The Comfort Zone

By definition, a person's "comfort zone" is that realm of living in the everyday that feels comfortable, right.  At ease.  It's a combination of social circles, circumstances, individual relationships, job duties, and other miscellaneous expectations, routines, and habits to which a person has become accustomed.  It's the place in life where one feels safe.  

That makes a major assumption.  It assumes that the person has an inner comfort zone.  Such is not always the case.

The comfort zone I mean is the one where one feels comfortable inside - at peace with one's self.  The French call it "être à l'aise dans sa peau" - or "being at ease inside one's skin" - and it involves one very difficult - but essential - relationship. 

It's the relationship with oneself. For, as I understand the two most essential commandments of the Jewish law, identified by Jesus, it is necessary to have three relationships in life - and in this particular order of importance: with God, with oneself, and with others.

LINK for this photo

I've said a lot about relationship with God on this blog, so I'll leave that one alone in this post. Besides, I think that most people would agree that it's necessary to have a friendship with the Creator.  But I've seen a lot of people skip over that relationship with the self ... thinking it's somehow selfish ... and focus on other people exclusively.  Then they wonder why their caring for other people seems difficult, or forced, or why they are continually burning out and becoming resentful of the people they are nurturing.  I did that - for years.  I still fight the tendency to do it.  There seems to be a collective / cultural guilt surrounding the idea of being a friend to oneself. Perhaps it's that whole religious thing - the idea that paying attention to the self is egotistical, arrogant, and selfish. (Absolutely not the case. Just saying.) But as I keep telling my friends, "You're the only YOU that you have. Look after YOU ... please." I guess I need to keep reminding myself of the same thing, too.  Self-care fills my emotional tank and allows me not to get burned out as quickly (if at all) when I need to show compassion and caring to someone else.

Notice I said to show caring.  That doesn't mean that I rush in without permission into someone's life and start dispensing advice or (worse yet) barking orders - something I need to keep reminding myself about because that's what I used to do --- and on a regular basis.  It means that if someone needs a little help getting their bearings, I give them a soft place to land, to rest, to get their feet under them, to believe in themselves, and to learn to fly on their own.  It doesn't mean I create in them a dependency on me, on my advice or whatever else I think they might need. If I do that, then the relationship with the other person becomes about me.  That's not healthy.

But showing compassion and caring is the end result.  It will naturally flow out of relationship with God and then relationship with the self.  Many people focus on the end result of caring for others and showing compassion to them, - give, give, and give some more - and end up frustrated over time because ... well, there are any number of reasons but they all stem from a desire to have some sort of acknowledgement from the other person for their self-sacrifice.  It's been my experience that if I am looking after myself, I don't NEED that acknowledgement (I won't turn it away or be unthankful if it happens, but that's not my motivation or my goal) because I'm operating out of a place of fulness rather than running on empty all the time. 

As a matter of fact, when I actually DO start feeling edgy or resentful of someone else, that's my warning sign that I haven't been looking after myself. That's the time for some "me time" - to look after myself and be at ease inside my own skin - to find my own "comfort zone."

Saying it

I was talking last night with someone very dear to me - got a text from him, and then called him on the phone and spent nearly 2 hours with him.  He needed to talk and he needed someone to listen who wouldn't judge him.  As he poured out his heart and his frustrations about being condemned for being different from family members and the members of their social group, I realized that there are people in this world who will never quite understand that if someone believes or behaves differently from the accepted norm, it doesn't mean that person is a bad person.  

It means that he/she is different.  

And I also realized that such "poison people" believe what they want to believe because they have their minds made up already - and if we don't tell them what our truth is, they'll fill in the blanks themselves based on what motives they have previously attributed to us (and that's not going to change, ever).  And they'll get it wrong, every time. If we continue to not tell them, to not set the record straight, they'll assume that their version of events is correct - and spread their perception of us far and wide.  (Um ... I think that's called "backbiting."  Maybe even "slander.")

I've been guilty of spreading such poison in my life ... and of late, I've been guilty of not setting the record straight with those in my life who have filled in the blanks and have spread their poison so far and wide that I am "persona non grata" (person without a status) in some places (places, I might add, where I no longer wish to go - because they are there.) 

