Puppy Love

It was a clear-cut case of love at first sight. And it couldn't have happened at a more opportune time. 

My brother had just passed away unexpectedly. He had been doing so well, and then, he wasn't. Just like that. And I never got a chance to say goodbye. And it was so sudden, so wrenching, so ... raw. 

I'd been initially planning to get a puppy at the end of 2020. But here it was, end of February, and I was scrolling through the 'puppies for adoption' page at a site I frequent. And there it was. Someone not 30 minutes' drive from me was selling puppies, of the breed I was looking for. I clicked on the ad. The mother dog had given birth to five puppies and they pretty much all looked alike - except one. I clicked on his picture. And he was standing there so pretty, so proud, so sure of himself, and showing so much personality and yet gentleness that my heart almost skipped a beat. 

After talking it over with my family, and given the current restrictions of Covid-19, I decided to send the breeder a note and see if I could set up a time to visit the litter (this was before the isolation rules started.) She said sure, and before long I and my daughter were knee deep in little dogs. All of them Pomeranians!! Some looked like the standard image I had in my mind: orange with big floofs around the face and a plume-like tail. But these were different. They were white with brown and black markings. Only this little guy was white with black markings, and just a touch of brown. 

I left holding him to the last... wanting to give the others a chance. But it was no use. He had stolen my heart from the first click. And when I picked him up, and saw how curious, interested, and confident he was, even though he did let me roll him over on his back - when I saw him not once ask to get back in the pen with his siblings - he sealed the deal for me. And I was absolutely, 100 per cent smitten. 

I reserved him with the breeder and waited for him to be old enough to come home with me. That would not be until another few weeks, after we had completed our 14-day self-imposed isolation. 

Bullet - born Feb 7, 2020, age 9.4 weeks

We picked him up last Friday. And it seems now like he has always been here. What a ray of sunshine in otherwise dark times! What a reminder that there is still some sweetness, light, and humour in this crazy climate of rules and distancing and fear! He's melted the hearts of all who have seen his pictures or met him in person (like the vet, earlier today). I've filled an album already on Facebook with photos and videos of him. 

He loves his harness. He loves his kibble. He loves his pen and his crate. He loves pleasing us and learning new things (like going potty outside). 

He loves his bully sticks. He loves his Miss Kitty, a soft plush kitty with a heart-beat inserted into her (which we can control off and on through a button on the unit). He loves me and my husband and my daughter. Plain and simple, it's a terminal case of puppy love, which is whole-hearted, unreserved, unadulterated, super-intense and highly focused, unconditional positive regard, for which there is no cure. He loves the way I want to love. With the passionate love of a puppy for everything and everyone in his world. 

And at this point in my life, I needed a daily, constant reminder of that kind of love. Perhaps it is no coincidence that d-o-g is G-o-d spelled backward. I'd like to think so. Because if any being on this earth can show the kind of love God does, it's a little, 2.2-pound ball of fluff who is right now chewing on his bully stick at my feet. He's happy to be with me, happy to be doing what he loves, and confident in my love for him. 

What a lesson. What a beautiful, soft, gentle, fun-loving, joy-bringing lesson to my heart. Live in the moment, love with all your heart, and keep doing that. What a gift! I am so very blessed.



 

The Long Dark

Ever since I was a child, I have been afraid of the dark. It held unknown things, monsters, the bogey-man, and shapes that in the daylight would never have bothered me. In the dark, though, those familiar shapes transmuted into my deepest fears: being eaten, being buried, being hurt or killed. My dreams haunted me, and when I awoke there was nothing in the dark but those fears. My heart thumped in my chest like a caged animal trying to get out. 

The band-aid solution when I was a child was to leave one of the lights on outside my room (usually the bathroom light), with the door ajar to let everyone else sleep. Yet the fear of the dark followed me into adulthood. 

As I have been "growing up on the inside" the last year or so, one of the things that has been coming to the fore is this fear. I'm finding that somehow, unbidden, it is less than it was. I awaken in the middle of the night and listen - not for monsters anymore, but for the gentle sound of people sleeping, for the furnace coming on to warm up the water in the pipes, and other 'normal' noises in the house. 

Free Image "Northern Lights Aurora"
by Hans Braxmeier at Pixabay

Plus, I am beginning to notice the things that can only be seen in the dark. The stars, the moon, the Northern Lights, these are all invisible at noon in full sun. Slowly I am arriving - I know not how - at the notion that instead of running from or railing at the darkness, I can appreciate the gifts that are available to me at night: the heavenly lights, the odd meteor shower, even the space station if it is overhead. 

I can remind myself that the morning comes. It always comes - whether gray and misty or bright and sunny - the day follows the night.  Being in an atmosphere of acceptance and love, as I have been lately, has a way of bringing with it clarity, purpose, and confidence. And the dark ... doesn't seem so bad now, even if (in the winter) it lasts longer than I would like. I just settle myself down and focus on some small thing - the ticking of the clock, the sound of my husband's breathing as he sleeps, or even my own breath - and before I know it, I'm waking up again, morning has come and the sun is not far from rising. 

Such an attitude helps me when I am waiting for some much-anticipated thing, or when I am undergoing some difficult experience, or when I am sick or lonely. The morning always comes. There is hope. There is something positive even IN the experience, even if I don't know what that is at the time. And I focus on my breath, and I am grateful for the things and the people that are in my life, and the darkness passes. It just does. 

Funny how that happens.

T.L.C.

The night before last, there was a "cat explosion" in our house.

They happen frequently. The three cats are sitting within sight of one another, and nobody knows who starts it, but it seems that all three of them jump as if zapped by electricity and they all race off in different directions. It's comical to watch! 

But this last time, someone zigged when they should have zagged. And one of the cats got hurt.  Of course, cats are not all that good at showing that they are in pain, but the kitty in question did have her hair all poofed out longer than usual for this type of event. Later, we saw her limping - and we thought she'd hurt a joint in her ankle in the back. We helped her, made a little bed for her in a large dog-crate with some litter in there and a couple of food dishes, so that she wouldn't be tempted to try to jump up on things or do too much, and today, she went to see the vet to get checked over. 

It turns out that it was a hip problem - a stretched ligament or tendon most likely - and the vet gave her an anti-inflammatory shot and gave us some medication to give in her food. 

