My one word for 2018 (in place of New Year's resolutions) was Partake. I expected my year to be focused on truly monitoring what I let into my soul - body and spirit. Filtering out the bad, inviting more of the good.
I'd say I had moderate success. I didn't do well with the physical. I didn't do well cleaning up my diet and focusing on other healthy behaviors I've let slip (like sleep and water).
I didn't do well on time management. I didn't cut down significantly on Netflix and such.
However, I did really well at filtering out the entertainment that doesn't fit my value system. There are books, TV shows, movies, and music I partook of before that I wouldn't really want to admit to. Not because the world considers them inappropriate, but because I do. They were the literal definition of guilty pleasures.
The simplest way I found to bring my behaviors and beliefs into accord was to cut out all entertainment that would be rated higher than PG.
Not everything is rated. Books aren't rated, but many of them would be beyond PG if they were. Music isn't screened well at all. Old movies are often not rated.
With music, I just cut out anything with swearing or sex. With everything else, whenever I found myself wanting to partake of something that wasn't rated, I did a little homework.
With books, I asked the people who read them, if I could. Right now I only read for book club, so I just asked someone who read ahead of me. That worked well. I only had to filter one or two of them out.
I used IMDb to judge movies and TV shows. If a show didn't seem to have a rating, I scrolled down to a section called Certificate and clicked on See all certifications. This showed me how it was rated in other countries. I looked at the ratings from Australia and the United Kingdom, sometimes others. If they were under 13, I called it approved. I also read the Parents Guide. These helped a lot.
The trouble came when IMDb and Netflix had conflicting ratings. Like with Merlin. On IMDb it's TV-PG; on Netflix it's TV-14. I watched many episodes before I found out it was TV-14 on Netflix. Then I pondered a long time. It's a series I've watched a couple times. As far as I could guess, the only thing that might push it to TV-14 is the witchcraft, that gets a little more intense in the later seasons. But it still wasn't something that went beyond my sensitivities. In the end, I stopped watching it. Not because I don't think it's okay for me, but because it was my goal to not watch beyond PG for the year, and I wanted to stay as true to that as I could.
There were a lot of shows that are TV-14 that I think are okay, but I didn't watch. There were also some that were PG that I wasn't okay with, like Charmed (lots of casual sex). Luckily, I had many options I love - like all the Star Treks (except Discovery, which . . . let's just not go there) and Doctor Who. Most SciFi TV before 2000 is fine. I also watched some shows from years ago that I didn't watch when they first aired, like Sabrina the Teenage Witch. And I explored a lot of teen and kids shows and found some gems, like Wolfblood and Gravity Falls.
It was a little tough at the beginning of the year. I wasn't watching R-rated or TV-MA before anyway, so it wasn't a huge jump. But once in a while I'd want to watch something I thought was okay and find it wasn't. And it was tough when the new Fantastic Beasts came out and was rated PG-13. And it was especially tough during Octoboween, when I usually watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, both beyond my limit.
But, overall, it was a great year. I was happier. My soul was lighter. I felt more clean. And less self-reproaching. I'm really glad I did it and that I stuck to it.
I've been debating how I want things to change or stay the same now that the year is over. I've decided I'll mostly maintain my current status. I'll mostly stay away from PG-13 and TV-14, unless it's something I know is clean. I have a much better knowledge of what I'm sensitive to now and feel I can be honest with myself and take care of myself by filtering accordingly.
I watched my first TV-14 show yesterday - The West Wing. There was a bit more swearing than I remember, but I think it was just the episodes I chose. I'm going to give it a few more tries before I write it off again. And I WILL be seeing Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald before too long.
Beyond that, I just don't know yet. I've learned a lot. I'll play it by ear - or by heart, I guess.
Showing posts with label Self-definition. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Self-definition. Show all posts
Saturday, January 19, 2019
Friday, December 29, 2017
2018 One Word - Partake
Choosing one word for the year is an interesting thing. I always think I know how it will play out, but it always surprises me. I'm sure this will be the same.
It often starts with a feeling. I get a sense of what I need to focus on. Sometimes a clear word. Sometimes just an ethereal idea. After pondering on it for a while, usually several days, I settle on the word. Always a bit before the end of the year. I've known my word for next year for a few weeks now.
And when I choose a new word, I tend to start changing my life to fit it, even before January first. Can't help it.
This year's word is PARTAKE. As usual, I have a very clear feel for what it will be, even if I can't quite say it.
The first word that came to mind was consume, then consumption. It was an idea that I needed to be more aware of what I take into my mind and body. Consume was so completely not the right word, and consumption made me feel like I was in the 1800s with some disease. I had to work on it for a bit.
But partake is so totally the right word. It's not about devouring something. It's about accepting something. It has a spiritual feel to it. It helped me flesh out my view for the year.
It's both about not partaking in something unhealthy for me and choosing to partake of things that are. The duality of that might not be obvious. But I can choose not to partake of certain negative things and go on my merry way without too much change. When I'm presented with good options/opportunities, I need to partake of those.
See? It's totally clear in my heart but tough to communicate.
I've already started to prepare and to put it into practice. It's very compelling, this year's word.
In a simple and obvious way, I've whittled down my viewing and music choices. I already leaned on the less adult side. I already limited my movies to PG-13 and my TV to TV-14. This cut out so much objectionable stuff. (For me. Let me be clear - this is about my tolerance, not a judgment on anyone else.) But there's still so much that I'm not proud of, that I know isn't good for me, but I was hesitant to get rid of because I like it.
I've gone through Netflix (where I do almost all my viewing) and cleared everything from my queue that's rated more than PG. I've also cut out some things that are PG but with content I know isn't in accordance with this plan.
I've created a new music playlist without swearing and without sex. I already had a pretty clean selection, but once in a while I had a song I wouldn't play around other people's children. I figure that's a pretty good indicator.
These seemed to be a good place to start, easy to discern.
I tend to be porous, picking up on the emotions of people around me. Not just aware of them, but carrying them, whether I want to or not. Until now, I didn't make the connection that I have that same experience with the media I partake of. It soaks into me in much the same way, whether I want it to or not. I believe these changes will help lighten my soul.
But it's not just about making better choices about what I consume. It's also about how much. And when. And so many other things.
And as I've begun to put it into motion, without really trying, I've found interesting thoughts cross my mind. When I was disappointed with something and wanted to be critical, I paused. We live in a society that seems to relish complaints, criticism, and sarcasm. They're easy to throw around. But when I paused I heard these words in my mind - "Partake of positivity."
I found it very intriguing. When I stop myself from complaining or criticizing, I've always thought of it as an outward thing. I'm doing this to them, for them. I'm stopping negative feelings and expression from leaving me and going to the other person. But in that moment I saw it from a different perspective. Partaking of positivity, inviting that into my heart, stops the rest. It strengthens me, lifts me. It's not that I stop myself from saying or doing anything negative, because that just goes away. It's just gone.
I know I'm not explaining this very well. It makes sense to me. I hope it makes a little sense to you. And I hope I can observe and document it a bit better this year, so I can share it with you as I go along.
Do you have a word for 2018?
It often starts with a feeling. I get a sense of what I need to focus on. Sometimes a clear word. Sometimes just an ethereal idea. After pondering on it for a while, usually several days, I settle on the word. Always a bit before the end of the year. I've known my word for next year for a few weeks now.
And when I choose a new word, I tend to start changing my life to fit it, even before January first. Can't help it.
This year's word is PARTAKE. As usual, I have a very clear feel for what it will be, even if I can't quite say it.
The first word that came to mind was consume, then consumption. It was an idea that I needed to be more aware of what I take into my mind and body. Consume was so completely not the right word, and consumption made me feel like I was in the 1800s with some disease. I had to work on it for a bit.
But partake is so totally the right word. It's not about devouring something. It's about accepting something. It has a spiritual feel to it. It helped me flesh out my view for the year.
It's both about not partaking in something unhealthy for me and choosing to partake of things that are. The duality of that might not be obvious. But I can choose not to partake of certain negative things and go on my merry way without too much change. When I'm presented with good options/opportunities, I need to partake of those.
See? It's totally clear in my heart but tough to communicate.
I've already started to prepare and to put it into practice. It's very compelling, this year's word.
In a simple and obvious way, I've whittled down my viewing and music choices. I already leaned on the less adult side. I already limited my movies to PG-13 and my TV to TV-14. This cut out so much objectionable stuff. (For me. Let me be clear - this is about my tolerance, not a judgment on anyone else.) But there's still so much that I'm not proud of, that I know isn't good for me, but I was hesitant to get rid of because I like it.
I've gone through Netflix (where I do almost all my viewing) and cleared everything from my queue that's rated more than PG. I've also cut out some things that are PG but with content I know isn't in accordance with this plan.
I've created a new music playlist without swearing and without sex. I already had a pretty clean selection, but once in a while I had a song I wouldn't play around other people's children. I figure that's a pretty good indicator.
These seemed to be a good place to start, easy to discern.
I tend to be porous, picking up on the emotions of people around me. Not just aware of them, but carrying them, whether I want to or not. Until now, I didn't make the connection that I have that same experience with the media I partake of. It soaks into me in much the same way, whether I want it to or not. I believe these changes will help lighten my soul.
But it's not just about making better choices about what I consume. It's also about how much. And when. And so many other things.
