The Hollow Place

 Most everyone has at least one hollow place in their lives: a place that has marked them and left them scarred, empty, unfulfilled in some way, and aching. 

For some, it's the loss of a loved one. For others, it's a dream destroyed. For still others, it's a ruptured relationship. There are so many places like that. Even when the wound heals, there seems to be a hole left behind, a place that is irreparably damaged. 

I got to thinking about this as the 9th anniversary of our daughter Arielle's death gets closer and closer. This past July, she would have turned 30 years old. That birthday was a little harder this year than the last one ... for some reason. Grief has no rules, it seems.

Free photo by Ulrike Mai at Pixabay

About six or seven weeks before she died, she sent me a video of herself just ... being her. She talked about what she was doing in that moment, gave us a tour of her surroundings, and talked about missing us and loving us. I've played that video many times, more often lately - the sound of her voice is somehow comforting now.

And even though most times it doesn't "hurt" exactly to realize she's no longer here, there's still that hollow place, the place left over, the healed edges of grief. There's that empty feeling, call it the "new normal" as I've been known to call it, but in that, there is the knowledge that there is no going back. There is only moving ahead. There is only looking for ways to honour her memory. There is the acknowledgement - and the gratitude - that we had here here with us, even if only for a short time. There is the hope that someday, we'll see her again... someday.

But that hollow place remains. If I had chosen to live there, to keep the edges of that wound raw and torn, to torment myself over and over with the fact that I had experienced a loss that no parent should ever know (and believe me, the temptation to do that was real!) I would have been stuck there, unable to heal, unable to move on, unable to live life as she did: with zest, with joy. 

Yes, that hollow place exists. I don't deny it, nor do I deny that there is pain there sometimes, in the most unexpected of circumstances (like a smell, or a song, or a memory). I've learned to accept those as part of the never-ending process of grief, and I feel my feelings and honour her memory.

It didn't come easy. But it came. 

And I guess that if I had any words of comfort to you in your own hollow place, it's that the grief never stops BUT it changes shape. It heals as you move on ... and honour the empty place, as you let people love you in ways you can perceive. Moreover, it's possible to eventually help others with their hollow places because you know what it feels like, and you can allow space for them to feel what they feel and heal at their own pace. You can realize their hollow place isn't going to look like yours, necessarily, but the healing process is the same. Time is irrelevant. But it's LOVE that heals.

Storm Stayed

 It was January 1980. My (then) fiancé and I were sitting on the floor in front of a roaring fire in the fireplace at my brother's apartment. Each of us sipped on a hot chocolate. All the lights were off, and the fireplace exuded wave after wave of nice, dry heat through our sweaters, soaking us in hearty, healing warmth.

It was over 40 years ago. But the memory is just as vivid: the taste of the mini-marshmallows smooth on our tongues, the warmth of the hearth making one side of our faces hotter than the other, the utter peace and joy in that moment, nestled in each other's arms, the crackling and asymmetric thrumming of the flames, the only other sound being our own breathing or the occasional whispered confidence as we gazed into the dancing tongues of fire behind the mesh grate. 

The storm was raging outside: one of those come-out-of-nowhere winter storms when the snow gets into cracks and makes ever-changing desert scenes in swirling snow-devils barely visible in the starlight. That we would possibly not make it to church the next day was the farthest thing from our minds. We were lost in the dwindling flames, kept just as hot by the glowing embers as the clock slipped past one o'clock, then two. We were loath to leave it, because it meant I would head to the guest room and he to the sofa. So we lingered.

Free image by Capri23auto at Pixabay.

That scene flashes into my mind when there's "nothing on TV" and I see that the Fireplace channel is featuring a roaring fire in Banff or les Laurentides... without music. The decision to change the channel is not hard! 

With just the sound and appearance of the flames, without any of the deleterious side effects of wood smoke (stuffy nose, watery eyes, etc.), somehow my body feels warmer, and that peaceful, relaxed feeling slips over my tired soul and lulls me into an extreme state of mindful gratitude. Sometimes I even drift off into a doze and catch myself nodding off. My head jerks upward - did anyone see? Nobody would care anyway - they were doing the same thing.

I even enjoy seeing the wood become charred, like rows and rows of charcoal, black alligator hide all aglow with dancing fire-creatures, the flames burning lower and lower until the embers seem lit from within: last, brilliant jewels of their former glory. 

Other memories surface. Sitting in a cozy living room in Dorchester, New Brunswick listening to the flames inside a wood stove and enjoying their heat to the music wafting up from my brother's Ovation guitar. Singing along with him in harmony ... and wondering if life got much better than this. I had long since put my own guitar down, fingertips throbbing, but he kept going - joying in a gift re-given when he recovered from a woodworking accident enough to be able to play his "axe" again.

All those images, sensations, sensory memories of times gone by, swirl around me like the flames swirl around the logs they consume. I am in the fire, and I AM the fire. I both consume and I am consumed. There is no difference. Past, or future, only feeds into the now. I bow my head and fuel my own flame. 

And here, surrounded by the crackles and the wisps of smoke, I am more easily able to wait. Time becomes an abstraction. Minutes, hours, days ... all meld into the moment of becoming who I am. 

Time To Retire

I have a countdown on my computer. Currently, it says 414 days until I retire. And I remember a time when that number was over double that ... not all that long ago. 

As the weeks and months wind down toward that magical date, I am working hard at keeping my stress in check, because that day also marks for me a day when I can devote more time toward my second career. From the looks of the way things are going right now, that second career may be starting only eight short months after that.  

