That "new car" smell

 You know that experience where you go to a car dealership and they have a nice model in the showroom, and you open the door and sit in the driver's seat? You remember that smell? That new car smell? 

I remember it. It makes me want to drive the car. It's new vinyl, new leather (if you're that rich), clean air conditioning vents, no dust, no smudges, clear windshield ... and the list goes on.

Now, translate that into the experience of a person who is almost at the end of her Masters degree, itching to get out in the world and help people. 

That's me.

Yesterday, as an example of my impatience, I went to see three different spaces that could serve as good offices for a counsellor. Well ... they LOOKED like good spaces. Two out of the three were pretty well duds. But one ... it showed promise. I told the lady that I couldn't  make a decision for at least a month. So if someone came in before she heard back to me, it wasn't fair to make her wait for me. "Go ahead and rent it to that person who gives you the first deposit," I told her. 

Free image by RitaE at Pixabay

Well, at least that scratched my "new car smell" itch. I get it once in a while, mostly when I am impatient or tired of waiting for the next thing to happen. God knows I have this tendency ... and so does my family. I had strict instructions from my daughter NOT to make up my mind that day, that this was just a dry run for the real thing.  

I am so glad I had that thought as I went looking. It took the pressure off. I was able to ask my questions, and hold a mild curiosity instead of an all-encompassing inner push to get it all done in one go. 

I guess I just needed to take my fact-finding skills out for a test drive. And what I found is that there are a number of offices out there that are unsuitable spaces, but you do find that odd gem. If it's still available next month, it would be really nice to practice there. 

However, I'm not in that position quite yet. I still have to finish my degree (2 more weeks and then another 2 until I get my marks!) and then, I will have to apply for  my CCC designation at the same time as I apply for my registration from the soon-to-be-opened College of Counselling Therapists in PEI. One step at a time. 

Part of me still wants to order business cards and such, but I know that I will need a business address and phone number before doing that. I guess that I will be opening sometime in October, not sure exactly when. I will put a rush on my application for my Canadian certified counsellor designation (CCC) so I can at least practice. And I have an action plan for when I receive that. 

It's all laid out, but I'm just waiting for someone in authority to press "Go" ... and at that point, I'll just have one thing to say: 

I'm Open! 

SSS-KSS-KSS-KSS-KSS

No, it's not a typo.

The title that I chose today is the sound my little dog's nails and feet make on the floor when he races around the house doing what little dogs do when they are excited (or just before bed): "the zoomies."

We had a snow last night. As always happens in the morning when the dog wakes up, he wants to go out. So I put his harness and leash on, and carried him out the back door onto the deck, and put him on the deck for him to choose a place to do his business. But as soon as he had emptied his little bladder, he put his nose into the white stuff on the deck, and jerked away. COLD! And then his nose melted it. He cocked his head. "Wuff," he whispered. He put his nose on the white stuff again. Cold! He pulled his head back and peered at this strange substance.

 

Bullet, September 2020

 

All of a sudden, the lightbulb came on over his head. He started doing the zoomies right there on the deck! SSSS-KSS-KSS-KSS went the little feet as he turned tight corners and slid around ... over and over again! Mouth open, tongue lolling, snapping at the flakes he was raising, he was the picture of pure doggy joy as he lived each and every nanosecond in the moment. 

It made me laugh out loud! Literally! Even when he left snow crystals on my Crocs (and melting into my bare feet inside of them) I couldn't help surfing on the waves of joyful puppyness that emanated from him. 

No fear. Pure joy that comes from confidence - which comes from knowing he is loved. I am slowly learning that I am loved unconditionally, and that gives me confidence ... and joy. My heart skipped and skidded around with Bullet on that deck. Though I hate the cold, somehow it didn't matter to me, and I laughed -- no, giggled -- like a child at play.

It feels good.  SSSSS-KSS-KSS-KSS-KSS-KSS-KSS.....

