The more kind I choose to be, the more beautiful the world becomes.
I can't speak for the entire world, but in America we live in a society that praises both kindness (openly) and unkindness (subtly). News stories of service and giving capture our interest and sometimes change our behavior for a while, but we sure do like our sarcasm and teasing. Our entertainment is filled with biting remarks. The verbal slam is what gets laughs and praise. There are entire tv shows dedicated to pulling pranks on people -- the soul purpose of which is to embarrass someone else for our entertainment. Political discourse is less about discussing a point of view and seeking to understand the other side than it is about tearing the other argument (and often, the other person) to shreds. We seem to say we want kindness, we like kindness, but our actions so often support the opposite side.
I've learned to keep my mouth shut more. Since my brain still isn't fully converted, I have to control what I can. The unkind thoughts still enter my head, but I can stop them from leaving my mouth. I'm not always successful, but I'm doing so much better.
And I've learned that listening is one of the most kind acts I can perform. So many people just need someone to listen to them. Not to fix things. Not to give advice. Just to listen. We all need our hearts to be heard. Honest listening, with support and love and an intent to understand, sends value to the speaker. There are just too many people who have no one to listen to them. Taking the time to truly listen fills my heart in a divine way. It makes me more than I was. It enhances me. It strengthens me. Listening is a good thing.
I've also learned that being kind sometimes means speaking up. Maybe it's the compliment I thought in my head but wouldn't always say in the past. Say it. It matters. Or it's asking others to stop or change the conversation when it becomes unkind, even if it's about someone not present. It may not ever get back to that person to hurt them, but staying silent hurts me. Staying silent is participating. It's passively saying that behavior is okay. And it's not.
And I've learned that as with most things, it's more difficult to be kind with family. And it's more important.
I notice kindness so much more. There are so many kind acts every day, everywhere I go. I notice unkindness more as well. There's still way too much of that. And I notice how my efforts to change and be more kind make a difference. I am changing the world. One person, one moment, at a time.
Kindness will go forward with me. It is a part of me now. It's in my heart. But I've already chosen my word for next year and can't wait to get started. More on that next week.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
An Abusive Husband, part three
For the first part of my husband's story and why we are sharing it read this.
For the second part of our story read this.
Today I offer the final part of the story: what happened when he saw the truth.
I started to work with a friend from an old job. He is a very sensitive and caring man who understands women (and no he isn't gay). But when I would talk to him at work and tell him how nuts my wife was he would always tell me where I was wrong. He was very good at it because he can talk both male and female. He had been through a lot of therapy, too.
Robin and I were about done with marriage and I was sick of all the accusations of being abusive. I still loved her and didn't want to divorce but she just wasn't getting it. Then one day we had a meeting, just her and me. I was finally to the point where I really wanted to understand what she was trying to say. I don't know if she explained it to me better that time or I finally listened but I got it. It was the yelling, putting down and getting even that was the abuse. The seething hatred when I was angry. The fact that everyone at home was walking on egg shells around me so they wouldn't trigger another outburst from the angry man.
Holy cow, what an eye opener that was. I love these people and they all feel like I hate them. They walk on egg shells around me. My wife and kids. It was a shot to my heart.
But how to fix it, for now I see just what a bastard I am. Anger was my nature. I couldn't control it. It would explode in me and I had to yell or I would be violent (I never was but it was because I could yell at those I was angry with). I also knew that my OCD triggered my anger and how was I going to fix that?
That's when I started therapy (or thereabouts). We found Dr. Dan. Robin, bless her, saw my horror when I finally understood and we decided to work together to beat this thing. I was ready.
It was really hard. I had to learn how to control my anger. I had to face issues from my past that I wanted to leave alone. I had to trust Dr. Dan. (Don't think that wasn't hard.) I had to learn how to be a real man. A real husband and father. I don't always win in my daily fight to control my anger or my OCD, but I win most days. I've learned that you can change. You can control anger. I'm to the point now where I hardly ever get angry anymore. It's been a long road and I've had a lot of help.
The most important thing I've learned in this whole process is that you have to accept the fact that you are wrong. Be humble enough to be told you're being a jerk and realize you are but you can change. Your wife isn't trying to control you. She loves you and is trying to help you reach your potential.
Thanks for helping me be a better man, Robin.
For the second part of our story read this.
Today I offer the final part of the story: what happened when he saw the truth.
