Being Colorblind

I used to say it. I used to think it. I never EVER ONCE, in all my growing-up years and even into adulthood, considered that I might be part of a mindset that unknowingly promotes racism. But I was. And I said it, and thought it.

What did I say? I said that I was colorblind. I said that I didn't see color.

But of course I did. I'd have to be blind not to see color. And what I thought and said about NOT seeing it only further alienated me from the very people I thought I was allying myself with. Because guess what... THEY see it. They see it when they get up in the morning and look at themselves in the mirror. They see it when they try to wait for a bus, reflected in the eyes of those who notice them standing there. They see it when they are outside taking a walk and decide to stand in a building's overhang and wait for a friend to come out.

And for me to say that I don't see color ... discounts and dismisses their experience of the world. It makes them invisible, and let's face it - everyone wants to be seen, to be acknowledged for their existence. The color of their skin is just as much a part of them as having fingers and toes. And their skin color dictates how the world treats them, what kinds of choices they make about everyday things, how they feel about their society, and how they interact with people who are outside of their circle. It is like an insult to them when I say I don't see color.

Photo courtesy of
Alec White at Pixabay

I have learned instead to say, "I see you." I have learned to say, "Teach me about your experience of your culture." I have learned to honestly ask people what it is like to BE them. I have learned to honor the existence and the history of those who are different from me, and to be curious about it, and to celebrate what is different and unique about each individual. I have learned not to assume that just because a person has a particular skin color, that all people who have that skin color feel this or that way, or think this or that way, or act this or that way. They don't. They don't in the same way that not all white people have similar beliefs or lifestyles or political leanings. It does a disservice to everyone to pigeon-hole people based on anything they might hold in common.

While it is true that we all bleed red, that we are all the same underneath, that every life matters, the reality of our society is that people of color are treated and viewed by so many in society as less-than. The reality is that racism is rampant and it runs amok in our world. The fact of the matter is that white people, like myself, have a societal privilege in our western culture that people of color do not. And it is for this reason that I join with thousands and millions of others in saying, "Black Lives Matter."  I don't say "All Lives Matter" because that silences those whose lives don't matter in today's society.

I saw an illustration of equality versus equity a few years ago that has stuck with me. It is a three-part cartoon depicting three people: a tall person, an average-sized person, and a little person, who are trying to watch a ball game from behind a five-foot wall. In the first illustration, the tall person can easily see over the wall. The average person can see but just barely. And the little person cannot see at all. Then there were two illustrations under that one. The one on the left put an equal-sized box under each person. In this illustration, the little person could just barely see over the fence, and the taller ones had an even better view from equally higher-up. This one was labelled "Equality." On the right, in the illustration labelled "Equity," the tall person who did not need a box, was not given one. The average-sized person was given a box tall enough so that he could reach the same height as the tall person, and the little person was also given an even taller box so he could enjoy the game from the same height of the tall person. In this way, each of them could enjoy the game to the same degree.

This is a wonderful illustration of why I believe that those in the dominant culture do not need to be stroked and given special consideration. They already have the privilege of seeing the world without assistance. Those who need help and recognition should get it to the degree that they have been disadvantaged. And the history of white culture has many, many examples of the oppression of other races, especially black people (and yes, this is documented!) throughout the history of our interactions with other people who don't look like us.

From the time I was a little girl of ten years old, when I met a black man for the first time, I have been intrigued by people of color. But what I didn't know then, and what I still didn't know even as recently as ten years ago, was how difficult it was (and is) for those who are not white. We don't even think about the same things as people of color when we think of everyday activities that most of us take for granted. Going for a walk in a quiet neighborhood after dark ... going into a store in broad daylight ... walking the dog ... driving a car with tinted windows ... paying for an item by check ... waiting in the park for a friend ... all of these things we take for granted and never once think that we might not make it home alive. But people of color, and especially black people, do. Every. Day.

If recent events have not highlighted these facts for you, then it might be time to honestly investigate how best to honor people who are targets of racism in your city, in your province or state, in your country. Look for stories told by the actual people themselves, and not by white people telling their story for them.

