Acceptance - the royal road

I learned a new word this week: "microagressions." These are tiny, almost subconscious ways in which aggressors mistreat those they target, based on a belief that the other person is 'wrong', 'misguided', 'stupid', 'lazy', 'over-sensitive', or whatever. This is usually the case when aggressors have prejudged someone on the basis of his or her race, religious belief, lifestyle, appearance, gender identity, etc. These microaggressions can come out in the workplace as increased scrutiny (careful examination) of the quality of someone's work (over and above what would be done to another person in the same job), a dismissive attitude of what someone says or contributes, or even just a raised eyebrow (indicating the aggressor doesn't believe what the person is saying). 

Those who feel subjugated as a result of microaggressions lose motivation (they're going to find fault with what I do anyway, so why even try?) and may even succumb to physical illness more frequently as a result of significantly increased stress.

Microagressions are particularly problematic in the helping professions, where there is an inherent imbalance of power. Counsellors, pastors, doctors, and nurses (among others) are held to a higher ethical standard and yet ... abuses occur every day. Patients are not believed, their legitimate symptoms "gas-lighted". People in pain because of a specific problem are turned away (or worse yet, turned into a personal project to "convert") when they reveal a totally unrelated lifestyle not considered acceptable by the helper. It happens every day!

The more I study counselling, the more I realize that the key to becoming a good counsellor - indeed, the key to becoming a better person - is acceptance of other people, regardless of how different they are from me, my thoughts, and my beliefs.  This is much more than just "love the sinner, hate the sin." It goes WAY beyond that fallacy.  It involves a deep-seated belief that every single person has the right to be who they are and feel what they feel. That belief is HARD to cultivate... but it is crucial.  If it is not there, I could turn into (or perhaps continue to be) a microaggressor. 

People who habitually commit microaggressions rarely see their behaviour as aggressive or prejudicial.  They usually consider themselves to be wonderful, caring people ... and they may be in some contexts ... but there is this huge blind spot that obstructs their ability to accept that the other person has just as much right to be there as they do.

I have been the target of microaggressions.  The perpetrators were simply acting on their core beliefs, based on their own chosen lifestyles, that (for example) all short people never become adults and should not be taken seriously, that all fat people are lazy, ugly and stupid, that all Christians are crazy bigoted right-wingnuts, that all depressed people are suicidal, that all civilians (or non-professionals) are ignorant, and so forth. It's probably not obvious to anyone watching, and certainly not to those who have acted on those beliefs, because they cover it up with a veneer of civility and respectability.  Yet ... it exists.

Photo "Conflict In The Office" courtesy of
franky242 at  www.freedigitalphotos.net

I've also watched people commit microaggressions against others without them even realizing it, and I have seen the results in their victims ... who feel as though they have just been bullied, but can't quite put their finger on how.   All they know is that they feel belittled, condescended to / patronized, and made to feel powerless .... like the person who makes a mistake at work (due to a misunderstanding) and is not called into the supervisor's office to chat one-on-one, but is confronted about the mistake in front of his or her co-workers.  The co-workers (not being the ones under attack) can easily identify the conversation as one that should have been conducted in private. Why wasn't it?  The microaggressor (for whatever reason) believes that the person in question does not merit that kind of consideration ... whether that belief is on a conscious or subconscious level.  Often the victim's feelings don't happen during the encounter but afterward, after the shock of the (usually verbal) assault wears off.  This is how bullies get away with bullying.  Talk about feeling ambushed!  Not to mention vulnerable, helpless, trapped, and a whole host of other unpleasant things. 

Those feelings (though unpleasant) are VALUABLE because they are the brain's early warning system: danger, danger, danger!  They can lead you and me to recognize when such things are happening and to speak out against them, so as to do something to stop them from happening again.  Nobody has the right to be treated like a disposable person, a worthless piece of junk.  NOBODY. 

And truly, acceptance (valuing the other person as a person, with the same rights as anyone else) is the key.  It is the royal road to creating a safe place where non-judgmental, non-aggressive conversations can happen.  It is much easier to create that safe place when two people are on a par with each other, where one does not hold power over another, where one is not more qualified than another.  However, it becomes far more difficult (yet still equally as important, if not more so) when there is an imbalance of power. 

Raising awareness is only the first step in addressing this problem.  I've used the example here of a co-worker with a supervisor, but this could apply to pretty much every arena where there is a perceived difference in the level of power two people hold.  People in positions of power or influence MUST learn that the fact that they hold more power makes them more accountable for the way they treat those who have less ... or none.

Some days are like that

Today is one of those "raw" days where I am not far from tears. 

