Slow leak

A few years back, our car went over an object somewhere and developed a leak in one of the tires. We were not aware of this, but one evening we drove home and parked the car. The next morning we got up and got ready to leave the house, and one of the tires was flat. Just like that.

Further investigation revealed that there was a slow leak in that tire from a sharp object. It hadn't appeared right away after the object went in, but over the course of a few hours, the air just went out of the tire. 

And fortunately, the nice folks at the garage were able to repair the leak. 

I guess I've been going through something similar in my mental health. I thought I was okay. And then I hit this bump in the road and it was rough, but I kept going and thought I could weather it. 

I was wrong. My emotions leaked out until I either felt the wrong ones for the circumstance, or I just couldn't feel anything at all.

Photo by Georgi Petrov from Pexels

It kind of dawned on me last night when I was watching a movie with my family. It was a really good movie, one I had never seen before, and I knew that I should have been moved to tears by it in a couple of places because the story was so compelling and the emotions in it were raw and passionate. 

But that's not what happened with me. It was like the depth of emotion I knew was there (or should be there) had lost its edge and felt blunt or weak. It was the equivalent of an emotional flat tire. 

Psychologists call emotions "affect" (pronounced AFF-ect). And one symptom of depression is what they call "flat affect". Nothing flickers the emotional needle. No joy, no sadness, no anger, no nothing! Life becomes one long monotone. It's flat! Motivation is gone. The silence is unending. The loneliness is real - but even that seems like just a fact and not a tragedy to be mourned. Depressed people can laugh at funny things - but there is rarely any real happiness behind it. We isolate from people because we don't feel like being around them. We don't see the point; why bother?  Everything - even eating or showering - is an effort. It's like driving on a flat tire. It's possible to get from A to B ... but everything feels skewed, the ride is bumpier ... and it hurts the tire even more. Some of us are in quite a mess before we realize (or admit) that we need help.

And there is no easy fix, no patch for the tire, no instant cure-all. Medications can help with the physical part of things, but that is only part of it. The leak has to be found before it can be repaired, and sometimes, the internal damage is too severe, and we need a whole new tire, a whole new way to look at life. And that kind of change doesn't happen overnight. It took a long time to get into this state, and it will take longer than we want to heal from it. And sometimes we need to call a professional, someone who knows how to listen and help us heal.

I wish I could give three easy steps to get rid of clinical depression. I can't. All I can try to focus on is to maintain regular routines in my life that focus on looking after myself, and look for outlets that get me outside of myself, doing things for others. And I take one day at a time. Corny as that sounds, it is helpful because when I stay in the now, it is harder for the mistakes of the past and the worries about the future to jump all over me and give me a hard time. 

I don't know how long this process will take. It will take however long it takes. But I am committed to walking through it and coming out the other side. And in the meantime, I see a professional and I take my medication, and I practice self-care. And most of all, I take the advice of a former manager I had once, and I will be gentle with myself.

Never again

“Evil begins when you begin to treat people as things.”

– Terry Pratchett

When we think of the atrocities of WWII - the concentration camps, Hiroshima, Nagasaki, the internment camps where Japanese North Americans were imprisoned - two words come to mind: NEVER AGAIN. I was reading yesterday of an atrocity that spanned several decades in our own country, in the words of those who had survived it: the First Nations people. In the residential school system, generations of First Nations children were ripped from their parents (some of them without the parents' knowledge or consent, some at the threat of their parents going to jail) and treated shamefully, in an effort to assimilate them ... to make them into white people.

What if some military or political power were to give police the authority to come into your home, take you and the things you hold dear from it, and give you to prison wardens who stripped you down, called you filthy, washed your hair with kerosene, shaved your head, took your clothes and gave you ill-fitting shoes, burned all of your sports equipment, took your phone, your musical instruments, your credit cards, your jewelry, everything that distinguished you as a person, gave you a number and called you by nothing but that number, fed you substandard food and made you eat it, and beat you if you spoke your mother tongue? What if this went on for years before you were allowed to return to your family? The equivalent of that is only the beginning of what happened to these wonderful, peaceful people.

