Every once in awhile, I re-write songs in my head to match particular situations.
*sung to the tune of "Sound of Silence" by Simon & Garfunkel*
Hello pain, my old friend
You've come to talk with me again
Because a sensation softly creeping,
Left its marks while I was sleeping
And the throbbing that was planted in my brain
Still remains
And echoes through the nerves in my body
In restless sleep, I tossed and turned
Hoping one side would hurt less
'Neath the cover of my blanket
I broke a sweat and said "fuck it."
When my back was stabbed by the flash of a sharp pain
That split my soul
And touched the sound of chronic pain
And in the naked pain I saw
10,000 people, maybe more
People judging that I take pain meds
People judging if my pain is severe
People deciding for me
Whether I should hurt at all
And to what degree,
Missing the point of chronic pain
"Fools," said I, "You do not know,
Pain like a cancer grows:
It consumes all your energy,
Painkillers change your personality."
But my words, like silent raindrops fell,
On the ears of those who do not know severe chronic pain.
And I sat betrayed by my body
While my mind crumbled to nothing
I became less tolerable to be around
Angry and frustrated with myself
I just want to function normally,
Have my personality
And be done with mood swings...
I want the motivation stolen by chronic pain.
Showing posts with label authenticity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label authenticity. Show all posts
Friday, April 15, 2016
Thursday, September 17, 2015
To the Child I Will Never Conceive
I have wanted you since I was 4 years old.
In my 20's, I wanted you so bad, I had vivid dreams of you in which we would have conversations about you, your life, my parenting, and my growth.
In my 30's, once I was single, every "oops" or delayed period became anticipation and dread.
Dread that I conceived you with the wrong man, done you an injustice, given you something less than perfect love in both of your parents.
Even when I had that moment with a good man who I was in love with, I still feared for you:
The circumstances weren't right and I feared you would grow up without adequate love, with pieces missing the way I had in my childhood and I didn't want that for you.
So I prayed my body would continue to malfunction and you would have no life.
But each time, I felt anticipation anyway.
I've wanted you since I was 4 years old.
Maybe this time my body will do as bodies do.
Maybe this time is the time I'll get to look into the eyes of the child I dreamt of.
Maybe this time...and I would dream of you still more and imagine our life together.
I would think of all I could do to keep you safe and happy. The ways in which I would rearrange my life in order to accommodate yours...seamlessly integrating you into my plans for myself; that's how much I wanted you, wished for, dreamed for you.
But not this time, dear child.
Not this time, not anytime.
My body does not function in such a way that will allow you to live and I've always known this, even before the first time I heard the words, "You will never conceive."
I am sorry, my unknown child:
You will always remain a person of my dreams.
In my 20's, I wanted you so bad, I had vivid dreams of you in which we would have conversations about you, your life, my parenting, and my growth.
In my 30's, once I was single, every "oops" or delayed period became anticipation and dread.
Dread that I conceived you with the wrong man, done you an injustice, given you something less than perfect love in both of your parents.
Even when I had that moment with a good man who I was in love with, I still feared for you:
The circumstances weren't right and I feared you would grow up without adequate love, with pieces missing the way I had in my childhood and I didn't want that for you.
So I prayed my body would continue to malfunction and you would have no life.
But each time, I felt anticipation anyway.
I've wanted you since I was 4 years old.
Maybe this time my body will do as bodies do.
Maybe this time is the time I'll get to look into the eyes of the child I dreamt of.
Maybe this time...and I would dream of you still more and imagine our life together.
I would think of all I could do to keep you safe and happy. The ways in which I would rearrange my life in order to accommodate yours...seamlessly integrating you into my plans for myself; that's how much I wanted you, wished for, dreamed for you.
But not this time, dear child.
Not this time, not anytime.
My body does not function in such a way that will allow you to live and I've always known this, even before the first time I heard the words, "You will never conceive."
I am sorry, my unknown child:
You will always remain a person of my dreams.
Monday, September 29, 2014
Finding Purpose
Very recently, I hit rock bottom.
When I say rock bottom, I mean the lowest I've been in my life.
What got me there was a family member coming dangerously close to taking their own life. In response, I came ridiculously close to ending my own.
Let me explain what ridiculously means: For the first time in 35 years, I came to a conclusion as to how I would end my life.
I didn't know when I would do it, but in the moment, I felt it would be soon. I decided I would go ahead and update my will and start getting rid of any excess goods I had to lessen the burden on my survivors. Because I'm me, I suppose, I also came to the conclusion in the moment that I was not in a rational enough frame of mind to take action right then. I decided I would need to sleep on it and give myself a few days before I started the process.
You might think of me, what's happened in my life, what I've said about having a member of my family consider their own life and think, "Well, of course you hit rock bottom. Perfectly understandable." But as having had depression my entire life and having been through many other stressful situations, I myself was startled by finding the bottom. I was so startled that I struggled for a couple of weeks to get my head above water.
Fortunately, I already had a scheduled visit to a counselor because I've been feeling overwhelmed in general lately. Everything has felt immeasurably harder and I've been frustrated as to why. My conversation with my counselor involved a requirement to sign a contract that I wouldn't hurt myself.
Initially, I was angry:
"You can't take away my autonomy," I told her, "if I decide to take my life, that decision is mine and mine alone."
"Of course, it always is," she replied, "but the sum of it is that if you won't sign a contract, I have to call the police to take you to the hospital so you can be committed."
"Okay, let me think on that."
After a couple of minutes, she interrupted my thoughts with, "How would your children feel? There are still people that need you."
I became enraged, "But the whole point is that I don't have anything to live for. And I can't and won't live for anyone else anymore. I have to live for myself, but I have to find a reason why."
After I spoke it, I realized what I needed and was able to sign a contract, adding my own addendum that if I felt I was a threat to myself, I would take myself to the hospital. Over the next few days, I talked to those closest to me, letting them know what was there for me and telling them what I was searching for.
Finally, after a conversation with a friend I hadn't seen in almost a year, I realized what I was missing: My Purpose.
You see, when I was a child, as mentioned in A Promise to Myself, my sole purpose in life became turning 18. With all that was happening, I reasoned all I had to do was make it to age 18 and my life would be in my hands, to do with as I pleased. While I was still 18, I met my now ex-husband. On our first date, as he told me what his children had already been through in their very young lives, I discovered my next purpose: to ensure they reached adulthood feeling loved and cared for.
Well, guess what? My youngest turned 18 just over a month ago. This left me totally without purpose. Also, since he's a quite independent young man and has been for some time, I started feeling purposeless back in June or so. But it took this situation with the family member and then my own to realize that purpose was what I was missing.
I'm pleased to announce that I have already discovered my next purpose: To Love and Care for Myself. You've probably already noticed me working on this to some degree, but I feel it's time to own it. So I'm going to spend the next chunk of my life working on discovering what makes me happy individually and then obtaining it. I'm also working on falling in love with myself, loving myself the way I've always wished someone would love me.
I'm not sure how long it will take me to find this purpose fulfilled, but I do hope that I'm more aware next time, so I can find one soon after.
I can say this, at least: having the purpose of loving myself and making myself happy makes it so much easier to swim and not sink when major stress comes along.
When I say rock bottom, I mean the lowest I've been in my life.
What got me there was a family member coming dangerously close to taking their own life. In response, I came ridiculously close to ending my own.
Let me explain what ridiculously means: For the first time in 35 years, I came to a conclusion as to how I would end my life.
I didn't know when I would do it, but in the moment, I felt it would be soon. I decided I would go ahead and update my will and start getting rid of any excess goods I had to lessen the burden on my survivors. Because I'm me, I suppose, I also came to the conclusion in the moment that I was not in a rational enough frame of mind to take action right then. I decided I would need to sleep on it and give myself a few days before I started the process.
You might think of me, what's happened in my life, what I've said about having a member of my family consider their own life and think, "Well, of course you hit rock bottom. Perfectly understandable." But as having had depression my entire life and having been through many other stressful situations, I myself was startled by finding the bottom. I was so startled that I struggled for a couple of weeks to get my head above water.
Fortunately, I already had a scheduled visit to a counselor because I've been feeling overwhelmed in general lately. Everything has felt immeasurably harder and I've been frustrated as to why. My conversation with my counselor involved a requirement to sign a contract that I wouldn't hurt myself.
Initially, I was angry:
"You can't take away my autonomy," I told her, "if I decide to take my life, that decision is mine and mine alone."