And as I've begun to put it into motion, without really trying, I've found interesting thoughts cross my mind. When I was disappointed with something and wanted to be critical, I paused. We live in a society that seems to relish complaints, criticism, and sarcasm. They're easy to throw around. But when I paused I heard these words in my mind - "Partake of positivity."
I found it very intriguing. When I stop myself from complaining or criticizing, I've always thought of it as an outward thing. I'm doing this to them, for them. I'm stopping negative feelings and expression from leaving me and going to the other person. But in that moment I saw it from a different perspective. Partaking of positivity, inviting that into my heart, stops the rest. It strengthens me, lifts me. It's not that I stop myself from saying or doing anything negative, because that just goes away. It's just gone.
I know I'm not explaining this very well. It makes sense to me. I hope it makes a little sense to you. And I hope I can observe and document it a bit better this year, so I can share it with you as I go along.
Do you have a word for 2018?
Thursday, December 28, 2017
A Year of Purpose in Review
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.
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.
Thursday, November 17, 2016
My Bipolar Self
I don't know where my baseline is.
I want to be as close to stable as possible. But what's the real me?
Is the real me on the lower, more calm part of the spectrum? If so, is every up day an anomaly that isn't really me and something I shouldn't be chasing?
Are the up days me, and should I fight the down days to swim my way back up?
How up can I get and still be normal before I'm into hypomania? Or is that very up state that I see as hypomania where I am meant to be and I need to strive to be there?
If I find a medication that takes me to that higher state, should I find a way to incorporate it into my daily life? If not, because the fact that it requires medication is a sign of a false high, what does that say about the mood stabilizer I take each day to keep me out of the pits?
And if they are all the real me, as I sense they are, how do I ever find balance?
How do I know what to strive for? When to reach for the more up place? When to settle in to what is in the moment?
How do I find peace in who I am when who I am is always in such a state of flux?
I want to be as close to stable as possible. But what's the real me?
Is the real me on the lower, more calm part of the spectrum? If so, is every up day an anomaly that isn't really me and something I shouldn't be chasing?
Are the up days me, and should I fight the down days to swim my way back up?
How up can I get and still be normal before I'm into hypomania? Or is that very up state that I see as hypomania where I am meant to be and I need to strive to be there?
If I find a medication that takes me to that higher state, should I find a way to incorporate it into my daily life? If not, because the fact that it requires medication is a sign of a false high, what does that say about the mood stabilizer I take each day to keep me out of the pits?
And if they are all the real me, as I sense they are, how do I ever find balance?
How do I know what to strive for? When to reach for the more up place? When to settle in to what is in the moment?
How do I find peace in who I am when who I am is always in such a state of flux?
Thursday, July 28, 2016
Preparing for Battle - A PTSD Plan
A little personal journaling as I process through my current PTSD episode --
The world is at war. Every day is a battle. You can choose to meet that with peace, but it will take work. You must strengthen yourself every day.
Daily (preferably morning) -
* half hour meditation
* one General Conference talk
* one verse of scripture
Practice these for one week. Assess daily.
See how you feel after a week. Do you feel stronger and better able to live in peace amidst the war?
Right now I don't feel strong. I don't want to be on the defensive all the time, just waiting for the attack, so that I'll be ready. But I've worried that if I weren't on the defensive, the attack would come anyway and blindside me, as has happened so often in the past. I would be knocked down hard. Painful and bloody. In the past, I've always thought that to protect myself I had to be hard. Being hard is being strong.
But I know that's the emotionally immature form of strength. True strength is soft. Gentle. Kind. It comes from sure footing in oneself that grounds you in who you are. You can stand immovable without being a brick wall.
The world is at war. Every day is a battle. You can choose to meet that with peace, but it will take work. You must strengthen yourself every day.
Daily (preferably morning) -
* half hour meditation
* one General Conference talk
* one verse of scripture
Practice these for one week. Assess daily.
See how you feel after a week. Do you feel stronger and better able to live in peace amidst the war?
Right now I don't feel strong. I don't want to be on the defensive all the time, just waiting for the attack, so that I'll be ready. But I've worried that if I weren't on the defensive, the attack would come anyway and blindside me, as has happened so often in the past. I would be knocked down hard. Painful and bloody. In the past, I've always thought that to protect myself I had to be hard. Being hard is being strong.
But I know that's the emotionally immature form of strength. True strength is soft. Gentle. Kind. It comes from sure footing in oneself that grounds you in who you are. You can stand immovable without being a brick wall.
Saturday, June 18, 2016
Transitions
Seriously, who the crap am I?
Transitions are tough. Even when the new state of being is positive. Even when the other side is wonderful. The change can be difficult.
I remember reading that transitions are especially dangerous mental health territory. Well, I already have mental health issues. And now I'm in the middle of several transitions. What a surprise I'm having a tough time.
My youngest child just graduated. I was so focused on all the pain-in-the-butt things that were going away that I didn't look much further ahead. And now I find myself on unsolid ground. Not sure of my footing. Staring at a bunch of building materials with no idea what I want to create.
My oldest will be twenty-six in a few months. For over twenty-six years (I'm including my pregnancy), my whole life has been focused on my kids. Their safety. Their happiness. How to help them be good people. That's a long time in one job.
My youngest will be eighteen in a little over a month. And as my kids have become adults over the last few years, my role has changed somewhat. They're in charge of, and in control of, more of their lives. They're responsible for their choices, whether they act responsibly or not. In a little over a month, I will not be legally responsible for anyone but myself.
And I'm having some trouble processing that.
The transition has happened slowly, in theory. One child at a time. A couple years in between each one. So why does this moment feel so shocking?
Because she's the last one.
I've been a stay-at-home mom for most of their lives. Significantly longer than I was single and childless. When I no longer have minor children at home, but still choose not to work, what am I?
And what do I want to be?
See, here's the thing. I have all the choices in the world. My husband has no desire for me to work, for both physical health and mental health reasons. Although he would support me if I chose to work. Because he supports me in pretty much anything I want to do.
And that's the key phrase. What I want to do. And I have no idea. What do I want to do?
My health is better than it's been in years, but it's still a day to day thing. There are still days I can't get out of bed. Still lots of fatigue and pain.
But there are other days. Days when I feel pretty good. Days when I feel powerful. Days when I believe I can conquer the world.
I'd love to be able to plan out my life. I'd love to live by schedule. I'd love to know how I want to spend my days. To write it all down and live by it. But with the freedom to set it aside if a friend needs me. And I'm just not sure how to balance that.
I yearn for structure. I've always been a planner. But when my health fell apart eleven years ago, I had to stop committing to things. I had to stop planning. Because it just felt so bad when I let others down, when I had to cancel at the last minute. When I couldn't do that one thing I'd so looked forward to and worked to make happen.
I'm scared to plan again. I'm not sure why. And I guess I've planned all along, just on a different level. I'm not sure why this feels so different.
Yes, I am. I don't want to waste. I don't want to use my time badly. I don't want to just pass through day after day. I don't want to look in my rearview mirror and see emptiness. Days of nothing.
Before now, even if I did nothing else all day, I still parented. I still did something productive, just by keeping people alive and on task in their lives. When that's not my job anymore, what value do I have? Especially if my days are spent just doing whatever I want.
I know I'll find my footing. I always do. And it will be great. And I will be happy. But right now I feel like I'm dancing on quicksand. In an earthquake. With a tornado approaching.
And I have to decide whether to hunker down or face the storm.
Transitions are tough. Even when the new state of being is positive. Even when the other side is wonderful. The change can be difficult.
I remember reading that transitions are especially dangerous mental health territory. Well, I already have mental health issues. And now I'm in the middle of several transitions. What a surprise I'm having a tough time.
My youngest child just graduated. I was so focused on all the pain-in-the-butt things that were going away that I didn't look much further ahead. And now I find myself on unsolid ground. Not sure of my footing. Staring at a bunch of building materials with no idea what I want to create.
My oldest will be twenty-six in a few months. For over twenty-six years (I'm including my pregnancy), my whole life has been focused on my kids. Their safety. Their happiness. How to help them be good people. That's a long time in one job.
My youngest will be eighteen in a little over a month. And as my kids have become adults over the last few years, my role has changed somewhat. They're in charge of, and in control of, more of their lives. They're responsible for their choices, whether they act responsibly or not. In a little over a month, I will not be legally responsible for anyone but myself.
And I'm having some trouble processing that.
The transition has happened slowly, in theory. One child at a time. A couple years in between each one. So why does this moment feel so shocking?
Because she's the last one.
I've been a stay-at-home mom for most of their lives. Significantly longer than I was single and childless. When I no longer have minor children at home, but still choose not to work, what am I?
And what do I want to be?
See, here's the thing. I have all the choices in the world. My husband has no desire for me to work, for both physical health and mental health reasons. Although he would support me if I chose to work. Because he supports me in pretty much anything I want to do.
And that's the key phrase. What I want to do. And I have no idea. What do I want to do?
My health is better than it's been in years, but it's still a day to day thing. There are still days I can't get out of bed. Still lots of fatigue and pain.
But there are other days. Days when I feel pretty good. Days when I feel powerful. Days when I believe I can conquer the world.
I'd love to be able to plan out my life. I'd love to live by schedule. I'd love to know how I want to spend my days. To write it all down and live by it. But with the freedom to set it aside if a friend needs me. And I'm just not sure how to balance that.