Reading the accounts of what happened in the victims' own words powerfully reminded me of reading Viktor Frankl's book, Man's Search for Meaning (you can look it up and read it free online) where he described what he went through in the Nazi death camps upon arrival, and then on a daily basis.  He spoke for millions who could not, whose voices were silenced.  He helped to expose the atrocities motivated by fear and hatred.

Isn't that what racism is: fear and hatred gone wild?  That it happened here ... that the spirits of those children were sucked out of them - their way of life and even their own language called demonic - this is Canada's shame. 

I'm sorry, folks, but an official apology from the government, nearly a hundred years after the fact, just does not make up for the thousands of lives, families and communities that were destroyed, the very fabric of their way of life (family, connection with nature, traditions) unraveled.  It does not give the stolen spirits of those people back to them.  It does not restore their lost heritage, nor the way of life they were brainwashed into rejecting. 

 

Photo "Dreamcatcher" courtesy
of Serge Bertasius Photography at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

The nightmare isn't over for First Nations people just because some white man in a three-piece suit said, "Sorry." The way we silence the monsters is to let people know how horrific those attitudes are: the ones that led to daily spiritual and cultural atrocities. The attitude that "white makes right." The attitude that "Christian values are the only ones worth espousing" and "these people are savages."  And oh, my favourite (not): "It's for their own good." It was wrong. It was wrong then and it's still wrong now.

There, I've said it.  I'm a white, Christian, "civilized" (whatever that means) person and I KNOW that what happened was wrong.  I KNOW that every day for multiple generations, there are adults who wake in cold sweats from nightmares about "that place." There are grown men who question every move they make: am I allowed to sit here, am I allowed to go to that place, am I allowed to talk to this person?

Knowledge is power.  I freely admit that I was ignorant.  I didn't know that I didn't know.  And although it was painful, I had to educate myself.  I went to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada website and I started reading one of the many documents available there  (link).  I confess that I was only able to get through half of it - it was very emotional for me.  The language is easy enough to understand, but the stories themselves - first of how life used to be, and then of how life changed forever - broke my heart. 

Perhaps the reason that some Canadians have a hard time with immigrants coming into our country is because our own ancestors carried out the very thing that they fear the newcomers will do: destroy our way of life, take over our land and make us into second-class citizens.  The difference is that we whites hold a position of privilege ... and we therefore have a responsibility to use our power for good.  Not evil.

Never again.

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.

In or Out

For the last few days, I've been having a discussion with a friend about personality types. This friend claims, "I used to be an introvert," as if it was something negative, and then goes on to say that life-changing [positive] events turned him into an extrovert. His definition of introverts bothered me, because he described himself (as a "former introvert") as anti-social, painfully shy, people-hating, and other equally unbecoming adjectives. 

Upon further probing, I discovered that he had been repressed as a child and was not allowed to express his friendliness and caring by his overbearing and punitive father. He therefore became withdrawn and didn't seek out interactions with others. When he was finally away from his birth family, he had a spiritual experience that tore away the fetters and allowed what I believe was his true personality to shine forth.

I have been trying to tell this friend that introversion is not what he describes at all. Not every introvert is socially awkward or phobic. Not every introvert is antisocial or hates people. Not every introvert is shy. (He still uses those adjectives interchangeably with introverted.)

In fact, these qualities are probably quite well shared among both major personality types, just expressed in a different way. For example, a lot of extroverts are quite insecure on the inside - but instead of withdrawing, they tend to put on a smiling, brave face and often overcompensate by being extra-driven, extra-talkative, and/or extra-friendly.

Photo "Teenage Girls Gossiping" by
Ambro at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Most statistics will tell you that the introvert and extrovert population is just about evenly split. I tend to believe that the introvert population is under-reported (in other words, that there are many more introverts around than there are extroverts) because most introverts KNOW that they are introverts whereas most extroverts have no idea that they are extroverts, and they are therefore more likely to take a "personality types" questionnaire to find out what their type is. I can't count the number of times someone has said to me right before those ever-popular Myers-Briggs or Jungian exercises, "What major personality type do YOU think I am? I just can't figure it out..." Invariably that person is an extrovert (and not just borderline either. Extremely so!!)

