We have 17 follicles. Tears are gently falling into the Raisin Bran I am eating out of a mug. It’s so surreal. This moment. This is life number 8. In this life I am loved with every bit of what I didn’t have in the previous ones.
In this life I am a good mother not just practically, but emotionally. A strong partner and a financial provider. I blink twice and pinch myself once.
It’s still true.
My teenagers could feel angry or resentful about this. Nervous they will lose the number one spot in my heart. Nervous they never had it. Because I went back and got my own child, now I’ve scooped them up too. So they are so excited for a baby sibling.
I am 37 years old and going to be a new mother again.
On this other side of things how much of an oak will I be? I’m figuring out at this stage of knowing myself my limits begin to get real when someone I love suffers. In the words of the great Maya Angelou, “You have to have courage to love somebody. Because you risk everything. Everything.”
Courage is something I’ve never been in short supply of, but I’ve also never had so much to lose. I’m in that strange in between where I’m fully embracing it, but also can’t help “the rug will be pulled out mentality.” It’s fainter now, but the body remembers even after the mind has healed.
My body regularly reminds me I’m a survivor.
The only thing I may have never doubted is my strength. Now I must wonder about that? I didn’t know I could love a family so much that if a member of them suffers and I have to watch; shards of glass throughout my whole body. Don’t move it will hurt.
Being strong before was my only choice. Now that I’m thawed out what will happen when we face a trial? I’m scared. You get scared when you’re soft. When you’ve aligned all your fragments, you can get scared. They never told me this would happen. This is a beautiful scared. The other was a terrible scared.
We are having a baby. Today is day one of my 8th life within 1. I am a good mother. I will be a good mother.
This much love might just be the scariest thing I have ever faced….
I’ve had a very hard time slowing lately. So semi-unintentionally ending up at the beach today is likely no accident. My love and I have the day off together, and the only thing I came across was to bring her to RJ Julia Independent Book Sellers in Madison, CT. Coincidentally, they also have a cafe. The Chardonnay Rosemary cupcake is particularly a delight. My weight watchers program is going fabulously thanks for asking 😉 ha.
Hammonasset Beach is a delight for the senses. How is it that I have been so engrossed in the seemingly necessary non-magical aspects of life, that I have not taken more time for such things? Slow down Christina. “But how?”, she asks. I have not felt my toes in the sand for as long as I can remember. And even when I have, my mind scurries like Beatles scattering in a beam of light, to the next, and the next great indulgence. I’m beginning ten more things just as I’ve opened the cover of one.
I began to write a blog post last Sunday. My family and I attended the Pride Festival in Northampton, Massachusetts. I felt inspired to share some pieces of my journey with being a lesbian, and why we march. But that got lost in the abyss of motherhood and “wifery”, and the pure presence I am trying so hard to bestow my loved ones with. I am finding with how I am wired this is not the easiest task.
Last night I came home from a day of seeing clients. My son seemed a bit frustrated with a response I gave him, likely something to do with finances. When overwhelmed (which happens easily and often for me) my first instinct seems to be to pull my turtle head into its shell and disappear. Don’t get me wrong from inside the shell I am still orchestrating the events that are vital to the running of our lives, but I wouldn’t say that you could view my investment from this angle. Particularly if your young eyes are not yet engineered to see in that fashion yet.
Anyway what has stayed with me the most since our conversation is the improvement in our interaction this time, and how rare a gift it is to even be able to recognize this. In the past I would have taken him saying that I am not listening and involved in things that are important to him, as a personal arrow imbedded straight through the heart. What this looks like in action is the tried and true mother’s sonnet about how much they sacrifice for their children, and essentially invalidating the young lads every feeling. My more fragile ego has not been immune to creating such havoc in my younger days. Ok let’s be real probably last year even.