This is our little Eris - named after the
goddess of Chaos in Greek mythology.
The photo was taken in April 2016.

We were concerned that her "brothers" - who are both bigger than she is - would take advantage of her weakness and try to bully her.

Quite the opposite. There has been quizzical trilling, sniffing, and reaching out paws to her, and one or the other of them is not far from her crate, keeping her company whenever they can. The oldest perched on her crate this morning, and was there most of the day (except for when she was at the vet's) guarding her and letting her know he was there by occasionally hanging his paws in front of the door, letting her sniff them. 

Both of the boys have been very gentle with her, and have not tried to engage her in playing (which to them means roughhousing!) They have stayed close, and have changed their favourite perches so they can see what she is doing in the crate.  What a tremendous model of tender loving care! The whole family has been so concerned for her, looking after her, making sure she is fed, comfortable, and settled down. The vet says that she will need to take it easy like this for another week and a half, and wants to check her over again on Monday just to see if there has been any improvement. 

Such care and love expressed toward a little seven and a half pound ball of cuteness... who has melted our hearts over and over again... and seeing her brothers take such good care of her is so heartening. It's so not what we expected, such a surprising display of concern and caring, that we are in awe.

It's so encouraging. I'm so grateful to have them all in my life. :-D



 

Quiet

It's quiet. But this time, the silence feels different than at other times.

I remember other times, other moments, even other places. For example, a week ago, as I was sitting in my dormitory room in Calgary, Alberta, with my roommates gone for the day and me finishing up breakfast, the quiet was deafening. I felt isolated, alone, trapped. I was thousands of miles from everyone I held dear, eating breakfast alone without their company, without their laughter and conversation, making do with my keyboard tray and my laptop as a makeshift table, and feeling incredibly homesick. Tears began to sting my eyes as they rose to the surface. 

Of course, it wasn't as bad as one time (one very LONG time) when I felt so very alone. My youngest child had died and the funeral was over, and the sympathies from well-wishers had tapered off, and I was (yes) surrounded by my closest family and closest friends ... but knowing that the tick, tick, tick of the clock would never again be interrupted by her raucous laughter or her crazy antics ... made the quiet an open sore.  I wanted to play the last video she sent to me just to hear her voice again, but it made my family sad, so I sat in the quiet - the cruel, taunting quiet - and suffered loss that no parent should suffer. 

A few days previous to the breakfast incident in Calgary, a classmate took me to "see the Rockies" - we drove up to Canmore, Alberta, (see my previous post) and I was increasingly in awe of the indescribable vastness of these wondrous creations, the closer we got to "The Three Sisters" peaks. Even though most of the time my classmate chattered away, in the core of me there settled a blissful quiet, where I was able to commune with my baby girl because she had seen the Rockies this close too, about a month before she died. It was somehow a shared experience, and in the inner quiet ... I felt close to her in a way I had not felt for a long time. And I knew she knew it, and that she was deliriously blissful and at Home, more than she ever could have felt here. I knew that she was okay, that her restless, anxious days were done. Happy tears slipped their way past my lower eyelids and slipped unhindered down my cheeks.  The quiet healed me, soothed me, comforted me. 

A black squirrel - July 19, 2017,
on the Mt. Royal U "Lincoln Park"
campus,Calgary, AB.
It nearly blended in
to the tree trunk...

A hare munching on fragrant white
clover, July 20, 2017

In Calgary this year, there were also times during the ordinary hustle and bustle of the day, when I sought out the quiet and made it part of my day; there, I could recharge my emotional batteries and gain strength to face whatever task was ahead. There was a lovely park on campus where I would linger either on my way to or from class, and sometimes both... being there seemed to restore my soul. Perhaps it was because it was so beautiful. I watched the water from the man-made waterfall tumble over the rocks and land in a little pool, close to an arbour with a little park bench inside; I smelled the roses and drank in their striking fuchsia, bold musical tones that sang to my eyes and caressed my nostrils in the breeze.

I was particularly drawn to the wildlife in Alberta. I got to see some amazing creatures there; to the locals they were a dime a dozen, but to me, they were remarkable: magpies, gophers, and hares abounded. Even the squirrels were different than at home: larger, and black instead of reddish-brown. They were fast too, so I was pleased to get a photo of one (see above, left). The quiet they produced in me was tender, almost a communal feeling. I felt somehow at one with my surroundings. It made being far away from home not quite so lonely. 

But the quiet today is different still.  It is a calmness, an assurance that all is right, that I am where I am supposed to be, that my family is not far away, and that I can rest and relax without worrying. I can close my eyes and know that when I open them, I will see the familiar - the jumble of cat toys and pillows, my books and papers, and the occasional cat walking across the floor or playing in an empty cardboard box. 

I like this quiet best of all.

Good fences make good neighbours

Over the last couple of months, ever since someone tromped all over one of my personal boundaries, I've been doing a lot of thinking about boundaries or personal limits, what they are, why they're important, how to recognize them if and when they exist, and how to respect them. I've even thought a little about when it is okay to cross those boundaries, and when it is NEVER okay to do so. 

Until I was in my forties, I didn't even know that personal boundaries existed, because when I was growing up, they didn't. When I started realizing that I had a right to take up space, that others had boundaries that I was not allowed to cross and that the same applied to me, I started realizing how many times throughout my life that people had barged onto my private property, even in the name of "caring," and proceeded to wrestle my rights to the ground. 

For example, I kept a diary when I was a teen. In it, I poured out my hopes, wishes and dreams, ideas I had, no matter how outlandish. I explored the depth of the feelings I was feeling, confided my deepest thoughts, and I found that in doing so, there was an outlet, a way for me to work through a very confusing and intense period in my life. 

One day, my mother found it. 
She read it.
She was horrified by the subject matter and the intensity.

She made me burn it. Not just it, but all of them that had gone before.

I sat in front of the furnace and wept in grief and intense anger and hatred as I burned - page after page - was forced to destroy what to me represented my soul: literally months and years of a journey I could have looked back on in my twenties and thirties ... and laughed about. 

That was a boundary that should never have been crossed. 
My mom thought she was being a good mom, protecting me, raising me "right." But she violated my privacy, judged me, and her punishment was way over the top.

It took me decades to forgive her. And yes, that was something that needed to be forgiven because IT WAS WRONG, and it hurt me terribly, even though she never apologized. 

