Taking Time

I've been spending some time lately looking after myself, and one important fact has dawned on me about self-care. To others it might seem to be a no-brainer but to me, it explains (in part) why I never did much of it before, and why I always felt guilty when I did do it.

It takes time. 

I would make time for my husband, for my family, for my friends, for church obligations, for my boss ... and after all that was done, there just wasn't any time for me. I'd drop exhausted into bed at night and the whole thing would start all over again the next day. The only time I seemed to take for me (and even then under protest) was when I'd get so run down that I'd get sick. Even my body was telling me to take some time for me. I wasn't listening. 

When I started therapy in early 2009, one of the first questions asked of me was this: "When was the last time you did anything for yourself, that you wanted to do just because you liked it?" 

I couldn't remember when it was or what I did. Wracking my brain, I did come up with something in 1991: I had taken equitation lessons - English riding, you know, with the helmet and the jumping over fences, that kind of thing. Wait a sec - did I say 1991? That had been 18 years previous! Yikes!

I was a lot skinnier then. A LOT. Almost a hundred pounds skinnier.

Yes, this is a photo from that day in 2003.

I remembered going on a trail ride when my kids were 14 and 11, that would have been 2003. I was much heavier than in 1991. I remembered the poor male attendant and then his assistant joining him in shoving at my hind end to help me mount up; nothing worked, and the saddle started to slip toward my side of the animal. (Shudder.) But I was there for my kids to have the fun of riding, dang-it-all!!. So I looked around and saw a platform with steps up to it. "Take the horse over there, and let me get on from that platform," I told them. It worked, and I did enjoy being on a horse again, but the experience was marred by the lead-up and the snickers of the extremely tall and skinny trail ride staff. It was NOT a happy time for me. To soothe my bruised ego and to finish on a positive note, I took the kids for a milkshake at a nearby diner afterward. They loved it. They wanted to go riding again sometime. I don't remember ever going back, at least not to that particular spot.

I have photos of that day ... somewhere. Fortunately for me, I was the one with the camera, so there are no blackmail photos. (Thank God.)

Back in 2009, in therapy, I recall reliving these experiences and realizing that Judy had taken a back seat ever since, and not out of love but out of shame, out of a feeling of not being worthy, not being adequate. Voices from my past had been all too quick to confirm my opinion of myself. I remember feeling trapped by my physical limitations, and I wanted so badly for things to be different: for me (for one thing) to not be nearly a hundred pounds heavier than in 1991. Every time I'd tried to lose weight, I had gained it back and more beside. My therapist stopped me when I said that. "Someday Judy, when you are healed on the inside, the outside will take care of itself without you even realizing it." And I cried at his faith in me. I didn't even have that much faith in me; how could a stranger know what I was?

I did a lot of crying over the next few weeks and months as I realized how I'd put myself in a corner and let others take the center stage in my life while I wore the "fat, stupid and lazy" dunce cap, self-imposed at that. I began to understand how deep that shame was, how horribly I'd treated myself, how that had spilled out into my relationships with others.

Jack Canfield, the author of the "Chicken Soup for the Soul" series, said once that in order to change something in your life, in order to keep going and press forward instead of giving up, you need to flood your mind with statements and images that remind you of your goal. 

I learned that repetition is so very important. The self-destructive messages I picked up as a child were huge in my life. I had to lovingly parent that damaged inner child and tell her things she should have been told so many years ago: that she was important, that she was worthy, that she was smart, that she was loveable. One of the reasons I said those things to her was because part of me knew that it was true - the logical part of me. Yet the emotional part of me, where she resided, hid from this truth and pooh-poohed it - even sabotaged it. Repetition was the key. It had taken many years of others repeating the wrong message for it to get so entrenched into my psyche. It was not going to change overnight, especially because those same people were shouting those lies to me every day of my adult life as well. So, I set my sights on filling my mind with those statements, to remind myself daily, sometimes several times a day, of what I knew I should have been told and reminded of daily ... decades ago. 