"Of course, it always is," she replied, "but the sum of it is that if you won't sign a contract, I have to call the police to take you to the hospital so you can be committed."
"Okay, let me think on that."
After a couple of minutes, she interrupted my thoughts with, "How would your children feel? There are still people that need you."
I became enraged, "But the whole point is that I don't have anything to live for. And I can't and won't live for anyone else anymore. I have to live for myself, but I have to find a reason why."
After I spoke it, I realized what I needed and was able to sign a contract, adding my own addendum that if I felt I was a threat to myself, I would take myself to the hospital. Over the next few days, I talked to those closest to me, letting them know what was there for me and telling them what I was searching for.
Finally, after a conversation with a friend I hadn't seen in almost a year, I realized what I was missing: My Purpose.
You see, when I was a child, as mentioned in A Promise to Myself, my sole purpose in life became turning 18. With all that was happening, I reasoned all I had to do was make it to age 18 and my life would be in my hands, to do with as I pleased. While I was still 18, I met my now ex-husband. On our first date, as he told me what his children had already been through in their very young lives, I discovered my next purpose: to ensure they reached adulthood feeling loved and cared for.
Well, guess what? My youngest turned 18 just over a month ago. This left me totally without purpose. Also, since he's a quite independent young man and has been for some time, I started feeling purposeless back in June or so. But it took this situation with the family member and then my own to realize that purpose was what I was missing.
I'm pleased to announce that I have already discovered my next purpose: To Love and Care for Myself. You've probably already noticed me working on this to some degree, but I feel it's time to own it. So I'm going to spend the next chunk of my life working on discovering what makes me happy individually and then obtaining it. I'm also working on falling in love with myself, loving myself the way I've always wished someone would love me.
I'm not sure how long it will take me to find this purpose fulfilled, but I do hope that I'm more aware next time, so I can find one soon after.
I can say this, at least: having the purpose of loving myself and making myself happy makes it so much easier to swim and not sink when major stress comes along.
Friday, September 19, 2014
From Unlovable to Loved
Confession Time:
I LOVE love songs, always have.
After getting divorced three years ago, though, I started to see how cheesy and unrealistic they are, promising your undying love to just one person. Promising to be someone's everything and have someone be your everything...wow, that's a lot to ask of one person.
A couple of weeks ago, I was curled up in bed with a partner listening to the song, "All of Me," by John Legend, as we both admired the song and the artist's talent. Laying there in bed, next to my partner, I found myself thinking the same thing I've always thought at love songs, "Man, I would really love to be loved by someone like that some day."
Just before last weekend, a tragedy befell my family, something so in depth that I'm as of yet unwilling to talk about it in a public forum. The fallout of this happening left me sitting on my couch alone for most of last weekend, crying. I questioned my worth as a human being, wondered if I had anything to offer myself or the world. As I sat there, mired in my own, not loathing, but definitely not admiration for myself, my mind drifted back to that song and it just hit me:
I'M THE PERSON I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR
My entire life, all I've wanted is to be deeply and truly loved by one person. But at my core, while I never hated myself, I never believed myself to be lovable.
This same partner, when I relayed this to him months ago said, "I don't understand. You are so much more lovable than most people I've met. Really, you should walk around all day just basking in the love of everyone you know." And while I smiled and blushed at his words, I couldn't let them in.
And I realized that day last weekend that I've never felt loved because I never loved me. I've thought I'm a pretty great person, I can enumerate all of my positive features (the negative ones, as well), but I've always known, down to the bottom of my soul that I'm unlovable. These are the words that are whispered in my head every time someone tells me they love me.
But then the most amazing thing happened to me just this morning.
I was practicing the song, "All of Me," because it's just so perfect, beautiful and right within my natural vocal range, when suddenly, instead of having visions of some imaginary man singing to me, I imagined singing to myself. As I sang, tears of joy formed in the corners of my eyes and emotion over took my voice as I suddenly felt the powerful love that this song conveys.
FOR ME
I found myself singing this song to myself and was overwhelmed with how loved I felt.
Anyone who has ever met me knows that I radiate love for my fellow human being. I love deeply, powerfully and fiercely,
AND I HAVE FINALLY DECIDED I AM WORTHY OF THAT LOVE.
Thursday, August 21, 2014
Turning 35
"Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time. We are the ones we've been waiting for. We are the change that we seek." --Barack Obama
Wow, this year has been one heck of a wild ride.
The amount of personal growth I've experienced in the last twelve months has been so exponential, it's been mind-blowing.
This time last year, I wasn't working due to a back injury and I was mostly laying around feeling sorry for myself.
For my birthday last year, I did the same thing I have done every year for 35 years: I sat around and wished someone I loved would do something spectacular to demonstrate how much they loved me.
This year?
For the first time--ever--I took my own birthday in hand and decided how I would celebrate my own life.
Rather than wishing and hoping someone else would celebrate me, I decided to celebrate me. I thought about what would make me happy, what would be a pleasurable way to celebrate 35 years of life, and I planned it out.
So tomorrow, I leave for a 3 day road-trip with my best friend. We're going to Austin, where I most recently moved from and we're going to generally have fun and visit some of my old friends. People I miss, people I love.
Because that has been the theme to the last twelve months:
Identifying what I want and need and getting it for myself.
I took my first trip to Europe this year, spending half of the time travelling by myself, seeing or not seeing sights as it pleased me. And before I left for this trip, I had already started hatching plans for future trips, not just to Europe, but to other places I want to go as well.
I decided multiple times this year that if no one was available to do with me what I wanted to do this was perfectly okay. I spent lots of time by myself, doing things that made me happy.
I took myself out to many dinners, trying all the restaurants I wanted to try and seeing all the movies I wanted to see. Instead of buying people in to do things with me (which I still did if I thought they'd truly enjoy it and I wanted to see them enjoy it), I simply went and did them, reveling in the moments of self-joy.
I've spent the last twelve months getting to know myself. Identifying ways I was being that didn't work for me and changing them.
Truly, for the first time in awhile, I took my own life in hand and began sculpting it exactly as I wanted.
When I hit major depression, I recognized it for what it was and went through a medical inventory, soon discovering I was empty on an essential hormone.
When other's needs conflicted with my own, I sometimes said, "I'm sorry, I need to do me, you do you. Once I'm done with me, if you still need help, I'll be glad to help you, but I've got to get me first."
I showed my adult children how powerfully they could take their own lives and selves into their hands. I showed myself that despite my lifelong belief to the contrary, I am a lovable and worthy person.
It's as my now 18 year old son says, "You are what you think you are."
Most importantly, this year, I decided I am the most important person in my world.
My son told me the other night he's been watching me try to find myself for the last few years. The next day I realized,
I FOUND ME
And damn, I like who I am!
Here's to 35 and all the rest of the years, I'm excited to see what else I become. <3
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
The Man I've Raised
It's been sixteen years to the day since I met my son. It was his 2nd birthday party, he was coming back to live with his biological mother permanently (he'd been in foster care since he was a baby).
It seems somehow this kid knew from moment one I would be his mom some day.
I was sitting on his mother's couch, next to my then-boyfriend (now ex-husband), his biological father. When he came in the door, his father called out to him, excited to see him. He came running to the couch, we all expected him to leap into his father's arms. Instead, he leapt into mine: some 18-year-old girl he'd never met who happened to be sitting next to his father.
"Well, hi, sweetie!" I exclaimed, less surprised since I'd already had his sister leap into my arms and soon after call me, "Mom."
"Hi!" he responded and then climbed down and ran away.
I will confess, this kid won me over from the beginning.
Since his sister was already calling me "Mom" or "Mommy Drea," he never saw the point in the formality. He simply always called me "Mom," unless he was mad at me, then he would use my whole name: "An-dee-ya, 'top!" was an oft heard phrase when we were playing and he didn't like what I was doing. It always made me shake with silent laughter as I tried not to be rude and laugh at his upset. But he was just so darn cute!
We were parted when he was three years old and I saw him briefly, for about 30 minutes, when he was five. When he was seven, my husband and I swung by his house one day to see if we could visit the kids. He stood at the sliding glass door to his house, pointing in confusion at my husband and I. I saw his sister speak to him and then he threw the door open, "Hi Daddy, hi Drea, hi Drea!!!!" waving wildly, he was so excited. I was amazed he even remembered who I was.