Listen. And say it with me. Black Lives Matter.

#BLM #ISeeYou

Part of your world

I've been taking some well-deserved time off from my studies to rest, reflect, and recharge. As I ponder the various facets of my life, I find myself thinking about the people in my life and what they mean to me. I try to put myself in their shoes to empathize better with them, and when I got to my mother, I found something quite distressful.

My mom's life sucks.

She has dementia. All of her life, she always looked at folks with dementia and told us, "If I ever get like that, take me out in the field and shoot me." And now she has dementia. And she is watched, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. And she is medicated if she gets unruly. And she feels like she is alone: even though people come to see her on a regular basis, she doesn't remember that. She only remembers the last fifteen seconds.

Image "Crying Old Lady" by
imagerymajestic at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

If ever anyone lived in the moment, it is a person with dementia. However, feelings - even if someone doesn't remember the reasons behind them - remain. The feelings affect mood, and can make a person with dementia profoundly depressed. Or anxious. Or angry.

And what makes the feelings? Thoughts lead to feelings, even though the thoughts are no longer remembered. And words - whether spoken by the person or by those around them - create the thoughts. Combined with core beliefs about oneself - things one tells the self through decades of habit - a person who has dementia cannot reason themselves out of those feelings. Reasoning is useless. For someone (like my mom) who has prefronto-temporal dementia, the ability to reason and to make decisions and carry them out is absolutely GONE.  All that is left is the lizard-brain ... the limbic system ... the one that lives totally in the present, that is influenced by words and thoughts but that doesn't remember them; it just feels what it feels. 

So for those who think that it doesn't matter what they say when they visit a dementia patient because "they won't remember what i say anyway", think again. Their MIND may not remember, but their FEELINGS remember. So trying to convince them of the rightness of something about which they have believed all their life is wrong will serve only to frustrate and upset them without knowing why. And after the visitor leaves, it is the staff who have to deal with the fallout: the patient becomes agitated, distressed, depressed, anxious, or whatever, and needs to be medicated more just to make them "manageable." 

So - dear readers - leave your arguments and your opinions home when you visit a person who has dementia. Learn to enter their world - the world of the continual present - and even when they bring up your pet topic, refrain from discussing it. Distract the person toward the positive (not YOUR idea of positive, but THEIRS). If that means lying to them and telling them that it won't be long before they will be going home, then do that rather than tell them that they're going to a nursing home.  To many, including my mom, a nursing home is a horrible, torturous place where people go to be forgotten and to die alone. You can't convince her otherwise; it's too deeply ingrained. Don't even try. 

Phone them. Talk to them, let THEM talk. If you can't physically be there, phone them, send them cards and letters (happy ones!) and little gifts.  Do it often. The hospital / nursing home can be a lonely place. Don't forget them.

If you can be there, then BE there for THEM.  Play cards or board games with them. Watch TV with them. Encourage them, compliment them in every way possible. They are no longer part of your world; accept that. Be part of their world. Enter THEIR reality, the reality of seconds. Not days, not hours, not even minutes, but seconds. Leave your preconceptions and your grief at what they have already lost, and what you have lost with it, at the door. You are there for that person, not for yourself. You are not there to talk anyone else down or to win any arguments.  You are there to brighten their outlook. You are there to make it easier for that person (and for the staff who look after that person) to live a little more pleasantly. 

That is the way you visit those who are infirm, who live inside the prison of their own mind. Don't judge them. Don't judge those they love. Talk only of pleasant things, things that are pleasant for THEM.

Just be there for them, whether in person or not. Just BE.

The importance of self-care

As busy as life is working full time and fitting in all the other important things into the day (add to that school for most of the year for me), it is easy for me to assume that retirement will give me more time to do those things that just got "fit in" before. However, watching my hubby the last 7 years has taught me that retirement doesn't do that at ALL!! In fact, retirees have LESS time to fit everything in because everyone thinks they have time on their hands to do extra things, and their days easily fill up with errands, projects, visits, and appointments. Self-care is just as important (perhaps even more so) for the retired person as for the career-minded person. 