I guess part of it is that yesterday marked a full month of having a nasty cough (so hard and long it makes me lose bladder control!) and congestion, and today I woke up incredibly weary with my eyelashes stuck shut in places - a weakened body leaving the soul bare and vulnerable. I'll be heading to the walk-in clinic this afternoon to deal with the physical side of things. 

Another part is that last night I learned of the sudden death of one of my baby's favorite famous people - comedian John Pinette - Saturday in Pittsburgh. Our best Christmas memory of our little girl is Christmas 2011 when we gave her tickets to see John in person - she was thrilled that we would give that to her, and I knew she would be, so I was prepared with my camera, and took a photo of her moment of realization.  

The moment of understanding what the
tickets were for (Christmas 2011)

Within a minute after I snapped the photo, she realized that we got her the tickets because we had seen him as a family the previous year, and she was not able to go even though we'd gotten her a ticket - and she had been so disappointed ... and now we were giving her another chance. She burst into tears of gratitude. 

And the camera was forgotten. She was in my arms.

And finally, I've been thinking of her a lot more lately since our church welcomed a young pastor and her husband to our church leadership team. Their last name is Willis (ours is Gillis) and their youngest child's name - - is Ariella. And her parents pronounce the first part of her name "AR" - the same way we pronounce our own Arielle's name - instead of "AIR" the way most people do.  FREAKY. The first time I heard them talking to her, I was mesmerized.  And Sunday morning, I was watching this little girl (she's about two) reacting to the music, interacting with her mom, talking to her dad, and eventually sleeping in the pew and tossing and fidgeting in her sleep. Her activity level reminded me of our own little firecracker. I found my eyes getting all watery just watching this little bundle of energy. 

I don't really like feeling the way I have been - perhaps because somewhere, in the mists of my early memory, is a voice that says you are only allowed to cry just so long and then you have to "get over it." Of course, that is a lie. Some days are just like that. There is nothing wrong with grieving; it is a sign that you love someone so deeply that you miss that person's presence now that he or she is no longer here. 

So I go back to my fail-safe position: taking one breath at a time. And I look after myself. And I wait as the billows wash over me, knowing they will pass. 

And they will pass. But even that doesn't mean they'll never come again. 

All I need to do is live in THIS moment, breathe THIS breath and not worry about the next one, or the next time, or to say to myself that I "can't wait" until such-and-such happens - or even to wish that I could go back and have another chance to do it over again. It is enough to just remain in today, this hour, this minute ... to simply be. It is Life's lesson for the times that are rough and raw, as well as for the times that are pleasant and happy: embrace the now and do not let the past or the future rob you of it. It is, after all, all that we have.

Waiting to blossom

Whether winter happens for you in December through March (and here in the Maritimes, it's more the end of April...) or June through August, the colder weather, the reduction in humidity, and especially the shorter days (and therefore less sunlight) can play havoc with people's moods and activity levels. There's a kind of pseudo-hibernation that seeps into the mind and sometimes even the body. 

Where I live, "cocooning" is very common. It's the tendency to hunker down inside the house and not go out except for necessities: groceries, gas, work, possibly church. People don't visit each other - or they have to make a special effort to do so. 

The last couple of months, I've been experiencing this kind of phenomenon more than usual. There's an almost imperceptible sense of being in suspended animation, of 'waiting' for something... sometimes not so patiently.  

About three years ago, I ordered a Hoya carnosa plant from a nursery in Georgia that specializes in those kinds of plants. They sent me three rooted cuttings and I planted them. ONE survived. It grew from a five-inch-long stem with three leaves on it to the size it is today, about four feet long from root to longest tip. 

This kind of plant has to be well established before it will bloom. So, I've been waiting and expecting it to produce bloom clusters - they fill the air with a heady fragrance that is intensified by the nectar that hangs in droplets from the center of each flower. So far ... it has not bloomed. I've seen signs that it's developing the "nibs" from which the flower clusters will eventually grow, but it's happening a lot more slowly than I'd like.

My Hoya - photo taken about three weeks ago

It is healthy; it is growing and sending out shoots, and the foliage is lovely. Yet I find myself wondering when it will blossom.

In a way, I feel like my life is like that plant right now. I know where I want to be, but it's like I'm in a state of pseudo-hibernation. I'm healthy and growing; I know I am ... but it seems the conditions are not right for flowering. 

I know that it will happen. I just don't know when. And there's a large part of me that longs for it to start happening NOW. 

What I need to understand about the plant is that it takes however long it takes ... and that in the meantime, I need to look after what's there. There may be only leaves, but maybe if I focus on keeping them healthy, Mrs. Hoya will surprise me. And the way I keep them healthy is by providing enough light, warmth, and the right amount of water and food to nourish the roots. 