Releasing

Since I last posted, I put a notice in a local Facebook group and within 48 hours I had 25 clients lined up to see me. Today, I have 31. 

I've been seeing some of these folks the last week and a half. At times I feel like a green rookie; at other times I feel confident and calm. But always I strive to be present for my clients. And if I could pick a theme for the last ten days, it would be Releasing.

There is such freedom in realizing that I am not put on this earth to save the world, to rescue the people that I care about, or to protect people from the consequences of their own choices. When I release the weight of all of those duties (which don't belong to me) and decide to show up for my own life, when I decide to simply be present for people who ask me for help, and to let go of the burden of taking responsibility for other people's outcomes, I experience peace, and I can sleep at night. 

It sounds selfish to put it that way. However, by releasing my grip on things that are not mine to fix, I gain the energy that I need to look after my own needs, and then reach out to help someone else look after their needs.  I remember saying to someone this week that it's like what the flight attendants say in their safety presentation about when the oxygen masks fall from the ceiling of the cabin. They instruct us to put on our own masks first, before helping someone else put theirs on. The reason for this is simple: you can't help someone else unless you have what you need to stay safe - otherwise you'll pass out and both people are in trouble. 

Free pic from www.pexels.com

I've been cultivating this lifestyle of letting go or releasing since I first became aware that the opposite was happening in my life, and that it was driving the people I cared about further and further away from me. I held onto the people in my life with a tight-fisted grip that didn't allow them to feel free or comfortable around me.  When I stopped trying to rescue them, and when I let go of the reins of control over their thoughts and behaviors, I gained a new sense of freedom, and that releasing saved those relationships.  In essence, I allowed them to be who they were instead of trying to make them into copies of me. Rather than feel threatened by their differences from me, I began to celebrate those differences and be grateful for the opportunity to grow as I got to know them better. 

It's an endless journey. I can't say that I have arrived, but I'm better than I was then, and I expect to continue to grow and to show up in my own life, so that I can be there for others.  I'm committed to this process of growth in my own life, and I hope to be able to convey to others how it has changed me for the better, and continues to change me into who I am becoming.  

Keeping Christmas

"And it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us!" - A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

I know, I know. It's too soon to talk about Christmas for most of my readers. Notable exceptions exist of course (Anne, Stephanie, I'm talking to you wonderful ladies!)

I used the above quote because when people refer to someone as a Scrooge, they mean the miserly old skin-flint in the "before" picture and not of the "after." In the same way, a "Grinch" is a mean-spirited, selfish person who hates Christmas. Yet in the story by Dr. Seuss, "the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day" and he ended up being sweet and generous! 

Christmas 2014 - everyone gets in on the fun!

When I was a little kid, I heard stories of my dad waking my mom up at 3:30 a.m. just because it was Christmas. He couldn't wait to see our faces when we opened our presents, to see the wonder and hear the laughter of that day. It was his favorite day of the year. And he didn't get anything else out of the day. We had no money to give him a present. His joy, his Christmas spirit, came from giving to those who had no way to return the favor. 

What a wonderful feeling that is! I've had occasion - here and there - to experience that kind of excitement in anticipation of someone opening a gift that I have made or bought for them. It is truly magical. And it doesn't matter if it's for Christmas, or their birthday, or even "just because." I don't expect anything in return. It just blesses me to bits to be able to give to them something that they need or want - that they like - and that they will cherish and use. 

So, perhaps we can "keep Christmas" all year round. Wouldn't that be great? If everyone had that spirit of gratitude, generosity and goodwill all year, how much sweeter life would be! Folks would be much easier to get along with ... as long as there was no trace of obligation or duty involved ... and therefore, no mad rushing about in the stores, no impatience in parking lots, or any of that. 