For those people who are mentally and emotionally drained by spending time in social situations with others - even if enjoying that time (like me!) - sometimes that means letting opportunities pass by for activities that they might really enjoy but they have just no energy to spend on those things because they need to spend that energy on getting through the rest of the day. I find the explanation known as "spoon theory" quite fitting to describe this phenomenon.

Photo "Mix Spoon It Multicolored On White
Isolate Background" courtesy of jk1991
at www.freedigitalphotos.net

Spoon theory was invented by a lady who has lupus (Christine Miserandino) to describe to her best friend what it was like to live with a debilitating sickness.  It has since been used to describe what it is like to live with any chronic illness (including mental illness).  And, while I've never been officially diagnosed with a mental illness, I'm sure that I would be diagnosed with several if I were to seek a referral to a psychologist: the ones that come to mind are social anxiety disorder, complex post-traumatic stress disorder, agoraphobia, seasonal affective disorder, and maybe one or two others.  

Spoon theory says that every day, someone who has a chronic illness starts the day with a certain limited number of "spoons" - units of energy - that they get to spend on activities that require mental, emotional, and/or physical energy to do.  Getting out of bed isn't just getting out of bed, it's opening the eyes, screwing up the courage to roll over, to sit up, to put one's feet on the floor, to stand up.  Depending on the degree of effort, that might cost three spoons instead of just one. And so it goes.  Cooking breakfast costs a spoon.  Driving to work in tourist traffic at rush hour is at least one if not two spoons.  By the time one gets to work, half the spoons for the day are probably already gone.... and there's the rest of the day to re-plan.  If one runs out of spoons for the day, one can borrow from the next day's supply - but then that next day will be that much more difficult with fewer spoons to start with.  

Other people don't have to think about how many spoons they have. They just do things willy-nilly, and seem to get by with spoons to spare at the end of the day. Those with a chronic illness, though, have to plan every move, and often have to change plans ... sometimes without notice.  This can lead to them being judged by their non-sick friends, especially if the illness is "invisible." That is, the common perception is that if someone doesn't LOOK sick, they aren't. Whether these friends mean to do it or not, they can be quite judgmental, even if they try to be nice about it.  They spread shame and guilt as if running out of energy was a deliberate choice designed to make them feel bad.  "I'm so disappointed that you couldn't find the time to spend with me," I've heard people say.   

Wow.  Just ... wow.  

It is just as much self-care to refrain from spending spoons as it is to actively go about replenishing them - and there are things that replenish spoon supply - in whatever way works for the one who is running low.  For me, that looks like sunning myself (in the summer) with my music playing, or laying down in a quiet room with a white-noise machine going to drown out the constant ringing in my ear, or watching a feel-good movie, among other things.  But it also looks like staying away from outings that I know will drain me - anything with anyone outside immediate family: the more people, the more draining it will be - and from topics of conversation that require a confrontational stance: politics and religion come to mind.  (That one is HARD to manage because everyone seems to have a different opinion and I'm no exception! The last time it happened, though, it took me three days to recover to where I felt ready to face a full day again ...)  If someone is constantly bringing up topics that drain me, I am learning to stay away from that person.  The mere knowledge that I won't have to be exposed to those things tends to give me a bit more energy - strange, I know, but it is true - and at the end of the day, I might find a spoon in my pocket that I didn't know I had. That is a rare and special find - because while I can save a spoon or two for the next day, I can't save up a whole lot to use later.  I made the mistake of thinking that earlier this year ... and the results were disastrous.

The bottom line is that self-care is so very important, and at the same time, so very under-rated.  There are lessons I've learned about it that have been hard to learn; I am still learning others.  One of the most crucial lessons for me was that self-care, contrary to popular religious and cultural belief, is FAR from selfish.  It is often the kindest thing one can do for one's family and friends, because someone who doesn't practice self-care will NOT have any reserves left and could end up damaging people who are near and dear, sometimes irreparably.  And another learning is that it is okay to (1) say no, and (2) ask for help.  It doesn't mean that I'm less of a person; it means I am becoming aware of my limits and I am trying to stay within them. 