Judged.  Condemned.  Executed.  Just for speaking the truth.  Just for trying to help someone who might want to be helped.  Yes, I'm talking about what I tried to do when I wrote and published Get Unwrapped! ... and the people of whom I am speaking are the very people who should have supported me - but never have.  I've mentioned their vitriolic reaction before on this blog, earlier this month.

I used to care what those people thought of me.  I used to.  Then I saw them - really SAW them for the first time, without the rose-colored glasses they thrust upon me from my birth - SAW them treat the man I was talking to last night like the scum of the earth just because ... well it doesn't matter about the because. Let's just say he isn't a 'clone' of them.

Thank God.

The whole experience showed me that I didn't want to continue subjecting myself or my husband or children to that kind of self-righteous, hypocritical garbage any more. So I withdrew from hanging around with them.  Months ago.

What a relief that was.  For me, that is. 

They were baffled by my refusal to keep in contact.   So, they filled in the blanks about me, too. (I suspect that this activity began even before I broke contact.)  

Their answers/guesses haven't been very pretty, and (naturally, to make them appear saintly and me, villainous) they have painted me in the worst possible light.  I know they're 'projecting' - a psychological term that means to attribute to others a motive that is actually hidden in one's self.  In other words, they say I'm vindictive because they are vindictive; it's what they do without even realizing it.  Yet they don't want to admit that they're vindictive - so they accuse me of it.  It's how they get to sleep at night. 

I've decided to give them the answers that should have gone into those blanks they filled in. Of course they'll continue to believe what they want to believe, just like always - and it will change nothing in how they behave toward me - or toward the man I spoke with last evening.  But the right answers will be out there.  I'll have spoken up.  I'll have said it.

"Saying it" has always been taboo.  We didn't talk about the elephant in the room even if he WAS standing on our toes.  It just wasn't done!  And if someone committed the cardinal sin of even saying that there WAS an elephant (never mind in the room!) that person would be taken out and (emotionally) executed: crucified, so to speak - a slow, sadistic, and painful death in front of as many people as possible. And the executioners would feel perfectly justified in their actions - because for them, the illusion of perfection is preferable to the reality of brokenness, after all. ("What would people think?" prevents so many from getting the help they so desperately need.)  When I wrote my book, I exposed the elephant. They couldn't get past the fact that I had the gall to do that, so as to see the wonderful reality and healing that came of my brokenness. And so, they have been nailing me to the cross of their self-righteousness.

So if I'm going to be condemned to such a fate anyway - it might as well be for the right reasons.

... and I in mine

The world is turning into this ginormous village where we see nearly simultaneously what's happening on the opposite side of the globe - where fewer and fewer places are unseen, unreported.  There is so much suffering in so many places by so many people groups - it's hard to know where to start when the collection plate passes, or when the folks come around canvassing for this or that cause.  

Many people think that unless they do something spectacular or give a lot of money to alleviate hunger or thirst in a third world country, or go on a missions trip to a different continent, that they are not doing what they can.  This kind of thinking is fostered in our global village.  But sometimes in trying not to miss the forest for the trees, we miss the trees for the forest.

I'm not saying that those causes - whatever they are and however noble they are - aren't worthy.  Far from it.  But I am saying that we needn't allow others to make us feel guilty if we DON'T go, if we DON'T give to this or that foreign charity across the ocean.

A friend of mine is raising money for a cause that is near and dear to her - being a cancer survivor and seeing how people spend a lot of money to be near their loved ones through such a tough time, well, she's doing what she can.  Here's her blog post on that.  That's not in a foreign country to her - it's close to home. 

There are dozens of people in my own city who don't have a home.  There are even more - including children - RIGHT HERE - who go to bed hungry.  Who wonder where the next meal is going to come from ... and when.  Who are starting over from scratch, having lost everything to alcohol, to abuse, to debt, to unemployment.  And in this city there are organizations that help such people.  The Food Bank.  "The Upper Room" Soup Kitchen.  The Salvation Army.  Open Door Ministries.  Anderson House.  Talbot House.  Lacey House.  Grandmother's  House.  And that's just within a five-mile radius.  All we need to do is open our eyes and look at our own back yard and there are so many people who need to know someone cares. And speaking of the back yard - what about the person across the fence? next door? down the street?  