It would be another two years before he and his sisters came to live with me permanently:
Two years before he came to me and said, "You know how my sister has a different name? She said it was a baby name you gave her, like what you would have named her had you been her mom from birth. I want you to be my mom, too. Can I have a new name?"
And I let him go through my baby name list and choose a new first and middle name for himself. The name that would become his in the adoption.
Now, here we are, over eight years later and my son is turning 18.
Wow.
I was having a conversation with him just the other night and he asked, "Mom, why do you do that?"
We were discussing my relationships, the difficulties I've had in dating since getting divorced just over three years ago.
I answered, "Because I'm fucked up, son."
In my embarrassment and low feelings about myself, I got up and walked out of the room.
My son followed me to the kitchen.
"Mom, we're going to get one thing clear right now. You are not fucked up. Believe me, I've lived with fucked up people and you are not it. You are--Uh-MAY-zing. And not only are you amazing, but you are the single most authentic person I have ever met in my entire life.
Seriously, I want you to think about this. I'm going to talk about myself here for a minute, but the point of this story is you:
Ten years ago, I was living in a situation where every adult I was surrounded by was fucked up. It was disempowering. I had no idea of the power available to me. I had no idea that I could be the master of my own destiny. I was simply doomed to this really shitty life, to repeat the mistakes of those who came before me and to never have anything good for myself.
And then came you.
My mother, she was encumbered under the weight of her own life and she couldn't take it anymore. To the point where she literally said, 'I've got to go,' and off she went.
And who was there for me?
You.
You came and you picked me up and you showed me this world.
You imparted on me all your values, all your wisdom, everything you've learned about life.
You became my anchor.
You are the anchor to my ship in what have been some really rough and stormy seas. But through it all, you have kept me anchored.
And look at me now, look at who I am:
My personal growth is exponential, I have a job where I'm respected, I have 800 subscribers on YouTube. One day, I will be famous and have everything I could ever dream to be possible for myself. That's all because of you.
And I know, that if something were to happen--some wrench in my works and I were to end up homeless--well, I have the power to turn myself around in an instant.
So look at me, see how amazing I am. And know that if I'm amazing, well the person who raised me to be this way--YOU--has to be amazing, too."
As he said these words, I had so much trouble letting them in. I heard him, but I could scarcely believe him. But he made a really good point at the end there:
He's an AMAZING person.
And I feel lucky and proud to have him call me Mom. <3
Happy 18th Birthday, son. Your life is now completely in your hands. You make my heart sing and move me to tears regularly with how amazing you are, I know you're going to make the best of it and change the world.
P.S. If you've never heard his music, I encourage you to check him out:
It seems somehow this kid knew from moment one I would be his mom some day.
I was sitting on his mother's couch, next to my then-boyfriend (now ex-husband), his biological father. When he came in the door, his father called out to him, excited to see him. He came running to the couch, we all expected him to leap into his father's arms. Instead, he leapt into mine: some 18-year-old girl he'd never met who happened to be sitting next to his father.
"Well, hi, sweetie!" I exclaimed, less surprised since I'd already had his sister leap into my arms and soon after call me, "Mom."
"Hi!" he responded and then climbed down and ran away.
I will confess, this kid won me over from the beginning.
Since his sister was already calling me "Mom" or "Mommy Drea," he never saw the point in the formality. He simply always called me "Mom," unless he was mad at me, then he would use my whole name: "An-dee-ya, 'top!" was an oft heard phrase when we were playing and he didn't like what I was doing. It always made me shake with silent laughter as I tried not to be rude and laugh at his upset. But he was just so darn cute!
We were parted when he was three years old and I saw him briefly, for about 30 minutes, when he was five. When he was seven, my husband and I swung by his house one day to see if we could visit the kids. He stood at the sliding glass door to his house, pointing in confusion at my husband and I. I saw his sister speak to him and then he threw the door open, "Hi Daddy, hi Drea, hi Drea!!!!" waving wildly, he was so excited. I was amazed he even remembered who I was.
It would be another two years before he and his sisters came to live with me permanently:
Two years before he came to me and said, "You know how my sister has a different name? She said it was a baby name you gave her, like what you would have named her had you been her mom from birth. I want you to be my mom, too. Can I have a new name?"
And I let him go through my baby name list and choose a new first and middle name for himself. The name that would become his in the adoption.
Now, here we are, over eight years later and my son is turning 18.
Wow.
I was having a conversation with him just the other night and he asked, "Mom, why do you do that?"
We were discussing my relationships, the difficulties I've had in dating since getting divorced just over three years ago.
I answered, "Because I'm fucked up, son."
In my embarrassment and low feelings about myself, I got up and walked out of the room.
My son followed me to the kitchen.
"Mom, we're going to get one thing clear right now. You are not fucked up. Believe me, I've lived with fucked up people and you are not it. You are--Uh-MAY-zing. And not only are you amazing, but you are the single most authentic person I have ever met in my entire life.
Seriously, I want you to think about this. I'm going to talk about myself here for a minute, but the point of this story is you:
Ten years ago, I was living in a situation where every adult I was surrounded by was fucked up. It was disempowering. I had no idea of the power available to me. I had no idea that I could be the master of my own destiny. I was simply doomed to this really shitty life, to repeat the mistakes of those who came before me and to never have anything good for myself.
And then came you.
My mother, she was encumbered under the weight of her own life and she couldn't take it anymore. To the point where she literally said, 'I've got to go,' and off she went.
And who was there for me?
You.
You came and you picked me up and you showed me this world.
You imparted on me all your values, all your wisdom, everything you've learned about life.
You became my anchor.
You are the anchor to my ship in what have been some really rough and stormy seas. But through it all, you have kept me anchored.
And look at me now, look at who I am:
My personal growth is exponential, I have a job where I'm respected, I have 800 subscribers on YouTube. One day, I will be famous and have everything I could ever dream to be possible for myself. That's all because of you.
And I know, that if something were to happen--some wrench in my works and I were to end up homeless--well, I have the power to turn myself around in an instant.
So look at me, see how amazing I am. And know that if I'm amazing, well the person who raised me to be this way--YOU--has to be amazing, too."
As he said these words, I had so much trouble letting them in. I heard him, but I could scarcely believe him. But he made a really good point at the end there:
He's an AMAZING person.
And I feel lucky and proud to have him call me Mom. <3
Happy 18th Birthday, son. Your life is now completely in your hands. You make my heart sing and move me to tears regularly with how amazing you are, I know you're going to make the best of it and change the world.
P.S. If you've never heard his music, I encourage you to check him out:
Thursday, April 3, 2014
Celebrating Family
Last night my younger daughter and I discussed how amazing it was that everyone in the house had today off from work. This hasn't happened since November of last year, to give you an idea of how rare it is.
In a feat of sheer coincidence, I realized this morning that today is April 3rd.
Eight years ago today, my then husband, Sam, and I showed up at his ex-wife's house in Corbett, Oregon. As I walked through the door of her house, I shook so hard I thought I might pass out.
One week earlier Sam's ex-wife had called to ask if we could come pick up her kids. She was planning to move to California and she felt the children would be better off with my husband and I. I immediately jumped at the opportunity. Sam and I had been spending many nights a week on the phone with his younger daughter, listening to her troubles, listening to her cry, listening to her beg to live with us. We knew things were not well for the children and I was losing sleep, not eating, having difficulty focusing at work--I was so worried about those children. When we got the call, I went straight to my boss and said, "I need some time off work. My husband's ex-wife has finally asked us to come get the kids. She said she was scared and I know there's violence in the home, so I need to leave immediately."
But it wasn't fear of violence that had me shaking when I walked through that door. The last time my husband and I had custody of one of the kids, it had ended with my husband in jail for custodial interference. I was afraid for the disruption to my life, to their lives, to everyone's life. I was determined there would be no custodial malarkey this time. I had printed custody papers in advance and printed three copies of the front sheet, the one that said who had custody of whom. I offered all three to their mother and explained what each one was, "This one grants Sam full custody of all three, this one grants you both joint custody of all three, I left this last one blank since you said you might like joint custody of one but not the others." "Let's just do this one," she said, handing me the page with full custody. I folded the other two and stuck them in my purse, keeping the one she chose with the rest of the paperwork.
After lots of bumbling, gathering of the children's things, and being told the children believed they were only coming for the summer, we finally hit the road to head down the mountain into the nearest town to find a notary for the custody papers. When we arrived to the notary's office, their mother grabbed the paperwork and re-read it before carrying it inside with her ex-husband so they could both sign. I stayed outside with the two younger children, idly chatting. After the paperwork was signed, we went to the hospital where the eldest was staying to visit with her as we knew it would be at least a couple of weeks before she could join us in Texas.