So if I use a spoon to spend time with you, know that (1) it is a good day for me and (2) if someday I can't, it's not your fault ... and it's not mine either.

Flowers and Hearts

We're coming up on one of the hardest times of year for me - Mothers Day. It's difficult to wade through the messages everywhere that all mothers are saintly. Some just ... aren't ... No matter what anyone else believes, nobody really knows what goes on behind closed doors ... except the ones behind those doors. Some kinds of memories can sour the pleasures of the present.

And of course, the annual event (and its hype) is also a reminder of one of my children who is not here anymore to wish me a happy Mothers Day. . . that kind of pain never goes away, but is more keenly felt on the 2nd Sunday in May.

For those of you who are fortunate enough to have had a wonderful mother, I am glad that you did. If your wonderful mother is still living, be sure to tell her - and show her (not just one day a year) - that you love and appreciate her. That means a lot more than gushy words in a card, pretty flowers or corsages, and chocolates once a year.

If your wonderful mother has passed away at any time (and especially recently) - I grieve with you for having lost someone very special in your life.

And if (like me) how you feel about your mom is "complicated" and you have mixed feelings (at best) about Mother's Day - and especially IF you are a mother with that kind of background ... might I offer my perspective?  I have learned through trial and error (mostly error) that the best way to survive the last week of April and the first half of May (with all the advertising campaigns capitalizing on guilt and shame) is to focus on the present and BE a good mom all year round. 

A good mom is one whose children feel safe to be themselves around her.
 

Photo "Dandelions" courtesy of sattva at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

"Now" is important.  Now matters. Continue breaking the cycle of bad parenting, abuse, and/or neglect. Treat your children - no matter how young - like the real people they are, not just as miniature extensions of yourself. Don't set them up to be laughed at - and NEVER laugh at them or call them names, or dismiss their "little feelings" (there is NOTHING "little" about feelings) as "cute" just because the reason for their distress seems minor to you. 

Respect their boundaries. Take their side. Celebrate their accomplishments. Go to bat for them when they are treated unfairly.  Say please and thank you to your children, and MEAN it. Say you're sorry to their face (and MEAN it) when you mess up. Teach them basic housekeeping and cooking techniques, do these tasks together, and teach them the joy of helping others for its own sake, not to avoid punishment or gain a material reward.  They will remember for the rest of their lives the way you treat them when they are little.  They will also remember how you treat others who have little or no power, and when they grow up, they will most likely treat others the same way.

And when the day comes (whether they're three or sixty-three) when they want to honour you for being that good Mom - and they will - don't rob them of that joy.  Smile and say thank you.  Even if all they bring you is dandelions, if it comes from the heart, see the heart behind it, look them in the eyes with all the love you have inside, and say thank you.

The View from Here

A dear friend of mine called me yesterday morning to ask a favour - which I gladly granted - and we got to talking (as we usually do) about everything and anything, sharing the things on our hearts, and so forth.

It got me to thinking about how many (easy and hard) things I have experienced in my life, and wondering how much more there is to experience.  Ten years ago, if you had told me that I would be doing the things I am today, holding the opinions I have today, feeling as blessed as I am today, and planning the career I am planning today, I would have laughed SO hard.  Never would I have believed you.  

And yet, as I look around me, I have a sober and fully present soul-mate: my husband has been returned to me and we have enjoyed to the full his last six-plus years of sobriety.  I have his love and the love of my children (one here, one in Heaven).  I have the loving care of my dearest friends who are like family to me.  I have a job that is fulfilling and that pays me enough money to pay the bills and go to school at the same time.  I have a second career planned in connection with that schooling, and I have a renewed sense of self-respect and self-care that has allowed me to rid myself of excess baggage and stress in my life. Or, maybe, getting rid of the baggage and stress has allowed me to have more self-respect and self-care; I don't know.  