Photo "White Fence" courtesy of scottchan at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

When I had children of my own, I made mistakes with them too. I remember freaking out when I saw some things that one or the other of the kids was doing ... and then I remembered my old diary. And it made me stop and rethink. And yes, when I'd jumped over a fence onto their territory, I apologized ... eventually.

I remember that while they were still small and there were going to be people coming over to the house for a visit, people with children their age or thereabouts ... I would tell them to go through their things in advance and set aside those "special" toys that they didn't want to share, and we'd put them in a separate room that was off-limits until the guests went home. That way, they didn't have to feel forced to share ALL of their toys. It modeled for them that there are boundaries, that boundaries are a good thing to have, and that they had a right to their own privacy. That was HUGE. 

And it was one thing (among many) which helped me to build their trust over the years so that later, when I discovered something that I thought was horrible, I was able to listen and find out the "why" instead of freaking out and shutting forever conduits of communication that I wanted to stay open. I don't need to share exactly what those things were, because that's their stuff, not mine. But that communication stayed open, and at the end of the day, I'd rather that than secrets and lies.

So here's what I've learned about fences and about being a good neighbour.

• People have the right to have their own opinions. It is not my job to put them down for their beliefs and lifestyles.
• "Talking down" to someone is never okay. That includes both tone and body position. If someone is seated, sit. If they are shorter than you are, position yourself to be on the same level as they are, at the same eye level. 
• Nobody is any better than anyone else, regardless of age, gender, economical status, social standing, race, or belief. We are all in this together.
• Nobody has the right to tell anyone else what to do. Not even if asked. Giving advice is never a good idea. And downright giving orders (for whatever reason, even "caring,") makes people want to do the exact opposite of what you tell them. And they will never trust anyone who manipulates and controls them.
• People have the right to feel what they feel. Feelings are not wrong and need never be treated as such, regardless of age or gender. Babies to seniors, male to female and everything in between, feelings are feelings and they are valid and real to whoever feels them. 
• Kindness and acceptance go a lot further than condemnation and self-righteousness.

Good boundaries really do make good neighbours, good parents, good friends, and good spouses. The virtue of respect is one that - if cultivated in one's own heart and mind - can make this world a much better place. And, like all virtues, it is developed and nourished from the inside out.

Empathic Listening

It was over 25 years ago and I was a new mother. I'd been given all kinds of misinformation about nursing my baby - from all kinds of sources - and I was really, really sore as a result. At my husband's suggestion, I called a local La Leche League Canada leader. The lady on the other end of the phone listened to my predicament for a good five minutes without saying a word. And I'll never forget what the first word out of her mouth was (said with the kind of feeling that said "I've experienced this and I KNOW it's not fun in the least..."). The word was, "OUCH!"

The empathy in the tone of that one word was exactly what I needed. She went on to give me basic information that fixed the problem in minutes and allowed me to heal within a week.

What I liked most about our conversation was that she didn't come off all superior, she didn't preach at me, she didn't overreact, she didn't jump down my throat, and she didn't try to "convert" me. She just listened and she knew how to show that she was there to help - without making me feel like I was beholden to her. And oh yes, she left the choice up to me without insisting or belittling me, or saying that she was going to check up on me later.

All of those things that she didn't do? I've had them done to me.

Yeah, and by people who should probably know better. Or who have forgotten that people are people, not numbers or statistics.

Photo "Psychiatrist Examining A Male
Patient" by Ambro at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Empathy, as described by Carl Rogers (the father of modern psychotherapy), looks more like a quest to understand what it is like to BE the other person rather than an effort to appear knowledgeable about the problem. In this quest, (these are his own words, below):

... the therapist senses accurately the feelings and personal meanings that the client is experiencing and communicates this understanding to the client. When functioning best, the therapist is so much inside the private world of the other that he or she can clarify not only the meanings of which the client is aware but even those just below the level of awareness. This kind of sensitive, active listening is exceedingly rare in our lives. We think we listen, but very rarely do we listen with real understanding, true empathy. Yet listening, of this very special kind, is one of the most potent forces for change that I know. 

I feel blessed to have had the privilege of seeing a therapist who actually could sense what it was like to be me, to feel my feelings as if they were his own. It was a remarkably freeing experience, one I've never forgotten, and one I want to emulate if I ever get to be a counselor. There was no judgment, no "you should...." (which usually means "You should be more like me...") ... and I must say that being listened to for what felt like the first time in my life was a remarkable step toward wholeness. It gave me permission to find out who I really was, to get to know me, and to learn to like me.

That was huge. And I really hope that someday I can provide that atmosphere of trust for someone else who needs to follow that same path to self-discovery.

A Rainbow Day

I forget who said it, but I've heard that whenever there's a day with a bunch of sad stuff mixed in with a bunch of happy stuff, you're having a "rainbow day." Like when it's been raining really hard and it lets up a bit and the sun peeks out from behind a storm cloud ... and it makes a rainbow. 

Today is like that. 

Yesterday I had to make arrangements to help a dear friend of mine say goodbye to her beloved cat. It's a wrenching time, losing a family member you've loved for years, but we all knew it was time. And this morning I awoke and the first thought in my mind was that today was the day ... and I was sad. Sad for the kitty and also very sad for my friend. I know the pain of that kind of loss - it tears at you. 

I checked my phone to see how low the battery was - and found that there was a message waiting on my voice mail. And it was from my youngest daughter's insurance company - a call for which I'd been waiting ever since she passed away in a car crash in October 2013. The only thing remaining on the insurance that hadn't been paid was the car itself - the medical bills and so forth had to be taken care of, and they had to be satisfied that our baby wasn't under the influence of alcohol.... or they wouldn't pay. So I have been paying on the car loan and wondering when they'd make their decision.

The message was that they needed forms filled out so that they could cut a check for the car. 

So many feelings! Relief ... vindication ... even grief as that loan was the last earthly vestige of her presence here. 

But the sun started to peek through the clouds. 