And then our lives changed forever.
I could tell you stories: Stories of children who couldn't sleep because they had been led to believe I was a monster who would hurt them in their sleep. Children who thought a hug meant you were supposed to do your best to hurt the other person. Stories of children who, when I tried a power play of, "If you don't finish your dinner, you won't eat again until you finish the leftovers," said, "That's fine, I've been weeks without eating before." Then, true to their word, I was begging them to eat a few days later. I could tell you stories of children that to this day still thank me every time I feed them as if it's a personal gift.
Instead, let me tell you of March 2007 when my youngest daughter came to me and said, "Mom, guess what's coming up next month?" "What's that honey?" "Our familyversary! April 3rd is one year since the day you got custody of us. We should celebrate!"
And so we have. Since 2007, we have celebrated our Familyversary every year without fail. We take it as our one day a year to remember what family means to us, how we came together, and how much we truly appreciate having each other.
This year, we forgot. We didn't talk about it for weeks leading up as we usually do. I guess this is a sign we have become accustomed to our family unit, no longer finding it necessarily noteworthy.
When I woke up this morning, my eldest daughter came out of her room and I said, "Hey, guess what today is?"
"Thursday?"
"April third..." I replied.
Confusion, then understanding dawned on her face, "Happy Familyversary, Mommy!" she exclaimed, hugging me.
"And, everyone has today off!"
"Oh my goodness, that's amazing, we'll celebrate!!"
The same story was repeated twice more with my other two children.
Eight years ago today, our family was officially formed. It has grown and changed so much over the years, but one thing has remained the same: a fierce desire to love and be loved.
Today, once more, we will celebrate each other and what it means to be FAMILY.
In a feat of sheer coincidence, I realized this morning that today is April 3rd.
Eight years ago today, my then husband, Sam, and I showed up at his ex-wife's house in Corbett, Oregon. As I walked through the door of her house, I shook so hard I thought I might pass out.
One week earlier Sam's ex-wife had called to ask if we could come pick up her kids. She was planning to move to California and she felt the children would be better off with my husband and I. I immediately jumped at the opportunity. Sam and I had been spending many nights a week on the phone with his younger daughter, listening to her troubles, listening to her cry, listening to her beg to live with us. We knew things were not well for the children and I was losing sleep, not eating, having difficulty focusing at work--I was so worried about those children. When we got the call, I went straight to my boss and said, "I need some time off work. My husband's ex-wife has finally asked us to come get the kids. She said she was scared and I know there's violence in the home, so I need to leave immediately."
But it wasn't fear of violence that had me shaking when I walked through that door. The last time my husband and I had custody of one of the kids, it had ended with my husband in jail for custodial interference. I was afraid for the disruption to my life, to their lives, to everyone's life. I was determined there would be no custodial malarkey this time. I had printed custody papers in advance and printed three copies of the front sheet, the one that said who had custody of whom. I offered all three to their mother and explained what each one was, "This one grants Sam full custody of all three, this one grants you both joint custody of all three, I left this last one blank since you said you might like joint custody of one but not the others." "Let's just do this one," she said, handing me the page with full custody. I folded the other two and stuck them in my purse, keeping the one she chose with the rest of the paperwork.
After lots of bumbling, gathering of the children's things, and being told the children believed they were only coming for the summer, we finally hit the road to head down the mountain into the nearest town to find a notary for the custody papers. When we arrived to the notary's office, their mother grabbed the paperwork and re-read it before carrying it inside with her ex-husband so they could both sign. I stayed outside with the two younger children, idly chatting. After the paperwork was signed, we went to the hospital where the eldest was staying to visit with her as we knew it would be at least a couple of weeks before she could join us in Texas.
And then our lives changed forever.
I could tell you stories: Stories of children who couldn't sleep because they had been led to believe I was a monster who would hurt them in their sleep. Children who thought a hug meant you were supposed to do your best to hurt the other person. Stories of children who, when I tried a power play of, "If you don't finish your dinner, you won't eat again until you finish the leftovers," said, "That's fine, I've been weeks without eating before." Then, true to their word, I was begging them to eat a few days later. I could tell you stories of children that to this day still thank me every time I feed them as if it's a personal gift.
Instead, let me tell you of March 2007 when my youngest daughter came to me and said, "Mom, guess what's coming up next month?" "What's that honey?" "Our familyversary! April 3rd is one year since the day you got custody of us. We should celebrate!"
And so we have. Since 2007, we have celebrated our Familyversary every year without fail. We take it as our one day a year to remember what family means to us, how we came together, and how much we truly appreciate having each other.
This year, we forgot. We didn't talk about it for weeks leading up as we usually do. I guess this is a sign we have become accustomed to our family unit, no longer finding it necessarily noteworthy.
When I woke up this morning, my eldest daughter came out of her room and I said, "Hey, guess what today is?"
"Thursday?"
"April third..." I replied.
Confusion, then understanding dawned on her face, "Happy Familyversary, Mommy!" she exclaimed, hugging me.
"And, everyone has today off!"
"Oh my goodness, that's amazing, we'll celebrate!!"
The same story was repeated twice more with my other two children.
Eight years ago today, our family was officially formed. It has grown and changed so much over the years, but one thing has remained the same: a fierce desire to love and be loved.
Today, once more, we will celebrate each other and what it means to be FAMILY.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Accomplishments
So, I sat and announced to the world at large that I was setting myself a goal. And in this announcement, I indicated I might fail. I indicated I would struggle, work hard, falter, steady myself and walk on.
In the end, I think this is exactly what I have done.
Yes, I understand the goal was to write a blog post a day. And yes, I understand that I did not write a blog post a day.
Here's what I did do:
I thought about writing every single day. I sat down to my computer to write at least half of the days. I discussed my writing with everyone close to me. Every time a thought occurred to me that seemed shareable, I started formulating in my head and eventually put at least a couple of sentences down somewhere. I made notes in my phone while laying half naked on an examination table in the doctor's office, waiting to see a specialist.
What, ultimately, did I accomplish?
I accomplished allowing my writing free. I opened up my heart and my mind to let the ideas flow through me. I walked away from conversations so I could write. I wrote several posts that I simply haven't yet gotten up the gumption to share.
And I posted more blogs in one month than I had posted in the previous six.
So, while yes, you're correct, I didn't exactly meet the goal of writing something and publishing it every single day for thirty days, I did accomplish what I wanted to accomplish.
To get in the habit of writing. To open myself up and let myself flow free. To publish some things that I thought were utter crap and to publish some of the most intimate knowledges of myself I ever shared with any single person, I shared with the entire world.
My writing itself may not have improved over the last thirty days, but I did.
I became a better person with more self-understanding and I wouldn't trade that for all the blog posts in the world.
In the end, I think this is exactly what I have done.
Yes, I understand the goal was to write a blog post a day. And yes, I understand that I did not write a blog post a day.
Here's what I did do:
I thought about writing every single day. I sat down to my computer to write at least half of the days. I discussed my writing with everyone close to me. Every time a thought occurred to me that seemed shareable, I started formulating in my head and eventually put at least a couple of sentences down somewhere. I made notes in my phone while laying half naked on an examination table in the doctor's office, waiting to see a specialist.
What, ultimately, did I accomplish?
I accomplished allowing my writing free. I opened up my heart and my mind to let the ideas flow through me. I walked away from conversations so I could write. I wrote several posts that I simply haven't yet gotten up the gumption to share.
And I posted more blogs in one month than I had posted in the previous six.
So, while yes, you're correct, I didn't exactly meet the goal of writing something and publishing it every single day for thirty days, I did accomplish what I wanted to accomplish.
To get in the habit of writing. To open myself up and let myself flow free. To publish some things that I thought were utter crap and to publish some of the most intimate knowledges of myself I ever shared with any single person, I shared with the entire world.
My writing itself may not have improved over the last thirty days, but I did.
I became a better person with more self-understanding and I wouldn't trade that for all the blog posts in the world.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Reconnecting with Myself
"I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see, and what it means. What I want and what I fear."
--Joan Didion
If you've been reading my blog for any length of time, you are aware that I have spent this year in a state of self-discovery and self-improvement. This has been quite the life-altering process as I have done more growth in the last year than I had done in the previous ten.