Free Image by Mabel Amber from Pixabay

And then I might have more say over when I take days off, or how much (or little) I work. I will be able to schedule time for things that - until then - will have been on hold for a very long time. Too long, actually. Horseback riding, golfing, traveling for fun, reading for pleasure, and (best of all) spending time with family and friends will all be possible again. That's the dream, at least. I've missed all of those things, and those who know love me have been very patient with me. VERY. PATIENT. Sometimes I am not sure how they put up with me always looking to dive into my next assignment for school, or with me having to work when their schedule frees up time for them, or with me nodding off when we do occasionally have a visit. What amazing people I have in my life!

It's getting within sight now, this finish line. But it's not really a finish line ... it's more of a starting line where I can walk (or ride, haha) and not run. That will be nice!! 

In the meantime, I need to remind myself frequently that it is time to retire: that is, it is time to schedule regular rest stops on my journey. I have been going at such a break-neck pace, especially since 2013, that burnout is never very far off, and perhaps I need to slow down a bit more. Sometimes, it takes the harsh reality of circumstance to bring me to that place of rest and re-creation.  I hope that I can learn to take the hint sooner rather than later that I need to make time for me and for the things (and people) that/who are important to me. I'm not thirty anymore. Nearly twice that now!!  I need to cut myself some slack!! 

I am so grateful for the ones who know me best and who love me anyway, who take the time to gently suggest that I take the time to look after myself and not run myself ragged. Such friends are hard to come by; I am very blessed to have more than one. 

So - in this time between semesters, I may be looking to reconnect with a few people, and take the time to do things that I like doing. After all, I am the only me that I have. :) 

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.

An unlikely oasis

The evening stars are just beginning to wink in the increasing dark as we roll to a stop in front of the door to the tiny building.  It is Friday night and we are returning home from grocery shopping, but we have stopped here along the way.  

My parents and I exit the boat-sized 1971 Bel Air Chevrolet and enter through the screen door. The door creaks on its spring hinge, and clamps shut behind us as a wave of warmth greets us.  The smell of french fries and burgers permeates the Star Canteen.  

Matilda bustles around in the kitchen behind the counter. A middle-aged, matronly woman, she wears a house-dress covered with an apron. She catches sight of us and grins broadly. "Hev a seat.  What'll ya hev?"

"Oh nothin' big," Dad says.  "Got any pie left?"

"Yep - apple. With some ice cream?"

Dad chuckles. "You're too good to me."

"How 'bout you?" Matilda looks at Mom and me. 

"We'll share a milkshake. Coffee."

As we wait for our food, and the whirring of the milkshake machine makes conversation almost impossible, I tug on Mom's sleeve. "Can I?" 

She hands me a few dimes and rolls her eyes. "Oh, all right." 

The milkshake is almost done. Matilda serves Dad his pie and ice cream. 

Gratefully I take the precious coins and turn toward the silver and glass box just behind the row of barstools we had been sitting on.  I slide off the stool and feel my feet hit the linoleum tile floor. I peer through the glass at the row of 45 rpm records, insert a dime and make a selection, and watch the dance of the record arm as it scans over the records and stops - always at the right one - just above the record I chose to play.  I watch it, mesmerized, as it brings it forward, rotates it and places it on the turntable, which starts to turn as the play arm lifts and makes the trip to the beginning of the record. 

Photo "Jukebox" by Phil at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

A few short seconds later and Elvis Presley is singing, "In the Ghetto," and I climb back onto the stool. Mom has given me the milkshake glass,  while she has taken what was left over in the metal mixing container - to save Matilda having to wash another glass. We sip our drink and listen to the music together while Dad tucks into his pie and ice cream.  Nobody says a word. 

The chores that await me at home, the expectations, the misunderstandings, the disappointments, the uncertainty of never knowing what rules applied today - these all melted away in those few minutes, even if only for a few minutes - like an oasis in the desert, like a refreshing rain during a drought before the dust reclaims its prize.  In this one place, there was no judgement, criticism didn't exist, and each of us soaked up the strength to face another week, each in their own way. 

It might have lasted a half hour.  I might have played four songs from the old jukebox - all my favourites at the time, from Elvis to Wayne Newton.  And it didn't happen every week - just once in a while. But when it did, it was like magic, a great way to kick off a weekend.  

Even though the canteen was eventually sold and became a single family dwelling, I always glance at it on the way past, when we go back to the old homestead to visit.  It's a glowing, wonderful memory - a jewel in the mire of yesteryear - one I hope I will never forget.

Press Pause

What a whirlwind the last three weeks has been! I have been in a city that is three thousand miles away from my home, knowing only the people I have met online through my master's program, and often depending on the kindness of strangers, or if not strangers, people who are new to my experience. 

Three weeks ago today, I left behind my office desk with a note on it to not give me new work because I wouldn't be back until nearly the end of July, and I went home to do my final packing. In a way, it was like I pressed "Pause" on my work life.  That world would no longer occupy me for a period of three weeks. And so it has not.  I have become immersed in the atmosphere of students desiring earnestly to develop their skills, just as I am. 

Academically, this has been intense - there has been such a strong component of hands-on practice in what some have dubbed "Summer Intensive" (as opposed to Summer Institute, which it is really called).  I can literally feel my mind expanding as I have gone through these few weeks. I chuckle when I remember how the smallest of skills posed such a problem for me at first, and then, looking back, I wonder what all the fuss was about. My confidence in my abilities has increased exponentially. Yes, academically, it has been a good experience. It will stand me in good stead in my practicum, but that won't happen until 13 months or so from now.