I remember singing this little song in Sunday School and the words are just as profound now as they ever were.  It's based on Matthew 5:24: "Let your light so shine among men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven."  Here are some of the lyrics:

Found this photo HERE

Jesus bids us shine, with a pure, clear light
Like a little candle burning in the night.
In this world of darkness, so we must shine:
You in your small corner .... and I in mine. 

Jesus bids us shine. Shine - for all around
Many kinds of darkness in this world are found: 
Sin, and want, and sorrow - so we must shine:
You in your small corner ... and I in mine.

And this is the essence of it.  We don't have to make a big splash, or turn everything into a big production.  We just need to find our niche - that place where we can make a difference - and go ahead and do it.  Whether it's seen by the pastor, the prime minister or the pope for that matter - matters not.  Even one candle can dispel the darkness.  Even if it's been dark for a VERY long time. 

Even if we've never dared let our light shine before.  It might flicker - but at least it will light the way for someone who needs it.

Living in balance

You can't give what you don't have.

It's a simple concept... but over and over again I have tried to offer help, whether emotional or practical, out of a place of want, of deficit, when I was just scraping the bottom to meet my own needs.  I ended up feeling used, put-upon, taken for granted, and yes, resentful. 

It's like the teeter-totter at the playground when the big kid gets on the other end. No matter how the smaller kid jumps up and down on his or her end, he or she is suspended, legs dangling, unable to get down and not having any fun at all.  When life is out of balance - when we pay more attention to the needs and demands of others (when they carry more weight) than our own needs, then there is the potential for a lot of resentment.

The lifestyle I've been practicing for the last three years or so is based on taking care of three central things in a specific order: 

(1) relationship with God, 

(2) relationship with the self, and 

(3) relationship with others, 

and then maintaining and strengthening those three relationships in that same order. The principle is that one must first have a full cup before one has the capacity to fill another's.  Sounds simple enough.  But the old lifestyle I had -  which still lures me back into its clutches occasionally - was just the opposite.  Give til it hurts, and then give some more. My motivation was that I wanted people to be grateful enough to do what I wanted them to do. Change, be more attentive, stop drinking, whatever.  And the result of that was that people first of all didn't change, but they expected me to keep giving, keep putting myself out, and then they wondered why I was so cranky.  Hmmm.  

When I learned that I was powerless over other people, that I was actually trying to be God in their lives - and without His permission! - things started to change.  I started focusing on what mattered most: my relationship with Him and then with myself.  Once I felt more at ease in my own skin, and was able to let go of my need to control the outcome of others' lives, I was able to have more healthy and fulfilling relationships with other people. 

I still have times when I go down that dark path and end up at the top of the teeter-totter, bouncing up and down and wasting my energies trying to look after someone who isn't budging and who might even use my people-pleasing nature against me.  At times like that I need to remind myself that I am responsible for my own actions, and that the other person is responsible for his or her actions. Then I can more easily let go, and let God do His stuff.  

That's a bit more "in balance". 

Too Late?

I'll call him J.  He lives across the street from us.  

When we first moved into our neighborhood about 22 years ago, he was the most feared man in the subdivision.  All the neighbors kept their distance.  The people going door to door, whether religious groups or charities asking for money, were met with cold indifference at best, and if they pushed their luck, open hostility.  He was a crusty, volatile, profane curmudgeon and people avoided having any dealings with him. Occasionally he and his wife would fight and half our street knew it.  

We stayed away too.  For three years, we avoided him like the plague.  

Then one day our daughter, three years old and playing outside, ventured into our unlocked car, and managed to close the door.  Inside the vehicle, she happily pushed buttons and turned dials on the console.  Unknown to her, her movements loosened the standard stick shift and put the car in Neutral.  It started to roll back, picking up speed as it went toward the street.  

Thankfully, no cars were coming.  Our car rolled across the road with her inside, and tipped backwards into the ditch, coming to rest with a rather jolting thud in J's lawn, front wheels pointed toward the jet trails in the summer sky, the car at a 45 degree angle. 

Our daughter was physically fine, if frightened.  We had seen the car going and couldn't catch up with it - so checked her immediately.  Once we had assured ourselves of her safety, the next sound we heard was something that sounded like a "harumph."  Uh-oh.  J was striding toward us, clenching and unclenching his fists.  This wasn't going to be pretty.  