With everything that has happened this year: the car accident, repeated hospital trips, break-ups, moving house...the list simply goes on...it's a wonder I've had time to introspect and at the same time, not surprising at all. Great stress brings with it great change--whether for better or worse.
Some of this year's changes have seemed for worse. Lately, it has been brought to my attention that I am overly critical of myself. We all know the phrase we are our own worst critics. This year, my internal critic has been a right bitch. Completely and totally unforgiving of even the slightest mistakes. And to boot, I've been fighting her through the haze of all the stressors of this year. The language I've used on myself recently has been the very thing I would take another to task for were they to use it on someone I love.
Why, then, would I use it on myself?
It's become quite obvious: I do not love myself.
I do not think I am a bad person, I do not think I am an ugly person, but at the deepest root of my being, not only do I not love myself, I also do not find myself a lovable or worthy being.
Once I concluded this last weekend, a friend pressed me on this topic: "Andrea, why? Why don't you love you? Why are you unlovable and unworthy?"
Initially, I could not answer this question. I've always known I don't hate me and while I've been harsh of myself lately, I know there's no way I've been this harsh my whole life or I would think much less of myself than I do.
But in digging through my psyche, I realized I have never believed myself lovable or worthy. I have been told, "When I tell you there's nothing wrong with you and you are beautiful, you dismiss my words. You don't believe me." And this has nothing to do with the speaker, this has entirely to do with me and my self-view.
Now, I could go on and tell you what happened in my childhood that led me to this place. I could tell you of the drugs and the abuse, the absent and/or unavailable adults, the way I jumped between an adult and another child in the hopes that my tiny body could shield someone I loved from pain. And the feeling of utter defeat when I realized I had no power to save the people I loved.
In the end, though, it makes no difference. The fact is, I was a child. And from my child's perspective, I could not understand the grown-up things that were going on simply took more precedence than me and whatever I was doing. Later in childhood, I tried to make up for it by becoming a delinquent and miscreant, since it seemed to garner attention. Then, in late adolescence, I came to the conclusion this was not a sustainable life model and I began my journey to who I am now, carrying with me the most unworkable conclusion I had come to.
That conclusion was that no matter what I did, I could never be worthy or lovable. But that I should always try. My entire self is predicated on this notion. I have struggled for the last thirty plus years to make myself lovable and worthy, the one thing I had already concluded I could never be.
Damn. No wonder I could never feel secure in a relationship. How can a person prove they love me if, at my root, I believe myself to be unlovable?
So, then, the question now stands: What do I do with this information?
Who am I?
Knowing that I came to such an erroneous conclusion frees me to know that I am lovable and worthy. But without this notion of unlovable and unworthy, again the foundation which I have built my self upon, how do I know who I am?
The answer to this is really quite simple. I am still me. All of my values, goals, loves, hard work, remain the same. What is removed is simply the notion that no matter how hard I try I can never be loved. What is also removed is the need to be loved, the feeling of desperation, the feeling that I am not worthy. Don't get me wrong, it's not wholly gone, but it's on its way out the door, I can feel it.
And in the meantime, I'm spending time reconnecting with myself. Doing things I haven't done since I was a child, things that when I was a child I berated myself and called myself unworthy for. As silly as it may sound, I have started coloring. Actually went out, bought two coloring books and a box of crayons and sat down and colored some pages:
The simple act of sitting down to color has created not only a sense of zen, but a quiet appreciation of myself. Something that I did not do, even in childhood, because I told myself I was incapable of doing so. And here I am, finding peace in the smallest of activities.
But more importantly than peace, I'm finding love. Love for myself, my capabilities and lack thereof. My daughter sat next to me at the table and while I know I can't draw or color as well as she can, at the same time I know that I'm capable of anything I set my mind to and that anything I choose as worthy is worthy because I'm worthy. And that's the long and short of it.
--Joan Didion
If you've been reading my blog for any length of time, you are aware that I have spent this year in a state of self-discovery and self-improvement. This has been quite the life-altering process as I have done more growth in the last year than I had done in the previous ten.
With everything that has happened this year: the car accident, repeated hospital trips, break-ups, moving house...the list simply goes on...it's a wonder I've had time to introspect and at the same time, not surprising at all. Great stress brings with it great change--whether for better or worse.
Some of this year's changes have seemed for worse. Lately, it has been brought to my attention that I am overly critical of myself. We all know the phrase we are our own worst critics. This year, my internal critic has been a right bitch. Completely and totally unforgiving of even the slightest mistakes. And to boot, I've been fighting her through the haze of all the stressors of this year. The language I've used on myself recently has been the very thing I would take another to task for were they to use it on someone I love.
Why, then, would I use it on myself?
It's become quite obvious: I do not love myself.
I do not think I am a bad person, I do not think I am an ugly person, but at the deepest root of my being, not only do I not love myself, I also do not find myself a lovable or worthy being.
Once I concluded this last weekend, a friend pressed me on this topic: "Andrea, why? Why don't you love you? Why are you unlovable and unworthy?"
Initially, I could not answer this question. I've always known I don't hate me and while I've been harsh of myself lately, I know there's no way I've been this harsh my whole life or I would think much less of myself than I do.
But in digging through my psyche, I realized I have never believed myself lovable or worthy. I have been told, "When I tell you there's nothing wrong with you and you are beautiful, you dismiss my words. You don't believe me." And this has nothing to do with the speaker, this has entirely to do with me and my self-view.
Now, I could go on and tell you what happened in my childhood that led me to this place. I could tell you of the drugs and the abuse, the absent and/or unavailable adults, the way I jumped between an adult and another child in the hopes that my tiny body could shield someone I loved from pain. And the feeling of utter defeat when I realized I had no power to save the people I loved.
In the end, though, it makes no difference. The fact is, I was a child. And from my child's perspective, I could not understand the grown-up things that were going on simply took more precedence than me and whatever I was doing. Later in childhood, I tried to make up for it by becoming a delinquent and miscreant, since it seemed to garner attention. Then, in late adolescence, I came to the conclusion this was not a sustainable life model and I began my journey to who I am now, carrying with me the most unworkable conclusion I had come to.
That conclusion was that no matter what I did, I could never be worthy or lovable. But that I should always try. My entire self is predicated on this notion. I have struggled for the last thirty plus years to make myself lovable and worthy, the one thing I had already concluded I could never be.
Damn. No wonder I could never feel secure in a relationship. How can a person prove they love me if, at my root, I believe myself to be unlovable?
So, then, the question now stands: What do I do with this information?
Who am I?
Knowing that I came to such an erroneous conclusion frees me to know that I am lovable and worthy. But without this notion of unlovable and unworthy, again the foundation which I have built my self upon, how do I know who I am?
The answer to this is really quite simple. I am still me. All of my values, goals, loves, hard work, remain the same. What is removed is simply the notion that no matter how hard I try I can never be loved. What is also removed is the need to be loved, the feeling of desperation, the feeling that I am not worthy. Don't get me wrong, it's not wholly gone, but it's on its way out the door, I can feel it.
And in the meantime, I'm spending time reconnecting with myself. Doing things I haven't done since I was a child, things that when I was a child I berated myself and called myself unworthy for. As silly as it may sound, I have started coloring. Actually went out, bought two coloring books and a box of crayons and sat down and colored some pages:
But more importantly than peace, I'm finding love. Love for myself, my capabilities and lack thereof. My daughter sat next to me at the table and while I know I can't draw or color as well as she can, at the same time I know that I'm capable of anything I set my mind to and that anything I choose as worthy is worthy because I'm worthy. And that's the long and short of it.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Retreating
You may be wondering where I've been for the last week or so. Well, in part, I've been high. No, I'm not talking about being high on life, though I've had plenty of that as well. No, I've been the other kind of high. The kind that's not so much fun because of the loss of cognition and the reason I'm taking the drugs. Last week was a bad week in terms of pain and I was taking either muscle relaxants or pain killers every day. The lack of cognition caused by either one of these, much less than both together makes it quite difficult to write anything, even a grocery list, coherently.
So this last weekend, I attended a four day-long retreat at a state park, which was similar in both spirit and togetherness as my beloved conference which I've previously mentioned attending.
And true to form, over the weekend of the retreat, I attended only one session, choosing the one which held the most sway over my mental desires.
Rather than discuss what I attended and why, let's discuss why, when I pay to go to a conference or retreat which has plenty of sessions to choose from and interesting topics to be heard, I only attend one session, EVER.