Photo "Double Rainbow" courtesy of
Evgeni Dinev at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

We picked up our friend and her cat, and took them to the clinic ... it was hard, obviously, but the vet made it easier with her gentleness and compassion. My friend and I  decided to wait in the vehicle while hubby stayed with kitty during her final moments - and right around the time that the deed was being done, my friend saw it: a robin. Hopping along the grass by the driveway to the vet clinic, a brilliantly red-breasted robin was stopping every so often and listening for his breakfast. It was a symbol of new life, and (as some of the First Nations believe) of letting go of what isn't working. So apropos.

Another rainbow; another ray of hope. Soon we were back home and getting a bite to eat.

Then - at our friend's request - we paid a visit to the Humane Society shelter. There, a young little momma cat who'd just recently had her kittens taken from her was in one of the cages, up on a perch and looking out at the world - and the moment their eyes locked, there was an instant connection... Twenty minutes later there was an adoption form filled out and instructions to wait until she was able to be neutered before bringing her home.... probably in about a week. 

Rainbows, multicolored and fresh, strewed in our pathway today. Such a gift in the midst of all the sadness.

Goodbyes, hellos, doors closing, others opening. Death, life, sadness and joy all mixed in together. 

Yep. It's a rainbow day.

Careful

When I was much, much younger, the older generation was constantly looking out for the younger one and if they felt the youngsters were being too reckless, the first word out of their mouths would be, "Careful!" 

I think it conveyed a notion of loving concern for most people. However, for some, "Careful!" meant that the person saying it didn't trust the other person's judgment. We were also taught - though not outwardly expressed - that while it was okay to look out for someone else, looking out for ourselves was suspect, if not downright selfish. 

Putting someone else first is wonderful if it comes from love and a genuine desire to see that person happy. But if it comes at the expense of our own health or happiness, or if it comes out of a sense of duty or obligation, is it really all that healthy? I leave that part of the discussion for another time. 

When I first started on this lifestyle of getting unwrapped, nearly 6 years ago, one of the first things that my therapist asked me about was how I spent my time. When I listed what I did in a day, he asked me how much time I spent on myself ... because that had been missing in my list. I had to admit that not only did I NOT spend time on myself, but that on the rare occasion that I did, I always felt guilty for doing so, because of that same implicit message I'd gotten when I was a child. 

Photo "Washing Hands With Soap" by
jackthumm at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

This extended, over the course of many years of course, to the most basic routines of self-care. To my surprise, I discovered that I'd given up (unless I felt really gross) washing my face every day, brushing my teeth every day, etc. I'd just gotten out of the habit (so busy looking after everyone else that at the end of the day I was too tired to do much else except fall into bed). 

That's when I decided to start with something small, something that wouldn't take a lot of time. I started to brush my teeth every day. It took time to incorporate this into my daily routine, but I persevered. 

Doing that one small thing for me ... sent my inner self a message: I'm important enough to spend time with, to spend time doing things for. 

Sounds kind of basic doesn't it? Yet I needed to tell myself just that. It gave me the courage to continue to work on the things in my life that I'd let slide because they were unseen. Except that I became more aware that they were there, because I was cluing in more. These were things I had allowed to choke out the Life that was in me, to squeeze out the me that I could have become, to the point where I didn't even know who that person was.

Now, six years later, my self-care routine includes washing my face AND brushing my teeth. Sometimes (though not as often as I would like) it even includes flossing! 

And that's not all. The routines are just externals. I'm more comfortable inside my own skin - and I know who I am now - so that I have resources to give to others out of a sense of wanting to do it rather than feeling pressured or manipulated into it. In fact, I can even tell when people are doing that to me, and I can give myself the permission to say no. My emotional tank can't be running on empty when I agree to do something, or it won't get done.

Being careful for me now means being full of care. I look after myself as much as possible. Care for myself spills over into caring for others. 

That works for me.   :D

Drowning

As most of my friends know by now (I am quite vocal on Facebook and of course my co-workers hear me probably from the next room!) I've been fighting a nasty cold for the last week.

It's a rather unsettling feeling to wake up feeling like you're drowning. Panic instantly sets in and you struggle to breathe, coughing and gagging until the airways allow you to function. Then the coughing reflex is so strong and the adrenaline so high that you can't get back to sleep. As I type, it's 5:30 a.m. and I have been awake for an hour and a half. 

Oh well. At least I can blog. (LOL).

Being sick has left me more vulnerable to emotional outbursts; my immune system is in high gear and I am weaker physically (the least effort exhausts me) so emotionally it's been a challenge. It's a challenge especially since I turned the page on the calendar yesterday morning to the month of October and saw that the 22nd had a sunset drawn (by my own hand) on it, signifying the death of our daughter on that date last year. (To understand a bit more about that, you can read the post I wrote on it shortly after we got the news.) 

Photo "Sinking In To Water" courtesy
of koratmember at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

And "losing it" emotionally is like drowning as well. Oh to be sure, I will advocate for rigorous honesty in admitting to and experiencing whatever emotion is there, because emotions signal that something needs attention. 

I'm not changing that stance. However, I guess what I'm saying is that it isn't easy; and, it wasn't intended to be. Sometimes I need to "get it out" just like I need to (pardon the graphic example but it's what I'm living just now) get the phlegm out. And take vitamins. And try to eat nutritious food. All so I can breathe again ... even if it means that the symptoms get a bit worse temporarily from something I eat that I know is good for me.

Chicken noodle soup has become a current favorite, by the way. 

(But you wouldn't want to see me eat it at the moment.)☺

Yes, I'm sad more these days. That's normal. Grief is normal. So ... I cry. And I feed my soul with inspiring words and music. And I am honest about how I feel ... honest with myself primarily, because when that happens, it's more okay to be honest with those who I know care about me. It's all part of self-care, of being okay with what is and not denying it, and doing what I need to do to look after myself. When I do that, I find that I have more spiritual resources on tap to share with those who might need a listening ear. 

Allowing myself to BE sad, or angry, or hurt - and practicing self-care while I'm doing that (even if it feels like I'm at the mercy of the "waves") - frees my inner self to experience happiness, and excitement, and forgiveness, and peace, and joy, ... and love. If I shut off one kind of emotion, my brain shuts off the rest of them; I don't want to run the risk of turning that part of myself off! So - as inconvenient as it is at times - I try to accept the bad when it happens, and accepting it makes me able to appreciate the good even more when THAT happens. 

And - even when I feel that I'm drowning in the sadness - it DOES happen. 