I yearn for structure. I've always been a planner. But when my health fell apart eleven years ago, I had to stop committing to things. I had to stop planning. Because it just felt so bad when I let others down, when I had to cancel at the last minute. When I couldn't do that one thing I'd so looked forward to and worked to make happen.
I'm scared to plan again. I'm not sure why. And I guess I've planned all along, just on a different level. I'm not sure why this feels so different.
Yes, I am. I don't want to waste. I don't want to use my time badly. I don't want to just pass through day after day. I don't want to look in my rearview mirror and see emptiness. Days of nothing.
Before now, even if I did nothing else all day, I still parented. I still did something productive, just by keeping people alive and on task in their lives. When that's not my job anymore, what value do I have? Especially if my days are spent just doing whatever I want.
I know I'll find my footing. I always do. And it will be great. And I will be happy. But right now I feel like I'm dancing on quicksand. In an earthquake. With a tornado approaching.
And I have to decide whether to hunker down or face the storm.
Monday, May 9, 2016
How to Be a Good Friend
Yeah, I have no idea.
There are people who think I'm an awesome friend. There are people who think I'm a horrible friend. And there are people who've thought both at different times in our relationship.
I've thought both about myself, too.
Being a good friend is such a subjective thing. Everyone has a different idea about what makes a good friend. About what makes a close friend or a best friend. Even about the difference between a friend and an acquaintance.
I've probably put way more thought into this than most, because I feel it's something I struggle with. And it's something I think I should want to change. I tried to want to change. I even tried to change. But I think I'm done.
I'm at a point in my life right now where I'm just gonna be me.
I'm not going to be what others want me to be just to avoid guilt or to feel like I'm measuring up to some mysterious golden friendship crown.
Because, to be honest, I just don't have the energy. If you need a lot of output from your friends, if you need attention (really, any attention) to believe I care and we're friends, you shouldn't choose me as a friend.
I can do great short term. Maybe we meet when we both have a mutual need. Or one of us has a need when the other of us has a surplus, and we connect. We're good for each other and good with each other.
I can drop everything to help you with your crisis. For a while.
But then, for whatever reason, I just don't have anything else to give. Maybe it's because my life has so many recurring and ongoing crises. Maybe it's because of my chronic fatigue or my bipolar disorder. Maybe it's because I'm just a crappy friend.
And then I will disappear.
Not on purpose. Not because I'm trying to be mean. Not because I'm consciously deciding I don't want to be your friend. But because I have to take care of myself. And taking care of myself often means neglecting everything and everyone but my family. Sometimes everyone other than myself.
I will retreat. For who knows how long. You might reach out. You might not. When I'm gone like this, I probably won't reach back. I might not even acknowledge you've tried to contact me.
I see you reaching. I sense your need. But I can't fill it. And you can't fill mine. Because I need to be alone and lick my wounds or find my way. Or whatever.
I know I've wounded people with this behavior. I see it. But I'm doing triage, and I just can't see your need to be with me as a life or death thing. Or if I do, I pray someone else will treat it, because my hands are tied behind my back.
Sometimes my behavior causes others to pull back, hoping I'll notice they've left and their absence will cause me to reach out. But that doesn't work. Because if I notice, which is a big if, it's entirely possible I will just be grateful to not have to fix it. To not have to figure out the steps to the dance we were engaged in, where I was stepping on your toes. I'll just be glad the dance is over and head to the punch.
I just truly don't know how to do the dance and am no longer interested in learning.
This is the kind of friend I can be now. I can be happy when good things happen in your life. I can be glad to see you when we run into each other. I can occasionally muster the energy, physically and emotionally, to do something together. I will think kindly of you when something reminds me of you. And no matter how much time has passed, I will still consider you my friend.
It doesn't take much for me to consider someone my friend. Do I know you? Have we had positive interactions? Yeah, that's about it. That's all it takes.
If we're not friends, and you want me to feel that way too, you'll probably have to tell me. Even then, I'm not sure I wouldn't still introduce you as my friend should the need arise for me to introduce you.
And if you choose to move on, if you decide (for whatever reason) that you're better off without me, I'll most likely wish you well and let you go. I won't argue. I won't ask you to stay. It's just not in my nature. I'll support your growth in whatever way you seek it.
I know a lot of this will sound harsh to many people. That's okay. We're all just finding our way. And this is just one little trip on the journey of my psyche. It's a crazy, winding path that's sometimes light and sometimes dark, but always mine.
There are people who think I'm an awesome friend. There are people who think I'm a horrible friend. And there are people who've thought both at different times in our relationship.
I've thought both about myself, too.
Being a good friend is such a subjective thing. Everyone has a different idea about what makes a good friend. About what makes a close friend or a best friend. Even about the difference between a friend and an acquaintance.
I've probably put way more thought into this than most, because I feel it's something I struggle with. And it's something I think I should want to change. I tried to want to change. I even tried to change. But I think I'm done.
I'm at a point in my life right now where I'm just gonna be me.
I'm not going to be what others want me to be just to avoid guilt or to feel like I'm measuring up to some mysterious golden friendship crown.
Because, to be honest, I just don't have the energy. If you need a lot of output from your friends, if you need attention (really, any attention) to believe I care and we're friends, you shouldn't choose me as a friend.
I can do great short term. Maybe we meet when we both have a mutual need. Or one of us has a need when the other of us has a surplus, and we connect. We're good for each other and good with each other.
I can drop everything to help you with your crisis. For a while.
But then, for whatever reason, I just don't have anything else to give. Maybe it's because my life has so many recurring and ongoing crises. Maybe it's because of my chronic fatigue or my bipolar disorder. Maybe it's because I'm just a crappy friend.
And then I will disappear.
Not on purpose. Not because I'm trying to be mean. Not because I'm consciously deciding I don't want to be your friend. But because I have to take care of myself. And taking care of myself often means neglecting everything and everyone but my family. Sometimes everyone other than myself.
I will retreat. For who knows how long. You might reach out. You might not. When I'm gone like this, I probably won't reach back. I might not even acknowledge you've tried to contact me.
I see you reaching. I sense your need. But I can't fill it. And you can't fill mine. Because I need to be alone and lick my wounds or find my way. Or whatever.
I know I've wounded people with this behavior. I see it. But I'm doing triage, and I just can't see your need to be with me as a life or death thing. Or if I do, I pray someone else will treat it, because my hands are tied behind my back.
Sometimes my behavior causes others to pull back, hoping I'll notice they've left and their absence will cause me to reach out. But that doesn't work. Because if I notice, which is a big if, it's entirely possible I will just be grateful to not have to fix it. To not have to figure out the steps to the dance we were engaged in, where I was stepping on your toes. I'll just be glad the dance is over and head to the punch.
I just truly don't know how to do the dance and am no longer interested in learning.
This is the kind of friend I can be now. I can be happy when good things happen in your life. I can be glad to see you when we run into each other. I can occasionally muster the energy, physically and emotionally, to do something together. I will think kindly of you when something reminds me of you. And no matter how much time has passed, I will still consider you my friend.
It doesn't take much for me to consider someone my friend. Do I know you? Have we had positive interactions? Yeah, that's about it. That's all it takes.
If we're not friends, and you want me to feel that way too, you'll probably have to tell me. Even then, I'm not sure I wouldn't still introduce you as my friend should the need arise for me to introduce you.
And if you choose to move on, if you decide (for whatever reason) that you're better off without me, I'll most likely wish you well and let you go. I won't argue. I won't ask you to stay. It's just not in my nature. I'll support your growth in whatever way you seek it.
I know a lot of this will sound harsh to many people. That's okay. We're all just finding our way. And this is just one little trip on the journey of my psyche. It's a crazy, winding path that's sometimes light and sometimes dark, but always mine.
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
I Needed to Boot Vanilla
Sometimes your computer chokes. It might run super slowly for a while first. You get the sense something's wrong. Eventually, you can't put up with it any longer. You have to call your computer friend.
Maybe you're the computer friend. Maybe it's a spouse. Maybe you don't have a computer friend and have to take it somewhere to be fixed (in which case, I feel very sorry for you; everyone should have a computer friend).
The first thing your computer friend will say is, "Did you shut it down and restart it?" Trust me. That's what he'll say. (I'm going to say he, because my husband is my computer friend.) Know why he'll say that first? Because it truly does fix it a ridiculous amount of the time. Those magic computer boxes just need to shuffle some things around and put them back in their places - they do that when you restart.
But sometimes it doesn't work. And sometimes you can't get it started again properly. Maybe you need to boot vanilla.
To boot vanilla means to start your computer up as basic as possible, without all the bells and whistles. To only load the essential programs. The minimum needed to gain access to the system. Not enough to run any of the normal programs you use. This requires a special vanilla boot disk or a vanilla install file.
From there, your computer friend can do some troubleshooting. He can search for things he knows might be possible problems. After asking about your recent activity, he might be guided to look for a particular virus. And if he still doesn't find anything, he will try adding programs back in one by one. (Yes, I know there are many possible ways to handle this process. Let's just pretend this is the one every computer friend does.)
As he adds each program back in, he'll watch for errors. This way, he can hopefully find the source of your frustration.
I needed to boot vanilla.
My life kind of choked. Things were running choppy. I was functioning sluggishly. Some days I couldn't get past the boot up screen.
I have several life "computer guys." This time I took myself to my psychiatrist and therapist for repair. (I just happened to have appointments scheduled with them on back to back days.) We did lots of troubleshooting. We figured out some workarounds.