How much fuller life would feel with that kind of attitude - to give is better than to receive - present not just at Christmas but every day? How it would transform each of us to find joy in giving to those who have no hope of ever paying us back (which isn't the point anyway)!! Hungry, homeless people, people with hardly two nickels (or tuppence) to rub together, could eat, be warm, and have their daily needs met through the generosity of those who love to give! 

Isn't that worth more than getting the latest gadget for ourselves? 
I'll leave that thought with you, as it has been burning in me. 

And happy Christmas to you!

This place

As I look around my apartment this morning, and reflect on the last three months here, so many thoughts and feelings arise. In two days, I will be moving back home from here. I will be resuming an improved version of my former life with my family. It will be improved in the sense that I will be spending more time with them, due to the fact that I will continue to work remotely from home for my employer. It will be improved as well, because I decided to continue my march toward retirement in spite of the fact that my practicum didn't work out; this will leave me more time to volunteer and thus enrich and expand my life and my comfort zone.

But looking around me, I find my thoughts drawn to the lessons and the skills I have learned while living alone, and to the ups and downs of having nobody to answer to in this place except myself. A common thread through it all is the truism that you never know what you can do until you are forced to do it. I've been forced to sleep alone, eat alone, work alone, amuse myself alone, wash dishes alone, take out the trash by myself, do chores without anyone's help, and many more things. 

And I have learned that I can do it. I have learned that I can survive living alone. However, I have also learned that it is a lot easier to do when I have support and connection with the people who love me. My phone has been my lifeline while living here; I talk with my husband three to four times a day on average, and I speak with my brother about once every day or so. My relationships with both of them have deepened in the last three months. 

I also find myself remembering the events of the last three months and how this place has been my "home base" - a place I could be myself - a haven from the stress of being in a practicum with a supervisor who was not a good match for me, and whose attitude and words reminded me too much of childhood traumas I have never fully addressed. This place has housed me, fed me, given me a place to sleep, to think, to cry, and to grow. 

My plants - and other friends...

And soon, I must say goodbye to it. And I find - to my surprise - that I have mixed feelings about that! 

I will miss the freedom to keep my own schedule and be able to listen to music or TV programs (read: Netflix) without using earphones. I will miss the ability to sit in my chair without removing a cat or worrying about cat hair sticking into my clothing (or anyone else's who might visit me). 

But I know that I will be able to bring back certain things with me - like the rugs I bought for the apartment. The big one will adorn my home office and the smaller one will be placed beside my side of our bed. My plants will be in my home office and some will go to their original perches in the front hallway. Others will go back to my work office (the ones that are poisonous to cats). The paintings my family bought for me will also go in my home office - and from the rest of the furniture, I hope to be able to make a livable space in the other room in the basement.

And I am looking forward to being able to be close to my friends and living (instead of just visiting) with my family again. Yes, even the cats - I have missed those furry folks! My own bed beckons me, as does my kitchen (which is over twice the size of this little one in my apartment...) and the other creature comforts: cable TV, access to exercise equipment for when the weather is bad, and oh yes, did I mention my family? And friends? 

But this place - as eager as I am to move and get back to all I hold dear - still holds some sentiment. 

It will be hard to say goodbye.

More than meets the eye

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

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

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

Until now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Relax into it

Every so often my daughter - who is prone to anxiety - gets so tense that she can't relax herself, so she gets headaches and backaches that can't be touched by anti-inflammatories, muscle relaxers or electric massagers. That's when she asks me if I will give her a massage.

It's something I used to do a lot when she was having regular migraines. 

So I get her to sit down in a chair in front of the dining room table, with her arms resting in front of her on the table and her head resting upon her arms. She knows "the drill" - the unspoken request for her to fight her natural instinct to tense up when I start to massage a tender spot. Tensing up only makes it hurt worse in the long run. So she has learned to "relax into it." 

Photo "Oil Massage" courtesy
of samuiblue at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

And the massages take far less time as a result. I can literally feel the knots loosening under my hands and fingers as I work. She accepts a certain amount of discomfort, knowing that when I am done, the pain will be far less than when I started. 

