A Moving Target

Back in 2009 when I first got into therapy and I was learning a whole new (well, new to ME) way of living, I'm afraid I was a little arrogant about it. I thought that I had arrived. How very wrong I was. I had a LOT to learn!

And when my husband and I decided in 2015 to leave the organized church and seek relationships with God and others without the structure of a church family, again, I was pretty "my way or the highway" about it... at least for a while. One would think I would have learned by that time. But no.

Now that I'm in therapy again for something I thought was dealt with (aka buried), I'm not so cocky. Things I thought I knew, I am learning that I have only paid lip service to (plus there were some things that I was completely oblivious to!) And when it comes right down to it, when push comes to shove (so to speak), I revert to the old way of reacting to things that happen, and then I wonder why some people feel uncomfortable around me (or I feel uncomfortable around them). According to my therapist, that's common with people who have experienced trauma such as long-standing child abuse. (Huh. Who knew.)

I want to put that trauma in its proper place instead of being trapped in the patterns of behavior that the trauma has caused. I will need to not only address the abuse, but I will need to learn new skills, like (for example) how to behave in a normal social setting (!!) without appearing aloof, ungrateful, insecure, or not completely present. Old habits will have to die. New ones will have to form.

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But the "normal" I thought I was in 2009 and again in 2015 isn't the normal that I hope to be now. 

And more and more I am realizing that normal, as I used to tell my kids, is just a setting on the washing machine. The real "normal" is a moving target. It changes with the situation and with one's level of emotional maturity, which can be at different levels in different situations. Quite confusing! In many ways I feel like poor Wile E. Coyote, trying to catch the Road Runner. There's no catching him. He comes out of nowhere, disappears in a flash of flames, and leaves Wile E. Coyote slack-jawed (and usually injured.) Many times, I am bewildered and overwhelmed by the sheer size of the task ahead.

What is so confusing is the idea that in order to move on, I must "integrate" my experience of abuse into me, make it a part of me, but not be overcome or overwhelmed by it. It seems impossible. All those hurtful words and blows ... well, they are not going to go away. But somehow I need to make meaning (to use a psychotherapy term) out of those experiences and use them and the lessons learned from them to not only get some closure, but also to be able to use them to help others to heal. And that is my goal in this process.

And even though I know a lot about therapy as a grad student studying counseling, I find that as a client, I am just as vulnerable and just as fearful as any client would be about that process. Going through this really gives me an appreciation of how there absolutely needs to be an atmosphere of trust between client and therapist before progress can happen. This is private stuff ... and if I don't feel totally accepted, there is no way I can open up the starting gate and get into specifics. 

But my therapist is doing all the right things to create that atmosphere, to help me look after myself, and to help me find ways to ground myself when I'm stressed. And the next time I see her, she tells me, we will start opening that gate. It won't be for another couple of weeks... but that's okay. Slow and steady is the best way. Which makes me think that if just I sit still and accept what comes, maybe the Road Runner will stop running so fast and come pay me a visit.

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.

The Empty Cup

It happened so slowly. By millimeters. Over time, the responsibilities piled on, and the stress mounted. Little by little, I would pour myself out into first one project, then the other, and then ... the toll started to get heavier and heavier. 

My body noticed it first; however, my mind had other things to attend to, and I missed those warning signs. Lost sleep, inability to stay asleep. I would wake up tired, sometimes two hours before my usual waking time, sometimes three. More and more often this would happen. My back and legs felt heavy, achy, tired. My feet hurt. I had headaches more frequently. My chemical sensitivities started acting up more. 

As the stress increased, my ability to maintain my weight - or to lose weight - vanished. Oh, not all at once, to be sure, but it became more and more difficult to lose. And incrementally, I started to gain. It was discouraging. But I didn't make the connection. I took on more and more. Life got way more stressful and I couldn't figure out how stuff just piled on.

As it progressed, I became less and less tolerant, more and more impatient. My filter - that little internal monitor that keeps me from saying or doing things to offend people - started to erode, to slip away from me. I couldn't concentrate. My motivation was shrinking. I procrastinated on crucial tasks. I isolated from other people and convinced myself I was too busy to spend time with them. Things got worse. 

And then the work doubled, tripled, overnight. Something I thought I could do, suddenly became a lot harder. I started feeling my age - and beyond. 

I started dreading going to work because it took time away from doing things I no longer had enough time to do. Like homework. The course I am taking in University is the hardest I have ever taken by far - and I feel unequal to the task.

And this morning, I finally broke. On the way to work, I started crying. I was overwhelmed. And I reached out to the only person around my age that I absolutely KNEW had my back: my husband. As I described my symptoms, he became alarmed. He knew - as I had begun to suspect - that I was well on my way to burnout. 

He was right.

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 The saying goes, "You can't pour from an empty cup." My cup had been evaporating so slowly that I didn't even see it was getting low. And now I was looking at the dregs. 

So again, I reached out. I see a doctor tomorrow, and will see a psychologist before the end of next week, hopefully. I approached my boss, who was awesome by the way, and asked for some time off to regroup. I was able to free up some time to look after myself, and to concentrate on my studies for a little while. How long, I'm not sure - but at least now I have options. When I started the day, I didn't think I had any.

Now I can turn my attention to my cup - to start to clean out the sticky crud at the bottom and to fill it with cool, clear water instead.

Now I can get some rest ... and focus on what matters most. To my surprise, I found out that it was ... me.

The Sounds of Silence

I've spent most of the day feeling quite down. 

Aside from the fact that I have been concerned about someone I can't seem to reach for some reason, or maybe because of that (in part), someone reminded me this morning of that gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach that I felt when my youngest was living in Alberta. It was the feeling that I'd never see her again: a feeling of dread, of fear (even panic), and of anger that there was nothing I could do to change it.  

So I've been flooded with memories of those days back in 2013, and I've been allowing those feelings to come to the surface so that I can feel them and deal with them. It's hard, but it's better than stuffing those feelings down underneath the surface, and having them pop up unexpectedly.  