But eventually I decided I just needed to boot vanilla. I needed to get rid of everything in my life that wasn't absolutely essential. I've actually been stripping things out for a while now. Activities. Obligations. Friends. And, more recently, social media. I kind of feel like I've put myself into quarantine.
I think I've gone bare bones as far as I can. Well, as far as I can and still be somewhat healthy. I'm hesitant to add things back in, because I don't want to freeze up again.
But I will add things back in. Very. Very. Slowly. I will go for a short time to a few activities. I will spend some time outside my home. And I will very carefully tiptoe back into social media. Very carefully! Probably in a ways but then back out again. Social media is a slippery place with lots of potential viruses, many of which I know I'm susceptible to.
I'll be running a different machine when I'm done. After all, we have to make upgrades over time or become incompatible with new programs. I've made a lot of changes lately; it's not surprising there were conflicts.
I think my main error has been trying to do a system restore. Trying to go back to the way I used to be. But I've altered too many things for that system to do the job. I need to let the new me become. Whatever I am going to become.
Maybe you're the computer friend. Maybe it's a spouse. Maybe you don't have a computer friend and have to take it somewhere to be fixed (in which case, I feel very sorry for you; everyone should have a computer friend).
The first thing your computer friend will say is, "Did you shut it down and restart it?" Trust me. That's what he'll say. (I'm going to say he, because my husband is my computer friend.) Know why he'll say that first? Because it truly does fix it a ridiculous amount of the time. Those magic computer boxes just need to shuffle some things around and put them back in their places - they do that when you restart.
But sometimes it doesn't work. And sometimes you can't get it started again properly. Maybe you need to boot vanilla.
To boot vanilla means to start your computer up as basic as possible, without all the bells and whistles. To only load the essential programs. The minimum needed to gain access to the system. Not enough to run any of the normal programs you use. This requires a special vanilla boot disk or a vanilla install file.
From there, your computer friend can do some troubleshooting. He can search for things he knows might be possible problems. After asking about your recent activity, he might be guided to look for a particular virus. And if he still doesn't find anything, he will try adding programs back in one by one. (Yes, I know there are many possible ways to handle this process. Let's just pretend this is the one every computer friend does.)
As he adds each program back in, he'll watch for errors. This way, he can hopefully find the source of your frustration.
I needed to boot vanilla.
My life kind of choked. Things were running choppy. I was functioning sluggishly. Some days I couldn't get past the boot up screen.
I have several life "computer guys." This time I took myself to my psychiatrist and therapist for repair. (I just happened to have appointments scheduled with them on back to back days.) We did lots of troubleshooting. We figured out some workarounds.
But eventually I decided I just needed to boot vanilla. I needed to get rid of everything in my life that wasn't absolutely essential. I've actually been stripping things out for a while now. Activities. Obligations. Friends. And, more recently, social media. I kind of feel like I've put myself into quarantine.
I think I've gone bare bones as far as I can. Well, as far as I can and still be somewhat healthy. I'm hesitant to add things back in, because I don't want to freeze up again.
But I will add things back in. Very. Very. Slowly. I will go for a short time to a few activities. I will spend some time outside my home. And I will very carefully tiptoe back into social media. Very carefully! Probably in a ways but then back out again. Social media is a slippery place with lots of potential viruses, many of which I know I'm susceptible to.
I'll be running a different machine when I'm done. After all, we have to make upgrades over time or become incompatible with new programs. I've made a lot of changes lately; it's not surprising there were conflicts.
I think my main error has been trying to do a system restore. Trying to go back to the way I used to be. But I've altered too many things for that system to do the job. I need to let the new me become. Whatever I am going to become.
Thursday, April 14, 2016
It Rained
What the crap is wrong with me?! Seriously. I just don't even know. I'm so lost. I feel like I'm not connected to anything. Just floating out in the ether somewhere.
As far as writing, I'm stumped. I feel like I've lost a part of myself with my inability to write. I just haven't been able to write. I don't know how to explain it. It's not writer's block. It's not a lack of ideas or time or anything like that. It's just a plug. Like someone's put a stopper in, and my writing just won't flow.
I've barely written over the last year and a half. (Maybe before that; I don't know.) I don't know if anyone's even reading my blog anymore, except for people who happen here based on a search for a certain topic.
I don't know why I haven't been able to write. There are many possible explanations.
I've been more emotionally healthy (on the whole) for the last while. For a long time I wrote therapeutically. I wrote to work through all the horrific emotional battles I was waging. I don't have as many of those lately, so it hasn't served that purpose.
I've been exercising a lot more, becoming much more physically healthy over the last year. I wonder if that outlet has supplanted this one. Also, since my hysterectomy put me into instant menopause, I just don't have the multitasking abilities I used to have. I have trouble focusing on more than one thing at a time. So since I've been focusing on losing weight and feeling better, I struggle to focus on anything else. Like, it's tough for me to make a menu and shopping list to keep my family fed. It's tough for me to stay on top of the household money and making sure bills get paid. Forget about cleaning the house!
Besides focus, there's also the energy component. I just don't have the energy for much else. Now, it's possible that's changing. When I first started working out, just under a year ago, I was coming from a place of near inactivity. Like, almost nothing. And from a place of extremely low energy (which is related to not being active, but I'm not sure about which was the cause and which was the effect; I have lots of thoughts on that). If I worked out, I was just too tired to do anything else. Or in too much pain. Sometimes that's not the case now. I hope I'll be able to move past that soon.
But I'm afraid I'm also stuck in a pattern. For almost a year my main focus of each day has been to work out. I find I'm having to really put thought into making other things happen. Oh, there's so much more to this than you know! I feel like I'm just giving the tiniest bit of snippets to explain (because otherwise this post would be seventeen pages long). But I need to get some of this out. So even if what I've said sounds like I'm being lazy and not using my time or my life well, please know that I don't think that's the case. Perhaps I'll be able to explain it further in the future.
For now I'll just hit on one other potential cause of my writing drought. I wonder if it's been connected to my mood stabilizer. I'm a mood writer. I have to feel driven. I have to NEED to write. I have to need to get it out. Almost like throwing up, it has to be forcing its way out of me to feel right.
When I met with my psychiatrist Tuesday I asked to reduce my meds by half. That's what we chose to do. This is the second day of that dosage. Today I'm writing. I can't swear those two events are connected. Let's wait and see.
When we met, she also strongly pushed me to get back to things I love. Writing is one of those things. So I may feel driven because the meds are finally allowing it or because it's an assignment. I don't know which.
But I truly don't care right now. It just feels SO GOOD to write. Like feeling the barometric pressure rise before the storm hits, or does it drop before the storm hits? Either way, the air becomes uncomfortable, and my body aches for the rain. Today it rained!
As far as writing, I'm stumped. I feel like I've lost a part of myself with my inability to write. I just haven't been able to write. I don't know how to explain it. It's not writer's block. It's not a lack of ideas or time or anything like that. It's just a plug. Like someone's put a stopper in, and my writing just won't flow.
I've barely written over the last year and a half. (Maybe before that; I don't know.) I don't know if anyone's even reading my blog anymore, except for people who happen here based on a search for a certain topic.
I don't know why I haven't been able to write. There are many possible explanations.
I've been more emotionally healthy (on the whole) for the last while. For a long time I wrote therapeutically. I wrote to work through all the horrific emotional battles I was waging. I don't have as many of those lately, so it hasn't served that purpose.
I've been exercising a lot more, becoming much more physically healthy over the last year. I wonder if that outlet has supplanted this one. Also, since my hysterectomy put me into instant menopause, I just don't have the multitasking abilities I used to have. I have trouble focusing on more than one thing at a time. So since I've been focusing on losing weight and feeling better, I struggle to focus on anything else. Like, it's tough for me to make a menu and shopping list to keep my family fed. It's tough for me to stay on top of the household money and making sure bills get paid. Forget about cleaning the house!
Besides focus, there's also the energy component. I just don't have the energy for much else. Now, it's possible that's changing. When I first started working out, just under a year ago, I was coming from a place of near inactivity. Like, almost nothing. And from a place of extremely low energy (which is related to not being active, but I'm not sure about which was the cause and which was the effect; I have lots of thoughts on that). If I worked out, I was just too tired to do anything else. Or in too much pain. Sometimes that's not the case now. I hope I'll be able to move past that soon.
But I'm afraid I'm also stuck in a pattern. For almost a year my main focus of each day has been to work out. I find I'm having to really put thought into making other things happen. Oh, there's so much more to this than you know! I feel like I'm just giving the tiniest bit of snippets to explain (because otherwise this post would be seventeen pages long). But I need to get some of this out. So even if what I've said sounds like I'm being lazy and not using my time or my life well, please know that I don't think that's the case. Perhaps I'll be able to explain it further in the future.
For now I'll just hit on one other potential cause of my writing drought. I wonder if it's been connected to my mood stabilizer. I'm a mood writer. I have to feel driven. I have to NEED to write. I have to need to get it out. Almost like throwing up, it has to be forcing its way out of me to feel right.
When I met with my psychiatrist Tuesday I asked to reduce my meds by half. That's what we chose to do. This is the second day of that dosage. Today I'm writing. I can't swear those two events are connected. Let's wait and see.