From "A Letter to my Shy Girl"

It took months for that little girl to stop hiding her face behind her hands. It took even longer for her to venture a weak smile, and longer still for her to reach out to my extended hand. I got help - all the help I could use or ever want - from people who believed in me, from inspirational readings like "The Language of Letting Go" by Melody Beatty, and from Psalm 139.  Many, many readings of Psalm 139. I learned to trust my emotions to let me know what was going on inside of me, and not to deny them expression in safe ways. And, as hard as it was for me to go through - I did my homework, every day. I learned what I had to learn, examined what God placed in front of me to look at, even when I didn't want to look. I took responsibility for looking after myself and for restoring relationships I had ruined by behaving selfishly. I learned to forgive - to let go. I learned ... how to live life. 

The lessons I learned then hold me in good stead now. I still have to remind myself of what's important. I still have to talk gently to that little girl, because even though she isn't cringing anymore, she still needs to be parented, reminded that she is precious, valuable, cherished. She has gone from about 5 or 6 years old to being about 10 or 11, but she is still too young to be on her own ... yet. ;)  

However, there is progress. 

The one thing all of this has taught me is that it does take time to heal; that it does take time to do the things I need to do for my own benefit. And it's taught me that it doesn't happen in a moment. I need to TAKE the time that it takes to invest in my own growth. I can't let life happen to me anymore. I need to live intentionally, to immerse myself in gratitude-builders, to work on accepting myself so that I can accept others around me and have enough emotional energy to be able to overflow into others' lives ... in a good way.

The Long Haul

When you first start out, you have the energy of the new, the fresh. Passion is strong, will power is too. Your tank is full, you have lots of reserves. 

When you are near the finish line, the adrenaline kicks in and you get that extra push that you need to finish. It's exhilarating; it feels important. 

But in the middle, when you don't know how much longer you'll have to endure, when the night is long and the will not so strong, that's when the test is on. that's when you find out if you're in it for the long haul.

It can feel like a drudgery. It can get tedious. It can seem ... ordinary. If you think that way, if you wonder how much more, how far it is to the place you want to be, ... you are beaten before you even give up. And you will give up ... if you keep thinking that way. Why?

Thinking about what's ahead, pondering the "what ifs," can suck the energy out of you and leave you drained, energy better used in putting one foot in front of the other. 

There's an old riddle that asks, "How do you eat an elephant?" The answer goes, "One bite at a time." The question of a lifestyle of 100% living is, "How do you live life to the fullest?" The answer is, "One day at a time."

That's it. No big secret - it's been around for a long time and has stood the test of the ages. 

However, it's easier said than done. The fear of the unknown can make me crazy, make me spiff off into a hundred directions at once, looking for a way to escape a fate of which I am not sure. If I stop and take a breath, realize that I can't control the outcome, and accept what "is," then I can get rid of the crazy thoughts that intrude to throw me off track. If I do the most important thing next, focus on today, and look after myself and those I love, then I'll not have to worry about living life. I'll already be living it. 

One day at a time.

Be there

I must check my email and each of my blogs at least three times a day. It sounds like a lot - and perhaps it is a bit excessive - but I don't want to miss anything that might be important to my readers ... or to me. 

For most of my life, I spent the majority of my time (until I got into recovery in January 2009) trying to escape. I tried to hide from my past, my feelings, my circumstances, even my children. I did that by burying myself in eating, reading, watching TV, playing games, doing crossword puzzles, even going to as many church functions as possible ... to escape the realities that made up my life. It wasn't even that my life was that horrible. It was that I wanted to get away from ... me. 