The last year has been living proof of that. I've been rescued from drowning ... by so many people and in so many situations that I've lost count. And by my faith which, in spite of the heartache (or maybe because of it!) has grown. And because of the help I've received, I've been able to help others who feel the waves of circumstance billowing over them: people I never would have been able to understand - much less help - before.

To those who have reached out a hand and let me be me (whoever that "me" is at the time) ... and to those to whom I have reached out (and been strengthened in the process!) ... I can only say one thing. And it seems so trite, so lame. Yet ... it's all I have.

THANK YOU.

A Goodness Allergy

I have a real treat for my readers today. A guest contributor has graciously offered to allow me to use something he shared with me earlier today.

Before I hit "Copy - Paste" I should let you know a few background things that will make it easier to understand some of the things to which he refers. He is in a Twelve-Step program so he believes strongly in those Twelve Steps (as do I!) 

Since he refers to them frequently, I'm including a link to the 12 steps here. He also refers to the 3rd Step Prayer and the 7th Step Prayer, which can be found at this link to the AA prayers.

If his story touches you, please consider commenting on his submission below in the comment box provided. I believe that it's in telling our truth that we can be free ... and help to free others in the process. However, if we tell our story and nobody says, "Yeah, I can really relate," or "I really needed to hear that today," or whatever, then the good that telling our story does is swallowed up like a cup of water in the desert sand.

So, without further ado, here is his submission - or his admission, if you like. I will only preface it by saying that it is so honest and raw that it is sometimes uncomfortable for me to read, but in a way that challenges and inspires me to shed the facades and live a life of rigorous honesty - with myself, with God, and with others. 

quote


I learned a valuable lesson today:   I have a virulent “goodness” allergy:  any time anything good happens in my life,   my body, and mind and spirit will immediately try to reject it and belittle it.    There appears to be no medication for it; it must just be recognized, partially treated on the spot and ... suffered through.
 
It can be easily seen if you examine a day’s events with an analytical eye.  Yesterday, I had what I called a “bad” day. Things did not work out in the manner and degree that I was expecting, some things happened over which I had no control and felt “put upon” as a result, leading to a pity party. And my youngest daughter and I had it out over numerous perceived problems at home leading to tears, angry words and confrontation…all of which I hate. 

A few good things happened as well.  My recent cold actually improved somewhat, no new bills came into the house, nothing broke down in or outside of the house, etc.
 
But in my reaction to those things, I learned a few key things…I can’t enjoy the good things that happen because my allergy flares up and won’t allow me to enjoy them. 
 
When my allergy kicks in, I find that I can`t focus on the good that is happening but will instead key in on all the bad things that happened in the midst of the good. By the time that I've berated others about the perceived bad and cursed God for allowing all this crud in my life, the good that was there is all shriveled up and just a fraction of the size that it was. And it is so surrounded and buried by the bad that I've heaped all over it, that it looks and tastes almost as the terrible as the bad that it is inside.  It is badly tainted.
 
My allergy is backwards looking as well. Even if there is no bad in the day that I'm living, if there was any bad in the previous day or week, my allergy will smear that all over the small bit of good to make it unpalatable as well.
 
My allergy stems from a small number of factors.
 
The most important one is that I consider myself to be bad and totally undeserving of any type of good in my life.  All my life, I've been taught that I'm awful, that I can't do anything right, that I'm a total failure and that no good thing can come from scum like me. So when something good does happen, I feel that it must be a mistake, that this happened not for me or because of me, but instead because of the others that I surround myself with or the place that I just happen, by chance, to be in. That if they were gone, the good would be as well, and this generally makes me angry. This is because I know that the only reason anyone, including God, could be doing good things for me is because they wish to earn brownie points for themselves or because some of the good that falls on me will spill over to the others, for whom this good is being done for in the first place.  And that makes me feel neglected and used.
 
Second is what I call the fear factor.  I am terrified that if I make a big thing and focus too much on the good that I`m having today, that it will be removed either by a God who loves to tease and annoy me, or by someone that gave it to me in the first place that I consider a friend who will snatch it away, out of spite, anger or pettiness.  I'm terrified that if someone finds out who the real me is, not the one that I`m allowing others to see, but the real inside me, that any good that I receive will dry up and never be allowed to come back. So if I don't make a big deal out of it at first, then I won`t be as disappointed when it goes away
 
And the third is the hatred factor. I hate myself at the primal level, at a point that I'm scared that God can`t or won`t reach, at a point that I rarely tap into because it hurts so much. Almost four years into recovery, and I still cannot look at myself in the mirror to shave my ugly face in the morning. I hate how I act, my personality, my looks, my memory, my "talents", etc. And when the me that I feel is there so prevalent on the inside acts up and takes control, then any good that comes my way is lost in the terrible disgust I feel for me.
 
I feel there are steps that I can take to help this.
 

1. I must redo my Step 4. At the time that I did this step, I found that the negative feelings and mistakes and bad character traits that are so rampant in me were easy to list. But I forgot that the step also calls on me to list my good moral traits as well. I did not do this and must redo. 
2. I have to make the Seventh Step prayer a real part of my life. It tells me to turn all of me, my bad side AND my good side over to God to let Him deal with things. Again, I found it so easy to dump my "lousy me" on God but never gave Him my "good me". I guess I'll have to find it first....
3. I'll have to learn to trust God. I know in my head that God doesn't make junk, that He loves me, that He has a plan for my life in which I can help others through the thoughts in the Third Step prayer. But after four years. I still really do not believe this at the heart and feelings level. I must cry out to him to allow me to trust, to manipulate my life in the way and timing of his choosing to make the changes necessary in me to allow me to be  "shalom" - which means nothing broken; nothing lacking.
4. And finally, and for me the most fundamental, I have to somehow not try to see myself as a bad person trying to learn how to be good……but instead, because of the imputed righteousness of God, as a good person, who is just sick, trying by doing all the right things that he can and knows how to do, to get well.

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What more can I add except to say that this touched me deeply.  I hope it touched you, too.

The Next Right Thing

"What went wrong?" she asked me.

I paused. "I guess the main reason it failed was that everyone who heard about this initiative felt it was a great idea, agreed that it was needed, even thought about participating, but when they realized how much work it would take to get better, and how long it would take, they just ... lost interest." 