He must have ranted for about two minutes.  It was the most bizarre scene - a man about 38 years old, bowing his head meekly while a man ten years his senior and ten inches shorter than he was reamed him out on the front lawn with a car beside them pointed like a rocket launcher.  

"... and you'll *&*# put that grass back the way it was!" he finished.

"Yes sir, I will," my hubby told him, and apologized for the damage.  

The tow truck came and removed the car from the ditch, and we pulled a plug of sod from the tailpipe.  There was a large dent in J's lawn; the grass had been rolled back like parchment.  Over the next two days, hubby brought in topsoil, replaced as much sod as he could, and seeded around it with grass seed.  In the end, it looked better and smoother than it did before the car struck it.  

From that point onward, J's opinion of us did an abrupt 180º turn; he became our best advocate.  He'd wave to us - even chat when shoveling show or during breaks when mowing the lawn.  He'd come over if we were doing lawn work.  A couple of times we looked out to see him mowing part of our lawn and never once did he ask for repayment.  Once in a while, after a fight with his wife, he'd come chat for a while - the smell of whiskey on him.  He loved hard; he fought hard; he smoked hard; he drank hard.  Yet there was something special about him.  Beneath that crusty exterior there was a man who knew what he wanted and usually wasn't afraid to face issues - and people - head on.  But he was fiercely loyal and respectful to his friends.

One time - probably about 10 years ago - he and my husband were having another of their chats.  I'm not exactly sure how the topic came up, but hubby told J that he was a Christian.  His eyes narrowed.  "Ohh.  You're one of THEM."  That is all he ever said about it.  

A few weeks ago, after having sold his car, J revealed in one of his visits (much to our surprise and dismay) that he had cancer of the throat.  It had taken a while for his doctors to diagnose it, and by the time they did, he was given a one in four chance of survival.  "Ach," he blustered.  "We all gotta die sometime." 

We felt like someone had kicked the wind right out of us at his news. We feared that it was too late for him - or for us - to talk about the really important stuff, stuff that people don't usually talk about until faced with the very real possibility of death.  We secretly wondered if it was too late to talk about those things now.

They talked for a while longer when J finally said, right out of the blue, "You play checkers?"  Hubby nodded.  "Then don't be surprised if I set up the board sometime and come getcha."  

Well, well.  Maybe it's not too late to show him some love and appreciation.

God. with skin on.

I was at a gathering once (not church) where someone shared about a difficult experience that was recent, wrenching, and very fresh.  He said at the end, "I guess I just need God ... with skin on."  And he hung his head, ashamed at the tears that stung his eyes.  Immediately, one or two people closest to him went over to him and hugged him as he broke down and sobbed.  With it came the realization that this is truly the physical manifestation of the presence of God - and his healing could begin.  

God.  With skin on.  That statement has stuck with me as being a perfect description that breaks past the platitudes of "Yeah God loves ya and we love ya too", puts its shoes on, rolls up its sleeves, and actually means something.  

Sometimes the load is too much for one person to carry.  Sometimes there's so much stuff that folks just feel overwhelmed ... and someone comes along and just lends a hand for a while to help them.  Even if it costs.  Even if it hurts.  

The trick is in knowing when helping is a response to the white knight syndrome or actually backing up statements of love.  Motivation is key.  

About a week ago, I put out a request - using two different avenues - for some help for a friend (who's recovering from a couple of fractures to the back and ribs) who needed help moving into an apartment.  No response. Nada. Even though some of those same people had promised two weeks previous that if there was anything they could do, just let them know.  Hm.  

Finally, last night, after an unforeseen delay of 3 hours, the moment came and ... nobody showed up.  We got a frantic call from my friend at suppertime, telling us the situation.  I sent out a final, urgent plea for assistance before we went out the door to help them, gave the address.  Nobody came.  

(note - dated Sunday, Oct 2 :  discovered that those people didn't get the notes I sent - if at all - until 10:30 p.m. Saturday night, a full 24 hours after we finished moving the last box into our friends' apartment...partly because some were trying to stay away from facebook and partly because I only sent an email to the church and no courtesy copies to the pastors.  My bad!!!)