Once I started learning to make peace with my past and even to like myself, I found that I was better able to be there for the people in my life, including me. It surprised me how pervasive that tendency was - and still is to a certain extent. Now and again, I do have to remind myself what is important. And, in order of importance, here's what it means for me to "be there":

Be there for me - Self-care has become huge for me over the last 40 months (wow, has it been that long?). If I'm not looking after myself, I will have absolutely nothing in reserve to give to anyone else. I've written about this so much in the last two years or so that it's become a familiar song. Yet, I learn through repetition, and the reminder to practice self-care is something that I've needed to repeat many times to myself. Doormat-itis is deeply entrenched and it got that way through repetition. Recovery from that takes just as much repetition, if not more.

A very large part of that is making time for intimacy with God. I must admit that of all the things that are crucial to my self-care, this priority tends to get crowded out very easily. That's why I need to remind myself that this one relationship is central to every other and that if it suffers, they all suffer. 

Photo from a post called "How to be a Good Listener"

Be there for my husband and kids - This sometimes means laying aside what I would prefer to do and choosing to do what one (or more) of them like(s) to do, even in the little things. Watching Tangled instead of Star Trek. Listening to the radio (or to - gag me - Country and Western) in the vehicle rather than to my preferred kind of music. Or just listening to them ... which is (of course) far bigger a deal than what kind of movie or music we each like.

Be there for my friends - Lately, this has meant working harder at not talking so much about me, and letting them tell me what is going on with them: caring for them and not worrying so much about them not meeting my needs. I have a tendency to put on my martyr hat and try to get people to feel sorry for me. I'm learning that the less I say about me, and the more I keep the focus on them, the less trouble I get into. ;)

Be there for my clients - I was going to say "...for my employer." But you know, the reason I go to work is not for my boss, although I do try to keep her happy whenever I can. The thing that keeps me going back is the knowledge that my efforts make a difference in people's lives. I take a great deal of pleasure in that. Of course, there are things about every job that are less than ideal; that's to be expected. But overall, I feel blessed to do two things that I love doing - helping people, and writing to do that - for a living. Not everyone gets to do that.

Be there for my church - I have made a commitment to my church to be there in ministry whenever I can be. When I make a promise, I do my level best to keep it, and this is no different. It doesn't hurt that I love doing what I do, and I get to do it with people I care about. What a gift.

You may have noticed that I separated my spiritual commitment to intimacy with God and my commitment to church ministry; I have done so for a very important reason. Many people equate their service to the church with their obligation to God. I don't. The latter, for me, is about the vertical relationship; the former, about the horizontal ones.  Priority One is the relationship between God and me; I think of it as my "plumb line" - the one on which everything else hangs. Without it, there is no third dimension to my life: it's all flat, like a soft drink without the bubbles. Duty-driven. With that third dimension, it all makes sense to me. Life has context and contour, sparkle and sizzle. 

The core relationship permeates and infuses all the others; it's part of who I am, how I define myself, and enriches each of those other facets. 

One thing is sure. Living like this might be many things - not all of them pleasant - but it's never dull.

The Power of NO

I remember reading a case history once of a person who was in psychological counseling. One line stood out to me. "Exhausted. Has trouble saying 'NO' and therefore takes on too much, then burns out."

I know that merry-go-round; I live it, at some times more than others. I take on more than is healthy for me and then I struggle beneath the weight of the responsibility of more than I can handle. Eventually something has to give, and I feel like a failure, when what has really happened is that I took on too much to begin with. 

And you know, I took on that much probably because I was afraid of being rejected if I said, "No, I don't have enough time left to do that." 

I have no problem with saying, "No, that's our family time; I don't schedule things then. Maybe we could do that another time." But if it's "just me" - that is, if the only reason I want to opt out of some event is because I need to look after myself, well, sometimes I don't think that's enough ... probably because there's a part of me that doesn't believe that I AM enough. 