The same applies to me. I just need to make it a priority to look after my growth needs, to nourish my roots (those parts of me that are hidden from view but which are crucial to my spiritual health) and to stay in the warm atmosphere of acceptance, and the light of unconditional love.

Beginning the beginning

It was a week before Christmas 2008. Fast-forward through the impatient waiting for my drive, the frantic phone calls, the worry, the fear of finding him slumped over the wheel ... the tight-lipped drive to the emergency room in mixed relief, anger, and panic - and the waiting for the blood tests to show what I already knew.

Never mind that I'd been trying to hold it together, lurching from crisis to crisis and keeping the wolf at bay through several half-truths and self-delusions that "it isn't that bad" - the growing uneasiness that maybe this was too big for me to handle, the denial that I needed help from outside myself. 

Amazing how our perceptions of the season change
from the time we are children and snow just means
fun making snowmen.

Those who know me well, know that winter is my least favorite season of the whole year. I hate the cold, the snow, the wind, the slippery roads, the cleaning off of the vehicle, the shoveling, the heavy clothing, the scraping, the extra time traveling more slowly, the scarcity of parking, and so forth and so on. Whenever possible, I would let him drive, preferring not to face winter slushy, dirty, yucky traffic. 

Which is why, when the doctor told me that he would have to report the incident (me finding him slumped over the wheel with the motor running, plus his blood alcohol level) and that the standard penalty for this offense was losing one's license for 6 months, I felt cold, icy fingers of fear rising up from my gut and closing around my throat. I instantly envisioned months of driving in winter, braving the horrible winter elements, stretching out in front of me.

I also saw the inevitable questions, the anticipated judgment of those from whom I'd been able to hide his secret, and the cold shoulders that I just knew would result, and I started to tremble.

I was SCARED. Irrationally, unreasonably afraid.

I felt the weight of being the only driver in the family at the worst possible time of year, the isolation that came with that, the inconvenience of assuming the responsibility of carting people where they wanted to go (he'd always done that) whenever they wanted to go. It would be at least two more months, probably three, before he could get into Rehab; he'd already been "bumped" from the waiting list once. I didn't know how much longer I could DO this.

I truly didn't know where to turn. The driving was only the tip of the iceberg. It unveiled a whole host of other things I had been afraid to face, shed a spotlight on how dangerous it was for him to even be on the road, how I had been hiding from just how unacceptable it all was. I felt like I couldn't talk to a whole lot of people, that nobody would understand how I felt, bearing the consequences of his drinking and feeling like I couldn't afford to fall apart - yet wanting so very much to bury my head under the covers and never come out! Nobody I knew would understand that "overwhelmed" feeling, the shame, the fear, the anger, the constant pressure. 

Nobody except - perhaps - someone who dealt with this kind of stuff all the time.

The idea began, just like that. Just a seed of thought at first. Someone had to understand me. I needed someone to comprehend. A stranger perhaps. Someone who didn't know me, who had nothing to do with the circles in which I was involved. 

It percolated through Christmas and into New Year's Day. By that time, the idea had rooted and was starting to take shape. I'd call the treatment center. They had family counselors. I'd talk to someone there. Nobody had to know.

I didn't know what would become of this. I didn't know that this would be the very first step I would take toward healing in my own life, the first chink toward crumbling the facade I'd built up and beginning a life of honesty and vulnerability, of openness and commitment to being real, of freedom from so many things that had shackled my soul for so many years. I had no way of knowing that it would open the door to so much good that has happened since that time, only the least of which was learning that I actually COULD drive and survive in the winter. :) I couldn't have possibly predicted the friendships that would strengthen, the new friendships that would form and the amazing journey I was about to start.

I just knew I needed help. 

It was early January. My head in my hands and my elbows propped up on the kitchen table, I glanced beside my elbow to the 7-digit number I'd written down on a slip of paper. The numbers slowly lost their blurriness as I blinked and wiped the tears from my cheeks. 

With trembling fingers I reached for the phone.

The soft underbelly

I just finished reading a post by my friend and fellow-blogger Ellie at One Crafty Mother, a post which has spurred me to talk about something that I don't often discuss. Especially not in a public forum.

Here is her challenge:

I want to issue you a challenge.  I want you to think of a moment, or period in your life (maybe it's still happening - even better) where you were feeling shame and vulnerability.  There is a difference between shame and guilt - just to clarify - shame is feeling badly about who you are, guilt is feeling badly for something you've done.   Vulnerability is that feeling we have when we've placed too much power in the opinions of others (oh, if they only knew how _______ I am) and shame and vulnerability feed off each other in very toxic ways.