Permeating all of that is also the unspeakable sadness that goes with the outcome of those days - she never made it home alive. 

Even though the television has been on and there is that noise in the background, there is a very real sense of stillness, a feeling of incredible silence, of unspeakable isolation. The background noise of grief took center stage for today. And I chose to let it come, and I breathed and felt my way through it.

And it is still going on. It will last however long it lasts, until it's done - another wave-crest in the flood of loss as I just try to stay afloat and ride it out. 

Photo "Lighthouse At Sunset" by
Serge Bertasius Photography at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Of course it will pass. It always does. Yet it is a journey, a passage from one place to another, this silence, this sadness. Nobody likes to talk about it when they're going through it, only when the "victory" has been won and the yucky parts are done. But this is real stuff. Life really is messy, and sometimes the only victory that can happen is the one-breath-at-a-time survival of the wrenching moments that claw into the soul. It's part of the journey to healing. It's part of embracing life. 

I'm grateful for my husband and my daughter, upon whom I lean when I need to. They see me struggling and - unbidden - they come alongside to help me, just like I've seen them struggling and have come alongside to help them when they needed it. 

And in the silence comes a sort of weird kind of calm. It's a reminder that I've traveled this road before and that I had help then too.  And so - I know that I am not alone, even though it might feel like I am. And because I've been through this before and come out the other side relatively unscathed, I'm going to be okay this time.

Maybe not without scars, but I will be okay. Maybe not today, but I will be okay. For today, I will listen to the sounds of silence and not stifle their voices. Nor will I dwell on them or try to stay here. It will be what it is. It will pass when it passes. And ... though it's not easy, I guess I'm okay with that.

Aloha

Aloha is a Hawaiian word. 
It means goodbye.
It also means hello.

This has been an intense week at our house. 

Monday night, our 13-year-old cat, Angel, disappeared ... never to return. We looked everywhere, scoured the neighbourhood for her, shaking her treat bag and calling for her, shining a flashlight under trees, behind bushes, into culverts. No sign of a body or of her.

We were about 75% sure that night that she wasn't coming back. It was just so opposite to "everything that was Angel" for her not to come trotting purposefully toward us when we shook the treat bag and called out her name. Over the course of the next few days, we began to be more and more certain that she would never return. Grief has been coming in waves, combined with the mental anguish of not knowing how it happened. Or how quickly. Or whether she was afraid. (shudder). 

Angel  -  June 2013

We've been saying goodbye ever since, in bits and pieces, in habits we find ourselves repeating (like looking outside for her when we go to the door) when we know ... that there's no need anymore. 

Aloha Angel.

We weren't the only ones moping around. Our kitten Loki (9 months old) has been unusually quiet the last few days. He misses having her around to play with - not that Angel ever allowed it, but he sure tried! - and now that she is gone, he has spent a lot more time sleeping. And he's taken to watching the door where he last saw her through the glass. 

The turning point came for me last night when we were chatting and our daughter said, "I am tired of talking about death. I want to concentrate on life." 

So today, we went to the shelter to find a companion for Loki. And ... yes, for us.

She had newly been put up for adoption we saw her - not even two pounds and looking enough like Angel that at first glance, I gasped and my eyes stung with tears. The differences became obvious afterward, of course. But as we spent more time with her, we began to see how well she could fit in with our family. And even in that short time, hearts began to heal.

Playing with her allowed us to get a glimpse of her zany yet demure personality; it has earned her the name "Eris" (pronounced AIR-ess) after the Greek goddess of chaos. It suits her. ;) 

So adoption papers were filled out. And the kitten will remain there until she is ready to be homed - she'll need to be spayed and that can't happen for another week, because they have to be at least a certain weight when that happens.

So, probably around the 18th to the 20th of August, we'll be bringing home a little sister for Loki (named, incidentally, after the Norse god of mischief. Do I sense a theme here? LOL) ... and in between, I imagine we'll be visiting her as she waits to get big enough to come home.

Aloha, Eris.

Cowardice - or courage?

When I was a child, a couple of boys picked a fight with my older brother. He was unable to defend himself and got knocked around a bit. My father, man's man that he was, was disgusted that the younger of his two sons would not be able to defend himself. He expressed his displeasure in no uncertain terms, and compared the two brothers, saying that the elder brother could "handle himself."  

What should have followed was a conversation about when it is appropriate to fight back, instead of condemnation and misunderstanding. My brother interpreted his father's comments as an indication that the definition of a man was someone who could beat someone up. It marked him - unfortunately - for life. He spent the next few years learning how to fight ... and funneling all of his resentment against his father into becoming really good at breaking someone's face.

Years later, my two brothers and my father were present when someone tried to goad my oldest brother into an altercation. Instead of punching his lights out, the elder of the two brothers refused to be drawn into a fight, and walked away. The instigator also left. My dad turned to his younger son, and said, "Now THAT's a REAL man."  

What? Talk about mixed messages!!

It's regrettable that, because the conversation never happened in the first place, a teaching opportunity had been lost. My brother never recovered from those two experiences. He'd spent his entire youth building his life on something he thought my father valued, only to be told that it was wrong. 

The truth is that in a way, my dad may have been right in both instances - but he was definitely wrong in not trying to communicate the reasons for his reactions. 

It IS appropriate - sometimes - to fight. It is right and proper when there is something good, something worth defending. I'm not talking about defending one's pride or position. I'm talking about standing up for what is right, the way you stand up to a bully and call attention to his or her inappropriate behavior. I'm talking about telling the truth to someone - even if it hurts. I'm talking about battling injustice to give someone a chance at a better life.

But there are also times when it's better to walk away. Or to hang up the phone when someone is trying to provoke you into saying something you'll regret - only to use it against you. Will that person call you a coward?? You bet!! Is it still better to walk away in that situation? Most definitely, yes!! 

I've been thinking a lot about that kind of thing - cowardice versus courage - because of recent events in my personal life. 