Photo "Monarch Butterfly" courtesy of
Liz Noffsinger at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

I have been in this chrysalis (cocoon) for a long time.  It feels as though who I was ten years ago has been slowly liquefied and another being has been forming, irrevocably changed at a fundamental level.  I cannot go back to who I was.  It is unthinkable; I am not her anymore.  I am "becoming a person" as Carl Rogers would say.

That catches me off-guard occasionally.  In a way, I don't recognize myself sometimes anymore; I do and say things now that I never would have done or said back then. Some of them are not as "polite" or "nice" as before, but then again, back then I was terrified of people not liking me, so I held back.  Not so much anymore. My fears are vaporizing, one by one.  I know that I do feel freer, more comfortable in my own skin. 

I miss certain things, certain people.  However, in some cases, the need for some of those people and things has served its purpose and it has passed, and I can do nothing except move on.  (I can hardly believe my ears as I say that. It's such a radical difference, coming from the "hang-on-for-dear-life" queen!)  I am growing and developing as a person.  Mind you, I have quite a ways to go yet, but I am improving.  

I don't think I am quite as self-righteously judgmental as I used to be (I still have some distance to cover on that at times).  I talk with people I would have crossed the street to avoid ten years ago.  Some people that I was drawn to back then (specifically the super-religious and super-ambitious types), I am repulsed by now because ... I guess ... their attitudes and speech remind me of where I used to be and what I thought was "right" - the problem was, I was more interested in being "right" and being seen favourably than I ever was about caring about people. That is changing ... thank God.  When I hear people being racist, or fat-ist (prejudiced against fat people), or elitist (prejudiced against someone based on their bank account or their bloodlines), or able-ist (prejudiced against someone for having [or not having] a visible disability) or homophobic, I am far more likely to speak out against it, rather than stay silent (or worse yet, laugh along with it.) 

I realize with some surprise that I have slowly allowed myself to take up space, and to have a voice, in the world.  Before, I wanted to disappear, to blend into my surroundings: I was a chameleon. It is a perfectly good skill to have if you are in an abusive relationship from which you cannot escape.  But ... I don't live in that atmosphere any more, so I am learning new skills. I still have those old skills if I need to use them, but I am seeing less and less of a need to do so.  I have learned that - as an adult - I have the choice to walk away from a relationship if it is abusive.  Or I can expose the abuse, since it tends to crouch in dark corners and avoid detection (that is how it survives.  Why not shine a bright light on it?). I - who avoided confrontation at all cost - can stand up to something that hurts me or hurts someone I love.  Huh.  Who knew?  

The view where I started, at the base of this mountain, was pretty daunting. It was littered with random boulders and strewn with debris and the occasional shrub.  I could only see in my own immediate vicinity, my own little irritations and pet peeves, my own futile attempts to climb. Overhead, dark clouds loomed, and the sun seemed very far away. 

I'm not exactly sure how it happened, but I do know when:  about six or seven years ago, I started shedding the chameleon skin (in therapy) and it was like someone from above threw me a rope that was anchored into solid rock, and attached to that rope was some climbing gear - it was a mess for a while until I figured out (mostly) how it worked and started climbing.  I am nowhere near the top now, but occasionally, I am able to put a knot in my rappelling line and turn around... and the dark clouds don't seem so ominous anymore.  I can even see a few rays of light ... and more square mileage than just my own little corner.  The things that previously seemed so random look more like a great mosaic, pieces of things put together that when you get far enough away from them, look like a work of art. 

I see others in the distance, other would-be climbers who are stuck in their own little corners, and I know that eventually I will be able to throw them a rope and some gear, too. I find myself looking forward to being able to do that, to trust my own gear enough to be able to help them use theirs.

That's a good feeling.  For now, though, I think I see the next foothold. And above that, a ledge ...

More than meets the eye

For the past couple of months, we've not been able to use the left side of our double kitchen sink due to a leak in the drain. Hubby put a container under the sink to catch the drips from when someone "forgot" and used that side of the sink, but he finally got fed up ... and called a plumber. He happened to mention that the remaining drain seemed sluggish, so the guy agreed to take a look at that too, while he was here.