My heart whispered to my ego to pull back and wait, that it’s services were not quite needed yet, and to stay to find out the deeper cause. When listening ears wrapped his words tenderly in their arms, what rose to the surface was only pain. All anger had been stripped away, and the tears fell. The arrow was still embedded in the heart, but as I extracted it, feeling every tear… this time I thought, “we can fix this, we are all in this time, and we can fix this.” And then I summoned all the fragmented parts of my self for a great meeting and said, “let’s get started, we have a lot of work to do!”
This morning even amidst my determination to write and be present for date day, I leaned over to pick up my phone and send him a text.
“I wanted to tell you thank you for sharing your feelings with me. I think we both did a good job. Could have gone not so well in the past right ?! I love you! You’re right, I get so focused on one area, all or nothing, that if others are running themselves, I take a deep sigh of relief and keep focusing. I’m sorry. And I am quite sure if it isn’t something you didn’t bring to my attention that would be a huge regret when that time has passed. Someday you will be busy with your own life and I’ll be wishing you would call or I could hear about “school”…
I’m sorry and I love you. I’ll work on it and you may have to help me because of how my brain seems to work.”
This blog post is somewhat unfinished. I got caught up in a writing course I am taking and being fully present for myself in all her forms. I chose me. Sometimes I cannot simultaneously show me and save me…. I chose to save her this time, and to have faith I could show her whenever I am ready, in whatever way feels the best for me. To do the deed in joy versus obligation: this is what I am working on.
I’m not doing so well with my pages this morning. The season has shifted and the feeling is almost immediate. Last night we randomly, with no planning whatsoever, began to pull out the lawn mower, and get some new yard tools. My yard looks like the Secret Garden before it’s magical transformation. It has been 6 years of neglect of having an owner whose last primary focus was it. The yard that time forgot. I’d be ashamed, but how can I rightly do so when I’ve opened a successful counseling practice, learned how to do billing, become a better parent, learned to manage Crohn’s Disease and all that comes with it, gotten a much better handle on my anxiety, and found a love that makes me a better person every single day.
So I guess now it’s the yard’s time for a little attention. To hopefully help me slow down as I learn to tend to it’s needs. To take the effort to do something that doesn’t yield an immediate gratification and to enjoy task for the sake of being tender and nurturing, without requirement from the task. It seems daunting at first this under-taking. How do I even attach this blade to this long handled saw? Am I qualified to prune trees? I’ll probably kill them. I’ll probably cut off a finger, and then I won’t be able to write. I’ve always had a black thumb. Honest. I used to tell people that if you truly cared about that plant to give it a different home. But perhaps over time I’ve become more able to attend and nurture and maybe I could be a gardener now. We can try on a new self anytime we want. Did you know that? I sure have and boy have I learned a lot along the way. It’s what I have learned the most from.
Could I be the environmentally conscious person with a compost pile and dirt under my finger nails? Ok I couldn’t do the dirt under my finger nails, that strikes fear into my highly sensitive heart. That’s why I can’t keep finger nails. I would obsess about the dirty nail until I had to take it off immediately with or without the tools to do so.
I would also like to try out being the person with an exercise routine. And maybe even one who runs a 5 k. Also could I be someone who has the edgy fun short hair cut without worrying that my weight gain would make it unflattering or someone won’t take me seriously in my career with the hair. Why do we give ourselves such little permission for the things we really want? Conditioned and trained with so much outside commentary about who we should be and what we should do. Lately I am feeling like rebelling against this in every way possible. I recognize the pain caused to self from shame and feeling not enough or too much in some way. I’m spending lots of time thinking about this.
Guess what person I am though? I realized this after my post and this is an edit actually to the original. I remembered how good it felt last night. We played and worked outside together. I was the house in the neighborhood that kids wanted to be at. They played four square in the court that someone who isn’t in our lives anymore, but loved us at an important time we needed it built. We have been loved and supported, so we can also give love and support and a space to others. This is how it looks. The more we receive the more we have to give. And I realize in this moment I’ve never been short on receiving. I just had a lot of expectations about where I was supposed to get things from, and what they were supposed to look like.