When we met, she also strongly pushed me to get back to things I love. Writing is one of those things. So I may feel driven because the meds are finally allowing it or because it's an assignment. I don't know which.
But I truly don't care right now. It just feels SO GOOD to write. Like feeling the barometric pressure rise before the storm hits, or does it drop before the storm hits? Either way, the air becomes uncomfortable, and my body aches for the rain. Today it rained!
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.
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
A Year of Creating
2014. It's almost over. Where did it go? And so fast. It's done and gone so fast.
And what do I have to show for it?
I love to look back on the year and see what's changed. What did I get done that I wanted to and what plans fell in the gutter? I especially love this look back since I've started choosing ONE WORD to guide my year (explained here).
Last year my word was CREATE. I had so many great plans, while still leaving things open to the natural flow of my life and whatever the world would bring my way. Some of my plans came to fruition. Others, not so much.
I wanted to draw more. I did, but not as much as I had planned.
I wanted to create the yard I'd been dreaming of. I made progress, but not as much as I had planned (thank you hysterectomy).
I wanted to make my room a haven. I did really well at this (although maintenance is tricky).
I had a list of words as part of my plan. Some with obvious meaning, others more ethereal. I created a vision canvas to help guide me. I hung it on my closet door and referred to it often, to just kind of check in with myself.
I wanted to create:
- peace
- stability
- strength
- refuge
- dragonflies*
- healing
- haven
- space
- calm
- wellness
- sanctuary
- satisfaction
- fortitude
- oasis
- happiness
- gargoyles*
- garden
- structure
- dragons*
- wholeness
- atonement
- shelter
- freedom
- health
- joy
- self
- focus
- safety
- divinity
- dreams
- escape
- order
*I didn't want to create dragonflies, gargoyles, or dragons; I wanted to incorporate them into my life. I love them in a magical way. They sing to my heart. I did learn to draw a basic dragonfly that I'm happy with. I'm still searching for just the right gargoyle(s). But as for the dragon, I'm not there yet. I wanted to learn to draw one. I have some ideas, and a tutorial for a basic one, but no finished product. I still have today and tomorrow. Maybe I'll get it done before the year is over.
As for the others on my list, I have had a certain measure of success on all of them. And that's why the ONE WORD idea works for me. I don't have to be perfect (perfectionism is a struggle I have). I keep it very open, loosely defined. It's a guide, not a restriction. Even with all the struggles and health issues I had this last year, I'm calling it a win!
I'll keep my vision canvas for CREATE up for a while. I love the ideas it contains and it makes me happy. And I'm eager to create one for my new word for 2015. It's just the perfect word for my life right now. That will be my next post.
And what do I have to show for it?
I love to look back on the year and see what's changed. What did I get done that I wanted to and what plans fell in the gutter? I especially love this look back since I've started choosing ONE WORD to guide my year (explained here).
Last year my word was CREATE. I had so many great plans, while still leaving things open to the natural flow of my life and whatever the world would bring my way. Some of my plans came to fruition. Others, not so much.
I wanted to draw more. I did, but not as much as I had planned.
I wanted to create the yard I'd been dreaming of. I made progress, but not as much as I had planned (thank you hysterectomy).
I wanted to make my room a haven. I did really well at this (although maintenance is tricky).
I had a list of words as part of my plan. Some with obvious meaning, others more ethereal. I created a vision canvas to help guide me. I hung it on my closet door and referred to it often, to just kind of check in with myself.
I wanted to create:
- peace
- stability
- strength
- refuge
- dragonflies*
- healing
- haven
- space
- calm
- wellness
- sanctuary
- satisfaction
- fortitude
- oasis
- happiness
- gargoyles*
- garden
- structure
- dragons*
- wholeness
- atonement
- shelter
- freedom
- health
- joy
- self
- focus
- safety
- divinity
- dreams
- escape
- order
*I didn't want to create dragonflies, gargoyles, or dragons; I wanted to incorporate them into my life. I love them in a magical way. They sing to my heart. I did learn to draw a basic dragonfly that I'm happy with. I'm still searching for just the right gargoyle(s). But as for the dragon, I'm not there yet. I wanted to learn to draw one. I have some ideas, and a tutorial for a basic one, but no finished product. I still have today and tomorrow. Maybe I'll get it done before the year is over.
As for the others on my list, I have had a certain measure of success on all of them. And that's why the ONE WORD idea works for me. I don't have to be perfect (perfectionism is a struggle I have). I keep it very open, loosely defined. It's a guide, not a restriction. Even with all the struggles and health issues I had this last year, I'm calling it a win!
I'll keep my vision canvas for CREATE up for a while. I love the ideas it contains and it makes me happy. And I'm eager to create one for my new word for 2015. It's just the perfect word for my life right now. That will be my next post.
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.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Conversations with God About My Health
I have been hesitant to share this story, but I feel now is the right time. Please know that it's a very tender story for me.
In the late spring/early summer of 2001 I went to bed for a year and a half. So tired. Barely able to care for my children. Very difficult time for me and our family. Over time I slowly pulled out of that darkness. But I have been very low energy and fatigued ever since. It's like I'm constantly running on batteries with very little juice.
Then, in July 2005, I got a severe headache that wouldn't go away. MRIs and all kind of tests and treatments found/did nothing. I still have the headache. It varies in intensity, but it's always there.
So I am always exhausted and always in pain.
Most days I just roll with it. It's my life and I've grown accustomed. Other days I get very sad and frustrated about all the things I want to do but can't. This story starts with one of those days.
I had a friend who had gone through some similar health issues. He'd tried many treatments and made many changes in his life. And he felt better. He found his way back to good health and energy.
Shortly after hearing him speak of how he changed his life/health, I sent the following email to a friend documenting my experience/feelings:
I am sad right now. But I am at peace.
That was two and a half years ago. I still get frustrated, but that conversation continues to bring me strength.
Some time after that initial conversation I found myself in a terrible depression. I'd been working hard to take care of myself physically and emotionally. I'd worked so hard in therapy. I'd been depression free for a long time. Then I was slammed back into the darkness.
And as I sobbed on my bedroom floor, curled up in emotional pain, I found my heart asking the question again, "I thought I had this beat. Why am I here again, in this dark place?"
And I heard, quietly and lovingly, "You said yes."
I was overwhelmed with God's love and support and gratitude. He knew it was hard. He knew I could do the work He needed. He also knew it was worth it.
And that was enough. It's still enough. I still get frustrated and sad. But I have never regretted saying yes. So if you hear my story and ask how I can smile and be content with my life, now you know.
In the late spring/early summer of 2001 I went to bed for a year and a half. So tired. Barely able to care for my children. Very difficult time for me and our family. Over time I slowly pulled out of that darkness. But I have been very low energy and fatigued ever since. It's like I'm constantly running on batteries with very little juice.
Then, in July 2005, I got a severe headache that wouldn't go away. MRIs and all kind of tests and treatments found/did nothing. I still have the headache. It varies in intensity, but it's always there.
So I am always exhausted and always in pain.
Most days I just roll with it. It's my life and I've grown accustomed. Other days I get very sad and frustrated about all the things I want to do but can't. This story starts with one of those days.
I had a friend who had gone through some similar health issues. He'd tried many treatments and made many changes in his life. And he felt better. He found his way back to good health and energy.
Shortly after hearing him speak of how he changed his life/health, I sent the following email to a friend documenting my experience/feelings:
Last week I went in for my
physical. As I talked with my doctor he decided he wanted to add some
extra tests to my blood work. Basically, there were something like 5-10
additional tests he wanted to run. Looking for the cause of my ever-dwindling
energy. This has been my primary concern. I would gladly keep the
headache if I could just feel better, more energy, like I could function.
So today my test results came
back. And there was nothing unusual in them. They didn't show any
problems. No new direction to try a new treatment.
To say the least, I was frustrated and
disappointed. I began to get depressed.
I found myself in my room crying.
I asked why I can't seem to feel better. Not really in prayer, just a
thought. I was answered. "You can't do the work I need you to
do if you feel better."
I'll admit I responded with,
"That's stupid."
I got past that. I was told that
I can choose not to help with this work and I would be healed. I would
get better very quickly if I decided that I didn't want to do what He needed me
to do.
Of course, there was no way I could do
that. I will not put my own comfort before the work He has for me.
I just couldn't do that.
I can, and should, continue working on
improving my basic health. Try to improve my habits. I will not be
healed before my role in this work is complete -- maybe never. He has a plan
for my life and I need to trust that.
There is a great deal of peace in
knowing this. I have felt an outpouring of love from Him. I know
that my doctors and I are not missing something. We could look forever
and try everything and I would not be healed. My struggle is not about
biology.
I have also been in a state of mourning
most of the day. While I accept this and it helps to know, it is
difficult to let go of what I want.
I do not see it this as a punishment or God hurting me for His purposes; I see
it as a blessing, an opportunity. It will take some time to adjust my
mindset, but it will happen.
I am sad right now. But I am at peace.
That was two and a half years ago. I still get frustrated, but that conversation continues to bring me strength.
Some time after that initial conversation I found myself in a terrible depression. I'd been working hard to take care of myself physically and emotionally. I'd worked so hard in therapy. I'd been depression free for a long time. Then I was slammed back into the darkness.
And as I sobbed on my bedroom floor, curled up in emotional pain, I found my heart asking the question again, "I thought I had this beat. Why am I here again, in this dark place?"