It's a lesson we teach each other. I've been taking her example as I get into a different season in my life, one of waiting. I find waiting so incredibly hard. 

Yet I spend the vast majority of my time doing it. 

Just now I'm in transition, extricating myself from one university program to migrate to one in a different university that (even though it will take longer) will give me a more usable degree when I am done. The process of change is stressful, but already I am seeing myself with more time on my hands, and having that much free time is a bit of an adjustment for me after spending almost every spare waking minute studying. It's too early to apply for the new program, so in some ways I'm twiddling my thumbs. This (believe it or not) is tension-producing. I'm learning ... slowly ... to 'relax into it' and let events unfold as they unfold. For someone who historically has had to know what was going to happen for the next five or ten years in advance, this is a relatively new skill. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. Relax. Good words. 

Good words to remember as this week (Wednesday) we try to find a way to celebrate (and survive) Arielle's birthday. To know that that particular day marks 38 weeks since we got the news of her death. And to take the next breath in. And let it out. To relax while we do it. And then do it again. 

"Relaxing into it" is a lifestyle lived out day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute. It's a lifestyle of acceptance - acceptance of people, places, and circumstances. It is a refusal to tense up and stress over things I can't control. It is letting go of what was before and embracing what is now ... even if the now is painful. Or uncertain. Or blah. It's all good. God has His finger on that pressure point and all I need to do is turn my attention to His care for me and the knots of tension disappear from my soul. I can breathe again, move again, laugh again. I can learn to live in that relaxed state. 

And why not?

Fully fledged

In the life of a young bird, there comes a stage when it gets its flying feathers. Over time, the baby fuzz is replaced by firm feathers - including wing feathers that will be rigid enough to ride on air currents and support the weight of the bird. 

Until that happens, the baby bird spends more and more of its time - still in its nest - flapping its wings, exercising those muscles. Yet it still can't sustain flight. During the stage in which the adult feathers grow in, the bird is said to "fledge," and when there is no more fuzz, it is called full-fledged, or fully fledged. 

Sometimes a bird, even though it's been practicing in the nest and has even managed to lift itself up into the air a bit, still seems to want to stay in the nest; perhaps it is afraid of falling. Eventually, the baby fuzz that's been falling out will blow away from the nest and the rough sticks get more and more uncomfortable. 

Thanks to Jeff Ratcliffe at
www.freedigitalphotos.net for his
photo, "Eagle In Flight"

Before long, the desire to leave the safety of the nest is stronger than the fear of falling - and the bird takes that leap of faith into the invisible, making short flights to the ground, up to branches (or in the case of an eagle, rock ledges), landing on neighboring trees or other suitable perches. At this point, it doesn't leave the protection of its parents but continues to learn to use its wings and to feed itself by watching its mother and father. It only takes a few weeks to learn these skills. Many birds do maintain that family relationship. The family group is a great source of security. And some - just fly away to establish their own territory.

I guess that lately, I've been going through that transition period where the young one has left the nest but is still somewhat dependent, learning all she can to be self-sufficient, strengthening her wing muscles. It's a thrilling but frightening time (for both of us!) and both my daughter and I have been learning a lot from the experience. So far, she's traveled across the country nearly to the other side, lived in someone's car (with them and later with their permission), found a job, faced transportation issues to and from work, shopped for a second-hand car, hunted for an apartment, ... and the list is ongoing. While she's been having all these experiences thousands of miles away, my heart has been traveling with her, praying for her, supporting her, talking her down when she's upset, suggesting options when she's been out of her depth. I even talked her through preparing a chicken dinner for a lady who let her stay with her the first of this week! (And I'm not sure who was more pleased with the results - her or me!)

As someone in recovery from control-freaking and from obsessive care-taking, there's a fine line between letting go and abandonment, just as there is between being there for my child and trying to make her choices for her. It truly is a process where I, like she was when she was in my nest, have been growing my own feathers. 