This retreat was no different than my beloved conference. For me, attending retreats and conferences is not about attending sessions on various topics. As interesting as I find them, and as much as I may say in advance that I might like to attend them, once I'm on location, I have a desire only to revel in the energy of the other attendees. I learn about sessions from the attendees or the speakers themselves. I wander and smile at passing faces, stopping to hug whenever I'm so moved.
Mostly though, because I'm me, I suppose, I end up hanging out with kids. Mine, other people's, kids I've known for years and kids I've only just met. Kids seek me out to hug me and to talk to me.
As I said in Collecting Children, children just gravitate to me. There is no conscious effort on my part to make this happen. In reflection, I think part of this is how balanced my regarding of them is. I treat them as equals, as persons in their own right, with their own thoughts and opinions. Moreso, I believe they gravitate toward me because I challenge them. I fully acknowledge that a child is a product of their upbringing and I challenge them--just as I would any adult--to examine that belief system and find if it holds value for them as an individual. I listen, listen as if whatever they have to say is just as valuable as what any adult has to say.
When they proudly tell me, "I made a leaf person at the crafts table!" I say, "Awesome, why?" "Why, what?" "Why did you make a leaf person, was it the purpose of the craft or did you choose it? Why did you choose it, what is the significance?" And I find this is what makes me different from most other adults and why children gravitate to me. I force them to think about themselves and their choices and I listen to what they have to say.
In turn, I gain their perspective, their insights into the world and adult interactions. Their questions on why adults don't just "do what they want," the way a child does. Questions like these cause me to question myself, my belief system and to find if it continues to hold value for me. Unlike most adults, I find the key to happiness is being constantly willing to review myself and remake myself as necessary. To find that this or that didn't work and to try something new. As we all know, the definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over again expecting different results. If I want different results for myself and my life, the key is change.
Change is why I attend conferences and retreats.
So this last weekend, I attended a four day-long retreat at a state park, which was similar in both spirit and togetherness as my beloved conference which I've previously mentioned attending.
And true to form, over the weekend of the retreat, I attended only one session, choosing the one which held the most sway over my mental desires.
Rather than discuss what I attended and why, let's discuss why, when I pay to go to a conference or retreat which has plenty of sessions to choose from and interesting topics to be heard, I only attend one session, EVER.
This retreat was no different than my beloved conference. For me, attending retreats and conferences is not about attending sessions on various topics. As interesting as I find them, and as much as I may say in advance that I might like to attend them, once I'm on location, I have a desire only to revel in the energy of the other attendees. I learn about sessions from the attendees or the speakers themselves. I wander and smile at passing faces, stopping to hug whenever I'm so moved.
Mostly though, because I'm me, I suppose, I end up hanging out with kids. Mine, other people's, kids I've known for years and kids I've only just met. Kids seek me out to hug me and to talk to me.
As I said in Collecting Children, children just gravitate to me. There is no conscious effort on my part to make this happen. In reflection, I think part of this is how balanced my regarding of them is. I treat them as equals, as persons in their own right, with their own thoughts and opinions. Moreso, I believe they gravitate toward me because I challenge them. I fully acknowledge that a child is a product of their upbringing and I challenge them--just as I would any adult--to examine that belief system and find if it holds value for them as an individual. I listen, listen as if whatever they have to say is just as valuable as what any adult has to say.
When they proudly tell me, "I made a leaf person at the crafts table!" I say, "Awesome, why?" "Why, what?" "Why did you make a leaf person, was it the purpose of the craft or did you choose it? Why did you choose it, what is the significance?" And I find this is what makes me different from most other adults and why children gravitate to me. I force them to think about themselves and their choices and I listen to what they have to say.
In turn, I gain their perspective, their insights into the world and adult interactions. Their questions on why adults don't just "do what they want," the way a child does. Questions like these cause me to question myself, my belief system and to find if it continues to hold value for me. Unlike most adults, I find the key to happiness is being constantly willing to review myself and remake myself as necessary. To find that this or that didn't work and to try something new. As we all know, the definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over again expecting different results. If I want different results for myself and my life, the key is change.
Change is why I attend conferences and retreats.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
When My Son Became a Man
My son is an audio engineer. For those of you who don't know, this means he produces music on his computer, some of which is also produced using an instrument such as a piano or his voice. All of which goes through some editing process on his computer.
Yesterday, on his 17th birthday, he published a song he finished last week that took 2 weeks for him to make. This song moved me more than I have the words to express.
In this song, my son expresses his loss of innocence over the last year. I'm sure you can tell from the writing I've done that there's been a good amount happening in my household that has contributed to this.
More than that, he reached that magical milestone which lifted the veil of childhood. The one where all he saw was puppies and rainbows everywhere he looked.
Make no mistake though, my son has probably been the victim and witness of more violence than you will ever come into contact with in your entire life. So it's not as if he didn't already know that bad things happen to good people. No, what's he come to realize is not that bad people do bad things.
It's that good people do bad things for what seem like good reasons at the time.
And that is a harsh reality.
It's so much easier to see the world in the black and white manner of a child, where good people do good things and bad people do bad things and that's the end of it.
In the song, my son wishes he could make a return to this childhood innocence and wonder that he once knew.
In Taking a Walk, I expressed that holding on to that child-like innocence and wonder is exactly how I've maintained happiness in the face of adversity for coming up on 34 years now.
After we watched my son's video for the third time today, I told him, "The best part is son, the next stage in life is the one where you figure out that you can have all that you want. You can be who you want to be, you can be everything you want to be, and you can always view the world through the lens of innocence and wonder should you choose."
Welcome to adulthood, my beloved son. The world wherein you really can choose exactly who you want to be and what you're going to do with yourself. The only person you have to fight now is you.
Yesterday, on his 17th birthday, he published a song he finished last week that took 2 weeks for him to make. This song moved me more than I have the words to express.
In this song, my son expresses his loss of innocence over the last year. I'm sure you can tell from the writing I've done that there's been a good amount happening in my household that has contributed to this.
More than that, he reached that magical milestone which lifted the veil of childhood. The one where all he saw was puppies and rainbows everywhere he looked.
Make no mistake though, my son has probably been the victim and witness of more violence than you will ever come into contact with in your entire life. So it's not as if he didn't already know that bad things happen to good people. No, what's he come to realize is not that bad people do bad things.
It's that good people do bad things for what seem like good reasons at the time.
And that is a harsh reality.
It's so much easier to see the world in the black and white manner of a child, where good people do good things and bad people do bad things and that's the end of it.
In the song, my son wishes he could make a return to this childhood innocence and wonder that he once knew.
In Taking a Walk, I expressed that holding on to that child-like innocence and wonder is exactly how I've maintained happiness in the face of adversity for coming up on 34 years now.
After we watched my son's video for the third time today, I told him, "The best part is son, the next stage in life is the one where you figure out that you can have all that you want. You can be who you want to be, you can be everything you want to be, and you can always view the world through the lens of innocence and wonder should you choose."
Welcome to adulthood, my beloved son. The world wherein you really can choose exactly who you want to be and what you're going to do with yourself. The only person you have to fight now is you.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
The Process
"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you." --Maya Angelou
Since starting to become a more avid blog writer earlier this year, I've noticed many things about the writing process.
First and foremost: I must have an idea. Something that is percolating in my brain, bubbling constantly. When it reaches the boiling point, it must come out, be it through my mouth or through my fingers, it doesn't matter. These words MUST be spoken.
Second: The idea must be purged all at once, without interruption. If I take the time to edit or walk away from the writing for too long, the idea dies, possibly never to be revived. Same with speaking. Interruption, too many questions off topic and the idea dies or perhaps changes form; but the idea as it was is no more.
Third: This is pertinent to the written word only. A minimum of one sleep must exist between the purging and the sharing with the world at large. If this sleep is not given, the idea is presented too raw and undigestible. Such happened with the very first post to this blog. I wrote most of it, got interrupted, gave it a quick review and hastily decided to publish. I've debated many times going back and editing it, but that would defeat the purpose of this blog: authenticity. I authentically learned a blogging lesson. :-)
Fourth: These ideas that I have that I share, through written or spoken word are not mine to keep. This is why they bubble and boil and demand to be shared with the world. There is no feeling more satisfying that taking a piece of myself and sending it out into the world and watching what happens to it. Thankfully, none of my ideas have ever been used for ill. If that day ever comes, I might change my mind. Until then, it stands.