Here is the ONLY basic difference between introverts and extroverts: where does the person get his or her energy? 

That's it. That's the whole difference. 

Extroverts are energized by being around other people; they need others like every animal needs oxygen to survive. Their orientation is "Out." Without social interaction, they become irritable, moody, sometimes depressed. Introverts are energized by being alone OR in the company of one (or at the most two) close and trusted friends. Their orientation is "In." Without their daily dose of quiet time, they become just as irritable, and can become depressed or morose. 

No one type is better than the other. That is not what is commonly believed, however. By both "sides."

That is the illusion - that is the misconception passed along by the media and by those with power over others. In fact, many times those with power over others are extroverts. Their extroverted nature naturally predisposes them to rise in popularity and they often find favor in the eyes of those who are looking to promote from within.  And many extroverts, unfortunately, see introverted people as a threat.  Introverted people see the impulsive nature of the extrovert as a dangerous thing, and want to put on the brakes when they see things starting to spiral out of control. In typical reactionary style, they see the extrovert as the threat.

There are many reasons for this. 

An introverted person's tendency to think, to ponder detail, to look at all sides, and to be cautious can be seen by extroverts as being "a wet blanket." His need for quiet time can be seen as being a "party pooper." His reticence to speak up at meetings (a common thing among introverts) can be mistaken for a lack of interest or involvement. 

An extroverted person's tendency to speak out with new ideas - to "think out loud" so to speak, can be seen by an introverted person as brash and controlling. The introvert can view the extrovert's constant socializing as scatterbrained or even lazy in a "grasshopper versus ant" way. 

Each group considers itself to be "In" and the other group "Out" - we versus they, dividing walls getting thicker and thicker. Bullying is common between the two groups. So is manipulation. 

It's so sad. So unnecessary. So junior high school.

In actual fact, the conversation that the extrovert has with himself out loud when facing a decision is the same conversation that the introvert has within himself. It's just that the introvert prefers to be right the first time he dares open his mouth, not wanting to appear "dumb." The extrovert sees that hesitancy as 'not being a team player' and often jumps to another topic - or gets obvious and repeatedly asks for a response - when there's no feedback (extroverts LOVE feedback. Instant and continuous feedback.) Introverts usually don't give feedback until they've processed the entire ball of wax, and many times their reaction is better "felt" than "telt." In other words, a statement or an idea can impact an introvert deeply without a word being spoken in response. It doesn't mean that the introvert is any less affected by it. He's just pondering the implications.

The extrovert, on the other hand, likes to 'bounce ideas' off others and in so doing, help to clarify his thinking; it never crosses his mind that the first thing out of his mouth is going to be the final result. Introverts see that as insincere and shallow. But it isn't. It's just the way extroverts process the world around them. It's just different. Not worse, not superior. Not inferior. Different. An extrovert's mentality is that if he likes something, then everyone likes it. So when he says, "Come on, it'll be fun," he really means it will be fun for him, and since everyone is just like him, everyone will think it's fun. He can't understand why it wouldn't be. So to an introvert, his encouragements to engage in whatever activity it is, appear to be just so much bullying (- and, don't get me wrong, when it turns into insistence in spite of protests, it IS bullying -) when usually what is the case is that it's a way for him to share his excitement and enthusiasm. 

I lived with an extreme extrovert for nearly 21 years. She was the only extrovert in our household, and I can say from experience that she felt insecure, out of place, unaccepted, and "strange" or "defective" in our house just as much as an introvert raised by extroverts would feel. But there was nothing strange or defective about her. She was just different. We came to appreciate her energy, her zest for life, her zany antics when things just got "too quiet." And she in turn came to appreciate our steadiness, our depth of feeling, and our analytical abilities when she faced a decision she really didn't know how to work through on her own. 

And there is one more thing that I must mention. Just because a person is an extrovert or an introvert doesn't mean that he or she doesn't have some of the qualities of the opposite at the exact same time. People are incredibly complex beings, and no two personalities are exactly alike. People are who they are ... and that's a good thing. It means endless variety, endless challenge, endless adventure to life. To dismiss one or the other or say that it is wrong or somehow defective or sick, is to deny one of the most important things we humans value about our humanity: individuality. If everyone were the same, it would be an unbelievably boring existence, wouldn't it?