I can see the day quickly approaching where she will have learned enough to be able to be self-sufficient. I am so proud of all that she has accomplished so far, and I believe in her ability to make it on her own. It's a process for her and it's a process for me too. As I support her in this transition while slowly letting go and allowing her to make her own choices and reap her own consequences, I grow another feather myself. 

And yes, I've been doing a lot of flapping, even some short hovers, and - admittedly - a fair bit of squawking. ;) 

Before long though, I'll make that leap myself - out into the unknown - and find that the invisible is strong enough to carry me too.

The Open Door

When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us. - Helen Keller

In my last post, I talked about giving myself time to let go, to lean against the closed door and process the natural emotional reactions behind letting go, before looking for that opened door to which Helen Keller referred. 

It's kind of funny how life has a way of telling you it's time to move on. Like having an opportunity you thought was open for you way up the road, suddenly appear before you.

Let me explain.

A few months ago, I began looking into the possibility of furthering my studies. I have an undergraduate degree - and this has opened doors for me in the past and made it possible to work in a job that I enjoyed - but a combination of events has birthed a desire in me to make more of a difference to the world than I am now. 

I had decided that, because of certain financial projects that were in the works for this year, I could go back and get my graduate degree starting in May 2014. It would give me time to take care of those projects and then to save up for my tuition. I even looked around and chose the school and the program I would be taking. 

And then, a door closed in my life. That one closed door had a number of repercussions I had not expected on several of those expenses I thought I would have - and as I sat at breakfast with my husband this morning, he took something I had mentioned in passing last night, and ran with it. He gently suggested that I could go back to school sooner. Much sooner. Like in September - only a little over 3 months away. 

Gulp.

Within the space of about 10 minutes, we were talking about logistics, finances, schedules, and division of labor. 

And I felt it happen. 

"Blank Paper Sheet And Pin" photo courtesy of
Witthaya Phonsawat at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

The page was turning. That open door looked a LOT closer. 

Nerve-wracking? OH yes. Yet, as we discussed it, I recognized the sensation of anticipation - almost excitement, right along with all the nervousness and trepidation. 

I'd stopped leaning against the closed door. I was standing on my own two feet and pondering opportunities instead of regretting what couldn't be. 

It was almost surreal, like I was in a time warp - the world in slow motion around me. Voices muffled; all that existed was this pivotal moment.

The sense of pervading peace and serenity, even in the midst of uncertainty and near-panic, was unmistakable. This was it. This was the next right thing. This was something I needed to do.  For ME. I needed to do this to look after myself, to challenge my limits, to overcome obstacles, to practice self-discipline, and eventually to give back to the world.

Oh, did I mention that my graduate degree (Master's) would give me the opportunity to register as a certified counselor? Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you that part.

☺

There is something very gratifying about turning that new page, that page with nothing written on it yet. For a writer, there's a little thrill when opening a new notebook, sliding a hand across a clean page, and preparing to write that first word. It's almost as if that first word is the most important one, even if it is a small one. 

This is a small word. 
I. 
The next word is a verb. 
I want. 
What do I want? I want to make. 
Make a difference.
A difference in me, a difference in others.

So ... guess what?

The door is before me. And I'm reaching for the doorknob.

Leaning against the door

Helen Keller said once, "When one door of happiness closes, another opens, but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us."

I understand the sentiment; I do. I know that there comes a time when we must move on. 

However, I also believe that it's normal and healthy to look at the closed door - whatever that is, for a while - and to ponder its meaning, whether or not that leads to restoration. Only then can we move forward. 

I also think that it's perfectly natural, after the door has been shut, to lean against it, to allow oneself to regret that the situation has gotten to the point of separation, to regroup, and to begin to accept the new reality. The scene is common when there has been a quarrel; the person goes out, closes the door and then leans with his or her back to the door. In those moments, the heart can begin to let go, to feel the shock, accept a previously denied truth, and eventually ask itself, "Where do I go from here?" 