As challenging and invigorating as that has been, physically, it has been exhausting. It took me a few days to realize that I was lagging behind other people and feeling out of breath all the time because I was 3,500 feet higher above sea level than I was used to being! Altitude sickness includes symptoms of fatigue, shortness of breath, acute insomnia, headaches and joint aches ....and I had it all!  It lasted for almost two weeks! About a week after getting here, I was given the opportunity to book a place in residence (on the campus). It turned out to be a good move for me, as I could devote more time to self-care than I had in months. And now, a lot of those aches and pains have disappeared or vastly reduced. I can enjoy the walk to and from class now, and it doesn't tire me out like it used to. And I have even gotten some sunshine in the process! It's like I have finally been able to press Pause, to gather my legs under me, to get my bearings physically.

Emotionally and relationally, this period has been difficult.  I have been confronted with just how much of a jerk I can be sometimes (even moreso when I am feeling tired, weak, and lonely), which has led me to begin to re-evaluate my approach to communication in relationships. That was - and is - a hard (and emotionally expensive) lesson to learn. I have had to press Pause, to reflect on a lot of things surrounding my insecurities and fears about how to be a friend and whether I have the ability to be true to who I am and say how I feel without being afraid of making someone mad at me. I sense that this will be a long Pause. There is a lot to work through.

And then there's the homesickness!! WOW have I ever suffered from that!! Especially in the last week, I have been (as my prof described to me) "off" - not quite on my game, if you will. And that has simply been a function of homesickness combined with the stress of public speaking without the benefit of either raised stage or microphone.  (Let me tell you, that is a totally different ball game...) But mostly it's just been that being away from my loved ones is wearing on me, and I just can't wait to see them again!!  I went to timeanddate.com to create a countdown for not only the plane landing back home, but also for it taking off from here.  What's that you say? I got it bad? Yeah you bet!! 

Health-wise, this has been a pleasant pause. I am strengthening my lifestyle choices regarding eating and activity level, and have learned that I CAN look after myself (and yes, medication helps) and eventually beat my health challenges. My sugars are ALMOST back to normal and I feel less draggy and tired than I was two short months ago when I was first diagnosed with diabetes. I can foresee a day when things will be completely under control and I will be able to get back to activities that I had to give up because it was just too uncomfortable and/or tired to do them. (Golf, folks. I was talking about golf.  And horseback riding. Tsk!) 

Photo "Stone And Sand Background" courtesy
of gubgib at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

And now I get ready to press another Pause.  After this weekend, I will be officially finished this course and won't have to start another until September - and even then, instead of two courses, I will only be taking one. August is a month I look forward to simply because it is a breather from the constant need to stay on top of a pretty intense school routine added onto an already full plate of work and home (not to mention sleep, nutrition, and activity).  One less thing to focus on gives me a slight break in that routine. I'm thankful for that; it will give me a chance to reconnect with my friends and spend time with my family.

That way, when September comes and I release that Pause button, I will be energetic enough to dance to the music again. 

How did I miss this?

I sat in my doctor's office today and he asked me how I had been feeling the last few weeks since starting my diabetes medication.

I found myself gushing.  Literally gushing!  The words tumbled out of my mouth like a torrent.  I was feeling so good! not so exhausted all the time! more energy! not as ravenous! feeling like I was eating more even though the calories were way less than before! I almost felt like I was cheating!

His face flushed with pleasure. He was beaming.  (Note to self: this guy really CARES about me - he loves what he does and loves to see people healthy!) 

I was nearly breathless with telling him about all the positive changes.  And he asked me about my numbers.  I showed him my sugar log and noted the variations in my levels, better during the day and more in the morning than they should be. So we both agreed that he needed to up my dose of one of the medications - and he wrote the script for that.  We agreed to meet again in a couple of weeks. 

I couldn't contain myself anymore.  I caught his eye and said to him, incredulous, "How did I MISS this?"  I had always thought that eating healthy was so hard, so much work.  Yet here I was eating completely balanced meals and feeling so wonderful ... was this what normal people felt like? not getting hungry until almost mealtime? slowing down and enjoying the taste of food? 

He validated my good report and told me that it doesn't take long when adopting a healthy lifestyle to start noticing a difference.  Boy was HE right! 

Talking about it with my husband later, I started to shake my head with disbelief. Again. "I can't believe how good I feel!" I said to him.  

He grinned, and then looked pensive. "I'm so thankful.  He probably saved your life," he said. "If he hadn't made you take those blood tests, you'd still be tired and on your way to ..." his voice trailed off and his eyes misted a bit.  

"... a heart attack," I finished his sentence.

"Yeah." 

"I know.  We have a lot to be grateful for." 

"We do." 

I know that there are some people who have been trying all my adult life to guilt me into making healthier choices; guilt trips are red flags for me and I resist them. But it was the caring and concern of this stranger who sat me down and informed me of the facts ... with no "shoulds" ever coming out of his mouth ... and let me make up my own mind, who really had a big influence on my decision to live.  I chose to live. I chose to stick around. And that, my friends, is the truth.

How did I miss this?  I was ignorant.  I didn't know what was wrong - and in my arrogance, I thought that it was stress or normal reactions from being bullied or burning the candle at both ends. It turns out I was partly right; prolonged intense stress is a risk factor in the development of diabetes.  But mostly, I was caught in a web of fear ... fear of going to a doctor I didn't trust (my former physician), fear of what he might say and how he might say it, fear of how others might jump on the "jump on Judy" bandwagon, fear of something actually being wrong (and not fixable), fear of leaving the familiar and launching out into new territory, and fear that I wouldn't be able to make the changes that I would need to make. 