The conversation had begun when I dropped by the community centre where for a year and a half, Codependents Anonymous had been meeting twice a month, and where, after much soul-searching and lack of attendance, we had decided to disband. I was returning the key the administrator had given me.

Our talk then ranged into a wide range of topics, sharing experiences in recovering from codependency, thought patterns we each battled in isolation, and we agreed that perhaps in a larger population base, we might find enough people who would be interested in doing whatever it took to be free from old, destructive patterns of thinking. 

Perhaps. 

How to build a ramp (or make a major lifestyle change):
Start where you are, do what you can TODAY, and
carry on from where you left off, tomorrow.

I got to thinking - after we had talked and parted company - about the tendency there is in human nature to quail when faced with a daunting task. One looks at the enormity of it all, and it's easy to get discouraged. That's part and parcel of the very kind of thinking that keeps people (like me) in dysfunction; it took a great deal of desperation for me to bite that bullet and start challenging my long-held beliefs about relationships, people, myself, God, and what I had considered important.

What I discovered after I started the process was that even though it was going to take a while, I'd start where I was: no apologies and no excuses, and then do what I could TODAY. I forced myself to NOT think about how far there was yet to go, how much there was yet to do - which was a big deal for me. Over and over I reminded myself that I was only responsible for doing the "next right thing." Of course, my definition (once I got into the process) of what was "right" started to undergo a transformation. 

I was surprised to discover that "doing the next right thing" and "being right about things" are mutually exclusive. The former is about humility and honesty; the latter is about self-aggrandizement and control. 

I learned - by making a lot of mistakes - to be kind to myself when I made mistakes or slipped back in my recovery; often I felt like I was making a step forward only to feel as though I was taking three steps backward. What was really happening was that I was blazing a new trail and making sure I knew where the path was by tamping it down, over and over again. I was practicing. I remember stopping myself when I started doing things the "old way" - even in mid-sentence - and forcing myself to do things the "new way." It felt uncomfortable at first because it was so new. I was terrified of where it might take me. I was afraid of the unknown, nervous that I wouldn't like the finished product, that I would lose more than I would gain.

Yet ... the results spoke for themselves, little by little, one day at a time. It wasn't long before my kids actually wanted to talk to me again. They weren't afraid of my reactions (or should I say, my OVER-reactions). My husband was visibly more relaxed around me. And ... I was happier. Freer. More peaceful. Even though I was still doing (with a great deal of help from above) what amounted to a total reconstruction of my attitudes and my beliefs about myself and my relationships, it wasn't like I was working in a vacuum with no hope of results until I was done. That was the beauty of it. The changes were small, sometimes frustratingly so, but they happened, and they kept happening. 

They keep happening even now. New doors, new challenges open up to me and all the while, I am learning more and more about boundaries, about self-care, about acceptance, about courage, and about really living life instead of just surviving it - even giving back once in a while. 

Dr. Bill Cosby (yes, he earned a Ph.D in Urban Education in 1977!) once said, "Decide that you want it more than you are afraid of it." 

For me, that decision was key. And ... it still is.

Silent Vigil

She has seen every Christmas morning in our house since the children were bouncing squiggles of excitement. 

She's watched our family and listened as we have lived our lives up to and following the Big Day - seen how we struggle to keep peace between ourselves, seen how we cope with upsets and setbacks, and endured our choice of TV programming. (After all, how many times can one watch "The Grinch that Stole Christmas"?)

Christmas 2012 treetopper - taken today

She is our Christmas angel tree-topper. Year after year she has presided over the good and the not-so-good. Constant and true, she has held her two lights up high for all who would look. Regardless of the quality of our decorating, she has provided the graceful piece de resistance, covering a multitude of patently untalented decorators' sins. 

Robed in colors of gold and crimson and white, she is a continual reminder of the original Reason for the Season... an object lesson of the constancy and the ever-watchful, ever-loving eye of the One whose birth we choose to celebrate at this time of year. Even when circumstances don't seem particularly joyful. Or joyful at all.

She was there the day that - because of a poorly balanced tree - our eldest bore the brunt of the imbalance and the tree fell on top of her. We were grateful our little girl was not hurt! Ever afterward, we took special care to completely balance the tree so that it was perfectly upright. 

She was there, keeping silent vigil, as our feeble gifts to one another ... in rich times and in poor ... reminded us that we were loved much, that there were people in this world who believed in us, who supported us and our dreams, who suffered with us as we grieved the physical absence of those greatly loved ones no longer among us. 

She listened every Christmas morning to each of us as we took a turn reading the Christmas story, transported back to the hills and caves around Bethlehem right along with us, and she heard us sing Happy Birthday Jesus as a family (a song that still brings tears to my eyes and a catch in my voice) ... right before opening our gifts. She has been witness to the oohs and ahs of surprise and wonder - and to our frantic scramble to dispose of the wrappings after all was said and done, the smells of cooking turkey, and the laughter and "happy tears" of friends and family as we shared each other's company. 

Tragedies and triumphs, joys and regrets, love expressed, memories made. She's seen it all for the last twenty-odd years. 

If she could talk... I wonder what she'd say.

Close to home

I was doing what I normally do late in the evening: watching TV, keeping an eye on facebook, and chatting back and forth with my husband from time to time, when I heard her voice from the corner of the room.  Oh, she's home early from her night out with friends, I thought.  Slowly, I turned my attention away from my TV program to what she was saying, because her tone of voice sounded ... I dunno ... "off." 

My instincts were correct.  She was crying softly.  Her boyfriend was wiping her tears from her face.  His arm was around her.

I caught something she said about an accident with a car as she talked to her sister.  At first, I thought that she was the one who'd been in an accident. (Instant adrenaline.  Whoa Nellie, she's standing right there; she's fine.)  Then I heard her refer to "him" and "his family" - and understood that it was one of her friends who'd been in the accident.  She and her boyfriend had come upon the accident while they were out - stopped because they recognized the vehicle - and saw their injured friend, and spoke with the paramedics as they worked.  Or with the patient - I wasn't clear on that part. My daughter was understandably shaken; they both were as they stood there explaining the scene to us.