Once you've identified a time when you have (or are) experiencing shame and vulnerability (almost always accompanied by their evil cousin fear) - I want you to write about it.  If you don't have a blog, crack out pen and paper, or a word document, and just let it pour out.  Try, if you, can, to write about it in narrative form.  Close your eyes, picture yourself in that moment, or in that period of your life, and write it like a story.  Tell the truth, every part of it, especially the little nuggets of shame, fear or guilt you've mentally edited out because thinking about them makes you feel small.

Talk about your inner shame dialogue; what did it tell you? How did it make you feel?  Writing about it - seeing your words out there - will take a lot of the power out of what is, essentially, holding you hostage.  I promise.

I must admit I'm a little daunted.  Especially because the first thing that popped into my head was something that I'm still going through and which I don't see any way out of except through it.  (Wow. That sounds familiar.)  But ... there's something that resonates in me with this concept - that truth makes people free, even if it's not pretty. That ugly things like shame and evil lose their power when brought into the light, when their soft underbelly is exposed.  

So ... here goes.

Many of you know that last fall, I e-published a book about my journey from the bondage of control-freaking and door-mat-itis into a lifestyle of freedom, passion, and purpose. It was a huge deal for me to have made the journey, and I wanted to write about it! 

The response I've received has been rather sporadic, actually - definitely not what I had hoped.  To be sure, I didn't expect to make much money from it; it was something that I wanted to do so that if even one person is helped by it, then it would be worth it. But I had thought I would receive just a smidgen more recognition than the large round of indifference I've gotten.  

Except from one quarter: my birth family and extended family, and anyone who is friends with them.  

For, you see, I did mention a couple of members of my family-of-origin in the book a couple of times.  I did so to highlight the "before" picture and some of the things I went through to be free of the things certain people did and said to me: things which scarred me my whole life long.  I took great care not to make that the focus, though.  I wanted to talk about the "unwrapping" that happened as a result of a day-by-day relationship with God, with myself, and finally with others.  (For more information on the book, see my "About Me" page.)

But by talking about their part in it even once, I broke the cardinal rule that was hammered into my psyche as a child: "What happens here STAYS here - we don't talk about it outside these four walls." 

I found this photo at THIS SITE

The truth about my childhood has always been a source of great shame for me.  I always thought - until I was well into my forties - that if anyone knew that I was abused as a child, they'd not want to have anything to do with me.  I'd lose everything.  Fear had me by the throat.  I thought people would blame me.  I thought that my family would disown me.  I thought that I would never be able to look anyone in the eye again.

But for the most part, people outside of my birth family have been kind, if not just tolerant. And I've experienced a great deal of healing from those traumatic experiences.

Yet, I am still ashamed.  Not for the horrors of what happened to me - God has healed me from that shame - but for telling the truth.  Ashamed for (even though it is the last thing I intended) appearing to be disloyal, ungrateful, vindictive.  For exposing the deception and no longer keeping "our little secret." For being honest ... and being called a liar. For having my motives judged and for not being able to explain to their satisfaction why I would cast such a shadow on the reputation of someone who - to friends and family - is the closest thing to a saint that they've ever seen.  

I wish I could say that it's been resolved. That would be nice, nice and pretty, all tied up in a bow and a "wonderful testimony."  But it hasn't.  This is a process.  I struggle with these feelings of shame, of feeling exposed and vulnerable to what others think, nearly all the time.  There have been many nights - even in the last six months - that I have cried myself to sleep because of the fallout, the pointed fingers, the broken relationships, the constant criticism and the lack of any kind of attempt to understand what I'm trying to accomplish. Grief over lost contact, lost favour, lost relationship, is something I deal with daily. All too often, the weight of shame and the crushing, smothering feelings of loneliness, fear and anxiety overwhelm me. 

I fight to keep in the moment; it is the only way I can survive.
 
I don't know how to get past this wall of misery.  I don't know if I SHOULD get past it.  I don't know if I'm doing any good to anyone - or if secretly I WANT them to suffer.  (Am I really that horrible? How can I ever look at my reflection in the mirror? When will this end? HOW will it end if it does?) 

I don't know.  I really don't.  I have wrestled with saying goodbye for good, with writing them off, with closing the door on that part of my life and never looking back.  

More shame. More vulnerability.  More feeling like I want to crawl into a hole and disappear.  

I am exposing my soft underbelly here - in the hope that shame has a soft underbelly too.  My friend Ellie says that shame and vulnerability hate the truth; they hate compassion.  

I hope so.  I really DO hope so.

Caught unawares

It was 2:40 p.m.  I'd spent the day doing housework, listening to music, watching TV... nothing spectacular.  It was a day like every other day before it and like many days after it would be as well.  

I heard the roar of the school bus going up the road.  "Won't be long now," I murmured to myself, a slow smile on my lips.  