Fifth: Whichever format the idea takes, written or spoken, tends to be its final form. If I have an idea percolating and I get into a discussion about it, it will never make it to print. Perhaps its shape will change and then it becomes a new idea that gets written, but either way, whichever form an idea is released into the world is the form in which it must remain.
Sixth: While feedback is appreciated, it is never necessary. This blog is not for an individual, it is for the world. Once the ideas are released, they are out there, whether you read them or not, whether you like them or not. This does not mean I do not love you, dear reader. As I said in FAMILY, "All human beings are granted an automatic amount of love and respect out of me, not because they deserve it or because they have earned it, but simply because they exist." So you have my love and I do value and treasure what you have to say, what you think, and what you feel. But this blog is not for you. At the same time, of course, it is for you. And you, you, you, you, and you. I'm sure you get the point.
Seventh: Some ideas never make it into the world. They percolate too long, too hard, they become a topic of self conversation and are never shared. To me, this is a shame. All of these ideas deserve a chance to be breathed into being and shared with the world. I simply never know when one idea will have just the right impact at just the right moment on just the right person.
Now, you may think from what I have just said that I am indicating all of my thoughts are important and/or superior. Not at all. All ideas that percolate in all heads deserve to be breathed into life and shared with the world. Some, we wish had never been shared, I'm sure we can think of some historical figures that had ideas that were just plain awful for the world. On the other hand, if more people--people like me and people like you--if more of US shared our ideas with the world, perhaps we would simply overwhelm those other guys or we would see such fantastic change in the world that the kind of ideas that hurt just don't have a chance to catch on. They get out into the world and the thinker gets the help they need, the love they're missing. I know, I know, there I go with my rose colored glasses again. Just remember, like I said in Collecting Children, perhaps I'm not the one with glasses, perhaps those who don't see the world this way are wearing gray-tinted ones that make the world look bleak. ;-)
Since starting to become a more avid blog writer earlier this year, I've noticed many things about the writing process.
First and foremost: I must have an idea. Something that is percolating in my brain, bubbling constantly. When it reaches the boiling point, it must come out, be it through my mouth or through my fingers, it doesn't matter. These words MUST be spoken.
Second: The idea must be purged all at once, without interruption. If I take the time to edit or walk away from the writing for too long, the idea dies, possibly never to be revived. Same with speaking. Interruption, too many questions off topic and the idea dies or perhaps changes form; but the idea as it was is no more.
Third: This is pertinent to the written word only. A minimum of one sleep must exist between the purging and the sharing with the world at large. If this sleep is not given, the idea is presented too raw and undigestible. Such happened with the very first post to this blog. I wrote most of it, got interrupted, gave it a quick review and hastily decided to publish. I've debated many times going back and editing it, but that would defeat the purpose of this blog: authenticity. I authentically learned a blogging lesson. :-)
Fourth: These ideas that I have that I share, through written or spoken word are not mine to keep. This is why they bubble and boil and demand to be shared with the world. There is no feeling more satisfying that taking a piece of myself and sending it out into the world and watching what happens to it. Thankfully, none of my ideas have ever been used for ill. If that day ever comes, I might change my mind. Until then, it stands.
Fifth: Whichever format the idea takes, written or spoken, tends to be its final form. If I have an idea percolating and I get into a discussion about it, it will never make it to print. Perhaps its shape will change and then it becomes a new idea that gets written, but either way, whichever form an idea is released into the world is the form in which it must remain.
Sixth: While feedback is appreciated, it is never necessary. This blog is not for an individual, it is for the world. Once the ideas are released, they are out there, whether you read them or not, whether you like them or not. This does not mean I do not love you, dear reader. As I said in FAMILY, "All human beings are granted an automatic amount of love and respect out of me, not because they deserve it or because they have earned it, but simply because they exist." So you have my love and I do value and treasure what you have to say, what you think, and what you feel. But this blog is not for you. At the same time, of course, it is for you. And you, you, you, you, and you. I'm sure you get the point.
Seventh: Some ideas never make it into the world. They percolate too long, too hard, they become a topic of self conversation and are never shared. To me, this is a shame. All of these ideas deserve a chance to be breathed into being and shared with the world. I simply never know when one idea will have just the right impact at just the right moment on just the right person.
Now, you may think from what I have just said that I am indicating all of my thoughts are important and/or superior. Not at all. All ideas that percolate in all heads deserve to be breathed into life and shared with the world. Some, we wish had never been shared, I'm sure we can think of some historical figures that had ideas that were just plain awful for the world. On the other hand, if more people--people like me and people like you--if more of US shared our ideas with the world, perhaps we would simply overwhelm those other guys or we would see such fantastic change in the world that the kind of ideas that hurt just don't have a chance to catch on. They get out into the world and the thinker gets the help they need, the love they're missing. I know, I know, there I go with my rose colored glasses again. Just remember, like I said in Collecting Children, perhaps I'm not the one with glasses, perhaps those who don't see the world this way are wearing gray-tinted ones that make the world look bleak. ;-)
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
I'm Fat and Don't You Dare Tell Me Otherwise
So here's something that has me worked up enough that I'm actually going to finish and publish a post.
Being fat has come up for me quite a bit lately or at least this year. It started with a partner who told me that sometimes he simply didn't find my body attractive. He started telling me this when he met me and I was more than a hundred pounds overweight. I perfectly well understood what he meant. At the time, I never found my body attractive so the idea that he ever could was something of a surprise for me.
So over a year went by and we come to early this year. I hit my lowest weight ever (in my adult life anyway) and I was pretty well exuding sexy. No matter whose numbers you looked at, I wasn't more than a hundred pounds overweight. I have no idea what's a healthy weight for me, but at my best guess, I was at the point where I was only 65 pounds overweight. At the same time, I was getting attention from the male half of the species pretty much everywhere I went.
And then I got stressed, for a number of reasons which are not important here. And I was dating, a lot, so I was eating...a lot. And I gained five or so pounds. And then one partner didn't find me much attractive anymore. For that and other reasons, he stopped wanting to have sex. And the first partner broke up with me. Ouch. Two blows to my ego. But I had one remaining. The one that bristles anytime I call myself fat. So I wasn't in too bad of a way in self-image. Great!
But wait...not great.
I have a problem with this. I have a problem with fat acceptance that is so damn accepting that it denies who a person is.
And honestly, I bristle at most fat acceptance articles and memes I see. And I bristle at people telling me I'm not fat.
Are you kidding me?! I am five foot two and weigh over 200 pounds. THAT. IS. FAT.
And the point here is not "being self-accepting": I love me. In fact, I really love me. I am a great person. I am goal oriented and achieving of goals I set for myself. I take pretty good care of myself, there's nothing wrong with me at a fundamental level.
But none of those facts change the fact that I am not at a good physical weight. Yes, my "numbers" are all phenomenal. Blood pressure, cholesterol, et al are great, perfect even. But carrying what I calculate to be 74 extra pounds as of this morning is not healthy and you can't convince me otherwise.
But that doesn't stop you. No, not you. Not a specific person, I'm talking about the general population. More than half the time, the first time I say something about being fat or feeling body conscious, somebody has to argue with me. Somebody has to argue that I'm not fat or I look good or something of that nature.
And hey, that's fine. I understand that some days I still have the sexy going on, I know I do. But my clothes have all gotten tight and that's simply not acceptable. And what I'd like to bring to your attention, yes you, dear reader who may well be guilty of this: When I say I'm fat, if I sound like I'm depressed, sure, remind me I'm pretty or I have a great personality, but please don't tell me I'm not fat.
And here's why: By telling me I'm not fat, by telling me it's okay to be 74 pounds (or whatever) overweight, you are by commission telling me it's okay to be not healthy. And you are telling me that my desire to change myself for the better is not okay. You are saying that all of the health problems I am already starting to experience at 33 years of age are okay.
But they're not. I want to live a long life. And I want to be able to enjoy that long life. And realistically, it's not going to happen if I stay this way. My recovery from my recent car accident is hindered by my extra weight. I told the doctor I've been working to lose weight and he replied, "Yeah, it'd help a lot if you dropped about 50 pounds." And yes, he was being insensitive or whatever, but he was not wrong.
And I understand that part of this fat acceptance campaign is all about being nicer to our fellow human being and I don't think there's anything wrong with that. I have never once told a partner that I didn't find them attractive this day or that because they carried some extra weight, because I believe that what makes me want to spend time with someone or not depends in large part on their personality, not their body. And I don't want to lose weight because I want to look like Kate Moss or some other such public figure because I don't care how thin or not anyone else on the planet is.