I WAS AN ABUSIVE HUSBAND. REALLY? (PART THREE)
I started to work with a friend from an old job. He is a very sensitive and caring man who understands women (and no he isn't gay). But when I would talk to him at work and tell him how nuts my wife was he would always tell me where I was wrong. He was very good at it because he can talk both male and female. He had been through a lot of therapy, too.
Robin and I were about done with marriage and I was sick of all the accusations of being abusive. I still loved her and didn't want to divorce but she just wasn't getting it. Then one day we had a meeting, just her and me. I was finally to the point where I really wanted to understand what she was trying to say. I don't know if she explained it to me better that time or I finally listened but I got it. It was the yelling, putting down and getting even that was the abuse. The seething hatred when I was angry. The fact that everyone at home was walking on egg shells around me so they wouldn't trigger another outburst from the angry man.
Holy cow, what an eye opener that was. I love these people and they all feel like I hate them. They walk on egg shells around me. My wife and kids. It was a shot to my heart.
But how to fix it, for now I see just what a bastard I am. Anger was my nature. I couldn't control it. It would explode in me and I had to yell or I would be violent (I never was but it was because I could yell at those I was angry with). I also knew that my OCD triggered my anger and how was I going to fix that?
That's when I started therapy (or thereabouts). We found Dr. Dan. Robin, bless her, saw my horror when I finally understood and we decided to work together to beat this thing. I was ready.
It was really hard. I had to learn how to control my anger. I had to face issues from my past that I wanted to leave alone. I had to trust Dr. Dan. (Don't think that wasn't hard.) I had to learn how to be a real man. A real husband and father. I don't always win in my daily fight to control my anger or my OCD, but I win most days. I've learned that you can change. You can control anger. I'm to the point now where I hardly ever get angry anymore. It's been a long road and I've had a lot of help.
The most important thing I've learned in this whole process is that you have to accept the fact that you are wrong. Be humble enough to be told you're being a jerk and realize you are but you can change. Your wife isn't trying to control you. She loves you and is trying to help you reach your potential.
Thanks for helping me be a better man, Robin.
Friday, November 16, 2012
I Hate Money
I hate money with a visceral hatred from the deepest darkest place in my soul. If you mention the word money to me there is a place in my stomach that clenches and I want to throw up. I hate money so much.
Money has been many things in my life. Money has been power that someone else had and used against me. Money has been a way for someone to control me. Money has been a substitute for love when money was all my parents had to offer. Money has been an elusive prize that teases and dances, taking one step closer and then running away. Money has been an avalanche that threatens the life of me and my family. Money is my enemy.
And I don't think this is the relationship I am supposed to have with money. It's not the way I want to feel and think about money. I am so sick of money controlling my life.
I grew up in a home where I don't remember ever not having enough money to meet our needs and then some. It's possible my parents had financial struggles, but if they did I never knew about it. My parents never talked about money. Except when they fought.
My mom grew up very poor. My dad didn't. My mom likes to shop. A lot. To the point of an addiction. My dad has money and spends it when he wants to, but I don't know how he feels or what he thinks about it. Except I know he thinks she spends too much. It doesn't stop him from giving it to her; it just gives him something to be angry about. I have heard him complain and yell about money more times in my life than anything else. I'm pretty sure money is his God. And a way to control people. He gives. It seems generous at the time. Then he calls in the favors you didn't know you owed; you didn't know you were agreeing to an undefined contract. And the only thing my mom ever taught me about money is that my dad has plenty and doesn't give her enough.
He's good with money, but he didn't teach me anything about it. Except that spending it is bad and smart people know how to manage their finances and if you can't be self-sufficient financially then something is wrong with you that you should be ashamed of.
Yeah, my feelings about my parents and money are kind of intense.
And then there's my marriage. We've had our share of financial arguments. We don't have the same approach to money. And I'm pretty sure neither of us would claim to be really good with money. But we're grown ups so we're expected to know how to do this.
We've been married twenty-two years. My husband has been the breadwinner the whole time. I worked a bit but just because I wanted to. (My health no longer allows me to work.) And in this twenty-two years my husband has been laid off or fired ten times. The longest we went without any income was seven months. We've been on food stamps. Our children have been on government insurance and received free school lunches. In fact, the government paid entirely for the pregnancy and delivery of one of our children. We've gone to our church for food, clothes, and help with our mortgage payment and bills. We've lived off our food storage and sold many things of value just to meet our obligations. We no longer have food storage or savings. We used these up and haven't been able to rebuild them.