Photo "Young Plant" by amenic181 at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

It turns out that I had all that fear for nothing.  It turns out that diabetes - as life-limiting as the diagnosis sounds - freed me to have the lifestyle I enjoy now. I can't explain it any better than that.  Whether I lose weight or not, matters not. That I feel better for putting the right fuel into my body does matter. It not only makes my body feel better, it makes my soul and spirit feel better as well, because I am looking after myself and making time for me - even if it is only a small portion out of my day to pack a lunch for myself to take to work instead of buying my lunch from the vending machine in the basement at my work. And it only takes a couple of minutes a few times a day to write down what I eat. And maybe I feel good enough to go for a stroll once in a while. 

I'm so grateful. 

And don't worry, I won't be turning my blog into a fitness diary.  I've seen too many people get turned onto this or that "healthy" practice and become people I didn't like as much anymore. But I did want to say that here is one little gray duck that is so glad someone with patience, wisdom and respect took the time to give me the facts and let me decide what to do with them. He made sure that I didn't "miss it." And that my family wouldn't miss me.

Direction ... Not Destination

“It becomes easier for me to accept myself as a decidedly imperfect person, who by no means functions at all times in the way in which I would like to function. This must seem to some like a very strange direction in which to move. It seems to me to have value because the curious paradox is that when I accept myself as I am, then I change.”
- - Carl Rogers, On Becoming a Person: A Therapist's View of Psychotherapy

About a month ago, I sat across from someone who really listened to me and heard my concerns. He wasn't a therapist, and quite frankly, to listen to his career accomplishments, I would have considered him to be unapproachable under normal circumstances (at least, what normal was for most of my life). However, I had heard him open his heart and share his passion with people... and I knew instinctively that he could be trusted.  So I poured out my heart to him. And he listened. And he cared. 

In doing what I did, I admitted to myself that I was not happy with the current state of affairs and that I wanted something to change. I also admitted to myself that I didn't have the power to change anything about my circumstances, but I could talk to someone who did. 

And you know, it happened. When I heard what had been done to fix things, it was like someone removed a 70-pound pack from my back, one that I'd been carrying around for a year. The relief was so great and so tangible that I welled up and spilled over in tears for a few minutes. And then I contacted the man who had listened - and I thanked him. It was all I could think to do. And it was as natural to do that as to take my next breath. 

I write all that because ... because seven years ago, I never would have been able to reach out like that and ask for help. I would have suffered - perhaps not in silence, but in helplessness and misery - and today I realize that the person I was then was me, and the person I am now is still me ... only better, healthier. And the catalyst for change was nothing other than accepting the me that I was then the WAY I was then - and learning to like that person. (By the way,  I had help.)

Photo "Woman Relaxing With Her Eyes Closed"
courtesy of photostock at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Without realizing it, my behavior and my attitudes about things (not necessarily in that order) began to change. The change was automatic. I didn't have to work at it, except to realize and be aware of my behavior patterns. There were a lot of uncompleted sentences and one-eighties in the beginning as I learned a new way to be. I was becoming a better me. And I still am.

As you can tell from the above quote, I love to read things that Carl Rogers (father of modern psychotherapy) said or wrote. (I even listened to part of one of his taped sessions once. It was amazing.) He also said something else about personal growth. He said that it wasn't a destination ... that it was a direction. A process, not a product. That is my experience. Some of that experience was pretty intense - it involved doing things that were hard - but I tackled them when and as I was ready for them, and not before ... and I still do. 

But the weird thing about it all is that without that core of acceptance of who and what I am at the moment, none of the changes I've experienced (and am experiencing) would have been possible or would be possible. It is, as Rogers said, a "curious paradox." 

I can't explain how it works. It just does. Slow but sure, millimeter by millimeter.
And I'm okay with that.

Never too late

One day, not too awfully long ago, I was standing at a wicket at the Department of Motor Vehicles and waiting for someone to process a form, when I saw the most peculiar sight at the next wicket. Two people were standing there - the family resemblance and the ages told me that it was probably a grandfather and grandson. 

"Oh isn't that sweet," I thought to myself. "Someone is getting his first driver's license." 

I started to listen in on the conversation. The two men beside me were both Korean. The woman was speaking to the younger man, who looked to be about 16. He was acting as an interpreter for the older man (who looked to be about 70) who was paying the money to the counter attendant. And that's when I heard it. "Make sure he knows that this license is good for two years, and it expires on his birthday," she told the younger man. "So he will need to come in here before that date to renew it." 

The young man promised. The older man put the newly acquired license as well as the receipt in his wallet, murmured a "Thank you," to the woman, and the two of them made their way out of the building.

I thought about those two for the rest of the day. What a proud moment for them both! I found myself picturing the process they had just been through - wondering how much the younger had to convince the older that he could do this.  I thought about how this teenager was probably with the older man every step of the way as he learned the rules of the road enough to take his beginner's test, acting as interpreter the whole time. He may have gone out with him multiple times as he practiced. Finally, he went with his granddad when he was taking the road test (acting as interpreter for the instructions of the examiner). And that very day as I was there beside him, he got his 'graduated' license, something that sixteen-year-olds look forward to, dream about, and long for in our culture. 

We take it for granted. 

What an inspiration they both were - the young man for the commitment he showed, the caring that was obviously there on his face - and the time he took to be there for his grandfather. And the older man inspired me, reminded me that it's never too late to make a new start, to learn a new thing. Never mind that he only had a few years left to enjoy this new freedom he would now enjoy; the point was that he would be able to enjoy it. 