Five minutes later, the storm door slammed.  I heard a thump as her kitbag hit the floor, a couple of flubbling sounds as the winter boots came off and rolled a bit - and, wait for it - everything drowned out in a sound that was so common now that I didn't jump anymore.

"YYYYIPPEEEEEEEEE!" she whooped at the top of her lungs.  

I smiled.  She'd held herself in all day at school and it just HAD to come out.  

She's what a lot of parents might call a "difficult" child. I'd say rather that in comparison to other children, she's always been "more." More perceptive, more intuitive, more intense, more sensitive, more adventurous. I can't say that nurturing her hasn't been a challenge when she and I are so different in personality, but I CAN say that she has brought a never-ending source of variety and spice to my life.  Her positive attitude, her faith, her humour have brightened my days and inspired me, even given me strength to face some of the hardest times in our lives. There have been times that I don't know what I would have done if she hadn't been there to say that everything was going to be okay.  

And it was.

I don't know quite how or when it happened.  I think it might have been while I was dealing with finding myself after decades of being wrapped up in other people (and not in a good way), but she just ... grew up.  All of a sudden I looked around and I was ten years older - and - so was she.  It caught me unawares.

Got this photo at THIS SITE

And now she's talking about leaving.  Not just to get her own apartment in the city, but to go half a continent away into another country.  Never mind the travel cost, the price of health care, or the rules and regulations surrounding visitors to that country and how long they can stay, or whether they can work there (I've heard the job market is fiercely competitive!) 

No, never mind all that. I will miss her presence... that indomitable, relentless, boundless optimism.  And the funny things she says and does - she's had me laughing so many times - so hard the tears stream down my face and my stomach muscles ache.  I will miss knowing about her day, her friends, her hopes and fears. I will miss watching her care for her friends, witnessing her tenacity and her loyalty first-hand.  In my mommy-heart, I still hear her coming home, shouting at the top of her lungs from the sheer joy of living, of being home.  And I wonder where that little girl went, and at what point she said goodbye.  Part of me - the part that wasted so many years - wonders what I could have done or said differently.

I hope she knows that she is loved, so very much!  I trust that she knows that her father and I believe in her, want the best for her, and will always stand our ground if we need to defend her.  I hope she understands that she can always come to us - that our door is open.  I hope that she will always WANT to come to us.  

To come home.

Forgetting it

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

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

Great article on Alzheimer's safety here

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

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

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

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

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

That would be something to remember.
 

Carried along

The landscape was peculiar; rocks and trees jumbled together in a nearly impossible to navigate path before her.  She'd been told that the creatures in the wood could take her to where she wanted to go - but it meant letting go of her need to be in control.  All around her, inside her head, she could hear the voices of those who had urged her to go and stand in this place.  

She pondered her decision.  She could go back.  She could choose the safety of what she'd always known.  Or she could decide to call upon those foreign creatures she'd only heard about, who, surefooted as they were clever, would take her safely there - if she held on tight.  She wondered how they would know how to find her. 

Finally she thought, "Yes.  This is where I would like to go.  I need to find one of those crea-"

Immediately, she felt a gigantic, broad beak darting between her legs from behind, and scooping her up.  She slid on her buttocks, terrified, down the long, narrow, stubbled neck and onto the broad, feathered shoulders.  From atop her perch, the dangerous rocks below looked so far away and she was gripped with a sense of panic.  This was too soon.  This was too high.  She didn't know the way.  And what (God forbid) if she fell off? She slid back a bit, and tucked her legs under its warm wings.

Instinctively she gripped the bird-creature's torso with her legs.  It squawked and began to move, deftly navigating with its sturdy, long legs the sharp rocks that would most certainly kill her if she fell on them from this height. The speed was so much faster than she imagined.  She gulped, and grabbed the base of the wings with her hands to help her balance.

No turning back now.  She leaned forward to compensate for the bird's rapid acceleration, blinking rapidly to release the tears that the wind brought to her eyes.

It was two weeks ago. 

"Yeah, you'll make a good one, that's a great idea!  Why don't you go for it?" this one person urged me. 

I was still unsure, wondering about this scenario or that one.  "You could always ask the 'what if' questions.  You'll never know unless you try." No matter how I tried to escape it, that logic kept coming back.  Finally I decided to at least ask my questions.  They were all answered - patiently. My co-worker didn't push me and respected my right to make a decision on my own. 

Thus began my reluctant induction into the halls of representing my colleagues before management - also known as being a union rep or in the organization's jargon, a steward.  I had no idea what I was getting into.  But I had asked my questions and objection after objection had disappeared.  I was faced with one question - whether I thought I could make a difference to my peers in improving their work atmosphere.  