The young man wasn't killed, but could very well have been, given the circumstances of the accident: the lady driving the car and turning left didn't see him on his motorbike even though he was right in front of her and HE had the right of way because he was going straight ahead. Her car struck him on his left side and sent him flying - the impact dislocated his left hip (OUCH), gashed his left thigh deeply, missing his femoral artery by a few inches, and (at this point) the doctors are even thinking he might have gotten whiplash to his neck when he landed on the pavement. The bike was totaled, of course. They resolved the hip dislocation last evening (ouch AGAIN), and then took him to surgery to repair the damage to his thigh muscle.  He's still in hospital, and called them this morning when he awoke. And I'm sure that in another hour, his friends (including my daughter) will all be by his side during visiting hours until the hospital personnel say that visiting hours are over and it's time to go home. 

Got this photo HERE

After she and her boyfriend went to another part of the house last night to man the phones and arrange overnight visits and such, my thoughts dwelt on that young man and his family.  I couldn't stop myself from thinking about how I would feel if it was MY kid laying on a gurney, having to have his hip snapped back into its socket, and then lined up for surgery - and looking at months of physiotherapy to recover and regain range of motion again.  I began to pray for him and his family ... and to thank God intensely for the fact that it WASN'T my kid in the hospital.  

Sometimes all it takes is a tragedy (or a near-tragedy) not even happening to us, but happening that close to home, for us to realize just how much we take for granted on a daily basis.  

My husband and I were pretty somber when we went to bed last night.  And we talked about how we might complain about this behavior and that behavior, but when push comes to shove, we'd be right there beside our youngsters if either one of them needed us.  And we started counting our blessings - something we hadn't been doing for a while: long overdue, in fact. 

The experience being that "close to home" made us incredibly grateful, mostly that:
- the young man was NOT killed.
- it wasn't our kid(s) who got hurt.  (I know, selfish, but it is what it is...)
- our daughter cared that much about her friends that she was willing to drop everything she was planning to do, in order to be there for them.
- she trusted us enough to tell us what was happening and to be real in front of us without fear of being judged. 

If more people had friends like her, if more people WERE friends like her, perhaps the world wouldn't be in the mess it is in right now.  I'm so proud of the way she has handled this whole thing: feeling what she is feeling, showing her concern, and making herself available to meet whatever need existed.  And of how she is following up with her presence, to show her support and her love.

I'm so glad SHE's close to home, too.

Miracle Grow

Recently a friend paid me a compliment - that I'd been growing so fast lately that she wondered if I was using Miracle Grow.  

It made me laugh - and it made me think. 

The product Miracle-Gro® is plant food - pure and simple - and if you use it in the soil your plants grow in, it will make them grow faster and better than without plant food. It's remarkable the difference it makes.  

I remember a part of a conversation that I had with my counselor along about the end of the one-year process that changed my life so radically.  He also remarked about how much progress I'd made since I first sat in his office, a broken person whose life was falling down around her ears.  He rejoiced that it had taken as little time as it had.

I asked him why he thought that was, why it had taken such a short time according to him.

Found this picture at this site

His answer sort of surprised me - not because I didn't think it was true, but more because I didn't expect it to come from someone who made his living from working with people in crisis. I guess I had thought he might be jaded, I'm not sure.  

I can't remember his exact words, so I'll paraphrase:  "I've been doing this for a long time.  And I'll tell you that in the vast majority of cases, people who have God in their lives and form a real, daily relationship with Him, tend to heal more quickly because they realize that He's the one doing the healing, changing them as they get to know Him.  They just get to come along for the ride."  He went on to say that yes, it does take hard work, but the rate of change is so much faster in people who recognize and submit to the role that God plays in transforming them.  "Some of the most difficult cases I have, are people who refuse to allow God into the picture.  It's sad, really.  As hard as it is to go through this process even with God in one's life, it's many times harder without Him."

It's like a relationship with God that's daily, alive, and honest is the Miracle-Gro® of the soul.

And it IS a miracle.  Everything ABOUT it is miraculous.  Just the ability to smile when all I knew before were tears and frowns - that's simply amazing.  The reactions I have now that I never dreamed possible, reactions to things that would have driven me around the bend in my "before" life - are completely the opposite.  

Letting go when I once hung on for dear life shows that trust has replaced fear.  Huge.  

Speaking out and setting boundaries, when I once would clam up and shove things down inside of me - this is confidence replacing dread.  Wow.

Trying new things and admitting when I make mistakes (and I really DO!!) then moving on with lessons learned - instead of wilting into the background out of perfectionism and fear of failure - displays freedom rather than bondage. 

These Miraculous Transformations are sponsored by the all-powerful, all-knowing, ever-present One. And HE is my Miracle Grow.

Last of his kind

He considers himself the last of his line. His offspring includes only girls.  And he's grateful for that.  

He thinks that it's unfair to perpetuate the kind of heartache that has been so much a part of his family for generations, passed down from father to son.  

In his determination to do everything the opposite of the way things were done to him, he has instead become the first of his kind  -  the first to be kind, the first to actually leave a legacy worth remembering, fond memories to look back on.  He may feel unworthy ... but so often, great men do feel that way.  

He was the first in his bloodline of the last hundred years or so, who actually chose his children over his career.  He dropped things he wanted to do - things that would wait until he got to them - so that he could sit down on the floor and play games with them, listen to their concerns (no matter how small), care about them, or thank them for their help, no matter how great or small their contribution.  His subconscious motto was (and is) "People before things."  To this day, his children know they can go to him with their problems, trust him with their feelings, and he'll listen to them without judging.  He listens because he was never listened to by his own dad and he knows how important it is for kids to feel loved and accepted, to have a safe place to land.  

He personally considers Father's Day a useless holiday.  Yet if anyone deserves to be honoured on Father's Day and every other day of the year, he does.  He raised himself and his younger siblings.  He had no model to go by, nobody to look up to, but he's been a rock, even more so the last three years or so.  And his wife and children look up to him and would go to the mat for him... any day of the week.  He's a wonderful life partner ... and a fantastic dad.  

I just wanted him to know that.  Happy Father's Day, honey.

If it feels good

"If it feels good," goes the old saying from decades ago, "do it."

Hm.  I remember sermons about the evils of that saying, calling it hedonistic, condoning the love of pleasure rather than of God.  But I think it's all in how you take it.  

Perhaps it's better with a qualifier.  As long as it doesn't disrespect yourself, as long as it has a consequence that builds you up and doesn't eventually destroy you spiritually, physically, or emotionally, you might want to consider the idea that it's a good thing.  