Over the last while I've had some doubts about how feasible it is for me to get my education in preparation for a new career. I'm in my fifties and to go to school with people who are less than half my age is somewhat off-putting. I enjoy the learning part (even if it scary at times) but sometimes I wonder if it's all worth it. And then I remember that old Korean man. So many strikes against him - the language barrier and his age being the top two - and yet he persevered because he saw value in having that license so he could help his family and possibly even so that he would not be a burden to them. 

It's never too late. No matter how much less time I would have than someone half my age, what matters is that I enjoy the rest of my life and that I'll be able to help as many people as I will be able to help. Me. Not my age, not my appearance, but me. With all the life experience that I bring to the table, I know that when I finally graduate (which won't be for a few years yet) I will be uniquely positioned to be able to help people to find their own pathway to freedom, to "get unwrapped."

And I guess it reminds me of another thing. 

I'm really looking forward to getting MY license, too.

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

There's only one you

It creeps up on you.

Too many sacrifices, too many times of being taken for granted, too many adjusted expectations, they all take their toll. One thing leads naturally to the next and before you know it, you're up to your eyeballs in stress and wondering how you got there. 

I know. It happens to me. Not as often as before, to be sure, but it still happens. Then something kind of shifts, one more task added to the pile and then ... you feel overwhelmed and wanting to quit everything. The trouble is, everything you committed to doing is perfectly fine and even commendable.

There's just one thing missing.

You. 

Somehow, in looking after everyone else, in taking on too much at once, or in unexpected circumstances, life just gets to be so jam-packed that things start spilling over and falling to the floor. And the one getting the short end of the stick is you. 

The concept of self-care is an uncomfortable one for many people. "Nice" people put others first. "Nice" people don't ask for what they want. We are taught from our formative years that it's selfish to think of ourselves first. However, it just doesn't make sense to expend so much energy on other people that we have nothing left for ourselves, which kind of defeats the purpose because if we don't have anything to give, we can't give anything. 

And so we end up feeling weary, unappreciated, even resentful. Those are good warning signs. 

You're the only you that you have. There is only one you, and you are important... whether you believe it or not!

Imagine yourself as a container, a large glass of water, let's say. People come to you with smaller glasses and ask you to give them something to drink. There is only so much in your glass. You empty yourself out and there is nothing left to pour into anyone else's life. However, if you turn your thinking around and go to a mountain spring, and you let the spring spill into your glass, up to the brim and overflowing, people come to you and they are automatically filled ... but you are not depleted. 

Yet, it takes effort to get to the spring. You have to say no to filling up the next person's glass who comes to you with his or her need. And the next. Maybe a whole lot of next people. You need to look after your own needs so that you can have something to give to those who need it. 

This is a small thought (or is it?) that could yield great results in your life. It's at least worth thinking about. 

Photo "Waterfall In Forest" courtesy of
Witthaya Phonsawat at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Parenting is not an Olympic event

I was reading an interesting and thought-provoking article posted on a social media site today about parenting. Specifically, it was about how we in today's society are making parenting harder than it was for our parents when we were kids. 

This is something we've noticed often in the last twenty-odd years. It's almost as though parents today are afraid of each other and / or trying to outdo each other in an effort to not be seen as "bad parents." 

When I was a child, only the rich could afford to put their kids into sports, or get them more than one Christmas present, or have birthday parties for their kids, much less make them into themed ones. We were fortunate to get ONE birthday present. And I remember distinctly that my first, last and only birthday party was when I turned 11 years old. (After that fiasco, I cared nothing for them, and still don't.) Now, parents are having full-blown birthday parties for one-year-olds. And they are totally stressing out over them.
 
Seriously?  Those kids are never going to remember their one-year-old birthday party. So the parents go crazy over something so ridiculous as whether they have enough helium or whether they can find the right color Spiderman outfit for the wall decoration. 

I'm sorry for the crickets in the background ... is that the sound of total indifference? 

Memories can be made without going
over the top...

I'm not saying we shouldn't have birthday parties for our kids. Far from it - making a big deal about the anniversary of the day they took their first breath is a worthwhile endeavor and making memories surrounding times like that can really be the stuff of strengthening relationships .... as long as we don't succumb to the "keeping up with the Joneses" mentality perpetrated by parenting magazines, social media, and sitcoms, to name just a few.

I think that we have seen so much in the media regarding the trouble kids can get into through neglect or boredom, that we are paranoid about letting them have any time to themselves. So we go overboard! Every moment has to be scripted. We keep them entertained because - God forbid - they might think of something to amuse themselves that isn't in "the plan". And who knows? that might mean they'd end up in juvenile hall. It is fear and fear alone that keeps us dreaming up new and exciting things for them to do.

But isn't that the point? I know ... I sort of fell into this trap when my kids were small. I found myself sucked into the myth that they had to have something with which to occupy themselves every moment of every day, and before long, they couldn't make a move without checking it with me first - and then I complained and told them that I wasn't their entertainment director. 

Or was I? 

Yes, I did it to myself. I made myself indispensable. I forgot that my main job as a mother was to get my kids to the point where they could be independent from me. Yes, I could support them; yes, I could be there to talk to. However, the cry of "I'm bo-o-ored" needn't have filled me with so much panic. 

I eventually (possibly too late, I'm not sure) learned to say, "You know what? I am sure that you can find something constructive to occupy your time." When I did, that's when I discovered that these kids had talents that I didn't even know about. One excelled at baking. Another developed a penchant for video editing - like for Youtube! Slowly they have learned ways to amuse themselves in socially acceptable ways. And just as slowly I have learned that I don't need to cow-tow to the tyranny of "Should."