And I heard, quietly and lovingly, "You said yes."
I was overwhelmed with God's love and support and gratitude. He knew it was hard. He knew I could do the work He needed. He also knew it was worth it.
And that was enough. It's still enough. I still get frustrated and sad. But I have never regretted saying yes. So if you hear my story and ask how I can smile and be content with my life, now you know.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
The Delicate Threads
Life is a tapestry. Every thread is important.
Last night I was asked a question I've thought about a lot. If I could change one thing about my life, what would it be?
She may have meant to ask what I would change about my current life, but that's not how I answered it. I answered about my past.
I've had a lot of difficult experiences in my past. And I've done a lot of stupid things. But when she asked what I'd change my answer was simple. Nothing.
When I've thought about this before, in that way we do when we wish for the magical power of a do-over, the one thing that comes to mind first is the times I've hurt people.
* The time I wrote that mean note.
* The time I said that horribly mean thing because I thought I was being clever.
* The time I broke a friend's heart.
* The time I was selfish when someone needed me.
* The time I said out of anger that I didn't love someone.
* All of these thing multiplied numerous times and many others.
If I have any regrets in my life, it would be these. But if I had the power to take them back, if I had a Jimmy Stewart/It's a Wonderful Life moment, would I? No. I wouldn't.
And this is why. I like who I am. I like who I am so much better than who I used to be. And each of those moments affected me. Each of them led to growth. They helped me become me. I would be terrified that pulling on even one of those threads would change the picture of my life. Would change it into something less wonderful.
And I'm sure many of those moments changed the people I associated with. They grew. They learned, possibly just to be more kind than me. It would be awfully selfish of me to mess with someone else's life like that so I could have fewer regrets.
The threads in my tapestry matter. Every single one of them. The picture might not be anything like what I expected, but it's exactly what I need it to be.
Last night I was asked a question I've thought about a lot. If I could change one thing about my life, what would it be?
She may have meant to ask what I would change about my current life, but that's not how I answered it. I answered about my past.
I've had a lot of difficult experiences in my past. And I've done a lot of stupid things. But when she asked what I'd change my answer was simple. Nothing.
When I've thought about this before, in that way we do when we wish for the magical power of a do-over, the one thing that comes to mind first is the times I've hurt people.
* The time I wrote that mean note.
* The time I said that horribly mean thing because I thought I was being clever.
* The time I broke a friend's heart.
* The time I was selfish when someone needed me.
* The time I said out of anger that I didn't love someone.
* All of these thing multiplied numerous times and many others.
If I have any regrets in my life, it would be these. But if I had the power to take them back, if I had a Jimmy Stewart/It's a Wonderful Life moment, would I? No. I wouldn't.
And this is why. I like who I am. I like who I am so much better than who I used to be. And each of those moments affected me. Each of them led to growth. They helped me become me. I would be terrified that pulling on even one of those threads would change the picture of my life. Would change it into something less wonderful.
And I'm sure many of those moments changed the people I associated with. They grew. They learned, possibly just to be more kind than me. It would be awfully selfish of me to mess with someone else's life like that so I could have fewer regrets.
The threads in my tapestry matter. Every single one of them. The picture might not be anything like what I expected, but it's exactly what I need it to be.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Living with Chronic Illness
Living with chronic illness, my daily "to do" lists don't look like most. I can't plan much because I don't know if I'll be able to get out of bed that day, how much I'll be hurting, or what level of energy I might have. With a husband and five active children, there are plenty of things added to each day. I have to keep my own plans simple. Very simple. Many times this has left me feeling like a failure because I can't do as much as others. Or overwhelmed and paralyzed because there was so much to do and I didn't feel like I could do anything. As a therapeutic project, I spent a lot of time examining my life and figuring out what I could realistically expect to get done each day. This way, even on my worst days I can feel like I've accomplished something. It helps.
Worst Days:
Every Day: pray and spend some time in the scriptures, no matter how small the amount
Bonus Points: talk to my husband in person and make some kind of physical contact
I try to make my bed every day because it makes me happy. Anything beyond what's on these lists would be a major accomplishment and might cost me the next day.
Worst Days:
- eat something
- do something - anything
- try to communicate current status to family
- eat
- make my bed
- put a bra on
- spend time out of my room, at least five minutes
- communicate with family
- eat
- make my bed
- get dressed
- open curtains/windows
- shower if needed
- brush teeth and hair
- try to spend some time outside, no matter how small the amount
- let family visit with me in my room
- eat
- make my bed
- get cleaned up enough to leave the house
- open curtains/windows
- leave the house
- talk to someone outside of my family, even if only online
- clean something - anything
- shower if needed
- spend time with family outside of my room, no matter how small the amount
- eat healthy food, try to stick to schedule and track
- make my bed
- get cleaned up enough to visit with friends
- open curtains/windows
- drive somewhere - anywhere
- go for a walk or do yard work
- listen to a conference talk/devotional or read church magazines
- shower
- pick up the living room
- talk to someone outside my family, in person or by phone
- try to stay out of my room
- do something creative (write, draw, color, crochet, flute)
- do something that feeds my soul
- do real exercise
- meditate
- vacuum the living room
- straighten the dining room
- clean the kitchen, including a load of dishes
- do a load of laundry
- write a list of what's been weighing heavily on my mind
- run errands
- shop for fresh fruits and vegetables
- play a game with someone
- clean for 15 minutes - no more
- do deep breathing
- do calendaring/scheduling
- do budget/bills
- spend more time out of my room than in it
Every Day: pray and spend some time in the scriptures, no matter how small the amount
Bonus Points: talk to my husband in person and make some kind of physical contact
I try to make my bed every day because it makes me happy. Anything beyond what's on these lists would be a major accomplishment and might cost me the next day.
Saturday, May 4, 2013
Letting People See My Scars
*** Warning: This post contains possible triggers for self-injurious behavior. Do not read this if you are not safe. ***
I have a history of self-injurious behavior. Self-injurious behavior is addictive. If you don't/haven't self injured, it won't make sense to you. It doesn't make sense in the logical part of my brain. But my body remembers how good it made me feel and when I read or write about it my body begins to crave it. Those who self injure understand. That's why the warning is there.
**********
This post wasn't meant to be about self-injurious behavior (SI), but I guess it is. I've written about hurting myself on my other blog (here, here, here, and here). Read those if you want to understand it better. What I haven't written is the post that really explains why I do it. How it feels. The high I get. Why it's so compelling. I'll write that some day, but not today.
This post is about revealing it. Especially to my children.
Self-injurious behavior most often starts in the teen years. Looking back, I definitely had some self-injurious behavior as a teen. But nothing like what hit in my mid-thirties.
December 14, 2006. I was thirty-six years old. I was sitting in our white van outside my kids' elementary school. I'd been on my way home from errands and decided just to park and wait there even though it was about an hour before school would be out. And I was having a meltdown. Everything was hitting at once.
I'd been in therapy for almost a year, so I was facing some pretty ugly and dark stuff for the first time. I was five years into my struggle with chronic fatigue and a year into my struggle with my chronic headache -- both with lots of doctors, tests, and medication trials but no answers or improvement. My husband and I were not good; we were discussing separation or divorce. He'd recently chosen to have his name removed from the records of the church. We were having financial problems and Christmas was right around the corner. I'd had a difficult and confrontational conversation with my dad a few days before. And I was on an anti-depressant that was making my depression so much worse.
I was losing it. I saw the broken plastic spoon. And I scratched.
This was the beginning of a long road of self-injurious behavior for me. My arms are covered with scars, mostly very faded. This was also the beginning of long sleeves. In all sorts of weather, even coaching softball in the heat of the summer, I wore long sleeves.
Why? At first it was because I was afraid of the reactions of others. And because I didn't have the answers to the questions I knew would follow. Later it was because I worried what it would do to my children. How would I explain it to them? I didn't want it to rob them of their childhoods because they were constantly worried about me hurting myself. Or worse, killing myself. (It's a common misconception that self-injurious behavior is a precursor to suicide. That's rarely the case. In my case, self-injurious behavior kept me from killing myself.)
But the time came when I was ready to tell them. I was sick of living in long sleeves. I was sick of hiding. I was sick of feeling like I was lying to my kids.
I discussed it with my therapist and my ecclesiastical leader and my husband. I told them I was ready. We discussed possible fallout. But I knew the time had come.
It was spring, 2009. My oldest daughter was graduating high school. We had a week-long graduation trip to California planned. I would do it then. That way they would have time to adjust before having to answer questions of friends who might see my arms. And I could wear short sleeves on our trip.
My kids were 18, 16, 14, 12, and 10. It was the right time. The reveal went okay. I answered questions. I'd chosen to blame it mostly on the medication I was taking (which I think was what pushed me over the edge) and leave out so much of the ugly. They didn't need to know all that. I also told them I was done with it. It had been a long time since I'd hurt myself. I hoped that part was true more than I believed it was true.
Sometimes it comes up in our conversation. I know they've struggled with it at times and had conversations about it I wasn't privy to. I also know it's been used as a cool thing. "Yeah, my mom was a cutter." But it's mostly just part of who I am now.
And that was the end of constant long sleeves. People don't really ask about my scars very often. Medical personnel ask when I'm being seen for something. Children sometimes ask (I usually just tell them my scars are from scratches). Others either don't notice or are too polite or scared to ask.