I've spent a lot of years fighting to protect the rights and opportunities of someone I love. Sadly, she must have interpreted my bull-dog tenacity as a tacit message that the rules apply to everyone except to the person I was trying so hard to defend: her. Slowly, the person I once knew died, and was replaced with someone I barely recognize. Through the influence of some of her friends, over the course of the last few years, she has come to view me - and my husband - as people to take advantage of. To take from, always promising but never giving back. To manipulate into being given more. And MORE.

And I finally ended up in the unenviable position of fighting, struggling to

Photo "Woman With Sad Expression"
 courtesy of David Castillo Dominici at
 www.freedigitalphotos.net

defend myself and my husband from her abuse. And from the abuse of her friends, one in particular, who verbally attacked me and is actively trying to ruin my reputation and further undermine my relationship with her. With her full consent. 

She made her choice clear. 

Yes, I fought back. I wanted the person I used to know to return to me. I fought to keep her in my life. To protect her.

Until I couldn't take the mental anguish anymore. I had to walk away. 

A large part of me feels like that is cowardice - that I am giving up, that I have failed. 

Yet the glimmer of hope that I cling to is that in walking away, I can teach what I couldn't before - that no matter what the provocation, certain behaviors are simply not acceptable. Abuse is one of those behaviors. 

So I - in conjunction with my husband - hung up the phone, to use a metaphor, to keep from saying/doing something we'd all regret. 

If that makes me a coward, fine. I'm not so sure it does... but that's really not my (or anyone's) judgment to make. 

It's a painful process; in a very real way I am grieving - I've shed more tears in the last 56 hours than I have in the last year. But now that it's final, now that this person is no longer able to keep behaving in that same old pattern, maybe now the healing can begin. On both sides of the equation.

I sure hope so.

Goodbye - again.

I must have been about 11 years old the first time it happened. A schoolmate with whom I was very close at that time, left in the middle of the school year. Her mother was moving to a province very far away. 

I'd lost my grandfather at 7 years old, and that was really tough too. But losing a friend's company, knowing that they were still out there somewhere but prevented from that regular contact ... was almost worse than losing someone to the grim reaper. 

The sense of loss was incredible. I am not a person who makes friends easily, even less so when I was a child. She was my only friend. And she left. 

As I grew older, this was a pattern that repeated with various people and for various reasons. Often. So often, in fact, that I became afraid to make friends with someone new, because I absolutely KNEW that I would have to say goodbye to them; they ALWAYS left. Or they were so far away that it was just as though they were gone from my life. Keeping in touch was really difficult; I'd write and they wouldn't write back.

Loneliness was a frequent companion. Grief too.

Abandonment. Whether intentional or not, whether permanent or not, it hurts. 

A few years ago, a family moved to our province and started attending our church. And I tried not to like them. I really did. I knew - given the nature of the work that brought them here - that they would eventually leave.

However ... I couldn't help myself. Their dedication to being real in their faith, and their love of worship were akin to ours; their positive attitudes were something I wanted to emulate. I found myself wanting to be with them, watching them interact with each other, and cheering them on in their successes and their vision for the ministry of which they and we were a part. I grew to love them - to consider them friends.

Girl Looking Unhappy
Image courtesy of Stuart Miles (royalty-free
under certain restrictions) at
freedigitalphotos.net

And now ... all too soon, the time has come to let go - again - and say goodbye.  The job that brought them here ... naturally ... is leading them away from here.

When I first heard, a little over 24 hours ago, that this was going to happen, I felt as though someone had kicked me in the gut... that overwhelmed, breathless feeling of betrayal that quickly leads to nausea. Then it migrated into a profound sadness that stays even in the midst of laughter over other things. It's like this deep and guilty wound, scabbed over on the outside, but never quite healed on the inside, that someone punches (hard) every time a loved one leaves, either through death or distance. 

Guilty, because I am fighting the thought that I "should" be happy for my friends - and all I can think of is how much I will miss them, how things won't be the same without them. Selfish? yes. 

But it's allowed. I'm allowed to feel this way because that's how I feel. Simple as that. The fact that I have learned to feel what I feel and let it happen instead of stuffing it down inside, helps me to heal a little more than I would have if I'd lived (once more, like so many other times) in denial. 

The reality is, I really AM going to miss these wonderful people. It would be easier if I could even be angry at them - dismiss them. I can't. I need to work through the stages of the grief I know is normal and natural for me to experience. 

It's okay. It's hard - very hard - but it's okay. 

I guess I'll just have to make the best of the time that's left to us.

Somebody poisoned the water hole!

One of the greatest Disney-Pixar movies I've ever seen is Toy Story.  It's about friendship, loyalty, honesty, integrity, and so much more.  So many lines from that flick have come to my aid to describe various experiences that I've had.

The character Woody the Cowboy (played by Tom Hanks) has quite a few of them. Woody is an action figure with a pull string that allows him to say certain phrases.  One of those phrases is today's blog post title.  I got to thinking about that particular saying, and how it applies to some situations I've been going through lately.  

HERE is where I found this photo

Start hanging around poison situations and pretty soon the air reeks of it.  It leaves a bad taste in your mouth.  You feel dirty, used. Start hanging around poison people (everybody knows at least one) and their attitudes and speech will rub off on you. You feel "less than" - like something is wrong but you don't know exactly what.  Watch depressing or disturbing TV shows or movies on a regular basis, and eventually you'll be depressed or disturbed.  It's like I used to tell the kids when they were growing up, "GIGO - garbage in, garbage out." 