How long that takes is anyone's guess. It's different for each person and even for one person, it's different depending on the situation, and/or the nature of the relationship in question. 

Photo "Massaging Shoulder As Very Stressed"
courtesy of Stuart Miles at
www.fredigitalphotos.net

When a relationship ends - for whatever reason - it hurts. That's okay. It's supposed to hurt. 

Sometimes, when the inner pain is deep, it even hurts physically. The mind-body connection is amazingly strong. A person can literally become sick and/or sore because of the stress associated with prolonged emotional upheaval.

At the same time, at some point in those moments - or days - of leaning against the door, comes a marvelous gift: the ability to breathe again. Oh, I don't mean the involuntary "in, out, in, out" stuff that the nervous system does automatically. I mean belly-breathing: diaphragm breathing. I mean unclenching those abdominal muscles you didn't even know were wound up tighter than a fiddle string - and allowing the physical tension to drain away a little bit with every breath. It's the kind of breathing you have to remind yourself to do, (medium slowly in as far as you can, medium slowly out as far as you can) or your body only does enough to keep itself functioning. I'm beginning to think of this deep breathing exercise as an internal massage. Or a spiritual yawn - oxygenating the psyche as well as the body, purging the toxins of lingering fear and resentment.

It's all normal; it's part of the process. As I've said so many times before, feelings are not good or bad. They just are. They were created to be a barometer of the inner climate, indicators of attitudes that affect health, behaviors, so many things. Tuning in to those feelings and finding out why they're there (in other words, drilling down to the attitudes behind them) does way more good than denying that they exist (perhaps out of some misplaced sense of guilt or shame, or fear of being seen as "weak.") How much better to carve out time to look after yourself, and to take however long it takes on a regular basis to process events and your emotional reaction to them.

Taking the time to find closure like that is another way to help yourself let go of things over which you have no control anyway (I'm talking to mySELF here) ... and gain the internal strength to look for that second door.

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. 

Want Not

In my last post, I talked about growing up as a child of parents who grew up in the Depression.

My dad was a factory worker; he worked on an assembly line making oil stoves for Fawcett, before the company was taken over by Enterprise. He didn't make much money, and we lived a very simple, very spartan life.  

To keep the "past due" notices at bay, in desperation my mother hired her services out to various clients as a weekly housekeeper, when I was eight years old. By the time I was ten, she was helping to pay off debts that had piled up: car loans, oil bills, grocery bills, even. At least the collectors weren't calling anymore. Yet money was still a major issue; there seemed to be barely enough to survive, even with a large vegetable garden. Extras were almost unheard of. 

As I mentioned in my previous post, the lessons we had learned about not wasting what little we had, paid off, and I can't ever remember a time when there was no food to put on the table. 

Yet, there were times when I would "want." I longed for a certain lifestyle that I could never have. I spent a lot of time imagining and fantasizing about what we'd do if a lot of money dropped into our laps. 

At times, it seemed as though our lives revolved around money. Not the way rich people's lives can ... but ours was more of a "poor man's greed." We were preoccupied with saving what we had for the essentials to the point of re-using milk bags to freeze food, for example. We wondered if we'd ever get enough ahead to have something nice: we were thrust from pillar to post by circumstances beyond our control, and the wolf of potential poverty was never far from our door.  All it would have taken was a prolonged illness, or some sort of disaster like a fire or a flood or even a car accident - and we would have been left with nothing. We all were keenly aware of it, and yet we didn't want other people to know how close the wolf was... a classic case of "poor man's pride."

Photo "Between Seasons" courtesy of Evgeni Dinev at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

It wasn't until many years later, after I had moved away from that atmosphere and had lived many years as a wife and mother, that I realized how it was possible to "want not." 