You can bet that she and her spouse (and we) were disappointed at the time.  We helped them ourselves; the children volunteered too - and even at that, it took way longer than it should have, and caused more pain and exhaustion for all the participants, because it was extremely physically demanding. My friend ignored my warnings to not go up and down those stairs carrying anything more than pillows and other light-weight stuff.  Stairs nearly kill me, so after several trips carrying boxes, bags and assorted containers up those stairs and feeling like I was going to have a heart attack, I decided to keep her occupied in the apartment.  

She and I busied ourselves re-arranging the smaller items / boxes coming into the apartment, making paths for people to carry the large and/or heavy belongings into the general area where they would eventually rest.  Her hubby and mine worked like Trojans - and so did our kids. My hubby is 59 and has high blood pressure - by the end of the third hour he was sweating profusely, nauseous, seeing black spots before his eyes, and having chest pain (said his lungs were on fire).  But he pushed through.  There was nobody else to help, and the truck rental company was waiting for its vehicle; as it was, the truck got taken back over four hours after the deadline. It took all of us, sore, exhausted and sweaty, nearly 5 hours to completely unload the 5-ton truck and get the contents up three flights of stairs.

I guess we are "nobody", according to the little story I heard once.  

Everybody, Somebody, Anybody, and Nobody were members of a group.

 There was an important job to do and Everybody was asked to do it.

 Everybody was sure that Somebody would do it.

 Anybody would have done it, but Nobody did it.

 Somebody got angry because it was Everybody’s job.

 Everybody thought Anybody would do it, but Nobody realized that Anybody wouldn’t do it.

 It ended up that Everybody blamed Somebody, when Nobody did what Anybody could have done.

It might have been nice for God to have shown up.  With skin on.  

Or - perhaps He did.

Snip

Recently I had to divide and repot my peace lily; it was root-bound.  I got the pots and finally psyched myself up to dividing the root ball into four relatively equal sections, each with its own equivalent section of the plant. 

I knew it would be messy.  I knew that I would most likely lose some of the plant to trauma.  But I knew it was necessary.  

Once the deed was done, I watered the sections thoroughly, each in its own pot, and set myself to watching how the leaves reacted.  Within a day I knew which parts of the plant had 'taken' to the new environment and which hadn't. However, I gave them another day to be sure; after all, I could have been mistaken. In a few rare cases I was - but after that, it became evident from the wilting leaves (while others beside them were not wilting) that there were some portions that were just not salvageable.  And so the scissors came out.  I began to carefully snip the leaves, one by one, at the place where the stems had bent over almost double. 

Snip.  Snip.  As I did, the stems bounced back, and the remainder of the plant took on a much more healthy look overall.  

This evening, I noticed that the spider plant in the dining room window, which until a few weeks ago had nearly a dozen "babies" - had nurtured them for such a long time that it was badly depleted of energy.  Brown leaves were almost as numerous as the green ones.  Tomorrow, in the light of day, I'll be trimming those leaves and allowing the good of the roots to go to the healthy portions of the plant.  It might be a lot smaller when I'm done, but it will be healthier.  

So - I turned my attention to the one above the kitchen sink.  It too had a few babies ... and they were fairly large.  But they'd not yet depleted the mother plant.  So I reached up and pulled the largest baby down to me.  The other babies were attached to this one as well.  I reached up to where it was attached to the mother plant, and severed the umbilical cord.  

Snip.

Immediately, I potted the babies and watered them.  They look wonderful.  Hopeful. Their roots will develop and they will become self-sufficient. The mother will now be able to gain the full benefit of the nutrients coming into it from its own well-established roots.  In time, it will blossom and start to nurture even more little ones.  

As I have been looking after these plants the last few days, I have been unable to stop myself from thinking about how this dividing, separating, wrenching process mirrors my own, teaches me necessary lessons about life, nature, nurturing, letting go, and looking after the self - even if it hurts - in order to be able to have something to give to others.

Source of the photo:
http://home.howstuffworks.com/
how-to-care-for-house-plants7.htm

When I first started my own process, it was extremely difficult to learn how to let go of my tight-fisted, white-knuckled grip on life - especially other people's lives.  In the early stages, I actually had to physically step back from people when I caught myself trying to influence, manipulate or control them - put  my hands in the air in an "I surrender" stance and internally let go of the need to control the situation.  This letting go was uncomfortable for me because I was so not used to it.  