He arrived early this morning. A few minutes later, the offending pipe crumbled in his hands from being rusted through. A replacement pipe, wow. Things could be worse.

The problem with the other side of the sink, though - the side of the sink we were still able to use - was more involved than just using an auger to clean out the sink trap, or replacing a piece of pipe. No - it went way deeper. All of the drain pipes were up to 50% coated on the inside with the sludge of decades of use, people washing dishes, draining off the fat from meat, etc. Down the drain all that stuff would go, and .. out of sight, out of mind. 

Until now. 

Photo "Rusty Water Tap" by
franky242 at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Since I was home today, I got to see (and hear) them at work. It was a rather long and involved process ... and I couldn't help but think of the parallels between our plumbing problem and the situation many of us face when we've been trying to look after everyone else's crud for so many years. We pride ourselves on our ability to deal, even tell ourselves that we're doing what's right ... and then we wonder why we're sluggish, why we're sometimes barely able to function. 

So we ask for help and we think, yeah, this is an easy fix. Until it isn't. 

We end up having to replace some stuff in our lives with other, more functional stuff. That part is fine. But it's when we start digging a little deeper that we find that there's ever so much sludge we've allowed to accumulate. Things like making allowances for other people's mistakes, covering for them, not letting them experience the consequences of their own actions, and so forth. Learning to accept that these tendencies are there is hard - but it's a necessary step in being able to be willing to open ourselves to change. And, the malady goes so deep - it's so much a part of how we define ourselves - that the only way to handle it is to ream all that goo out of our psyches where it's had a chance to congeal and harden ... which takes time. 

It's inconvenient. It's painful, even. We have to put considerable investment into it. But getting help from someone who knows how to navigate those things means that it will take less time with fewer mistakes than if we tried doing it by ourselves. That's worth the inconvenience. 

And having that stuff removed from our lives makes the pain worth while as well. It's just the process that is the hard part. So we knuckle down, pay the price, and let it happen. 

The frustrating thing about inner healing, or growth, or recovery - whatever you want to call it - is that those looking on from the sidelines can't see any of the things we go through to get from A to B. All they see (if they are perceptive enough) are the results - the new attitudes we develop, the relationships that we begin (and end), and the things we say yes (and no) to, for example. This is a journey that is more than what it appears. There is more to it than what meets the eye. There are deeper issues. There is much that is unseen and that may never be seen. 

However, when we enter the process (and truth be told, many times we might not have undertaken the process if we'd known how much was involved), and when we are open and honest with ourselves, it's almost as though the changes happen without us even being aware of most of them. We just suddenly find ourselves doing something that we never would have dreamed of doing before ... and ask ourselves where that came from!  

Yes, there's more to it than meets the eye, but on the whole, it's worth the trouble. And someday, maybe even today, we'll even be grateful that the old pipe sprang a leak in the first place.

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.

Do-over

Many years ago, when my husband and I were first married, he took me golfing at a local 9-hole par-3 course. (For those of you who don't golf but DO ski, that's like the bunny trail for golfers). 

He was so patient with me, telling me, showing me how to stand, how and where and how tightly to grip the club, where to look, how to aim, and all that. And then I'd swing a mighty swing and the club would touch the top of the ball, it would bounce a foot off the rubber tee, (didn't I say it was a bunny trail of a course?) and roll to a stop. I'd stare at it for a few seconds and then say confidently, "Do-over!" and I'd grab the ball and put it back on the tee. 

Life needs do-overs. I sure need them in my life because there are so many times that I mess up and I just need the freedom to take another crack at it, for those around me to give me permission to fail and then to try again. 

Of course, there are things that can't be undone... like going back in time and doing things differently - like sometimes I wish I could do with the events leading up to my daughter's decision to go "out West" last summer. But even then, I realize that the very thing I had been praying for her whole life wouldn't have happened with her here, so close to and dependent upon her parents. It doesn't make losing her any easier though. Not in the least. 