How about putting aside excluding or judging others on the basis of our differences and leaving it "Out" of the picture, where it belongs??  How about adopting the idea that we're ALL, every one of us, in the "In" group - - all of us, no exclusions?? How about that?? 

Because after all, we're all "In" this together....

Never Alone

"For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others,
 for beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness, 
 and for poise, walk with the knowledge that you
 are never alone."    - - Audrey Hepburn

You know, it's funny - I guess it ISN'T funny - what people will say to others without thinking it through. 

I was having a conversation with a dear friend earlier today. This lady has been my friend for about 15 years, and she is the kindest, sweetest soul who came into my life when I needed such a soul in my life. 

And right now she's hurting - mourning the loss of a family member. A family member who just so happens to be a beloved pet, one she has had for over 17 years. And she was telling me what some folks have been saying to her. 

They don't bear repeating. Suffice to say that the comments have been dismissive and unthinking, diminishing the importance of her pain because the loved one she lost had four legs instead of two. 

I wanted her to know that she was not alone. That there are people - fortunate, sensitive, and beautiful people (like us) who see the good in others (no matter what the species), who speak words of kindness (yes, even to such unthinking humans) and who have walked the path that she is walking now ... who know the pain of losing a beloved family member, be that two-legged or four-legged. For ... as I told her earlier, grief is grief, and it means that we have loved someone or some creature enough to feel something when he, she or it leaves. (Queen Elizabeth II once said, "Grief is the price we pay for love.") 

There is much to be said - when someone has experienced a recent loss (especially of a pet) and a person just can't understand "why there is so much fuss about it" - for silence, for being comfortable with NOT understanding, for NOT giving "pat answers" that might snuff out what little bit of hope the person might have. 

Photo "Lonely Woman On The Beach" by
Sira Anamwong at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Loneliness kills. The pain of loneliness is something that outlasts physical pain. A person can feel isolated and abandoned in a crowd, and he or she can feel the loneliest when nobody appears to understand his or her experience.

Let's sit with those who've experienced a loss, and let them feel the pain, talk about their loved one. 

Let's just LISTEN. That's all. 

That's the most comforting thing a person can do is just to BE there and let that friend know that whatever he or she feels is normal. It's normal!! It's healthy to be sad when you've lost someone. The important thing for a grieving person is to know that that person is never alone, that there is someone to talk to, that there is someone who cares. That "being there" can give someone a tremendous gift: dignity ... self-respect ... the feeling that what they feel and think matters.

There is no need to ask questions in those moments of fresh grief about "what happens now." The time will come when those questions can be asked, but not now. Not yet. 

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Feelings are not bad or good. Feelings ARE. And people have a right to feel them. Being told that we shouldn't feel bad (or good) is a form of abuse that reaches down into the core of who we are. We were hard-wired for feelings, for relationships, for love. And when we remember that we are not alone in this experience, it makes getting through it so much easier.

Life is not a competition. It's a journey. It's better to go through it together in cooperation than trying to prove who's right and who's not.

It is better to look for the good in others, to speak only words of kindness, and to let each other know that we are never alone.

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!

Letter to Arielle

Your sister and you (in 2008)
knowing that I was going to take a picture.

Good morning sweetheart.

It dawned on me last night before bed that I didn't write on your wall yesterday - for the first time since we learned of your accident ... on October 22, 2013. 

But ... I know you don't mind, because it means that I'm starting to heal. Just a little tiny bit. A friend shared with me yesterday in a way I could understand inside my heart ... that you want me and your dad and your sister(s) and everyone - ALL who love you - to comprehend that you are supremely happy and safe and at Home where you now are. Deliriously happy... beyond human understanding. And that you still want us to be happy, to look after ourselves, to look after each other, to enjoy every day of our lives. Every. Single. Day. Like you did. 

Even when things were tough.