I've relapsed a few times since then. Each time, I've gone back to the long sleeves. At least while the marks were fresh. Mostly, so my kids don't start worrying again.
But since it's an addiction, it would be wrong to say I used to be a cutter. I am a cutter. I think it will always be a part of me. An itch that occasionally hits me. I work hard to stay in a healthy place so it doesn't happen again. I wish I could say it never will. But I can't.
These scars are me. They are my triumph over something so dark and ugly that most people never experience and will never understand. They saved my life. And, honestly, I like them.
I have a history of self-injurious behavior. Self-injurious behavior is addictive. If you don't/haven't self injured, it won't make sense to you. It doesn't make sense in the logical part of my brain. But my body remembers how good it made me feel and when I read or write about it my body begins to crave it. Those who self injure understand. That's why the warning is there.
**********
This post wasn't meant to be about self-injurious behavior (SI), but I guess it is. I've written about hurting myself on my other blog (here, here, here, and here). Read those if you want to understand it better. What I haven't written is the post that really explains why I do it. How it feels. The high I get. Why it's so compelling. I'll write that some day, but not today.
This post is about revealing it. Especially to my children.
Self-injurious behavior most often starts in the teen years. Looking back, I definitely had some self-injurious behavior as a teen. But nothing like what hit in my mid-thirties.
December 14, 2006. I was thirty-six years old. I was sitting in our white van outside my kids' elementary school. I'd been on my way home from errands and decided just to park and wait there even though it was about an hour before school would be out. And I was having a meltdown. Everything was hitting at once.
I'd been in therapy for almost a year, so I was facing some pretty ugly and dark stuff for the first time. I was five years into my struggle with chronic fatigue and a year into my struggle with my chronic headache -- both with lots of doctors, tests, and medication trials but no answers or improvement. My husband and I were not good; we were discussing separation or divorce. He'd recently chosen to have his name removed from the records of the church. We were having financial problems and Christmas was right around the corner. I'd had a difficult and confrontational conversation with my dad a few days before. And I was on an anti-depressant that was making my depression so much worse.
I was losing it. I saw the broken plastic spoon. And I scratched.
This was the beginning of a long road of self-injurious behavior for me. My arms are covered with scars, mostly very faded. This was also the beginning of long sleeves. In all sorts of weather, even coaching softball in the heat of the summer, I wore long sleeves.
Why? At first it was because I was afraid of the reactions of others. And because I didn't have the answers to the questions I knew would follow. Later it was because I worried what it would do to my children. How would I explain it to them? I didn't want it to rob them of their childhoods because they were constantly worried about me hurting myself. Or worse, killing myself. (It's a common misconception that self-injurious behavior is a precursor to suicide. That's rarely the case. In my case, self-injurious behavior kept me from killing myself.)
But the time came when I was ready to tell them. I was sick of living in long sleeves. I was sick of hiding. I was sick of feeling like I was lying to my kids.
I discussed it with my therapist and my ecclesiastical leader and my husband. I told them I was ready. We discussed possible fallout. But I knew the time had come.
It was spring, 2009. My oldest daughter was graduating high school. We had a week-long graduation trip to California planned. I would do it then. That way they would have time to adjust before having to answer questions of friends who might see my arms. And I could wear short sleeves on our trip.
My kids were 18, 16, 14, 12, and 10. It was the right time. The reveal went okay. I answered questions. I'd chosen to blame it mostly on the medication I was taking (which I think was what pushed me over the edge) and leave out so much of the ugly. They didn't need to know all that. I also told them I was done with it. It had been a long time since I'd hurt myself. I hoped that part was true more than I believed it was true.
Sometimes it comes up in our conversation. I know they've struggled with it at times and had conversations about it I wasn't privy to. I also know it's been used as a cool thing. "Yeah, my mom was a cutter." But it's mostly just part of who I am now.
And that was the end of constant long sleeves. People don't really ask about my scars very often. Medical personnel ask when I'm being seen for something. Children sometimes ask (I usually just tell them my scars are from scratches). Others either don't notice or are too polite or scared to ask.
I've relapsed a few times since then. Each time, I've gone back to the long sleeves. At least while the marks were fresh. Mostly, so my kids don't start worrying again.
But since it's an addiction, it would be wrong to say I used to be a cutter. I am a cutter. I think it will always be a part of me. An itch that occasionally hits me. I work hard to stay in a healthy place so it doesn't happen again. I wish I could say it never will. But I can't.
These scars are me. They are my triumph over something so dark and ugly that most people never experience and will never understand. They saved my life. And, honestly, I like them.
Friday, April 26, 2013
Tell Me What You Know About God
Or what you believe. Or think. Or understand to be true. Or wonder.
And then I'll tell you what I know and we'll both be better for it.
If I tell you what I know, and it's different from what you know, will you take offense? Will it cause bad feelings between us? Will you feel judged by me? Will you feel superior to me?
If I tell you what I know, and you are unsure about God, will it make you feel insecure? Will you feel like I'm trying to convert you? Will you feel like I'm trying to tell you what to believe?
If you tell me what you know, will it be because you want to convert me? Will it be because you feel it's your duty? Will it be because you have truth that I should have? Will it be because you care for me? Will it be to condemn me?
If I tell you what I know about God, will it make you uncomfortable?
If you tell me what you know about God, will you try to use it to control me?
I'm fascinated by the beliefs of others. My faith (the faith within me, not my church) brings me so much joy. I wish everyone could experience it. But I don't believe my faith is the only way to find joy. I believe truth brings joy. I believe there is a lot of truth out there that I don't know yet.
I've spent my whole life surrounded by people who were almost all members of the same church as me. I used to think that meant we all had the same perception and understanding of God. As I've grown I've learned this is not at all true. There are some general things most of us believe, but there are also differences. We know different things.
Because you can study and research and ponder every word that has ever been written about God and not know Him as well as a little girl who prays when she is scared. This little girl who feels something outside of herself that makes her feel safe. This little girl who feels a strength beyond her own. If all you do is read and study and ponder, she will know more about God than you do. Because she will know God.
Maybe you've felt something, sensed something, been aware of something beyond what you can explain. Maybe you aren't ready to call that God. Or maybe you call it something else. I'd love to hear your story.
Or maybe you've never had a sense of anything beyond this world and think others are deceiving themselves. That it's a happy fairy tale we use to make this world a little less scary. I'd love to hear your story, too.
A few simple truths I know about God. My truth. (People say truth is truth and we can't have different truths, but I don't believe that. Because our truth isn't just about what is true. Our truth is also based on who we are and how we can receive it and process it.)
God is aware of each of us individually. He was once like us. He experienced mortal life on a world like ours. He is now God because of the way He lived that life. He earned it. He is the Father of our spirits. He has a physical body but not like ours. His body is perfected. And as His children, we have the potential to become like Him. To do wonderful things after this life. And hard things, too. To continue to grow and progress and become.
As our Father, He hurts with us. He allows difficult things to happen but almost never causes them. He knows the best us we can be. He knows hard things are how we get there. He knows we are strengthened by the resistance of trials.
He knows me. My life is better when I turn to Him and let Him guide me. He does not control or force. If we want Him to be a part of our lives, we have to choose to invite Him. He waits for that invitation and it brings Him joy to answer it. We are His purpose.
These are some of my truths about God. As I grow and learn and experience some of them might change. Some of my truths will be expanded upon. I might see others from a different angle. And some of them may no longer be my truths. It will be fun to see.
Now I've told you some of what I know about God. All those questions I asked in the beginning, I'm asking again. Do you feel threatened by my truths? Do you feel judged by my truths? Do you feel superior to me because of my truths? Do my truths align with yours or challenge yours?
I would love it if you'd share some of your truths with me. Or just thoughts or feelings or questions. Questions we can ponder together. Tell me what you know about God.
**********
I welcome all opinions and viewpoints, but if you are unkind or abusive or disrespectful I will delete your comment.
And then I'll tell you what I know and we'll both be better for it.
If I tell you what I know, and it's different from what you know, will you take offense? Will it cause bad feelings between us? Will you feel judged by me? Will you feel superior to me?
If I tell you what I know, and you are unsure about God, will it make you feel insecure? Will you feel like I'm trying to convert you? Will you feel like I'm trying to tell you what to believe?
If you tell me what you know, will it be because you want to convert me? Will it be because you feel it's your duty? Will it be because you have truth that I should have? Will it be because you care for me? Will it be to condemn me?
If I tell you what I know about God, will it make you uncomfortable?
If you tell me what you know about God, will you try to use it to control me?
I'm fascinated by the beliefs of others. My faith (the faith within me, not my church) brings me so much joy. I wish everyone could experience it. But I don't believe my faith is the only way to find joy. I believe truth brings joy. I believe there is a lot of truth out there that I don't know yet.
I've spent my whole life surrounded by people who were almost all members of the same church as me. I used to think that meant we all had the same perception and understanding of God. As I've grown I've learned this is not at all true. There are some general things most of us believe, but there are also differences. We know different things.
Because you can study and research and ponder every word that has ever been written about God and not know Him as well as a little girl who prays when she is scared. This little girl who feels something outside of herself that makes her feel safe. This little girl who feels a strength beyond her own. If all you do is read and study and ponder, she will know more about God than you do. Because she will know God.
Maybe you've felt something, sensed something, been aware of something beyond what you can explain. Maybe you aren't ready to call that God. Or maybe you call it something else. I'd love to hear your story.