But there are ways. There are ways in which, in some small way or other, I can get to do a "do-over." One of those is by pouring into the life of someone else, whether that someone is human or animal. 

LOKI - a couple of months ago - hiding the remote...

Which is why, shortly after Christmas of last year, we decided to adopt a little black kitty that very quickly became known as Loki (yes, after the character from The Avengers.) Loki (pronounced LOW-key) was born on the very day of our daughter's funeral. 

He was a little black ball of satiny softness, and still had his Siamese-blue eyes (although these changed to green later on). He was intended to be a companion for our old cat, Angel, who missed my Cody-boy after he passed away. 

But Angel didn't like him. She hissed and growled at him more and more as he tried desperately to get her to pay attention to him.

And then she left. Permanently. In mid-September. We just knew she wasn't coming back.

ERIS  -  on the rare occasion that she is not racing around!

Do-over.  Several days later, we started fostering a small kitty that the shelter called Philly, but which we called Eris (NOT Iris). Eris (pronounced "Heiress") was (and is) active, playful to the max, and so curious that sometimes it gets her into trouble!! We fostered because she was too little to spay, and so we looked after her until the shelter could have her spayed, ... and then we adopted her. 

During that time, our oldest daughter fell in love with a large three-month-old kitten at the shelter - one whose story was heartbreaking to say the least. He'd been found in the engine of a snowmobile, slipped deep down into the gears. The owner of the machine had tried to get him out, but it only traumatized him and covered them both in grease. The animal control person eventually got him out, but it took several weeks to get him to the place where he wouldn't hiss at anyone. Finally they put him up for adoption, but nobody wanted him. We visited the shelter to take a look ... and my daughter took one look and she was hopelessly hooked. He understood "cat language" as she calls it - the body language she taught herself to be able to communicate better with felines - and there was an instant connection between them.

We brought him home two days ago, just the day before he turned four months old, and the same day we officially adopted Eris. 

The shelter had called him "Tux" because he was black and white, and he looked like he was wearing a tuxedo! But he didn't respond to that name here - and we took to calling him Cal ... for "Callum" (which means Peace). It was our way of speaking peace into his life.

And he SO desperately needed peace. He spent the vast majority of the first 24 hours under her bed, scurrying away from the least unexpected thing, and jumping into the air with all fours at every sudden movement or noise. 

We so desperately wanted him to realize that this was a safe place. He didn't seem to be catching on to that. And then ... amazingly ... things started to turn around. She sat on the floor. He came over and sniffed. She sat still. Before long he was bumping her leg and letting her scratch his neck and pet him. And today - for the first time - he let her pick him up and stayed in her arms voluntarily for about 25 seconds. 

That's huge progress in just 2 days. 

Tonight I went into the room where he is getting used to the sounds of the house without the other cats around (the recommended 2-week quarantine from other animals) and he played with one of the kitty-wands we have, and I was even able to take a few photos. 

So here he is, folks. A picture of "Do-over" ... living proof that love heals and peace prevails.

CAL - five days younger and 30% bigger than Eris!

Games people play

It never ceases to amaze me how people can be incredibly caring, sweet, wonderful and generous ... until they aren't. 

A few things I've learned about people in the last five and a half years that I've been in "recovery" have set me back on my heels. These are things that either I didn't know or that I didn't want to know. 

One thing is sure. People will surprise you. You think you have them pegged and then they do something completely unexpected. Like when my co-workers opened their hearts to me after my youngest daughter died suddenly last October. I never expected that - and the caring continues to this day! 

However, I have learned - sadly, the hard way - that no matter who it is, people (because they - er, we - are human!) will inevitably disappoint anyone who depends on them / us. We aren't perfect, and if we try to give that impression, well, let's just say the fall from the pedestal is quite steep. And it seems that the higher the pedestal we think we're on, the more it hurts when (not if) we fall from it. I've learned that it's better not to think of myself as better than anyone else, and it's made me avoid anyone who thinks that way too, for whatever reason (education, position, etc.)