That's an area I need to work on. It's like weeding out my closet: what fits, what doesn't, what's worn out, what needs replacing and what doesn't, and do I really need that? So what I've been doing the last little while is reviewing all the irons I have in the fire (so to speak) to see which ones I can remove - or set aside for the time being - to give myself a little time for me.  I'm asking myself questions which (for me, because I'm so afraid that people won't like me) are difficult:

• Is this activity producing the desired effect I intended?
• Does it need more attention or less? is it a good use of my time?
• What am I hoping to accomplish with this? 
• Does this organization's values (or do the values of its clientele) jive with mine?
• Can I set this venture aside for a while without feeling like I'm losing something?
• What do I want to be spending more time doing? Am I going in that direction or away from it?

The answers to these questions will tell me what I can let lapse ... and what to keep pursuing. Already I've stopped one association with an organization with whose practices I have not made peace; that felt like a great weight off my mind. And today, I cancelled my membership with another e-company that was wasting a lot of my online time; the sense of relief was palpable. 

And I'm refocusing my attention on the things in my life that I can do. It's all part of setting boundaries, practicing self-care, and having the energy left over to invest into the message of being free from the grave-clothes of fear and shame. It's a never-ending quest.

And a big part of that is knowing when it's time to say NO.

The Bubble

Personal Space in a Crowded World

One of the first things that freshman Psychology students learn about is personal space. At the core, everyone has an invisible bubble around him or her. Depending on how close a relationship there is, a person can allow someone to the outer limit of his or her personal space, or allow entry. 

The average North American's personal space bubble is three feet in every direction. This is generally "arm's length." Strangers are not allowed to touch the edge of that space. Acquaintances may touch it, but not enter in very far. Close friends are allowed inside, but may not be allowed to touch. Intimate friends (such as a spouse or a best friend) have permission to make physical contact. The rules vary depending on the personality. Extroverts allow more touching; introverts don't.

Personal space bubble drawing - here's the blog article

Different cultures also have different definitions of that space and the rules surrounding them. In the European culture, for example, the sense of personal space is a lot smaller. People allow other people within two feet with no problem, and the rules surrounding touch are far more lax. This is why, when you're traveling to (let's say) Italy, you might feel uncomfortable when your host gets up in your face and waves his arms around, nearly touching you. (shudder) 

Differences in culture can occur not just in the personal physical space, but also in the attitudes that people have. In the culture of which I am a part, the average person doesn't get excited or vocal about much. Nobody raises his or her voice much; nobody jumps up and down (unless it's at a sporting event); nobody likes to get involved in a hot debate or enter any kind of confrontation. It just isn't done. 

If someone from another culture comes into that mix, someone to whom these behaviors (shouting, jumping up and down, debating) are not only acceptable, but desirable, there is a conflict. People get uncomfortable. Some people - like me - just shut down and clam up in situations where that individual is saying, "What's wrong with you people? don't you get excited about anything?" (Inner voice: "Umm, yes, I do, and no, I don't see the need to shout about it. Step back another foot or two and lower your volume; you're in my face. And that is NOT a good thing.") 

It's so important to define boundaries in situations like this. I need to keep reminding myself that not everyone picks up on non-verbal communication and I just might have to (horrors!) SAY how I feel rather than stew and fret about it. If someone is infringing on my personal space, and I dread being around that person, it's my responsibility to make the boundaries clear - if I want to remain in relationship with that person. This is something I've had to learn over the last couple of years. It's slow going.

When personal space is injured

Sometimes a person's sense of safety is wounded. Someone, or a whole lot of someones, strikes an axe to the foundation of the rules that govern the person's definition of right and wrong, just and unjust. A person exposed to this kind of event can become suspicious, afraid, even angry and belligerent. The underlying reason is the belief that the world isn't safe. This can happen at any time of life, and in any number of ways, including:

• child abuse: physical, emotional, sexual, abandonment, etc., especially if this took place over several years
• witnessing man's inhumanity to man (or animal) and being prevented from stopping it
• dangerous / life-threatening situations including being the victim of any kind of violent crime
• death threats or threats of physical or sexual violence, whether experienced directly or indirectly (e.g., when someone you love has had this happen)
• bullying: at school, at home, at work, or at church
• motor vehicle accidents - either being the victim, related to the victim, or a witness
• personal loss / grief (social, financial, family, church-related, work-related)
• constant, chronic, untreatable pain
• having a life-threatening illness or watching a loved one struggle with a life-threatening illness

Such experiences sometimes lead to a certain set of behaviors and symptoms that have become known as "Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome," or PTSD. Granted, it appears in varying degrees depending on the severity of the stressful experience and how long it lasted. But one of the symptoms of PTSD is an expanded personal space. In fact, the shape of the personal bubble changes. It's not only bigger (say, 4 feet instead of 3), but it's also bigger in the back than in the front or the side. I know because I have that symptom, and have for many years. My personal bubble is 4 feet in diameter, but it's over 5 feet behind me. If I enter a room, I have to either be close to the door for a quick getaway, or in a corner with my back to the wall so nobody sneaks up behind me.  I'm not saying that I HAVE this disorder, just that I have that symptom.

Here are some of the other, more common symptoms of PTSD (the first four must be present, along with an identifiable traumatic experience, in order to make a clinical diagnosis) - just for interest's sake, I've "starred" the symptoms I have had in the past:

• re-experiencing the stressful event: "flashbacks" *
• avoiding situations that remind the person of the traumatic event(s) *
• emotional numbing: being unable to feel love, tenderness, or compassion
• hyper-vigilance: an obsession with order, safety, or control of the environment *
• severe anxiety in new situations, combined with an overwhelming desire to escape from them *
• nightmares, waking in cold sweats *
• insomnia *
• suspicion of everyone and everything *
• increased personal space *
• episodes of depression; occasional to frequent thoughts of suicide *
• occasionally, the person may experience panic attacks, and in very severe cases, psychotic behaviors -  hallucinations, "zoning out", paranoid delusions, etc., usually in very stressful situations

There are more, but these will give an idea of the kinds of ways that the mind can find to cope (or not to cope) with trauma. PTSD is a horrible disorder that affects a lot of people, and it isn't just a "soldier's illness." Anyone can suffer from it. 

Many sufferers talk about "retreating into their bubble" - isolating themselves because it's the only way they can feel safe - and it takes a lot of effort to venture outside that comfort zone.

Treatment usually involves a combination of medication and therapy. Milder cases can be managed with therapy alone. And once a person has PTSD, it doesn't mean that he or she will always have it. Some have suffered acute symptoms for several months or a couple of years, and they have resolved themselves with therapy and/or with anti-psychotics, antidepressants or anti-anxiety medications. It depends on what the initial trauma was, how long it lasted, whether anything else compounded or added to it over the years, and quite a number of other factors. Those that do have chronic PTSD can learn to manage the symptoms and live normal lives. It is not anything to be ashamed about, and talking about it does help, especially if it's with people who understand what it's like.

The lifestyle I live now goes a long way toward easing my symptoms; they are much less intense than they once were. I remember when nearly every night was filled with nightmares where I re-experienced the violence that was so much a part of my growing up, or where my deepest fears came to life and I would wake in a cold sweat. The "One Day At A Time" and "Let Go and Let God" approaches allow me to release things that are out of my control and get on with the business of living and enjoying life. I've gone back to the past deliberately, not to dwell there, but to allow God to banish the demons that lurked behind me to devour me. I try to focus on living in today, and leaving the future to the Almighty. 

Which leaves only today (what a relief!), in which I am learning to live with gratitude. My over-sized bubble is slowly getting smaller as I continually learn to trust myself and God more, to let trustworthy people inside. It's a long way from where I'd like it to be, but it's coming.

Born to stand out

Chameleons can change color to blend into their surroundings. It's a protective mechanism. It keeps them from being targets, so they don't get devoured. 