Or maybe you've never had a sense of anything beyond this world and think others are deceiving themselves. That it's a happy fairy tale we use to make this world a little less scary. I'd love to hear your story, too.
A few simple truths I know about God. My truth. (People say truth is truth and we can't have different truths, but I don't believe that. Because our truth isn't just about what is true. Our truth is also based on who we are and how we can receive it and process it.)
God is aware of each of us individually. He was once like us. He experienced mortal life on a world like ours. He is now God because of the way He lived that life. He earned it. He is the Father of our spirits. He has a physical body but not like ours. His body is perfected. And as His children, we have the potential to become like Him. To do wonderful things after this life. And hard things, too. To continue to grow and progress and become.
As our Father, He hurts with us. He allows difficult things to happen but almost never causes them. He knows the best us we can be. He knows hard things are how we get there. He knows we are strengthened by the resistance of trials.
He knows me. My life is better when I turn to Him and let Him guide me. He does not control or force. If we want Him to be a part of our lives, we have to choose to invite Him. He waits for that invitation and it brings Him joy to answer it. We are His purpose.
These are some of my truths about God. As I grow and learn and experience some of them might change. Some of my truths will be expanded upon. I might see others from a different angle. And some of them may no longer be my truths. It will be fun to see.
Now I've told you some of what I know about God. All those questions I asked in the beginning, I'm asking again. Do you feel threatened by my truths? Do you feel judged by my truths? Do you feel superior to me because of my truths? Do my truths align with yours or challenge yours?
I would love it if you'd share some of your truths with me. Or just thoughts or feelings or questions. Questions we can ponder together. Tell me what you know about God.
**********
I welcome all opinions and viewpoints, but if you are unkind or abusive or disrespectful I will delete your comment.
Friday, December 28, 2012
Living in the First Person, Present Tense
2012 was the year of KINDNESS for me. It changed my life. It changed me. An entire year focused on one thing. Kindness. It was beautiful and glorious. And while I will carry kindness forward with me, I am ready to move on.
This coming year I want to SEE.
I tend to be task oriented. I get so focused on the task, the thing I am trying to accomplish, that I miss a lot. I want to see more.
I want to live in the first person, present tense. I want to be truly present in the events and moments of my life. I want to spend less time in the second person, worrying about what others do or should do. I want to spend less time in the third person, observing life happening around me. And I want to spend a lot less time in the past tense or future tense. I want to be here. Now.
Life is about moments. It's about people. It's about beauty. That's where the glory of life happens. But too often I miss it.
Instead of seeing the 360 degrees around me, I get stuck in tunnel vision. Instead of seeing the technicolor of life, it becomes a grayish blur in my peripheral vision because I can't take my eyes off what's in front of me.
I want to see the beauty of a moment. I want to rejoice longer as I watch my children enjoy each other's company. I want to mourn deeper with my friends who are struggling. I want to look more people in the eye and seek to understand. I want to see progress in myself and acknowledge it and be proud of it instead of focusing on all the things I still need to fix. I want to see purpose in the things I do by rote every day.
When I chose the word SEE to guide me in the next year, it felt so right. It makes complete sense in my mind and heart. It's about practicing mindfulness. It's about making moments mean more. It's about opening my heart wider.
I want to see with new eyes. I want to see divinely. I want to see as God sees.
I've had glimpses. I sense that there will be times when my heart is overwhelmed. I sense that I will cry more. I will admit that I am a little frightened to completely open my heart and feel fully. But I trust that this is the right next step.
And so, in faith I leap.
This coming year I want to SEE.
I tend to be task oriented. I get so focused on the task, the thing I am trying to accomplish, that I miss a lot. I want to see more.
I want to live in the first person, present tense. I want to be truly present in the events and moments of my life. I want to spend less time in the second person, worrying about what others do or should do. I want to spend less time in the third person, observing life happening around me. And I want to spend a lot less time in the past tense or future tense. I want to be here. Now.
Life is about moments. It's about people. It's about beauty. That's where the glory of life happens. But too often I miss it.
Instead of seeing the 360 degrees around me, I get stuck in tunnel vision. Instead of seeing the technicolor of life, it becomes a grayish blur in my peripheral vision because I can't take my eyes off what's in front of me.
I want to see the beauty of a moment. I want to rejoice longer as I watch my children enjoy each other's company. I want to mourn deeper with my friends who are struggling. I want to look more people in the eye and seek to understand. I want to see progress in myself and acknowledge it and be proud of it instead of focusing on all the things I still need to fix. I want to see purpose in the things I do by rote every day.
When I chose the word SEE to guide me in the next year, it felt so right. It makes complete sense in my mind and heart. It's about practicing mindfulness. It's about making moments mean more. It's about opening my heart wider.
I want to see with new eyes. I want to see divinely. I want to see as God sees.
I've had glimpses. I sense that there will be times when my heart is overwhelmed. I sense that I will cry more. I will admit that I am a little frightened to completely open my heart and feel fully. But I trust that this is the right next step.
And so, in faith I leap.
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.
Friday, December 7, 2012
Simple Joys: My Bed
I was the only girl in my family, so I was the outlet for anything feminine for my mom. Decorating. Shopping. Clothes. Whatever. And that's why I grew up with a beautiful canopy bed. Dark wood. Yellow and white canopy, bedspread, and pillow sham. It was beautiful. With or without the canopy, it was the only bed I used from the time I was four until I got married.
When we first got married we tried using his twin mattresses and my twin mattresses to make a bed on the floor. That didn't work out very well so we ended up buying some very used queen mattresses (kind of gross now that I think about it). We were grateful for them, even on the floor.
Through the years we got a frame, a headboard, new mattresses, and eventually a big beautiful bed.
This bed was glorious! Queen size mattresses, but the bed itself was larger than a king size. I remember when we saw it on the showroom floor. Dark red wood. Very regal. Throne-like. Imperial. I liked it; my husband loved it. Then we got it home and realized our bedroom was no where near as big as a showroom floor. It fit, but there wasn't much room to spare.
It kind of became an albatross around my neck over the years. But my husband still loved it so we kept it and just tried to arrange the room around it.
A few years ago when we decided we needed separate rooms, I wanted him to have that bed. But his room is in the basement and there is just no way it would fit. So I kept the bed I didn't really like because it seemed the practical thing to do.
And then I finally came to a place where I was ready to be true to myself, practical or not. I didn't want the bed. I still wanted to use my queen mattresses, but wanted something much less gaudy. Something you could barely tell was there. And I remembered an old bed in my parents' basement. My bed. My first bed. The one before the canopy bed.
It's iron, painted white. Chipped. It was a full-size when I had it as a small child. At some point it had been given to a neighbor who promised to give my parents first dibs if they ever got rid of it. A few years ago they were ready and contacted my mom. She said she'd love to have it back. And it turns out that they'd altered it so it was now queen size.
My parents used it for a while in a spare room, for when family visited. But they have since downsized and didn't have a place for it. It was just being stored.
My mom was thrilled when I asked for it. I think it belonged to a great-aunt or something (the story is debated). And it's perfect. A supportive iron frame connected to a sparse, white iron headboard and footboard. Almost invisible in the room. And I recently acquired a chenille bedspread similar to the one I remember stroking as I lay on it as a child. It brings me tender joy every time I see it.
Fortuitous, destiny, divine intervention. However it came to be, I'm just glad to have my bed back.
When we first got married we tried using his twin mattresses and my twin mattresses to make a bed on the floor. That didn't work out very well so we ended up buying some very used queen mattresses (kind of gross now that I think about it). We were grateful for them, even on the floor.
Through the years we got a frame, a headboard, new mattresses, and eventually a big beautiful bed.
This bed was glorious! Queen size mattresses, but the bed itself was larger than a king size. I remember when we saw it on the showroom floor. Dark red wood. Very regal. Throne-like. Imperial. I liked it; my husband loved it. Then we got it home and realized our bedroom was no where near as big as a showroom floor. It fit, but there wasn't much room to spare.
It kind of became an albatross around my neck over the years. But my husband still loved it so we kept it and just tried to arrange the room around it.
A few years ago when we decided we needed separate rooms, I wanted him to have that bed. But his room is in the basement and there is just no way it would fit. So I kept the bed I didn't really like because it seemed the practical thing to do.
And then I finally came to a place where I was ready to be true to myself, practical or not. I didn't want the bed. I still wanted to use my queen mattresses, but wanted something much less gaudy. Something you could barely tell was there. And I remembered an old bed in my parents' basement. My bed. My first bed. The one before the canopy bed.
It's iron, painted white. Chipped. It was a full-size when I had it as a small child. At some point it had been given to a neighbor who promised to give my parents first dibs if they ever got rid of it. A few years ago they were ready and contacted my mom. She said she'd love to have it back. And it turns out that they'd altered it so it was now queen size.
My parents used it for a while in a spare room, for when family visited. But they have since downsized and didn't have a place for it. It was just being stored.
My mom was thrilled when I asked for it. I think it belonged to a great-aunt or something (the story is debated). And it's perfect. A supportive iron frame connected to a sparse, white iron headboard and footboard. Almost invisible in the room. And I recently acquired a chenille bedspread similar to the one I remember stroking as I lay on it as a child. It brings me tender joy every time I see it.
Fortuitous, destiny, divine intervention. However it came to be, I'm just glad to have my bed back.
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