So, for better or worse, I've developed some personal guidelines to help me navigate the world of interpersonal relationships - which can sometimes be a mine-field, especially if there are relationships where one person is in a position of power and the other one isn't. So, in no particular order, here are a few of my own personal guard-rails:

1. I have boundaries. These pertain to my personal space, to my emotional space, and to my spiritual space. I have the right to occupy a place in the world, and to feed my soul with what nourishes me inside. If someone infringes on that right, or takes advantage of my generosity, I have the right to be angry and also to say, "This is not okay." It doesn't matter whether that person believes himself or herself to have the right to demand my respect; if the person has hurt me, it is okay for me to say that he or she has hurt me. 
2. I have the right to make my own decisions and my own mistakes, and the responsibility to learn from them.
3. I have the right to feel what I feel. This means that nobody has the right to tell me that I don't feel something or that I shouldn't feel something. 
4. Other people have boundaries. It is not okay for me to try to fix anyone, even if that person asks me to do it. It is not my place to tell someone else how to live their life, run their marriage or raise their kids.
5. Other people have the right to make their own decisions and their own mistakes, and they (not I) must bear the consequences of their own actions.
6. Other people have the right to feel what they feel too. Just because I might be uncomfortable with it, or I wouldn't react in the same way, doesn't give me the right to dismiss - or to judge - what another's experience might be.
7. If anyone - including me - is in a relationship where he or she feels consistently shamed or bullied or "less than", it is not only okay ... it is IMPERATIVE ... to walk away. NOBODY deserves to be treated that way. Staying in a relationship like that only encourages the abuser to continue abusing.

If this post has helped anyone identify an area where there are boundary issues or relationship inequalities that are taking place, and then figure out what it is that they need to do to take care of themselves, then I have achieved my purpose in writing it.

Breathe. In and out. Repeat.

Some days just pass by without me taking much notice; they seem normal and uneventful, as if nothing tumultuous has ever happened to me or to those I love. 

And other times, I have fleeting moments where I need to remind myself to breathe, to let go, to concentrate on doing the next right thing. 

"Waterfall In Forest" - courtesy of
phonsawat at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Still others are entire days when I need to remind myself continually of those things: specific days such as a birthday or an anniversary, a statutory holiday like Christmas or Easter or Thanksgiving. At those times, I wonder how I'll get through the day, remind myself to breathe, in and out, and repeat as needed. And it's hard, even with relying heavily on my relationship with God and reminding myself that "He's got me."  

And ... miraculously ... I get through it. 

I had a day like that recently - our baby girl's birthday was last Wednesday. She would have been 22 years old. Try as I might to treat it like "just any other day" ... it was difficult to concentrate and I kept making silly, stupid mistakes that just weren't "me." 

The love of friends and family helped me as I breathed in, and breathed out. Giving myself permission to grieve without guilt or shame was key to surviving the experience. And love, love expressed in tangible ways, was the healing balm that I needed. God usually finds a way to remind me that He cares by showing me that people care. This particular time it was through a thoughtful gift from a friend miles away from here. 

Photo "Daisy Flower" by
markuso at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Someone reminded me a few weeks ago that the pain of an initial physical injury (such as when I tore the cartilage in my shoulder on August 7, 2006) can be remembered, but not brought back and relived or re-experienced with the same intensity. (Not that I'd want to!!) 

However, the pain of an emotional injury is just as fresh and excruciating as its memory. If the emotionally painful experience is remembered, the emotional pain comes with it. 

What I didn't know until several months ago is that the brain releases the exact same chemicals when experiencing emotional pain as when having physical pain. It's therefore crucial to be gentle with ourselves when life throws a monkey-wrench into our daily experience. 

"It will pass. It will," a still small Voice says inside of me. "Breathe."

"Again." 

And I do. And it passes. 

And the next day life could return completely back to normal. And it often does. 

But I'm so glad that when those times come, when the billows roll over me and knock me around, I know I can count on Love to be whatever I need it to be for me at the time I need it. Even if it's hard. 

Love is Life's breath.

So I breathe. In and out. And ... repeat as needed.

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.

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.