When I finally decided to 'go for it' - I was surprised at how quickly the wheels started turning after that. I was invited to meeting after meeting - all in the space of a few weeks.  It was all a little - well, not quite overwhelming, but almost.  My short description, above, describes many of the sensations I felt.  

This is way outside my comfort zone.  I am not by nature a confrontational person; I know some who thrive on it ... but I am not one of them.  Having to "raise concerns" before people who have the right to have me dismissed, is all a bit much for me.  However, I am confident that what my guides tell me is true, and that we will eventually arrive at our destination.  

I know that this experience will stretch me.  Of course, "stretching" hurts.  I'd briefly (and conveniently) forgotten that.  Yet I have the assurance that this process will give me a unique perspective, help me see the big picture and be involved in some frank discussions with senior executives without fear of reprisal. 

I must admit, that assurance of equality does intrigue me.  I wonder if I'll be able to overcome my fears and act appropriately on behalf of those I represent.  I guess I do need to remember that I'm not in this alone.  I have the support of those stewards who have gone through this before, and I also have the support of my peers.

I know that this is but one more step in becoming all that God has been leading me into the last few years, and that He will continue to be faithful, to be with me, to continue to lead me one step at a time, one day at a time.

I just wonder when - or if - or even where - this particular ride will end.  But I'm willing to give it a go. 

A"mazed"

When my youngest daughter was about 8 or 10 years old, we would eat out a lot at family restaurants which had children's menus and paper place-mats with activities for the children to do on the back. They'd give us a few crayons and the kids were occupied for the 20 minutes that it took for the food to arrive. It was great.

One of the activities on most of those place-mats was the maze.  Usually a circle, sometimes a square, it would have a mouse on the outside and a piece of cheese on the inside, or a bear looking for the honey pot, you get the idea.

This is the link for this puzzle.

Everyone I had ever seen try to navigate a maze puzzle started from the outside.  Except her.  She started from the inside where the 'prize' was - and worked her way out.  Usually she did it in far less time than we could have by doing it from the outside in.  I asked her once about why she did it from the inside out.  "It's easier that way," she said. "There aren't as many paths to choose on the inside, so I start with the easy part and work my way out to the outside. If I do that, the way looks easier for me to get back to the start."

There's a lesson in there.  Look after the inside first.

I've been thinking a lot lately about self-care.  The last couple of weeks, I've really been concentrating on looking after myself, on setting boundaries and taking responsibility for my part.  For someone who used to run from confrontation and other unpleasant things, this is never easy.  I cringe every time I do it.  It seems so daunting to just tell someone what I need if the possibility exists that I might be seen in a bad light.  I want so much for people to approve of me that I will take an unacceptable situation far too long and make false assumptions about the people involved.  This was what was happening to me the last little while.  I had myself convinced that someone was out to get me, when in fact the person was just trying to do a job and meet deadlines, that's it.  

But I had myself worked up into quite a state - four weeks ago I was walking around my workplace like a zombie, on the verge of tears the whole time. I was sleeping about three hours a night, feeling so very weary, dragging myself around, sometimes feeling so sick that I would call in - wanting to sleep but often not being able to catch a nap. The anxiety and depression were nearly overwhelming. 

That it took me as long as it did to reach out for help is something for which I take full responsibility.  I should have talked to someone sooner about how I was feeling.  Since that time, though, while following a program of self-care (looking after the inside first) I've been able to gain some perspective and a more balanced view of the situation I was in.  So this past Thursday, I made an appointment to see this person and talk. The individual listened, accepted what I said at face value, offered a few words of guidance, clarified a misconception I had, and supported me in whatever I needed to do in order to get back on my feet. 

It amazed me.  I'd been so afraid to approach this person and suddenly, within 30 minutes it was over - and the tension was nearly gone. Just like that.

And in that same time frame, other things happened over which this person would have absolutely no control... things that spoke to me and reminded me of the bigger picture, trust expressed by people I respected, fondness by someone I trust.  It almost felt to me like as soon as I took steps to look after myself and ask for what I wanted and needed, everything else seemed to fall into place - and not just at work.  Other areas started to click too - the depression began to lift about a week ago and the anxiety settled down... practicing my "breathe, unclench" exercise really helped too.  And then my confidence started to trickle back in ... culminating with the conversation Thursday.  

When I look back to the avoiding, frightened person I was as little as three and a half years ago, I am convinced that I would have been checking the job opportunities every day to get out of the situation without risking confrontation - anything but that! And it's STILL hard for me to do it - after a lifetime of running away, or being a chameleon and resenting having to change who I am to blend in - it's still a relatively new behavior for me.  That I turn instead and face my fears at all now, never ceases to surprise me - and I'm always just that surprised and amazed when I do.  (Like, who IS this person? can I get to know her?)  