I remember how just a few weeks ago,I texted you as you were living in your car, like I did several times a day. That week, I was SO not looking forward to Thanksgiving. It had always been a family meal, with you sitting across from me at the table and stuffing you mouth as full as you could get it, as full of as many parts of the meal as you could get in there, until your cheeks were puffed out ... that I just couldn't get into the holiday now that you were homeless, running on empty all the time, waking up freezing every morning. :(  

I told you I was seriously considering cancelling Thanksgiving. 

You wouldn't hear of it.

"Oh Mom. Don't give up your Thanksgiving spirit. I'm here and I don't have much. But I'm still thankful for what I have. You and my family and friends. So don't give up on Thanksgiving. Please." Your attitude gave me the strength to at least do a chicken up and have someone over for a meal.

And now you are gone from us.

You KNOW that I ... we ALL ... miss you. You KNOW that. You have watched us as we've been broken, shattered because of losing you from this earth. But as we are learning even more how incredibly amazing you were while you were here, we're starting to see life, and people, the way you do. That's your legacy. What a tremendous gift! I wanna thank you, princess. So. Much.

Here's what we're learning.... SO far. 

It doesn't matter whether a person is "red or yellow, purple, green, black or white or in between" as we used to parody "Jesus loves the little children of the world". (And you'd roll your eyes, teasing us.) It didn't matter to you if someone was gay or straight, male or female or something else, overweight or rake-thin or anything in between, Christian or atheist or Buddhist, wore a 3-piece suit or a thong.  You accepted people. ALL people. You loved them - you loved us all - just the way we were: warts and all. 

You hated it when people took themselves too seriously, more concerned with appearances and protocol than they were about compassion and mercy, about celebrating who somebody was. You hated hypocrisy and condemnation; you'd gotten too much of it in your short life and you knew how that felt. Thank God there is no condemnation at all where you are. 

You gave of yourself until it hurt; you seriously went without ... to the point of giving up food, clothing, toys, money ... so that others could have. Over and over I am hearing the stories now. The lives you touched. The hearts you mended. Your deeds - done in secret - are now being proclaimed loud and long.

And now it's YOUR turn to be given to. For all eternity. Although ... I am pretty sure you'd find a way to give it all back. ;)

I saw a new post on your Facebook wall this morning from one of your old crew here - Anthony - his first time on your wall since the accident. He told you that he remembered how you were there for him after he had a bad motorbike accident last year ... an accident that made him unable to walk for quite a while. How you went to see him in the hospital ... and worked so hard to get him outside of himself (and his house) after he went back home and got into physiotherapy. 

That's so typical of you. 

You inspire everybody who knew you. You inspire me.
I only hope that someday I am worthy of the lessons you are teaching me.

Love,
Mom

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.

Thoughts on Fences

Over the past few months, I've done a lot of thinking about forgiveness - what it is, what it isn't, how it happens, what that looks like in practical terms.

I've done a lot of things I have needed forgiveness for - and I've needed to forgive people for many things. Some have been minor annoyances, misunderstandings, questions of boundaries of which I or the other person was unaware. Such things are usually relatively easy to forgive and to apologize for, especially if the relationship itself is fairly solid. 

It is harder - sometimes much harder - when the offenses are habitual in nature, when the relationship is either damaged or no longer salvageable, and where one (or both) of the parties refuses to admit wrongdoing. A situation like that requires a good understanding of the boundaries between forgiveness and foolishness, between magnanimity and masochism. 

A paddock fence keeps the horses inside
and safe from wandering off. It also reminds people
to stay out from underfoot...

The old adage, "Good fences make good neighbors" comes to my mind because unless everyone involved knows the boundaries, they will keep getting crossed, over and over again. A fence is a great way to protect what's on the other side from being trampled; it can also protect the person from entering a potentially dangerous situation, such as in the case of a fence around a pasture where there's a bull.

Neighbors can interact over the fence, and I've had quite a few of these interactions over our own back fence. I've also had issues with some other neighbors coming onto our property without our permission and taking things that didn't belong to them - usually young thieves who helped themselves to something we left in our unlocked vehicle.  Remembering to lock the car has kept these incidents to a minimum. Other (former) neighbors have - in the past - behaved in such a way as to hurt my kids; these infractions have not been as easy to forgive. 