And my obsession with controlling everything they did, thought and said got to the point where they actually resented me for it.... and with good reason!

Years later - I had to apologize to them for that. Talk about humbling!

I used to spend my time berating myself because I wasn't as "natural" a parent as the mom up the street who had her two kids organizing their own yard sales at the age of seven and nine. (Mind you - I consoled myself with the fact that all they were learning was to be mercenary and take advantage of their same-age neighbors by foisting their own cast-offs (most of them broken or tattered) to their friends ... for money.) Or, I compared myself to the mothers who were constantly gushing about their kids and about how fulfilling motherhood was. Yeah, I was seriously doubting my suitability for the career of being a mom because I didn't feel like I thought I "Should." (Oh puh-leeze. Now I know better!) 

It's still a sore spot with me - especially when I hear people talking about their parents or their kids like it's the one thing in their life that gives them ultimate fulfillment... as if those who don't feel that way are somehow defective. 

Parenting is not an Olympic event. There are no winners and losers. You can do everything right and your kid can turn out wrong after all. You can do everything wrong and your kid can turn out right in spite of it. 

This is not a competition; it's life. We don't need to be afraid of each other or envious of each other. We need to realize that everyone has the right to have feelings, whatever they are, and everyone has his or her own take on how to raise a child. 

Acceptance and support goes a lot further and carries a lot more weight than condemnation or judgment. After all, we're raising the people that will eventually carry on where we left off and who will pass on their values and skills to the next generation. The last thing we need is to be competing with each other over something that our kids don't even think is important. Or won't remember!

They're not going to remember who gave them what, or how much something cost compared to something else someone else gave them or anyone else. They are not going to care how many organized activities they've had when they get to be adults. What will matter the most to them is whether their mom and /or dad gave them the one commodity that seems to be the most lacking in our busy world: their time - in paying attention to them, to what mattered to them. It's way easier to let someone else take over the responsibility of spending time with our kids when all they really want is OUR attention. When it all boils down, that's what remains. Kids need to know that they are important to US.

I think the most profound commentary I have ever seen about parenting was summed up in a "Family Circus" cartoon I saw once.  It said, "Parents can give their children things ... or time. Time is better!"

Drawing the line

At the edges of my perception, as I was concentrating on something else and trying to finish up my own work, I overheard what sounded like a conversation about the rain. Someone hadn't thought to bring an umbrella, and then noticed that there was one at the desk of someone who was on vacation. 

The person seemed to be talking to herself. She then convinced herself, in the space of about twenty seconds, that the person on vacation would not mind if she used the umbrella. She decided to take it.

Interesting. 

I was brought up to believe that if you take something that belongs to someone else without that person's permission, that's stealing, and it is wrong. 

Occasionally, if there is a relationship that is very close, where both people trust each other and know each other very well, such liberties might be taken occasionally, but it would be expected to tell the person as soon as possible afterward of the temporary borrowing - and give the item back! Anything less would erode the relationship and eat away at trust. 

Thanks to imagerymajestic at
www.freedigitalphotos.net
for this photo,
"Young Lady Holding Umbrella"

I've noticed that in recent years, the sense of respect and consideration that was endemic to the previous generation - perhaps out of an emphasis on the Golden Rule - has been more and more reserved only for strangers... tourists ... or the people who appear to be more well-off financially. The common courtesy to which every person has a right ... is getting more and more rare. 

I found myself thinking along those lines, even taking pleasure in my own assessment of the situation. And then it hit me. 

If I concentrate on what others are doing, it will drive me nuts. Plain and simple. And that's where I need to draw the line. For ME.

It took me a lot of time to realize that I can't change what anyone else does. However, I can be true to what I believe, and behave accordingly. I spent too many years trying to manipulate people into doing the "right" thing, nearly losing everything and everyone that was important to me in the process, to want to risk alienating them or anyone else by acting (or even thinking) self-righteously. No, I can't draw that line for anyone else, but I can draw it for me. 

Like one day about a month or so ago, for example. I was running late for work, and couldn't find a blazer to put on that would go with my outfit - and noticed my daughter's jacket on the back of a chair; it went perfectly! She was sleeping. I wore the jacket because I knew that if I'd asked her ahead of time, she'd have said yes without hesitation. Nevertheless, when I came home, I took it off, put it back where I got it, and told her immediately. As I suspected, she was fine with it, but I was fully prepared to apologize for my actions and to respect her wishes if she told me not to do it in the future. 

Acting according to my own beliefs, following my conscience, protects me in often confusing surroundings. Many times I find that the line between right and wrong is smudged, unclear. Often it's because I am not sure how I feel about a given situation or my own part in it; it's that ambiguity that gets me into trouble. When I am centered, when I am most self-aware and confident in my relationships with myself, with God, and with other people, that is when I can make the choices that are right for me, and treat people with the respect that they - and I - deserve.

Equilibrium

It's amazing how quickly something can command your attention and take over your life.

When I first joined Facebook over three years ago, little did I realize how much time it would take out of my routine. Not that it did at first. I would spend an evening catching up with friends. Then I'd turn on the computer right after getting home from work and before long, all my spare time was devoted to not just "lurking" but also posting things, playing games and liking or commenting on others' pictures or posts. That along with blogging, became my go-to place when I was home, especially if I was "bored."