Always in my life I had looked away to what I didn't have, the next big purchase or the next nice thing I wanted, as if I were trying to make up for my parents having to eke out a living. 

I only focused on what I didn't have. 

It never crossed my mind to be grateful for the good things that I did have.

When my life took a 180 degree turn in February 2009, I learned a whole new way of looking at life, one that demanded rigorous honesty with myself, one that required an attitude - a daily attitude - of thankfulness and gratitude. Thankfully, there were those who came alongside of me and modeled that lifestyle for me ... because I didn't have any clue how to do it; nobody had ever showed me before. Nevertheless, as I learned how to let go of unrealistic expectations and to live in "Today" instead of "If Only" - a new experience for me - I began to notice something I hadn't expected.

I smiled more. I was more relaxed, more ... content. Less and less did I care about "what if" and "if only." (I can't say that's disappeared completely, but it's a work in progress!) I could live more and more in Today; I could be present in the Present and not fret about the future or rail against circumstances (or against people) I couldn't change. 

Learning how to live in the Now helped me to allow others be who they were, and gave me permission to be who I was... and am. I began to feel a little more comfortable inside my own skin. That was a new feeling, too.

I started to "Want Not." I started being content with exactly who I was - and with where I was. 

I began to realize that I was right where God intended me to be, and I finally determined to just do the next right thing. It doesn't sound complicated - and it isn't - but it was at the point of desperation, because life wasn't working for me, where I was willing to let go of my old lifestyle. After I did, and I started to get unwrapped from all the constrictive, nasty grave-clothes I'd had wrapped around me all my life, my life was slowly transformed.

Of course, I am far from having arrived ... but all I can say, now that I'm on this journey, is that I wouldn't want to go back to the way it was before. 

Not for anything.

Goodbye - again.

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

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

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

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

Loneliness was a frequent companion. Grief too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Next Right Thing

"What went wrong?" she asked me.

I paused. "I guess the main reason it failed was that everyone who heard about this initiative felt it was a great idea, agreed that it was needed, even thought about participating, but when they realized how much work it would take to get better, and how long it would take, they just ... lost interest." 

The conversation had begun when I dropped by the community centre where for a year and a half, Codependents Anonymous had been meeting twice a month, and where, after much soul-searching and lack of attendance, we had decided to disband. I was returning the key the administrator had given me.

Our talk then ranged into a wide range of topics, sharing experiences in recovering from codependency, thought patterns we each battled in isolation, and we agreed that perhaps in a larger population base, we might find enough people who would be interested in doing whatever it took to be free from old, destructive patterns of thinking. 

Perhaps. 

How to build a ramp (or make a major lifestyle change):
Start where you are, do what you can TODAY, and
carry on from where you left off, tomorrow.

I got to thinking - after we had talked and parted company - about the tendency there is in human nature to quail when faced with a daunting task. One looks at the enormity of it all, and it's easy to get discouraged. That's part and parcel of the very kind of thinking that keeps people (like me) in dysfunction; it took a great deal of desperation for me to bite that bullet and start challenging my long-held beliefs about relationships, people, myself, God, and what I had considered important.

What I discovered after I started the process was that even though it was going to take a while, I'd start where I was: no apologies and no excuses, and then do what I could TODAY. I forced myself to NOT think about how far there was yet to go, how much there was yet to do - which was a big deal for me. Over and over I reminded myself that I was only responsible for doing the "next right thing." Of course, my definition (once I got into the process) of what was "right" started to undergo a transformation. 

I was surprised to discover that "doing the next right thing" and "being right about things" are mutually exclusive. The former is about humility and honesty; the latter is about self-aggrandizement and control. 

I learned - by making a lot of mistakes - to be kind to myself when I made mistakes or slipped back in my recovery; often I felt like I was making a step forward only to feel as though I was taking three steps backward. What was really happening was that I was blazing a new trail and making sure I knew where the path was by tamping it down, over and over again. I was practicing. I remember stopping myself when I started doing things the "old way" - even in mid-sentence - and forcing myself to do things the "new way." It felt uncomfortable at first because it was so new. I was terrified of where it might take me. I was afraid of the unknown, nervous that I wouldn't like the finished product, that I would lose more than I would gain.