However, it's the invisible fences that are the most difficult to erect ... and to detect. These are relationship boundaries - something that I never knew existed up until just a few years ago. 

There was always a lot of friction in my home growing up - and nobody really knew why, because nobody realized that there needed to be boundaries and that there are some things where you just need to put up a big "Do Not Trespass" sign. And when natural boundaries between siblings caused problems, the parents (who - quite frankly - saw their children as their property) would intervene and try to use shame as a weapon to "keep the peace." We were therefore not allowed to "fight" ... over anything. As a result, we never learned how to stick up for ourselves. We never learned how to identify when someone had crossed a boundary because those emotional and psychological boundaries were not allowed.  And we never learned how to forgive. Forgiveness meant making excuses for the other person's behavior. And apologies were never voiced - the offender merely tried to "make it up to" the person who had been hurt. There was never any admission of wrongdoing. Nobody dealt with the elephant in the room. They just made it lie down. Each of us walked on eggshells around the other, afraid to incur his or her wrath.

That's no way to live.

What I've learned in the last few years is that without permission to have boundaries, there can be no forgiveness because there is no acknowledgement that someone has done anything wrong. The phrase, "There's nothing to forgive," is not forgiveness. If there was no offense, then any forgiveness offered is meaningless. 

When I first realized, early in my recovery, that I had been wronged as a child, that my unseen boundaries had been crossed in so many ways and by so many people, and that my pain was a natural response to being hurt - this was the first step in becoming free of it. I had always blamed myself for feeling bad; it was a big deal for me to realize that the bad feelings were natural and healthy for what I had been through. I began to see that in a lot of cases, I played absolutely no part in the wrongs that had been done to me, and I had spent decades feeling guilty for being angry and fearful, for wanting to protect myself, for wanting to get away from my abusers. 

With God's help, I was able to work through each of those hurts and come to a place of healing from them and to real, true forgiveness, even to the point of feeling compassion for those who had - in their ignorance and dysfunction - hurt me in ways they could not begin to fathom. 

Eventually of course, after I'd been healed of those things, I was able to admit to myself the wrongs I had, in turn, done to others out of my own dysfunction - and to go to them, admit my wrongdoing, and apologize from my heart. I was amazed at the graciousness of those I had hurt, their willingness to forgive me. Relationships were restored. I gained more than I lost. 

Yet there was still more to do. With respect to the ones who had beaten me or abused me in other ways (verbal, emotional, or sexual), even though I had built some bridges, I needed to build some fences, too. Just because I had forgiven them didn't mean that I could go back into an abusive situation; I needed to let them know where the boundaries were. 

This is one of the most shame-producing aspects of moving on, in the life of someone who has been systematically abused and whose abusers have not and will not change their behavior. The words "FORGIVE AND FORGET" - emblazoned in shame across the psyche of the abuse survivor - are not only an impossible directive, they are also unwise in situations like that. 

Building those fences was hard work, and I made a lot of mistakes along the way. I took too much ground back - then gave in and let myself be abused again - and finally I worked out a way to come to terms with it. I gave people a chance to get used to the new me; I had changed so very much! When it became clear that this new me was unacceptable to them, when they took advantage of my forgiveness and started to abuse me (and my children) all over again  - and in most cases they did - that's when I needed to fortify the fences. That's when I had to say goodbye. 

It was sad, but there was no other way.

The bridges are still there. Forgiveness is still in effect. I no longer wish for these people to be punished for what they did, and I no longer expect them to give back what they took from me. In that sense, I am more free than I have ever been. 

Nevertheless, I need to be realistic. Just because I've forgiven doesn't mean I have to be stupid. If relationship with them harms me or my husband or my kids, then it's best if I stay away. These are natural consequences for their behavior, another thing I am learning to allow people to experience - even if it's painful for me. 

Someday, I hope and pray that they will understand and accept that it's not okay to treat people like property. Until that time, I can busy myself with trusting those who are trustworthy, and building relationships with equals instead of with those who believe themselves to be superior. 

I used to think - because I never knew any different - that people who would accept me and be in relationship with me as an equal were few and far between. 

I'm delighted to be so wrong about that. 