Photo "Golden Brass Scales Of Justice" courtesy of Vichaya Kiatying-Angsulee at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

A few days ago, someone challenged me to take a look at what I spend the most of my time doing so as to determine what was most important to me. When I realized how unbalanced my life had become by spending so much time on social media (Facebook, Google Plus, twitter) and watching television, it was quite a shock. "If you could only spend 90 minutes a week watching your favorite TV series, or 'liking' and 'commenting' on Facebook," this person said, "would you feel out of touch somehow?" 

I had to admit that I would. 

Don't worry, I'm not going to sign off my accounts or anything. But the challenge made me think. 

Balance. Equilibrium. It's like my world had become top-heavy. Keeping in touch is great; enjoying yourself is great too. However, the routine of get-home-and-turn-on-the-computer-and-TV was close to becoming an obsession with me. Other things started to slide. Priorities re-arranged behind my back. Suddenly things were out of whack, and I wondered why I was feeling so out of sorts, like there was never enough time to do what needed to be done at the end of the day. 

When I started getting my priorities back into line, the balance I was seeking started to fall into place. Things that weren't necessary fell by the wayside. Stress levels reduced. I had more time to do what needed doing, to do what was most important. I started to enjoy the little pleasures again: the company of a good friend, the time to write, a good cup of tea, and the comfortable quiet of quality family time.

I'd missed that. 
I'm glad to have it back again.

Reflections from 3 am

It's amazing how the barriers come down when you're tired.

Last night I couldn't sleep - the reason isn't important right now - and I got into a conversation with another insomniac. I was upset about a few things and this person listened to me and calmed me down enough for me to be able to sleep - mind you, it was 3 am before my head hit the pillow and some time after that - perhaps 3:30 - before I dropped off. 

And - I was awake again this morning at 6:30, exhausted, with a brain fog that would put London, England to shame. But once I'm up, I'm up. (Maybe tonight I'll toddle off before 10:30.)

One of the things we talked about last night was how my whole attitude on life and on relationships has changed in the last 4 years. This lifestyle has become "the new normal" (in itself a miracle!) - but once in a while, it's useful (and encouraging) for me to look back and remember what I was like back then. And it's also a great check-up for me to see if there is any slippage back into old attitudes. 

And I must admit, there has been some. Without going into a lot of detail, life hasn't been a feather-bed for me in the last few months. There are a lot of stresses on me from various areas, and one of the most stressful has been the area of my relationships. I've discovered that it's easy for me to feel responsible for others' choices when I don't need to, especially when those others try to put the blame on me for not doing things that are their responsibility to do. The old me would have shouldered that and borne it, not said a word, and taken up the slack just to "keep peace" - but more and more I am realizing that boundaries are important to establish and to maintain. That forgiveness is given but trust is earned. And that - hardest of all to discover - love can be slowly poisoned and murdered if one is mistreated long enough. 

"Tightrope Walker" illustration courtesy of chanpipat at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

It's also easy to be ready to do anything, say anything that will influence the other person's outcome. (This ALWAYS backfires; I don't know why I have to keep learning this!) 

"Tough love" is toughest on the one exercising it. 

Knowing where the line is between caring and meddling, between concern and enabling, between love and being a doormat ... and between letting go and writing someone off ... this is quite possibly the hardest line I've ever had to walk ... and where the line is, keeps changing on a daily basis. 

It's not easy. In fact, at times it's downright painful, and often people around me don't seem to understand why I need to keep working at it - if it's so difficult.  However, the possibility of regaining my sanity and maybe even seeing the pain lessen ... is a great motivator. 

I've been in the place of obsessional control-freaking, freaking in general, and the doormat mentality (all the while growing resentments in some kind of resentment-hothouse.) In fact, I spent most of my life there, and it nearly ruined my marriage ... and made my kids shut me out.  No way do I want to go back to any kind of behavior that remotely resembles that kind of dysfunction. 

I am learning that I do have the right to have feelings, that I do have the right to say what they are, and that I do have the right to have a life of my own, enjoy my free time and my own possessions, and choose to share them if I so wish; I am not obligated. I also have the right to expect others to respect my boundaries, but I must make them clear, or there WILL be misunderstandings, guaranteed. 

I am learning that in relationships, problems arise if all of the compromises are made by only one person, that there needs to be effort from both parties ... or nothing works right. If it's not working right, I can look at my own part in what went wrong, but I need not take responsibility for the actions of the other party. 

These are basic truths I am only beginning to learn in practice. 

And I need lots. And lots. Of practice.

More Lessons from Yarn

I keep learning from these crocheting projects! 

After I finished my first real "clothing" project (a hat) which turned out to be too small for an adult, I donated it to a local charity for a yard sale they had coming up. So ... it went to a good cause, and I learned a whole passel of stuff.

I decided to try again. This time, I had some black yarn I'd picked up at a local craft shop. Applying the lessons I learned from my previous project (see my previous post) I took my time, relaxed my grip, unraveled when I made a mistake, and trusted the pattern. 

I'm about half-way through and it's looking fairly good so far. However, I have learned even more from my second than my first, especially because I used black yarn.

Black yarn is harder to work with than ... say ... pink. It's DARK!

So, here are the things I've learned from crocheted (crow shade) work (yes, I know it's a very old, very bad joke!)

Increase the contrast
Use a hook that will contrast well against the color you're using. This helps you to see where the stitches are on the hook and will prevent you from messing up the stitches. 

It helps to have a guide like that, to be sure of where you are and where you want to go. The backdrop of a clear vision of what you really want to do is the starting place for accomplishing it. 

Try not to get discouraged
Sometimes the mistakes look hopeless. Taking your time with it, finding out where it went wrong, and having a little patience to work your way back to the blunder can take extra time, but it is worth it if it results in a successful piece. Setting it down for a little while can help recharge the batteries and give fresh perspective.