Yet ... the results spoke for themselves, little by little, one day at a time. It wasn't long before my kids actually wanted to talk to me again. They weren't afraid of my reactions (or should I say, my OVER-reactions). My husband was visibly more relaxed around me. And ... I was happier. Freer. More peaceful. Even though I was still doing (with a great deal of help from above) what amounted to a total reconstruction of my attitudes and my beliefs about myself and my relationships, it wasn't like I was working in a vacuum with no hope of results until I was done. That was the beauty of it. The changes were small, sometimes frustratingly so, but they happened, and they kept happening. 

They keep happening even now. New doors, new challenges open up to me and all the while, I am learning more and more about boundaries, about self-care, about acceptance, about courage, and about really living life instead of just surviving it - even giving back once in a while. 

Dr. Bill Cosby (yes, he earned a Ph.D in Urban Education in 1977!) once said, "Decide that you want it more than you are afraid of it." 

For me, that decision was key. And ... it still is.

Settling in

It's no secret that I'm kind of allergic to change. 

It's funny how just a seemingly small thing as a change in computer can make such a great difference in my day-to-day life. The adjustment has been more than what I expected.

I've had this new laptop for almost a week, and it is slowly growing on me. I literally had to grieve my old one, believe it or not! I'd allowed myself to become attached to my MacBook Pro, thinking it would be around for a decade like I had heard others talk about. Alas, it was not to be. 

Accepting that fact has brought a growing sense of peace. I will go back to the repair shop (and I use that term loosely) tomorrow after work to pick up my old, ready-for-life-support MacBook - the memory is fine, I just can't use the rest of the machine to get at it! - and take it back to the dealer to see if they will honor the remaining warranty on it. If they can, that's gravy. If not - well, I'll take my lumps and try to find a way to get my data files (Word and Excel documents, plus music and photos) off the MacBook and onto this laptop. 

Trackball mouse - I use this model or a similar one
at home AND at work.

And, after a few growing pains concerning the track pad on this machine (which my wonderful daughter solved this morning with an easy fix to disable the track pad when there's a mouse plugged in!) I'm pretty satisfied with it. The numeric keypad is nice to have back too - it was the one thing I found it hardest to get used to with the Mac (no numeric keypad, so no ASCII codes and the calculator was just nasty to operate as a result) - still, I found ways around those things and even found "accents" easier to do with an Apple keyboard than a Windows one.  

It's hard to get used to Windows again though - and even harder because it's the most recent version: Windows 8 is unlike anything I've ever seen. It's more like a touch-screen than anything else, like those smart-phones in a way.

To ease myself into that world, I've kept as many things as possible the same. Most importantly, I told the guys setting up my machine that I wanted my preferred browser as Firefox, and would only use the Windows 8 features when I absolutely had to .... and I've kept to that for the most part. Mind you, the free downloadable themes (for backgrounds) are absolutely breathtaking. I have the waterfalls theme on mine and it is simply stunning. Sometimes I'll just minimize everything and watch it change screens from one beautiful photo to the next.

I've spent most of the week re-creating my email contact list and my bookmarks. However, I think I'm slowly settling into my new virtual world - like someone moving into a new neighborhood has to get his or her bearings and get to know not only the neighbors but the "normal" sounds and sights. 

Throughout the whole process with both computers, I've had to use the skills I've learned in my recovery from door-mat-itis and control freakoholism. One day at a time. Accept the things I can't change, change the things I can and learn when to let go and where to set boundaries. Take care of first things first - people before things. 

Which reminds me; I'm actually spending less time on the computer and more time with my loved ones. 

I could settle into that kind of change fairly quickly, too.