The fact of the matter is, if I don't want to turn out dirty, used, depressed, angry, if I don't want to be rolling around in the cesspool of life and get the stench of it all over me, I need to make some changes in what I read, what I watch, what I listen to, and who I hang around with.  I need to stop letting people use me, and establish (and enforce) some boundaries in my life.  I need to start believing (instead of just saying) that I can do nothing to change anyone else, to fix anyone else.  Changing people is God's job, NOT MINE.   The only person whose behaviour I must be responsible for ... is me.  Anything more will be self-defeating because I can NEVER do God's job.  Not even in myself.   The only thing I can do is trust Him and let Him fix me.  Me.  Not you, not him, not her, not 'them'.  That said, at the same time, I need to let people know where my boundaries are - and let people know when they've crossed them.  Too long I spent as a doormat, letting people scrape the muck from the barn off on me - if you catch my drift.  

Which brings me to the water hole.  The water hole is a safe place to come and drink, to be replenished, to be refreshed.  If that place is corrupted by dishonesty, betrayal, hypocrisy, and selfishness - mine or others'  - the place that was supposed to be a refuge, a haven in the storm, can become the opposite.  I've seen it happen in families, in friendships, and in church (or other social groups which are supposed to be "safe.")  The water hole is not the place to clean your dirty, manure-covered boots.  If people use it like that - the water is no longer drinkable. It's poisoned.

The only two things that can be done when the water hole is poisoned is to get rid of the poison... or dig a new water hole.  Either option is going to require a great deal of work.  But it's the only way to not get sick.  

And I'm sick of getting sick.  Aren't you?

Forgetting it

"Do you remember when..." can be the start of something beautiful, the shared memory of a wonderful time spent together.  Or it could produce just the opposite (such as sharing where we were when a horrible atrocity happened, be it the assassination of a president, the advent of a hurricane, or the crumbling of twin towers and the loss of some three thousand lives). Or it can be the start of a pathway to resolving a long-standing feud or grudge. Or starting one.

Memory is God-given.  It is a tool to remind us of better times and to help us learn from the worst times, to use to help others who are struggling with the same issues we once faced (or still face).  It might not always be pleasant. It might even hurt.  But it's better than the alternative.

Great article on Alzheimer's safety here

When a person starts to lose his or her memory for whatever reason, it can be a frightening, even confusing and distressing thing for the person or for his or her loved ones.  Ask anyone with any kind of dementia (whether Alzheimer's or permanent brain damage from decades of alcoholism!) The reasons are immaterial. Whether someone "can't help it" or "brought this on themselves" by a lifestyle or an addiction ... matters not: once the memory starts to go, it's too late to go back and fix it, so judging serves no purpose.  Forgetting where something is: from car keys to cell phones to where you parked the car to even where a particular store is located - can cause panic and stress.  Forgetting where someone lives when you've been there dozens of times before is frustrating.  Forgetting where you were going when you're half-way there is confusing.  Sitting in a parking lot trying desperately to remember why you came to this store (or how to get home) ... is horrible.  

And it's horrible to watch someone you love going through this memory loss process.  The short-term memory goes first.  Living in denial that there's anything wrong, the sufferers often blame those around them for hiding things, keeping secrets. Or they forget small things that inconvenience others, and then berate themselves when the truth comes to light.  

As the memory loss expands, the baser fears start to come out - and show their true character, which they may have been able to conceal from some people until that point.  And then the long-term memories start to go. Gaps develop in the memory that are small at first - then whole incidents, certain types of behaviors which they deny they ever did or said.  They accuse their loved ones of lying about the past, making things up, contradicting them.  They remember incidents differently than the way they actually happened.  The result is a lot of upset for them and for those who are closest to them.  Eventually they may not even recognize the people who've known them all their lives, a tragic state of affairs.  Some even revert to a child-like state and live in that pre-traumatic era for the rest of their lives, relying on others to meet their every daily need because they are incapable of doing it themselves. 

Witnessing the permanent effects of memory loss on someone's life has made me rethink expressions like "forgive and forget" and "wish I could forget that whole year..." and "forgetting those things which are behind..." all of which refer more to an intentional forgetting - a choice (though the incidents are remembered and can't be forgotten) to not let those unpleasant events define who I am in the now, even though they are a part of my history and I can draw upon them to help someone out of a rut they might be in today.  

I've come to realize that the memories I have, the experiences I have had, can be (as they say in the recycling world) "repurposed." I'd like to think that (whether the memories I have are pleasant or painful) I have lived the life I have lived so that someone, someday, would be able to look at the beautiful things that God has done in my life in spite of the pitfalls, and say to themselves, "She has something special.  I'd like to know what it is."

That would be something to remember.
 

Middlin'

It's a common expression in England.  Ask someone - especially an older person - how they are and you're likely to get the answer, "Oh, middlin', lad [or lass]".  

It means they're doing about average.  Nothing to write home about, nothing to complain about - well, a few aches and pains, but who wants to listen to that?  Just the same old same old.  Middlin'. 

One of the things I say to people when they ask how I am is "Okay" or "Not bad" - it's the truth, it's much like, "Middlin', lad."  Yet I've lost count of the number of times some zealous optimist has said, "What? you're not GREAT?  you should be FANTASTIC!" (...usually followed by some religious or positive thinking platitude, sorry folks but that really gets me going.)  Lately, if I get that response, I have been known to come back with, "So, I should lie.  Hm."  Which usually gets them backpedaling - hee hee.  (Ain't I a stinkah?)  Honestly.  Don't you mistrust a salesman who's ALWAYS grinning? 

Most of the time, I'm middlin'. I'm okay.  Life is throwing an equal amount of pleasant and unpleasant things my way.  It all evens out (as they say around here) "in the warsh."  

That's a whole heckuva lot better than it was just a few years ago.  Life sucked.  It just did.  Every day was a drudge, more reasons to be upset because nobody would do things my way (which, of course, was the right way!)  - and I had this huge happy-faced facade up so nobody would suspect how miserable or how incredibly lonely I was.  

When I started living my new lifestyle of respecting boundaries: my own and others', and started taking care of myself and taking responsibility for my own actions and expecting others to take responsibility for their own actions... such a weight fell off my shoulders!! My stress level was reduced by at least 75%.  And I began to trust my "feeler."  I'd always been taught to distrust my emotions, taught that my feelings were somehow evil.  When I started paying attention to how I was feeling and letting that alert me to those things in my life that were out of balance, my life and my relationships started to improve.  