I am in love with my life. Truly, madly, and deeply. I complain and get cranky sometimes and my kids probably think I’m the strictest mother ever. But I am seeing us all becoming more compassionate of one another and conscientious people, and that’s always been important to me. And I have moments where everyone is laughing and playing and I’m surrounded by love and being love. Those moments are my gold.
I’m less in the mood to think and write as I am to DO this morning. To be present with people I love and to share the joy I’ve found in myself. The only thing nagging at me is all the supposed to’s of my Sunday expectations of self. Cleaning, shopping, and most importantly to my heart right now. Preparing myself for Martha Beck’s Light Writing Course. I am going to be a Light Writer! I am already one is the conclusion I’ve come to from listening to the initial materials on the psychology of light writing. Basically it’s how to access our higher selves, the compassionate less reactive ones. I am relieved to notice that this is my life’s work already. I just didn’t have the language for it she does. So I’ve found my place. That’s one of the best feelings.
Another new feeling of belonging. Belonging has been on my mind a lot lately. It’s been one of my biggest battles in life on so many different fields. I never feel like I belong even when I could. And now I’m trying to give myself fierce permission to belong to myself so I’ll never have to fear the sting of taking personally that I don’t belong somewhere for some reason outside of myself. Belonging, like love, is an inside job. It’s whether we feel worthy to belong, and in the face of much information towards the opposite it feels impossible.
I am a light writer and I am a being who who accesses her higher self a good portion of the time. And when I don’t I am committed to looking at my part in things and learning to be humble and take the lesson. I think this writing course will also be humbling for me, it will show my painful parts to me and I know I need to be up to the task. I admit I’m a little nervous.
So I will be here guys tending to my internal garden and the external one and writing about everything along the way. Thank you for supporting me. You are the kerosene, the candle, the electric current, and the sun to my shine. I’ve never been alone. I believed I was for so long, and that belief held me back. All my supports were just waiting for me to reach out and find them. For me to love myself enough to ask and to teach, those willing to learn how to love me.
Ask people what they need and how we can love them better!
I am having an inspired morning and want to share a couple of things. A realization I had just this morning is that we need to learn how to love one another beyond loving in just the ways we know how. What I knew about love for a long time left me not behaving very well. I didn’t create space or have room to let love grow. I had deep and crushing insecurities and at the drop of a hat (or more appropriately the pull of a trigger), they would explode like shrapnel tearing apart my relationships and then my life. I would have to rebuild again, and I did this under the weight of crushing shame. I had friends even stop hanging out with me, because I had a new partner, they didn’t like that change. Did they think I did? Did they think that my relationships didn’t work because I didn’t desperately want them to? We need to stop shaming others people.We need to learn how, and when, and why we do this so we can stop.
I had to learn my way out of this space and way of existing, and the cost of that learning has not been cheap. I’ve lived bathed in anxiety. I have a chronic illness now, whether you say it’s genetics or extreme stress most of my life has been exhausting. Lots caused by my thinking as much as my circumstances. This is why we need to be educated on these matters, and the time and encouragement to fully explore our own thoughts and minds without being called selfish, or crazy, or somehow wrong! Without being told how to live and love based on one perspective.
Parents tell their children how to live all the time, and don’t realize they are showing them by modeling, not with their words. We are sometimes accidentally angry with our children for not being who we want them to be, even when they may be being courageous. We can accidentally crush their tiny spirits with all of our fear of failure as parents, and we need to be aware of this.
It isn’t just natural knowing how to live we need to be taught, and these days we are taught by the extreme opposite of thinking about who we are and what we want of life and how we want to be loved, and if we are loving others well. These days our teachers are YouTube videos and scrolling Instagram, and my kids are left alone on those platforms as well, while I’m busy. Now I’ve given out some great recommendations to clients and friends about fantastic YouTube videos, it isn’t all bad. But when kids are just left to learn from whatever they come across with little guidance or presence because it has been replaced, then we are heading to a scary place.