I know I've called myself a chameleon before, in the past tense, you know: before and after recovery and all that. But lately there have been some changes happening in my life, some of which feel good, and others that don't. I'm being transformed even more. And mostly I like what I'm becoming, because mostly, that is happy.

Still, there is a part of me that tries to blend in, to fit in to what's expected. That tendency is so insidious ... wanting to be liked, validated, affirmed. It puts me in a position where I end up not being true to who I really am, sacrificing myself to the siren song of people-pleasing. Especially to pleasing people that won't - or are incapable of - approving of me or my accomplishments in any way. I've already written about that in previous posts, so I won't go there right now. Suffice to say that not everyone in my life is supportive of the decisions I've made. Yet I still try to win their approval. I still try to fit in. I still try to change who I am to be accepted, even now that I know who that person is.

That fact confronted me one evening recently. I was watching a movie, and the leading man turned the his girlfriend and said, "Why are you trying so hard to fit in, when you were born to stand out?"

It kind of took me off guard. But it also gave me pause.

The pull of wanting to fit in drips constantly like water wearing away a rock. One drip isn't that much, right? but one drip leads to the next, and the next, and before too long it just wears away and crumbles the rock; it kills the soul by millimeters, diminishes the very things that make the individual unique. 

I know these things, but still I find myself trying to conform, to disappear, to hide. Make all the right noises. Lie about how I feel. Put on that hypocritical mask - or any mask for that matter. Pretend to like certain activities because that's what I'm supposed to like in this situation or that one. 

I am afraid that if I were to stand out, I would stand a better chance of being abandoned. I hear it inside as if it's my own voice: "Show-off." "Brazen." I was always taught that it's wrong to call attention to yourself. That it's somehow sinful, or selfish (which I guess is the same thing.) 

But slowly, ever so slowly, I am learning not to 'hide my light under a bushel' ... and I'm encountering more and more people who are so glad when I take that bushel-basket off and let my light shine. 

And someday, I might even stand out.

Outside Looking In

I can't remember a time when I have felt like I was in the "in" crowd. I always felt like I was on the outside looking in, from the time I was a small child and someone asked my name and reacted in disgust when they heard it. Apparently it wasn't cool to have that surname, and others before me had only acted "weird" - so nobody got to know me. 

Found this great photo HERE

Even in my family, though there were some happy times, I never truly felt a part of that world. I dreamed of something more. I wanted there to be a safe place, somewhere I could be accepted for who I was without having to pretend anything. But the specter of "What will the neighbors think?" loomed ominously over every aspect of our lives. We weren't allowed to talk about what happened inside the house or on the property; we weren't allowed to talk about each other; we weren't allowed to talk about conversations we'd overheard about anything from money problems to the guy down at the corner. Nothing. It was a black hole. Secrecy and lies - yes, lies - reigned. Family honor was far more important than someone's safety or happiness. Deny, deny, deny. And peck at each other like hens after blood. Nitpicking, criticism, judgment and condemnation were daily occurrences, and I participated in them as much as the next person. But I never felt right about it deep down. I just cloaked myself in righteousness (and hypocrisy) and carried on.

It carried through into my other relationships even after I left my childhood home. Relationships with people I cared about. My husband, even my kids. God help me, I nearly ruined all of their lives with my narrow-minded religious prattle. (I called it being a committed Christian. It had nothing to do with Christianity and I probably SHOULD have been committed.)

Finally, after life had beaten me down, I reached out for help and found it. And I discovered a whole new lifestyle called "rigorous honesty." It was raw. It was scary. And it was exactly what that outside-looking-in kid was always missing. 

Through that lifestyle and the choices with which I was confronted to embrace the new and walk away from the old, I discovered something which seemed miraculous to me. I could be myself (and thanks to therapy I actually was beginning to know who that person was, and like her) and people of like mind and heart would be naturally attracted to me on almost a spiritual level. 