So now, when I get to feeling really awful inside, and I can't shake it or seem to deal with it - even with the new tools at my disposal - that's when I'm no longer middlin' and then I know it's high time to pay attention.  

Like a couple of months ago.  I slipped into a bout of depression that made me doubt my own sanity.  People who remember what I was like during that time frame will remember how concerned they were for me. I wasn't sleeping well at all, losing on average three hours a night of sleep, perhaps a bit less on the weekends when I could nap in the afternoons.  I was bone-tired-weary all the time.  Everything ached. I dragged myself around. I was paranoid, fearful of everyone. My self-confidence was non-existent. I seriously doubted my own judgment, my own thinking patterns. I didn't want to do anything or go anywhere, especially work and church. It was a herculean effort to even get out of bed in the morning. I was on the verge of either tears or an outburst of rage nearly all the time. I lost my temper more.  And I cried.  A LOT.  

When I finally did ask for help, and started to get it, I realized that I had allowed certain things to go on far too long without dealing with them.  I had permitted things to build and accumulate until I was convinced that some people were just out to get me.  My perceptions were clouded by my own inner reality.  When I started looking after myself more, and got the rest I needed to get, things slowly righted themselves.  I'm so thankful that they did; I know that some folks aren't quite so lucky. 

Even with that, it took nearly a month for me to start feeling more like myself, getting back to middlin'.  Just to wake up in the morning and not dread putting my feet on the floor is worth more than I can express.  I might not look forward to this or that thing that I will have to do that day, but it all balances out.  That's a good thing. 

Middlin' is okay. Okay is good.  I like it.

Showing it

About a month ago, while I was going through a very difficult time emotionally (to the point where I was losing sleep and having physical symptoms) I remember being in a store with my husband when we saw a friend of ours.  He stopped to talk to us and expressed his concern for me.  He'd noticed that I had lost the colour in my cheeks, was dragging myself around, and seemed very tired and/or sick. He said that he'd been praying for me, and that my husband and I were very special to him. As we parted, he looked me straight in the eye and said, "Look after yourself...and feel better SOON."

The whole encounter took about five minutes.  But it felt so great to know that someone cared, someone noticed, someone wanted me to be happy, and that he took the time to SHOW that.  I hung onto that expression of loving concern for days and days.  It really meant a lot to me.  It fed my heart, so to speak.

Today, I saw him again.  He remarked how much better I was looking these days - more relaxed, more colour in my cheeks, more bounce in my step.  He said it was encouraging to see that.  Again I was reminded that I was loved, that my feelings mattered.  What a tremendous gift.  

From "The Importance of Hugging"

This fellow had learned somewhere along the line, that it's not enough to just care.  Care must be SHOWN to make a difference to someone.  It doesn't take long - five minutes during a random meeting, a few words or a smile and a wave, an encouraging text message, a short email, even a phone call.  But it can make the difference between someone feeling as though nobody cares, and borrowing a little hope to make it through another day until the sun starts to shine through. 

I really hope that the next time I am tempted to tell someone I care, I will remember to show it too ... just so the person knows I mean what I say and that it's not just empty words.  

Food for thought.

Mini-retreats

One of the things that's been coming out of my recent attempts to pay more attention to myself and my emotional needs is the idea of 'mini-retreats' - some have called them 'breaks' or 'breathers' from the daily stress-producing facts of everyday living.

I had an unexpected one today; I was heading from the washroom at work and was going to go to the vending machine to pick out some sort of naughty treat for myself - when a friend stopped me and we chatted in the hallway briefly. She said, "You look kind of tired, like you could use a pick-me-up.  How about we go someplace nearby for some coffee?" That idea appealed to me.  

So we went next door to the coffee shop, ordered our drinks (and I even had a yogurt - much better than what I was planning on having!) and sat outside in the sunshine to chat and have our treats. We talked about our non-work lives, shared views and opinions - like regular people.

What a welcome retreat from the mounting stresses of the day!  It wasn't much, just fifteen minutes in total, but it re-energized me and allowed me to get through the next hour or so until the end of the work day.  

It truly is amazing how a little pause can set the tone for the next little while.  I need to do that more often.  Or something similar perhaps - just to remind myself that things which I might think are earth-shattering ... won't matter even in six months.  And work is only one part of my life - mind you, it takes up about a third of my time - but still, it's not the be-all and end-all.  Little reminders like that can help me get some perspective and balance back in my thinking.  

Thanks my friend.  You gave me something to think about.

"Me" time

It's been pretty stressful the last little while in a lot of areas for me: work, home, church, family relationships.  Lots of change.  Lots of uncertainty.

The stress can really get to me when I am not rested, when I've allowed the tyranny of Just One More Thing to take over.  So the last couple of weeks I have been taking every opportunity to make a little "me" time.  After a couple of days of much-needed time off from work and a change of duties, I find myself able to make small jokes where I couldn't have before that time.  Dealing with the changes in my personal life and family relationships has been challenging as well. But I do remember the principles of recovery from codependency - that it's important to make time for me because self-care is the first step to setting healthy boundaries.  

So earlier today I found myself coming back from picking up some lunch (and carrying it back to my desk - which is another issue) when I heard music coming from the other side of the door that led to the stairwell.  Singing, to be exact. Our department has a choir that sings for Veterans in nursing homes and other places. So I decided to stop, go into the stairwell and eat my lunch while I listened to the Canada Remembers Chorus practice their next performance.  It only took about ten minutes, tops, but that little interlude left me going back to my desk with a smile on my face.

Later, after work, hubby picked me up and we turned our attention to where we might go on our weekly "date" which has been a fixture since the children were old enough to look after each other at home without us.  Instead of the usual haunts, we decided to hop in the vehicle and head about 35 miles away to one of our favorite restaurants - just because we like it there and this was our night. What a lovely treat it was to be able to do something out of the ordinary. 