I know people - and I am one of them a lot of times - who stay in unhealthy situations and/or relationships far too long and don't stand up for themselves or don't walk away out of fear of what the other person or people involved might think. Some of those same people are afraid to enter what could be healthy situations or relationships out of fear of being rejected, not fitting in, or just out of habit.  "It's always been this way."  

Sometimes we can get in a rut, you know?  Doing the same things, watching the same TV shows, hanging out with the same people, having the same arguments (er, um, intense discussions).  We spin our wheels and don't allow ourselves to do what feels good for us  -  some call this "novel" idea "self-care!" 

This cool photo was one I found at discoverfrance

Maybe we think that doing something for ourselves is a sign that we're selfish people (or not selfless people).  But it's been my experience that if I don't look after myself, I suffer in the long run.  I become depleted, I run on empty, I run out of emotional gas, I don't have anything left to give yet I insist on continuing to give because it's expected of me - and that's the place where resentment, bitterness, and depression breed.  I know. That's where I lived for decades.  

There's a word that's really popular in evangelical Christian circles - stewardship.  Most people think of that as taking care of the things and people with which or with whom God has entrusted you: family, friends, job, finances, time.  Interesting that "yourself" is not listed - not even thought of.  But God has also given us our selves - and not taking care of ourselves is just as irresponsible as not taking care of our loved ones.  It's like we're taking this huge untapped asset and burying it in the dirt because we're afraid of taking a risk on it.  We've undervalued it.  And someday we may be called to give an account of that.

We need to know in our innermost being that we have value.  Not to others, that's not what I mean.  So many people get their sense of worth from other people and wonder why relationships either are impossible to maintain or unattainable in the first place. It's because the focus is backward.  The primary relationship is with the self.  If we are not comfortable in our own skin, nobody else will enjoy being with us.  Enjoying our own company is the first step to healthy and fulfilling relationships with others.  We can't do that by forcing ourselves to take last place all the time and be miserable as a result.

Taking the time that it takes to nurture ourselves is going to pay off in so many other ways.  Taking risks, learning something new, growing in some way that enhances our selves, this is time well spent and will pay dividends we never imagined.  

What's stopping us from taking those risks?  Today is a great day to start.  If it feels good, if it will build us up and not hurt us in the long run, then let's do it!

Cornered

She knew she had only seconds to escape.

She'd seen that enraged look before.  She'd followed the quick glance that the woman, twice her height and over twice her weight, aimed toward the hook on the wall where they both knew there was a man's belt hanging for just such a time as this.  Her body suddenly felt flushed, tingling with inner electricity.  

She darted like a frightened deer through the opening between the woman's elbow and her waist.  She didn't think; she reacted.  She could hear heavy footsteps behind her, trying to keep up.  

She ran - no - clambered on all fours up the stairs like a spider monkey running from a jaguar, panic rising in her throat.  The steps followed. She dove into the nearest room - where to hide? - the deepest closet in the house!  She pushed her way past the dresses, trousers and coats inside, her breaths coming in small gasps, her pulse beating loudly in her own ears.  She didn't know it, but she was cornered. 

The footfalls stopped.  The woman's hand snaked inside, fished around relentlessly and grasped her by the arm, wrenching her from her safe refuge.  She could not stop herself from being surprised by the woman's face; it was at close range and contorted with rage, just like it was every time.  Yet she convinced herself she did not recognize it.  Her only recourse was to appease - in the split second before the first blow fell, she filled her lungs with air and screamed at the top of her lungs, "I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry...." over and over, even though she didn't know what she had done wrong to deserve this level of reaction. But she must have done something horrible.

Screams melded with sobbing as she, to no avail, continued to apologize.  Was it for existing? Was it for making the woman angry?  She didn't think of these things - she was only trying to get away - every twist of her body to escape the blows only opened a new angle of attack, fresh skin on which a welt would soon form. 

She didn't know how many times the arm raised and fell - how many stripes the cracked strip of leather would leave. It never crossed her mind to count them, to show them to someone.  She felt too guilty for the bruises the woman would show her on her own hand later - bruises left on the parent by gripping the belt to strike the child.  Eventually - seconds or minutes later - the hitting stopped. The strong hand released the girl's arm and the heavy footsteps receded, leaving the child to continue her sobbing in a heap on the floor, totally broken - irreparably damaged where no one could see: deep inside. Not by welts that would heal, but by the knowledge that she was of no worth.  

She was only eight years old - already a discarded old woman in her heart - her childhood, her personhood ripped from her again and again.

It is forty years later.  Now the woman, the former aggressor, seems so much smaller physically than her daughter - who herself has children of her own.  

Yet in the former daughter's soul, she is still very much afraid: afraid of being attacked, cornered like prey - and devoured.  The scars on her spirit have marked her throughout her life, left her perpetually sobbing inside, calling out soundlessly to everyone who will listen that she is sorry, she is responsible, it's her fault - whatever the problem is or who might be to blame. Her fear, her woundedness, her determination with never being out of control ever again, of controlling and manipulating those she loves in order to protect them, has driven her own husband and children away from being able to connect with her, and likewise alienated people who would have offered their friendship.  

She is unhappy and alone, even though on the outside, all seems to be perfectly fine.  Her external facade has held, perhaps with a few cracks.  But she bears within the burden of all the shame of all those terrible rages, the feeling of being cornered, of that all-too-common breathless, unspeakable terror.

She snaps out of her reverie, and catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror.  She looks into her own face in the glass, and sees the little girl's heart behind those eyes, the one who is hurting, who is abandoned, who is lonely. She takes a deep breath and lets it out, slowly. This is going to take some time. 

She glances down at the trembling page in her hands and reads the words on it, for the first time of many, many times, reads to the frightened little girl inside:

"What happened to you was not your fault.  It was wrong.  And it was her problem, it was never yours."  
"You ARE worth something; you are worth a great deal."  
"You can be yourself - you don't have to change into anyone or anything else." 
"You are precious, you are treasured, you are loved."  "
"Your opinion matters."  
"What you feel is normal for what you have been through."  
"People can like you exactly as you are."  
"You can feel what you feel.  It's okay.  You can cry, you can laugh."  
"You can like yourself.  You can love yourself."
"You CAN heal."