So please, I beg you, stop undermining my weight loss efforts. Stop telling me it's okay for me to be overweight when I tell you I don't feel good in my body. Stop telling me it's okay for me to eat whatever I want when I know it damn well isn't. And for the love of all that is good in this world, stop treating me like I have self-esteem issues just because I want to change something about myself. I can love me and be happy with me and still want to improve.
--Signed, A disgruntled fat chick
P.S. The partner mentioned above only bristles when he smells potential esteem issues. He is completely supportive of my desire to be healthy and lose weight. More on how everyone can do that in a future post.
Being fat has come up for me quite a bit lately or at least this year. It started with a partner who told me that sometimes he simply didn't find my body attractive. He started telling me this when he met me and I was more than a hundred pounds overweight. I perfectly well understood what he meant. At the time, I never found my body attractive so the idea that he ever could was something of a surprise for me.
So over a year went by and we come to early this year. I hit my lowest weight ever (in my adult life anyway) and I was pretty well exuding sexy. No matter whose numbers you looked at, I wasn't more than a hundred pounds overweight. I have no idea what's a healthy weight for me, but at my best guess, I was at the point where I was only 65 pounds overweight. At the same time, I was getting attention from the male half of the species pretty much everywhere I went.
And then I got stressed, for a number of reasons which are not important here. And I was dating, a lot, so I was eating...a lot. And I gained five or so pounds. And then one partner didn't find me much attractive anymore. For that and other reasons, he stopped wanting to have sex. And the first partner broke up with me. Ouch. Two blows to my ego. But I had one remaining. The one that bristles anytime I call myself fat. So I wasn't in too bad of a way in self-image. Great!
But wait...not great.
I have a problem with this. I have a problem with fat acceptance that is so damn accepting that it denies who a person is.
And honestly, I bristle at most fat acceptance articles and memes I see. And I bristle at people telling me I'm not fat.
Are you kidding me?! I am five foot two and weigh over 200 pounds. THAT. IS. FAT.
And the point here is not "being self-accepting": I love me. In fact, I really love me. I am a great person. I am goal oriented and achieving of goals I set for myself. I take pretty good care of myself, there's nothing wrong with me at a fundamental level.
But none of those facts change the fact that I am not at a good physical weight. Yes, my "numbers" are all phenomenal. Blood pressure, cholesterol, et al are great, perfect even. But carrying what I calculate to be 74 extra pounds as of this morning is not healthy and you can't convince me otherwise.
But that doesn't stop you. No, not you. Not a specific person, I'm talking about the general population. More than half the time, the first time I say something about being fat or feeling body conscious, somebody has to argue with me. Somebody has to argue that I'm not fat or I look good or something of that nature.
And hey, that's fine. I understand that some days I still have the sexy going on, I know I do. But my clothes have all gotten tight and that's simply not acceptable. And what I'd like to bring to your attention, yes you, dear reader who may well be guilty of this: When I say I'm fat, if I sound like I'm depressed, sure, remind me I'm pretty or I have a great personality, but please don't tell me I'm not fat.
And here's why: By telling me I'm not fat, by telling me it's okay to be 74 pounds (or whatever) overweight, you are by commission telling me it's okay to be not healthy. And you are telling me that my desire to change myself for the better is not okay. You are saying that all of the health problems I am already starting to experience at 33 years of age are okay.
But they're not. I want to live a long life. And I want to be able to enjoy that long life. And realistically, it's not going to happen if I stay this way. My recovery from my recent car accident is hindered by my extra weight. I told the doctor I've been working to lose weight and he replied, "Yeah, it'd help a lot if you dropped about 50 pounds." And yes, he was being insensitive or whatever, but he was not wrong.
And I understand that part of this fat acceptance campaign is all about being nicer to our fellow human being and I don't think there's anything wrong with that. I have never once told a partner that I didn't find them attractive this day or that because they carried some extra weight, because I believe that what makes me want to spend time with someone or not depends in large part on their personality, not their body. And I don't want to lose weight because I want to look like Kate Moss or some other such public figure because I don't care how thin or not anyone else on the planet is.
So please, I beg you, stop undermining my weight loss efforts. Stop telling me it's okay for me to be overweight when I tell you I don't feel good in my body. Stop telling me it's okay for me to eat whatever I want when I know it damn well isn't. And for the love of all that is good in this world, stop treating me like I have self-esteem issues just because I want to change something about myself. I can love me and be happy with me and still want to improve.
--Signed, A disgruntled fat chick
P.S. The partner mentioned above only bristles when he smells potential esteem issues. He is completely supportive of my desire to be healthy and lose weight. More on how everyone can do that in a future post.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Becoming Me
"Change
does not fail to occur because of insincerity. The heart patient is not
insincere about his wish to keep living, even as he reaches for another
cigarette. Change fails to occur because we mean both things. It fails
to occur because we are a living contradiction."
--Robert Kegan and Lisa Laskow Lahey
I have been experiencing quite the internal revolution lately.
I have known my entire life who I am and at the same time, for the better percentage of said life, I have denied who I am in an attempt to fit in. I have tried searching for the cause of this behavior, what it is that made me feel the need to try to live up to everyone else's expectations, but I have now decided I don't care. It doesn't matter what motivated me. All that matters now is that motivation is gone.
I have been liberated. By myself. I have finally lifted the restraints I placed on my inner being, the ones that had engraved on them, "Girl, you must be who they want you to be."
I will be who I want me to be.
Who is that?
She is ME. A friendly, caring person who loves deeply and passionately. An unabashed woman who is so self-aware that others think she has something to hide. Someone who is completely and totally honest. I saw someone say the other day, "Asking a question is consent to hear the answer." This is what I believe. If you don't want to know what I think, don't ask me the question; because I will tell you what I think and if I'm in the mood, I'll tell you everything I think. Like it or don't. I don't live my life to please you--I live my life to please ME.
And that's how it should be. We are born into this world and we are granted only one life to live. Why should we proceed through it living it the way someone else thinks we ought to? But that's what we're taught, isn't it? From birth, we're taught that our responsibility is to please first our parents, then our teachers, then our bosses and always all of society.
I have kids, three of them, and I tell them all the time that what I want for them is their happiness. I don't care whether happiness to them is being the next Bill Gates or that guy on the corner sleeping in a cardboard box, so long as they are truly happy--I will feel I have succeeded as a parent.
I tell my kids this all the time and yet I haven't been getting it for myself.
?!
Children learn by observation, not by what you tell them. So what have I been teaching my kids all this time?
*sigh* NO MORE.
Like it or don't, this is ME.
--Robert Kegan and Lisa Laskow Lahey
I have been experiencing quite the internal revolution lately.
I have known my entire life who I am and at the same time, for the better percentage of said life, I have denied who I am in an attempt to fit in. I have tried searching for the cause of this behavior, what it is that made me feel the need to try to live up to everyone else's expectations, but I have now decided I don't care. It doesn't matter what motivated me. All that matters now is that motivation is gone.
I have been liberated. By myself. I have finally lifted the restraints I placed on my inner being, the ones that had engraved on them, "Girl, you must be who they want you to be."
I will be who I want me to be.
Who is that?
She is ME. A friendly, caring person who loves deeply and passionately. An unabashed woman who is so self-aware that others think she has something to hide. Someone who is completely and totally honest. I saw someone say the other day, "Asking a question is consent to hear the answer." This is what I believe. If you don't want to know what I think, don't ask me the question; because I will tell you what I think and if I'm in the mood, I'll tell you everything I think. Like it or don't. I don't live my life to please you--I live my life to please ME.
And that's how it should be. We are born into this world and we are granted only one life to live. Why should we proceed through it living it the way someone else thinks we ought to? But that's what we're taught, isn't it? From birth, we're taught that our responsibility is to please first our parents, then our teachers, then our bosses and always all of society.
I have kids, three of them, and I tell them all the time that what I want for them is their happiness. I don't care whether happiness to them is being the next Bill Gates or that guy on the corner sleeping in a cardboard box, so long as they are truly happy--I will feel I have succeeded as a parent.
I tell my kids this all the time and yet I haven't been getting it for myself.
?!
Children learn by observation, not by what you tell them. So what have I been teaching my kids all this time?
*sigh* NO MORE.
Like it or don't, this is ME.
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