This photo taken last summer, late August 2011

Right now, he's out doing something he loves doing ever since last summer when our daughter and her boyfriend presented him with a ride-on lawnmower. Yes, he's mowing the lawn, wearing his hearing-protection earmuffs, with a huge grin all over his face.  I'm smiling just thinking about it.

It's those little things that count, those things that tell us that we matter, that God cares enough to give us not only what we need, but sometimes what we want - those times when we are reminded that life can be fun ... and good ... and not sucky.  

Sometimes we just have to be intentional about looking after our own needs.  It's okay to do that.  It's okay to make some "me" time if we need to. We're people too; we're not invincible. I had forgotten how easy it is to slip back into those old patterns of behaving where I'd put my own need for nurturing aside and nurture someone else's stuff at my own expense, over-extend myself, and then resent the person not only for not appreciating it, but for coming to expect it!! I've had to remind myself lately that I can't do it all perfectly the first time.  And that when someone has a problem with something I do, I can acknowledge the feelings of hurt, frustration and anger that I might have, and then focus on what needs to happen so that I don't do that again or so that the person who gave me the bad news learns a more tactful way to give bad news. ;)  And to remember that what I DO doesn't define who I AM.  Huge lesson!  One I have to relearn over and over again.

When I make more time for me, though, it reduces my stress and allows me to stay grateful for the many blessings in my daily life.  Not the least of which is the ability to make some time for me in my busy schedule.  ;)

That Awkward Moment

My kids are really into Tumblr ... and their favorite thing to do is to read those posters that start "...that awkward moment when..."  I hear peals of giggles coming from them as they identify with commonly shared embarrassing experiences.  I've seen them spend an hour reading nothing but the awkward moment posters. 

The last little while I've been struggling with (albeit a mild version of) depression.  As word gets around my work place, or in my church, or among my friends, that I have been finding life a little overwhelming these days - I've noticed a change.  Not only in my own feelings, my energy level, and my motivation level - but also in the attitudes of others as they interact (or don't interact, which is more often the case) with me. It's kind of intriguing in a way.  

Perhaps people just don't want to run the risk that I will bleed all over them, so they avoid asking me how I am.  I understand that.  Perhaps they think that them talking to me will somehow add to my stress.  Maybe they're just uncomfortable with anyone who's in pain; it doesn't agree with their theology or their life philosophy. Maybe they are judging me.  After all, I've preached freedom from the chains of the past and living one day at a time.  And now this??   

Whatever the reason, there's a part of me that sits back and finds all this almost clinically peculiar.  I've spoken to one person who has suffered from depression for many years and it appears that this kind of reaction is not unique to my situation.  Hm.  Of course I wouldn't want people to fawn all over me and pity me. That is absolutely disgusting; it makes me cringe.

But there's another part of me crying out to be acknowledged, to know that I matter, to feel that nothing has changed in how they see me - in spite of what my eyes tell me.  Some people won't meet my gaze; they avert their eyes when they cross paths with me.  Their discomfort is palpable.  Others who used to approach me and chat, no longer do so.  If I want interaction, I have to go looking for it. I see the sidelong glances of people passing by as I chat with someone I've gone to see; I have to force myself not to wonder what they are thinking. The sense of isolation is very real.  

A rare few do brave the possibility of hearing "bad news" ... and stay in touch.  I am grateful for them and I try not to go into much detail when they ask me how I am.  I've taken to saying, (IF they ask me and IF they stay to hear the answer) "Taking one day at a time."  If they press: "I have good days and bad days.  Today is one of the ___ days." (insert adjective).  Otherwise I say, "Okay," or (if I know they won't bother to stop and talk), "Vertical." Most times I avert my eyes from them, too - preferring to alleviate their discomfort rather than my own.  

I wonder to myself if that's always been my problem.  Disappear.  Don't let the grownups see you.  I find it easier to try to analyze myself as if I was someone else.  It beats feeling some pretty unpleasant feelings.  Yet I know that I need to acknowledge those things and bring them out to the surface so they can be dealt with.  

My mental cogs chug away, on and on, endlessly, while I go about my daily routine, trying desperately to keep me on target without losing myself in the stories I must read to do my work.  Produce the next widget. Write it down, let them know I produced a widget.  Stay under the radar. Play it safe. Don't think of the widgets as real people with real lives, try not to let their stories move me...and die a little more inside every time I write down a number like it was just one more piece of meaningless data. Come home.  Eat.  Avoid making decisions; even "What's for dinner?" Vegetate in front of the TV or my computer. If I have a choice to go somewhere or not to go there, I don't go - tired of the judgment, weary of the well-meaning advice given by folks who want to fix it with trite slogans or pat answers. All I need is the inner assurance that they haven't abandoned me - which is all too rare; the down side is that I do end up isolating myself and not giving those who might show their support the chance to do so. 

But these folks are the exceptions - and they usually find a way to express their love, and they don't mind if I shed a few tears when they are so kind to me.  I wish - wistfully - that the other people would quit smothering me with platitudes or their own solutions ... or stories of what happened to Uncle Fred (theme: it could be worse) or how their Aunt Mary got help. It's not any other human being's job to fix me or snap me out of it.  That's God's job.  

This is my journey; nobody can walk it but me, as difficult as that is for some people to accept. (It's difficult for ME to accept too!) To those brave souls that continue share their presence and their love with me - without offering their opinions or judgment - I give in return all I am able to offer:  my profound gratitude.

The uphill path

Slipping into depression is a scary thing.  You don't even know you're there.  You don't recognize the signs; you don't even know you've slipped down the slope... and that thorns have sprung up behind you to bar the way back. 