In our dealings with those who are closest to us, sometimes we think too many mistakes have taken place on both sides. However, it's worth the extra time that it takes to ferret out what went wrong, deal with it honestly, and work it through (individually or together) without succumbing to the tendency to have a chip on our shoulder.

If it's stuck, it's stuck
Backtracking can sometimes only go so far; at times there has been a hanger-on that has caused a tangle beyond which it's impossible to go. The tighter you pull, the tighter the knot gets. At such a time, the choice remains to go with it the way it is, or cut the yarn and start over from scratch. Either way, it is what it is and all you can do is accept it.

Some things can be lived with. And, like it or not, some things aren't fixable and it's time to say goodbye. True in crocheting, true in relationships or circumstances. It does no good to get upset about it - accepting the situation as it is, is the only way to relieve the stress and find some peace.

Turn on the light
Making it easy on yourself is sometimes no more complicated than reaching up and turning on a light so you can see where to go next, count stitches to find out where you've been, or do a row count to make sure you're on the right part of the pattern. It's a great way to orient yourself and get a general idea of where you are.

At times, in relationships, it helps to clarify the rules, to shed light on expectations and let each other know where we stand. It's so easy to "coast" in relationships with those we love or with whom we work or volunteer. Checking to see if we're playing by the rules, taking each other for granted, or crossing boundaries that are better not crossed, is a wonderful exercise to do once in a while.

It keeps us from perpetuating errors that can destroy relationships. 

Go by feel
Sometimes, given the difficulty of knowing where the next stitch is (especially with dark-colored yarn) the only thing left to do is to "go by feel" - to follow the stitches with your fingers, even poking around in behind stitches to find the right opening. 

That's okay. Sometimes the feeling can give clues and cues that your eyes can't. Learn to work with it, to recognize what the stitches feel like. Then you can trust your sense of touch to guide you as well.

Feelings can sometimes be the only thing we have to go by in relationships; if the feelings are uncomfortable, it's a pretty safe bet that boundaries are being crossed and it might be a good idea to figure out what is going on and where things have gone astray. After a while you can even trust your feelings - contrary to popular belief.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Those are the most recent object lessons from the world of crochet. I'm sure there will be more. All I can do is keep my eyes and ears open, and trust my feelings.

I could do worse. ♥  

Why Self-Care Gets Such a Bad Rep

Recently, I had the opportunity to go hear someone speak on the topic of managing change. What it turned out to be was a sermon on self-care. It started off fine: "Let go of the things over which you have no control."

And then, it got ugly. 

If the presenter hadn't been so patronizing, and so obviously skewed to promoting her own agenda, I might have enjoyed the content of the presentation. However, having learned through experience and therapy to do the very things I heard this person talking about, I found the way it was put forth to be an insult to my intelligence. It cheapened all the valuable lessons I had learned in my healing process and reduced them to pithy little platitudes that implied that the reason why people were having a difficult time with change was that they had a bad attitude. She was, in essence, blaming the victim.

See the glass half-full." I couldn't believe my ears. "Choose to be happy. Smile. Be an optimist. Embrace change."

Excuse me? Even if change is ushered in at the hands of brutal people who care nothing about my situation but more about their career advancement, their political futures or their fat pensions? 

If I've learned anything in the last four years in recovery, it's that it is okay, and yes, even appropriate, to respond to injustice ... with anger. Anger motivates; anger - if harnessed properly - can produce positive change.  Need proof? The suffragettes, the Boston Tea Party, the American Revolutionary War, the Human Rights Declaration ... the list goes on.

The kind of change management proposed by this individual was the "lay down and accept change to the point of letting the machinery chew you up and spit you out." 

This is partly what gives self-care proponents a bad reputation. (The other side, equally extreme, is the "I'm going to take care of my self and the rest of you people don't matter, so just go jump in the lake" attitude - just as damaging.) 

The photo "Mirror" courtesy of Arvind Balaraman
at www.freedigitalphotos.net

The extreme that these folks go to, though, is passivity - something that the ancient Greeks called stoicism. It's a "Hakuna Matata" mentality - bad things happen and there's nothing you can do about it, so just throw up your hands and give up; tell yourself that it's not so terrible, and spout positive confessions that fly in the face of the truth. Never mind that it's wrong. Never mind that people are getting hurt. No, it's not your responsibility. Just sit down by the river, take deep breaths, and strum Kum Ba Yah. And don't forget to smile.

Even if your heart is breaking. 

The allure of this kind of thinking is that it perpetuates the illusion that all is well, and that you have some control over what is happening by denying its existence. Stick your head in the sand. Pretend there's no problem. 

Poppycock.

The problem is that there IS a problem. Denying it - whatever it is - is not going to make it go away. 

As a matter of fact, it's lying - to the self. And the body takes a really dim view of that kind of deception. It will exact payment: stress-related illnesses, for example. Cancer, irritable bowel syndrome, fibromyalgia, ulcers, chronic fatigue syndrome, migraines, high blood pressure, heart disease ... the list goes on.

Self-care involves letting go, yes. However, it also involves setting boundaries ... and enforcing them. It is about choosing to be happy, but it doesn't ignore or suppress emotions as they occur, and it is not ashamed to show them. There is a balance between the two extremes; that balance is self-care, and the extremes ... aren't. Self-care requires honesty with oneself, openness to explore new things, and willingness to do whatever it takes (even if it's hard) to be free. 

Why self-care gets such a bad reputation is that self-care is portrayed - and pursued - in a one-sided manner. When it's balanced, healing can take place.