And just recently I've started to redefine what "family" really is. "Family" isn't that genetic code you were born with, the people you're stuck with just because you happen to share some DNA markers. Many times - as was the case with me - the people who gave you life are sometimes the ones who seem hell-bent on sucking the life out of you. So I found a whole new family.

They're called friends. People with whom I feel safe. My husband, my kids, a few true-blue stick-like-glue no-matter-what-you-do friends. And a community of people I never knew existed until I started to blog: fellow-bloggers. 

I live in gratitude now for these folks, and prefer to spend my time with them instead of with the ones who, whether they mean to do it or not, are more about following the rules than about following their hearts. I had plenty of following the rules and it nearly killed me. 

I'd rather pursue relationship. Those are the ties that bind - ties of the heart. These people, these new family members (some of whom I've never even met in person!) have not even entertained the idea of me being outside the door looking in; they've opened their doors without any expectation that I would meet their needs or fix them up, or that they would even dare to do the same to me. They've accepted, listened, shared, and cared. 

And if that's what the Inside looks like in this world, I'm glad I'm here and not back there trying to fit into a world that was never made for me, though even now I am confronted with those who are trying to force me into their mold of what a "Christian" should be. No, I think I'll just stretch my legs out by this nice roaring fire in the hearth of this new family, this place where I feel so welcomed and protected, and breathe a deep, heartfelt sigh of gratitude.

Creep

Of course it happens slowly. It can't happen any other way. 

If it happened quickly ... we'd notice. But over time, little things creep in and we give just a little to make room for them. It could be saying yes to too many projects, or letting the housework pile up, or taking on just one more extra-curricular activity for the kids, or buying just one more trinket. 

But one leads to two, and two leads to more - whether items, hours, or days. And before long, we look around and wonder how it all happened.

It's creep. Sly, seemingly innocent concessions we make. 

I do this more often than I care to admit. I get overwhelmed and wonder how it all happened, when "all I was trying to do was..." And so it goes. I want to be seen as a nice person (hm, sounds like fear of rejection to me), so instead of saying "No" when someone asks me to do something I would just as soon not do, I say "Yes" ... instead of setting that boundary.  Boundaries are hard. Enforcing them is harder. So I give in. Even if giving in is bad for me. 

Got this drawing HERE

After a while, I become obsessed and driven by what this one and that one wants, and the stress builds - and I start getting burnt out. The alarm bells start to ring. Eventually, if I ignore them, I get resentful of the people I'm trying to help. And the bells get louder.

The alarm bells didn't always ring for me though. I just wondered why I was so tired and unhappy all the time; after all, if people would only show a little appreciation, I'd be fine. Right?
Wrong. 
When I first started to embrace a lifestyle of looking after myself as one of the people with whom I was in a relationship (there's a thought!) and healing from past hurts, I'd catch myself doing this, spreading myself too thinly for others' benefit (or so I thought). I used to berate myself that it took me longer than what I thought was healthy, to realize I was doing it. The cycle would be three-quarters of the way through before I would figure out what was happening, and stop. As time went on, though, I noticed that I was catching myself sooner and sooner. And I was practicing my new behaviors of saying how I feel instead of stuffing it down inside somewhere. Not every time, but more times.

This is progress. This is not perfection. 
Thank God perfection is not my goal anymore; it used to be. I can give myself permission to fail. Not that I try to fail, but if I do, it's okay. I guess I accepted the notion that the only perfect One who ever walked this earth got nailed to a cross - and I'm not Him.

What a relief.

This lifestyle - this one day at a time, first things first, let go and let God philosophy on which it's based - is actually pretty good. I'm generally happy most of the time. Oh, I get flustered over things that occur, the weather, circumstances, just like everyone else, but I don't beat myself up about not being able to do it all and be superwoman any more. 

Well, not much. ;)

And that creep phenomenon? Thankfully, it doesn't get as far as it once did.