First there's a same-ness that creeps into the everyday.  Life becomes monotonous.  You hesitate to try new things, meet new people.  You start thinking that frustration is an acceptable thing - that everybody has to put up with a certain amount.  The demands of others (family, friends, perhaps your church or your employer) wear at you.  You forget (in looking after their needs) to take care of your own needs. You feel guilty for not being grateful for obvious blessings.  But the unhappiness won't quit.  You begin to think that your feelings don't matter ... when those same feelings are screaming at you to pay attention to them.  And down the slope you go... faster and faster until finally you're going so fast that you are not sure how to stop - how to get back.  It's terrifying.  

The feelings - when you allow yourself to feel them - the sadness, the panic, the loneliness, the anxiety, the anger, the shame ... are overwhelming.  So you shut them off - put them out of your mind.  Then your body gets in on the act.  It gets the message from your feelings and reacts with physical symptoms: upset stomach, muscle aches, joint aches, insomnia, bone-weariness, susceptibility to viruses, and lethargy - a body at rest wanting so badly to stay at rest!  Life becomes a struggle: just to get up and get dressed in the morning takes a major effort.  At some point, you wake up and are disappointed that you woke up. You dread every moment of the upcoming day.  Everyone else always seems so happy, so chipper, while you are irritable and easily hurt. People actually DO start to leave you alone.  You take it as abandonment, perhaps even persecution.  You believe you're defective. You believe that you've grown a giant "kick me" sign on your back... and that people are taking advantage of it.  You wonder if life will ever be better. You wonder if anybody even notices how unhappy you are... and the thought of life always being like this is enough to make you wonder if your family, if the world even, might be better off without you.

That is a horrible place to live.  

The first step out of that dark place is realizing you're there.  It sounds really over-simplified but it's true.  Knowing that what you're going through is not okay is the first step in dealing with it.

Depending on how severe and/or long-lasting it is, medication may be required, but it's usually the last resort.  There are other things that you can do to climb the thorny path back to a more balanced life.

Step one is to simplify your life as much as possible.  It sounds trite, but "No" is a useful word - a good word.  Saying "no" to the non-essentials leaves you with the energy to deal with the stuff that matters. Delegate tasks that others could just as easily do if you need to. 

Then, either physically or mentally make a wish list.  Figure out what you want, what's the most important thing to you?  then the next important and so forth.  Of those things, you are the best one to determine whether you can do something to help yourself, or whether you need to ask for help, or whether you need to put in on the "back burner" for now.  

Talk to someone you trust; tell that person that you don't need them to fix anything unless you ask them to fix it.  If there is someone to whom you can talk honestly about how you feel without fearing judgment or condemnation, DO it.  And when you do, you might want to consider asking for help in a few areas that you need help to change, if they can. 

Tell yourself (whether you believe it or not) that you are worth spending a little time on. And then act on it. If a member of your family was feeling the way you are, you'd move heaven and earth to help them feel better; you'd treat them to lunch or supper, maybe a hairstyle or a massage.  Why not you? If you have to schedule some time, carve it out of your busy schedule, to look after yourself, it's worth it - you will never regret it.  

Go for a 20-minute walk, "just because."  De-stress.  Do something you enjoy doing.  Listen to music, go horseback riding, call up a friend and plan some fun time at the movies, read a good book, go golfing, or listen to a CD or watch a DVD that makes you remember that life can be good.  It's okay to pamper yourself.  

And remember that it took a while for you to get into this state of affairs.  It might take a while to get back.  But you will get back.  

I wrote this post to encourage people who are suffering from this horrible and debilitating state known as depression.  What I didn't count on was that I ended up giving a pep talk to myself.  And strengthening my resolve to look after the important things.  Starting with me.

Old scars just are

"All she ever talks about is crap."

I'd trusted this person with how I was feeling, what my world was like, what my innermost thoughts were.  Now, months and several revelations later, as I lingered by the grate which allowed conversation from the kitchen to be transmitted to the upstairs, I heard those words.  Betrayal, like a double-serrated knife, pierced my insides and then twirled them into a hot knot of confusion and doubt. 

I was sixteen.

I found myself thinking about that moment lately - as circumstances surrounding my work situation have been changing, and there is more focus on the mechanics of what we do instead of the good that we can do - which leads to things taking twice, three, even four times as long as they could. Suddenly, everything I write is being scrutinized because somebody I never met had something to prove to a superior. The totally reactionary and unnecessary "100% quality review" process is extremely subjective and it's extended beyond grammatical and punctuation errors.  And the whole time, the end client waits while we argue over semicolons and commas, whether to include this phrase or not, even whether to give a client the requested benefit or not.  That same sense of betrayal is there, rising higher and higher in my psyche.  Gut-wrenching.  Suddenly what I've been doing all along - and I was told by this same person for years that it was high quality work - isn't good enough. 

The result is an incredible sense of sadness, of fatigue, of a lack of motivation, a growing dread of going to work, even physical symptoms like joint ache, muscular pain, and headaches. My subconscious mind has my body convinced that my job site is not a safe place for me anymore.  I wonder how many more in my section are feeling the same thing to one degree or another.  My sympathy for our clients with work-stress-related psychological problems has multiplied.  With nobody to consult who can effect change, nobody to talk to about these feelings except the catch-all provision, "You can always talk to Employee Assistance," there is nowhere to turn; I feel trapped.  Guilty too - since I get the message, "You should be glad you even HAVE a job."  

Yeah, unemployment sucks.  But there are worse things.  

Even my recovery tools - skills I've learned in my new lifestyle of growth and rigorous honesty - seem inadequate to deal with this situation. Being honest and telling the truth could get me in trouble - not good in today's oppressive atmosphere of looking for ways to save salary dollars.  Being grateful feels like shoving my head in the sand.  Doing the next right thing ... well, I can't even do that if my judgment is going to be questioned.  The only recovery tool I have that even comes close is acceptance: "sitting with the pain." "Accepting what is." Yes... yes, I suppose I could do that. 

Perhaps the pain is worse because it hits me in one of those old scars.  Perhaps it's just a natural and normal reaction to this kind of treatment.  