And because of this history, because of the many times we had our electricity shut off because we couldn't pay the bill, I am scared. Whenever we get paid I want to put the money away just in case. I have trouble paying bills because I'm afraid that will be our last income. What if I pay the bills and then he gets laid off? Then I don't have any money and my family is threatened again.
We've had well-paying jobs (I say we even though they were his jobs) and poor-paying jobs. We've had more than enough financially and not nearly enough financially. We've happily worked together on budgeting and spending and fought like crazy about money. We've tracked our money together and spent behind each other's backs. And for most of our marriage I have been in charge of the money. Which meant that even though he earned the money I felt the pressure to handle it well.
I am a smart girl. I am good at math and organization. But I still really struggle with money. And it is still a source of shame for me.
But this thing has been a burr under my saddle for long enough. I'm ready to kick this monkey off my back. I'm ready to acknowledge that I don't know what I'm doing. That I've been trying to figure this out for years and am still not getting it. That I have serious psychological issues that I need to address.
I'm ready for the battle. And I'm going to win.
Money has been many things in my life. Money has been power that someone else had and used against me. Money has been a way for someone to control me. Money has been a substitute for love when money was all my parents had to offer. Money has been an elusive prize that teases and dances, taking one step closer and then running away. Money has been an avalanche that threatens the life of me and my family. Money is my enemy.
And I don't think this is the relationship I am supposed to have with money. It's not the way I want to feel and think about money. I am so sick of money controlling my life.
I grew up in a home where I don't remember ever not having enough money to meet our needs and then some. It's possible my parents had financial struggles, but if they did I never knew about it. My parents never talked about money. Except when they fought.
My mom grew up very poor. My dad didn't. My mom likes to shop. A lot. To the point of an addiction. My dad has money and spends it when he wants to, but I don't know how he feels or what he thinks about it. Except I know he thinks she spends too much. It doesn't stop him from giving it to her; it just gives him something to be angry about. I have heard him complain and yell about money more times in my life than anything else. I'm pretty sure money is his God. And a way to control people. He gives. It seems generous at the time. Then he calls in the favors you didn't know you owed; you didn't know you were agreeing to an undefined contract. And the only thing my mom ever taught me about money is that my dad has plenty and doesn't give her enough.
He's good with money, but he didn't teach me anything about it. Except that spending it is bad and smart people know how to manage their finances and if you can't be self-sufficient financially then something is wrong with you that you should be ashamed of.
Yeah, my feelings about my parents and money are kind of intense.
And then there's my marriage. We've had our share of financial arguments. We don't have the same approach to money. And I'm pretty sure neither of us would claim to be really good with money. But we're grown ups so we're expected to know how to do this.
We've been married twenty-two years. My husband has been the breadwinner the whole time. I worked a bit but just because I wanted to. (My health no longer allows me to work.) And in this twenty-two years my husband has been laid off or fired ten times. The longest we went without any income was seven months. We've been on food stamps. Our children have been on government insurance and received free school lunches. In fact, the government paid entirely for the pregnancy and delivery of one of our children. We've gone to our church for food, clothes, and help with our mortgage payment and bills. We've lived off our food storage and sold many things of value just to meet our obligations. We no longer have food storage or savings. We used these up and haven't been able to rebuild them.
And because of this history, because of the many times we had our electricity shut off because we couldn't pay the bill, I am scared. Whenever we get paid I want to put the money away just in case. I have trouble paying bills because I'm afraid that will be our last income. What if I pay the bills and then he gets laid off? Then I don't have any money and my family is threatened again.
We've had well-paying jobs (I say we even though they were his jobs) and poor-paying jobs. We've had more than enough financially and not nearly enough financially. We've happily worked together on budgeting and spending and fought like crazy about money. We've tracked our money together and spent behind each other's backs. And for most of our marriage I have been in charge of the money. Which meant that even though he earned the money I felt the pressure to handle it well.
I am a smart girl. I am good at math and organization. But I still really struggle with money. And it is still a source of shame for me.
But this thing has been a burr under my saddle for long enough. I'm ready to kick this monkey off my back. I'm ready to acknowledge that I don't know what I'm doing. That I've been trying to figure this out for years and am still not getting it. That I have serious psychological issues that I need to address.
I'm ready for the battle. And I'm going to win.
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