My fear of people is getting less and less, gradually.  It IS taking less and less time to get to that place of looking after the inside first, working through the maze of relationships and boundaries, standing my ground, and asking for what I need.  Someday I'll learn to do it right away; someday I'll get to know that person inside and let her shine through first, instead of as a last resort.

That's when I'll really be a"mazed".

Mini-retreats

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

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

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

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

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

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

Comings and Goings

When you came to us, you bore

 the unseen scars of hidden wars

and untold truths and spoken lies. 

So innocent with such ancient eyes. 

  A lost boy, starved of love, of respect 

from self and for self.

But you grew...by millimeters and 

 sometimes by miles...

yet soundless, but for furtive glances

that shouted -

 unable to believe the gift before you -

The gift of acceptance.

Tracing line upon line of feather-light touch

 you quietly soaked in never-before 

yet simple joys.  The power of choice -

the freedom of no-ulterior-motives. 

  Yet your eyes still distant, unable to 

express the growing gratitude within, 

powerless to stop the million voices

 of the past screaming you 

were not worthy - 

 Yet here you were: belonging...  

a little less lost.  Perhaps even a little bit

found.

And now - suddenly - you are going.  

All around you are

 the tears and sadness of a thousand

what ifs and if onlys.  Only you remain

in quiet tearless pain, mixed grief and joy 

 over all that might have been and 

all that is coming

 while you are going. You leave behind

a host of memories which bring

fused laughter and tears - yet you, still silent

 and stoic, barely a flicker behind your eyes

belying your emotion, 

feel more than anyone the word 

Goodbye. 

Family is that person or people one chooses 

 where one feels safe and welcomed. There need 

not be blood ties; often blood ties mean 

abuse, criticism, bullying.  

You can choose who is family.  This you have come

to understand.

As you are going, we know that someday 

you will be coming back.  

For you, though you are loath to speak the words, 

 this, where you are loved,

where you are accepted,

where you are welcome,

 is "home."

Brandon on 16 July 2011

Our message to him and his to us
when we said goodbye

In Transition

Lately there have been a lot of changes in our lives as a family.  A new job for one person in the last six months... changes at another person's job that affect nearly every facet of the job ... another person getting ready to re-enter the workforce ... and most recently, the ending of a relationship.  

Change is hard.  

We like to have things stay the same; it's comfortable, comforting, easy.  But often, we need to deal with shifting priorities, changing interpersonal dynamics, death or separation, and the ever-present economic realities.  

And everyone's life is changing all at the same time. There's no let-up!  It's not like we can say, "Oh last week it was so-and-so's turn to deal with this change in her life, and next week the other fella can start..." No.  It just doesn't work like that. 

And as hard as it is to deal with change in our own lives, it seems much harder to watch someone we love go through a difficult time and not give in to the temptation to jump in and try to fix it. The hardest part is where to draw the line, where caring ceases and meddling begins, where controlling stops and empathy starts - what "letting go" really looks like when you have someone in front of you who is in tears, who is dealing with a really tough circumstance that is gut-wrenching, heart-breaking. 

From the website: 
http://mamahairball.blogspot.ca/2011/09/what-are-you-saying-to-yourself.html

Yesterday, I was made aware of just such a situation in the life of someone I care about a lot. It's quite an emotional upheaval for her... very difficult to say the least. 

I have to fight the urge to jump in and fix it, to take revenge on the person who is most convenient to blame, to impose my own solution on the situation.  It has been a challenge to respect the decisions of my loved one, to let her take the lead in finding her own solutions, and to simply make myself available to listen without judging, to let the tears fall and realize that this is part of her own transition, to believe that she will come out stronger and so will our relationship.  

But the efforts to strike that balance are starting to bear fruit. We chatted today, briefly. I let her know I support her, that I am there for her.  She knows she can talk to me.  She knows that I only want her to be happy.  She knows that I will support her decisions.  She knows that I am a safe place for her to land.  It's been hard for her to go through, and hard for me to watch because I care so much about her.  But she is learning from all this, and she will apply what she has learned to her life in future.  

Best of all, she appreciates that I have learned to let go enough to be able to support her when she needs it.  She is in transition.  I'm learning that I can help people go through times of transition without taking over and living their lives for them.  This has been so very valuable in the last few days. 

We're all in transition, at one stage or another.  And as hard as it is sometimes, as long as we are honest and take responsibility for ourselves and let others take responsibility for themselves, it'll be all right. We can still let go and respect someone's boundaries while we embrace them and show our support.  As obvious as this might sound to some of my readers, it's a revelation to me.  

I guess my loved one isn't the only one in transition.

Shoulds and Oughtas - Let the Walls Come Down

Remember the festive spirit that was present when the Berlin Wall came down?