I can accept that old scars just are.  They will hurt and get deeper when they are re-wounded.  They don't have to define who I am, though.  I can still hold my head high because of the good I have done.  I can continue to do the work that I was trained to do, I can continue to help the clients, and I can roll with the punches until the inevitable happens: the end clients will wonder what is taking so long and complain.  And then the reactionary pendulum will swing in the other direction.  I know that; I expect it. 

Now, the trick is to get from here to there intact, the only way I know how.  One day at a time.

Song in the Night

"All Your breakers and Your waves have rolled over me." - Ps. 42:7

That's what fear - that's what panic - that's what depression - looks like.  It's overwhelming, suffocating, destructive.  

King David struggled with these feelings on a regular basis.  He spent a lot of his youth running from the wrath of a royal madman obsessed with not losing his kingdom - to the point of living in caves even.  Even after he came to power, there were times when his life was horrible.  One of his sons raped his daughter, another killed the son who did it, and a third son tried to lead a coup take his kingdom away from him by force.  Talk about stress!  

Photo (via Google Images) :
http://allworldbest.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-waves.html

Read any of the psalms written by him (some weren't) and they will usually talk about the tumult he experienced inside.  Most were prayers.  Of those, most started out with some version of "God? Where ARE You??"  Then a whole litany of complaints - David didn't hold anything back. No "speaking in faith" for him! at least, not the way that folks today think of it. He was honest.  Brutally honest! Near the end, though, he would usually speak to his soul and tell it to remember God's goodness, to remember all the wonderful things He'd done for His people, to take heart from this, to remember to be grateful and to praise Him.  Over and over again we can see him struggling to believe in what were sometimes horrific circumstances - betrayal, loneliness, despondency, and waiting for God to do something when it seemed like the heavens were made of bronze. 

I quoted Psalm 42:7 at the beginning of this post.  Verse 8 says this:  "The Lord will command His lovingkindness in the daytime - and in the night His song will be with me, a prayer to the God of my life." The "song in the night" has come to me so many times as I have wrestled with God in the wee hours of the morning, wondering why this or that situation had to happen, whether things will ever be better, if I'll ever see the light of day in my heart again.  Everyone has times like that.  The "song" might have minor chords in it - at first - it's okay. The important thing, I believe, is to lift up whatever thoughts I have to God.  No matter what they are.  The important thing is that I talk to Him.  Even if I doubt.

David goes on to say that he would continue to be honest with God, to ask Him why He has forsaken him - and then after this outburst of emotion, he begins to ask himself why he is so disquieted.  He encourages himself to hope, to trust, to rest in God.  

The rest can't come for me unless and until I am honest with Him.  When my heart is heavy with grief or fear or depression, the singing isn't possible until the fists go into the pillow, until the shoulders heave with sobs, and the knowledge comes - usually afterward - that even at those times, He is holding me and letting me be who I am, feel what I feel, and that loves me in spite of it all.  

That kind of song is worth more than all the ones borne of denial and duty.  It is the song of Love.  

Sitting with Pain

We live in an instant gratification society.  Fast food, online shopping and pre-packaged food (not to mention vacations and other kinds of things) make us accustomed to not having to wait for anything.  

We even have pills to take away pain (both physical and emotional) - and they act relatively quickly.  

Not often are we faced with the requirement to put up with the hurting.  But occasionally, there is nothing that can be done to fix something, and pain persists even after all means have been tried to relieve it.  

Sometimes it's necessary to "sit with the pain."  To allow it to happen, and to endure it until it's done.  Nowhere is this more a reality than in the emotional realm.  Oh, I know that there are happy pills - and that some cases of chronic depression, for example, can be treated with medication.  I'm not so much referring to that as I am to the normal kind of psychic discomfort - and some would say anguish - experienced by every human at one time or another.  

Studies now tell us that depression hurts.  Really.  It can have physical repercussions because it affects almost every body system!! The emotional side of us can really wreak havoc on our bodies. 

Depression.
Grief.
Rage.
Fear.

These things (and more) cause us to get sick - or sore.  It's not just "in the person's head."  It is real.  Psychological pain is real and it causes physical pain.  Who knew?  Probably every person who has ever suffered from depression or grieved the loss of a significantly significant other.  Most likely it's also anyone who has been in a major argument with someone, who holds a grudge - or who lives in constant fear of being hurt (or of being found out for hurting someone else). 

I'm not against a person taking medication if he or she is suffering from chronic depression.   I do believe that a lot of our emotionally-caused physical pain can be addressed if we deal with the cause of it - and I also believe that these things CAN be cured, without medication for some, and with the temporary use of medication for others.  However, it takes time - and commitment.  And that, unfortunately, is something that someone who is suffering emotionally doesn't want to hear.  That transition period between suffering and the cure - is the period during which the sufferer must - to some extent - "sit" with the pain. Feel it.  Don't hide from it.

And face it - and its source.

Yes, it's uncomfortable.  Yes, sometimes the emotions are overwhelming and there may even be disturbing ideas that come to the fore, and usually there are difficult memories.  But patience is a valuable virtue in this process, as is honesty - especially with the self. A program of recovery from the hurts of the past, especially one that involves a relationship with God before delving into those past hurts (while relying on Him), is a person's best shot at getting to the root of attitudes that sabotage mental and physical health.  


I remember being in that uncomfortable place - and occasionally I need to go there again, depending on the circumstances that bring previously buried or long-denied emotions to the surface.  I've sat with the pain, I've been through the process, and I've come out the other side better for having been there - and perhaps even more compassionate toward those who are still suffering and who want the pain to stop.  

No way do I claim to have arrived.  I still have lots of baggage.  But when I compare myself to three years ago, I know that I'm happier today than I ever dreamed of being then.  I got there by leaning pretty heavily on God and being committed to working through those feelings and memories, one at a time, and coming to a place of being able to let go of them.

If you are going through this process yourself, take heart.  It gets better.  As a friend of mine says, "It works if you work it, so work it 'cause you're worth it!"