Taking Time

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

It takes time. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From "A Letter to my Shy Girl"

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

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

However, there is progress. 

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

The magnet

Everyone has one, I suspect. Everyone has a magnet hard-wired into them.

They might not have been born with it.  But it came - over time and at different ages in different people.  Some people had it implanted all at once; in others it was iron filing by iron filing over years and years.

What I'm talking about is that wounded place in each person - the place where there is great hurt, where the spirit has been badly injured. Perhaps it was a violent assault.  Perhaps it was systematic abuse.  Perhaps it came from years upon years of being criticized, made to feel stupid, or unwanted, or bad.  

Once there, this is the problem: the magnet attracts more of the same.  The very behavior that resulted in the spirit's being deeply hurt generates a desire in other people to injure that person in that exact same place.  It's uncanny. It's spiritual in nature - and I've seen it happen over and over again in myself and in people that I know, people that I love.  Even Christian pastors have remarked about this idea when talking about some counseling situations - an overwhelming desire to say something to the person that will injure him or her.  The ones who recognize it for what it is, immediately pray for that magnet to lose its power.  Of course they don't say those exact words... they might talk about an evil spirit - which is as accurate an explanation as anything else to describe the phenomenon.  

When someone smacks me in my own wounded place, my reaction is far more severe than it would be if they hit me in a place that was stronger.  And so it is with everyone - some call it a "sensitive area" or a "soft spot".  The end result is that people will jump on top of it like a hen on a June bug, like sharks in a feeding frenzy. Sometimes without even being aware of it.  It has happened so many times in my life that I have lost count.

My natural reaction to something like that is to avoid situations that will place me in danger of that happening.  (Which is why I avoid certain social situations like the plague.  But I digress.) 

What is harder, but better in the long run, is dealing with the hurt and rendering it powerless.  

HERE is where I found this photo of
acousto-magnetic strips used in many stores' anti-shoplifting systems

Like what happens at the store when you're buying some articles of clothing... they have a magnetized strip somewhere in the garment that will activate the security warning in the store if not "demagnetized" by the checkout clerk. But run a demagnetizing device right over that spot, and it changes the properties of the strip so that it doesn't react when the magnetic beam in the automatic doors hits it. If a clerk forgets, it's usually a simple matter to go back and get it done. Usually.

Sometimes, though, one of these strips doesn't get demagnetized at the checkout ... because it's buried so deep and doesn't respond to the demagnetizing device - and then it sets off Every. Single. Alarm. 

That happened with a winter coat I had once. It was poly-fiber-filled (the technical term, I believe, is "poofy") and the store at which I bought the coat didn't succeed in demagnetizing the strip; it was buried too deeply.  So ... the magnet was still active in it.  Every time I walked into a store (any store with a similar security system) wearing that coat, I couldn't get out of the store without setting off the alarm.  Try as I might, I couldn't find the strip; it was lost in the poly-fibers.  It frustrated not only me, but store security personnel too. They knew me, they knew my situation and that I was not a shoplifter - and they had even tried to demagnetize the coat for me, a couple of times.  Nothing worked.  Finally ... I stopped wearing the coat!!  A couple of years later, when I was taking it out of the closet to make room for something else, I grabbed it in an odd spot - and felt the short, thin strip through the material - it had slipped down into a spot that was unusual. Nobody would have thought to find it there.  

The process of demagnetizing those hurt places inside ... takes time.  It's not like Someone waves a big demagnetizing wand over the spot and it's all better.  Layers upon layers of "poof" builds up over it - in an effort to protect that soft spot - and makes it inaccessible.  The key is finding that spot and bringing it into the open. It might take a while. It might even take opening up the facade and ripping out the protective layers. 

It does not happen without pain, sometimes a lot of pain.  But once a move is made to put God at the helm of the process, it WILL eventually happen as long as He stays at the controls. Healing WILL happen, from the inside out.  And the alarms will eventually stop going off.  Life will become normal.  Happiness will not be so rare anymore.  

I know because it's happened in some areas of my life and it continues to happen in others.  Like I said, it's a process.  And in spite of the sometimes messy beginning, in the vast majority of cases, it is worth the mess, even before the journey is halfway through.