The crowd cheering and roaring, the symbol of their captivity and oppression toppling before their eyes? it's a scene one doesn't easily forget. Some were yelling their heads off, some were throwing rocks at the wall, some were weeping, their faces in their hands. All great reactions to the tearing down of a thing that had been there all their lives, something that held them back, something that separated some of them from their loved ones, something that represented imprisonment, inhumanity, persecution, limitation.

On both sides of the wall before it came down, people went on with their lives and while they were doing so, some if not most of them probably justified their lifestyles. On the west side, people knew some of what was going on, on the other side. They'd heard the gunshots, they'd harbored those who had escaped, and they knew there were probably thousands of people on the other side of that wall who desperately wanted to get out but were afraid to try. Yet the ones in freedom were powerless to do anything to get them out. The decision had to be made by the people on the east side.

On the east side, there were those completely satisfied with the status quo, espousing the rhetoric of the government of the day. Others couldn't stand the oppression and risked their lives to leave. Few made it; the others were held up as an example of what happens to those who try. But there were still others (and dare I say these were the majority) who didn't want to risk life and limb to escape - yet they wistfully looked at that wall and wondered what life would be like if they were ever to be able to see on the other side.

I am going out on a limb here and saying that in many ways, the modern church is like living on the east side of the wall before it came down. Regimented, oppressive, judgmental, protectionist. Those who dare try to get out of that mold, the mold expected by the religious powers that be (I say religious deliberately), find themselves ostracized, stripped bare and crucified by the same people who say they espouse the teachings of Christ. But mostly, there are hundreds if not thousands of people who see the limitations, who despise the rules and regulations, and don't dare try to escape because they see how the ones who try to break free are treated. They want to be free. They hate what the church has become. Yet they have nowhere else to go. They know that only Jesus has the words of eternal life, and they are afraid that by "quitting Christianity" as one lady put it recently, they'll lose the only reference point they'll have, and will endanger their eternal soul. Nothing could be further from the truth.

The good news is that long ago, before we ever got in this horrible predicament, Jesus DID tear the wall down. The Bible tells us that the dividing wall that kept us from God was torn down when Jesus died on the cross. The veil of the Temple, six inches thick and several hundred pounds, that stood between the holy place and the most holy place - representing separation from God - was ripped from the top to the bottom as soon as Jesus cried out, "It is finished!" (From the Greek tetelestai, which means "accomplished" - in the sense of an unbreakable contract being fulfilled.) Did you get that? From the top to the bottom.

God Himself tore down the wall.

Relationship with Him trumps rules and regulations, the shoulds and the oughtas. It is about this life of intimacy, this life lived every moment in the Spirit of God, that Jesus said, "If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink! He who believes in Me, as the Scriptures said, 'out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water!' "

He comes to live inside of us when we claim Him as our personal Rescuer - the only way for us to approach a holy God. He forgives us. He makes us pure before Him. He loves us unconditionally. Passionately. Deeply.

The more we realize this, the more our gratitude overflows back to Him. It changes us on the inside...and overflows into a two-way love-relationship with Him: a oneness that can ONLY happen through the Spirit of God. Such a life can only be lived from the inside out, flowing from our trysting, our intimacy with Him. We love Him, the Bible says, because He first loved us. So, in response to His great love, our "return" love bursts out toward Him, overflows all over us and all over the lives of those with whom we come in contact.

In the context of that kind of intimacy, we don't need to "try" to live the Christian life. It's not something we have to put on like someone would put on a sweater. It is the inner glory, the love and the joy and the peace that clothe us from the inside, where He lives, where He loves us beyond our ability to comprehend, where we can't help but love Him back.

The question that gets us from behind the wall to where He waits for us is this:
Do we trust Him?

Are we willing to let go of everything we've leaned upon, all the s'postas and the gottas, all the stress we unnecessarily place on ourselves (as if it were up to US to save, heal, fix, and rescue everyone) - and give ourselves unreservedly with complete abandon ... to Him and Him alone? to turn our will and our lives - all of it - over to His loving care? Warts, failures, hurts, anger, pride, resentment, bitterness, fear, insecurity and all? just as we are?

It truly is a leap of faith. I'm not talking about "leaving the church." I'm talking about "embracing Christ" - walking in intimate relationship with Him.

I won't lie to you. It's a scary step. But His question still remains, perhaps as yet unanswered. "Will you trust Me?"

With that question hanging in the air, turn up the volume and listen to this story about a "Cosmic Cowboy" told in the 1970s by a man named Barry McGuire. Hear the call of Jesus in it: "Will you trust Me?"

Isn't it time? He's the only way out.
Go ahead ... jump.