Snip.

But soon I found that I could do it with a bit more ease, that I had a bit more energy than I thought I would have because I wasn't fretting so much about whether others were living their lives "right" or not.  It was no longer my problem.  

Then as I realized that my ability to change myself was non-existent - having tried all my life with the same abysmal results - I made a decision to turn my life over to the care of my Creator.  

Snip.  The deadness started to drop off me. 

I started to see the roots of my self-destructive behavior: past hurts, resentments.  One by one I faced these, worked through the pain I had never allowed myself to feel, and gradually came to a place of forgiveness.

Snip. Snip. Snip.  More deadness fell off.  Every snip took anywhere from days to months, depending on how deep, systematic, or long-lasting the hurt was.

I started to see in myself some patterns of believing and of thinking that had allowed these resentments and self-destructive attitudes to grow.  I developed a growing hatred of these defects of character and asked God to remove them; I had tried to get rid of them on my own but it had never worked.  So I asked Him to do it.  He took me at my word.

Snip.  Less control.  More freedom.  More growth.

In every step I took from that point onward: apologizing to people I had hurt with my own woundedness, maintaining a watchful eye over my reactions to life and to people, deepening my relationship with God, and sharing my story with others - I was empowered more and more by the One from whom I had asked for help.  

And now that God has brought me to the place where (out of a place of fulness) I'm able to help others get a good start on their own recovery, I can remember the lessons learned from my own pruning process to know when it's time to nurture and when it's time to let go (to cut the umbilical cord, so to speak) and watch in wonder as the legacy of healing passes from person to person, one person at a time, one day at a time.

Root Bound

I've been on vacation for a little over a week (almost 2 if you count the weekends). When I went home, I took my office plants with me to take care of them at home. Part of what I intended to do was something I had been putting off for months.

My peace lily kept getting larger and larger, blooming regularly. With beautiful, thick foliage that cleans the air, it is an ideal (not to mention beautiful) companion plant for working in a 'closed building' - also known as a 'sick building'.  But the tips of the leaves have been turning brown and the ones around the edge of the pot even more so.  Therefore, I need to repot.  The folks in the know recommend dividing the plant.  This involves a sharp knife!!  They say that once you have your potting soil and pots ready, you have to remove the plant from the pot, root ball and all, and slice it in half or into however many pieces as you want plants.  The rest is easy for me to do - just follow instructions - put each section in a different pot with some soil in it, water and feed, and add more soil.  But cutting the poor thing!  I've been dreading it.  

Source of the photo:
http://www.emilysplants.com/
My_store_pages/sympathypeacelily.html

But last night I got the pots out that I had purchased and began to "psych" myself up for this.  As I started to think more about this process, I began to realize how symbolic it is for me.  I've had this peace lily plant since right around the time I went into recovery - the early months of 2009.  The plant and I have both grown in that time.  

And now it is outgrowing its pot.  The root system is so well-developed that it's starting to send shoots out the bottom of the pot - and if I don't do something soon to give it the room it needs to grow, it will be (if it isn't already) root-bound.  And then it won't be healthy anymore.  The roots won't have room to grow.  

What's more, once I repot, I won't have room for all the pieces.  I'll have to give a couple of them away!

My journey has been like that.  There has been some amazing growth, a few periods of incredible blooming.  But now it's time to allow myself to branch out, so to speak.  I need room to grow.

Yet it involves some uprooting, some slicing, some entirely new situations and challenges which  I've never tried before and frankly, which frighten me even as I make the first tentative moves to step into them.  My book is getting closer to completion; I'm expanding my sphere of influence (and my comfort zone) in recovery; I'm taking more of a leadership role in various areas, including work.  

And the part people see is only the above-ground part. Leaves.  Blossoms.  Inside, though, I feel the pressure of being root-bound, of having nowhere to go except around and around.  It feels tight.  It feels restrictive somehow. 

I know that once I have that room to grow, there will be more of me to "go around."  I'll be able to give more of myself, so to speak.  But in order to do that, I must become smaller, to give up more control in some key areas.  For a control addict, that's a big thing.  But so necessary!  

Well, it's a great day to do a little plant surgery.  Now.  Where did I put that big sharp knife?