Do you know that our children are scared to death right now? They are in my office all the time. All they hear about is that the sea is rising, and that you can be shot while in class, and that they won’t have any financial future. Where is the hope? We have to teach them how they can rise to any occasion, because it’s what humanity is famous for. Someone will rise and they will lead, and it can’t all be bad. Our children are stressed, and anxious, and depressed, and lonely. They need us to rise. THEY NEED US TO RISE.
This means we are the teachers of compassion, empathy, understanding, and hope. The teachers of how small changes can make a difference, rather than doing nothing because of overwhelm. This has been one of my biggest battles. As an HSP I feel so much I become crushed under the weight, leading to my main focus being how to comfort myself. I’ve had to learn my way out of this cycle. We need to make the change from bogged down hopeLESS to hopeFULL.
Our children watch every action we make and every word we say. So spend some time thinking what they are seeing you do, because ultimately that is the cycle they will repeat until they resolve their personal tasks. We can make that an easier or a more difficult process for them. The number one thing they want is to see you interested in who they are as a person, not who you wish they would be. We must see our children, and our lovers, and our friends and neighbors, and the stranger on the corner through generous eyes.
We must do this whether or not it is deserved in a moment. We must do this because of who we are, and not because of any inauthentic reason. Because a person who is believed in and encouraged is a thousand times more likely to be successful at becoming who they are.
This does not mean we allow ourselves to be treated badly by subjecting ourselves to poor treatment. That isn’t what I’m suggesting. Always exercise and be aware of your personal boundaries, that is loving of self. When you’re confident in your boundaries it becomes easier to love with your whole self and heart, that healing variety of love, because you’ll trust in your ability to know where your energy is productive and where it isn’t.
Our children need us people… WE MUST RISE. We must educate and love harder and with more of a depth to our understanding. So kids have permission to understand themselves and to grow. So kids have permission to expand, and we aren’t unintentionally asking them to shrink to fit our expectations.
Even good intentions must be examined, because many things we do are not conscious.
I think I’m getting sick. Ugh. My head is all fuzzy and fluffy and I just feel a genuine sense of being ill at ease in my body. There is a lot of pressure in my head and my ears keep popping. Yesterday between Clients I battled a migraine all day that finally won by the time my time was my own. I couldn’t get comfortable and hardly slept. Remnants of the migraine have threatened to come back today. I am not sure which is more responsible for my nervousness about something feeling “off” in my body; my Crohn’s Disease or my PTSD. Often my thoughts tend to find themselves preoccupied with thoughts of death. The better my life gets, the more at peace I am, the more these little monsters gnaw. My theory is that the writer in me as Anne Lamott says;
“The climax is that major event, usually toward the end, that brings all the tunes you have been playing so far into one major chord, after which at least one of your people is profoundly changed. If someone isn’t changed, then what is the point of your story? For the climax, there must be a killing, a murder, or it can be a killing of the spirit, or of something terrible inside one’s soul, or it can be a killing of a deadness within, after which the person becomes alive again. The healing may be about union, reclamation, the rescue of a fragile prize. But whatever happens, we need to feel that it was inevitable, that even though we may be amazed, it feels absolutely right, that of course things would come to this, of course they would shake down this way.”
is always trying to come up with a dramatic and unexpected ending. I mean isn’t there another way to do this without my immenent demise. Come on brain get on my side already.
Perhaps it is the inevitable part I mean. Why am I always trying to write a tragedy or the emotion I want the reader to feel is what coincides with the heroin’s end just as life get’s easier for her, just as she can have peace. It is as if peace was that unreachable, as if it was never hers no matter how hard she worked. She struggled her whole life to reach her dreams and bask in them for just a brief second before her end. Why is this the ending I keep seeing for myself? Why does anxiety rule so much of my land? It is exhausting. If I am the creator then why does the story feel like it’s trying to take a life of it’s own. I have a hunch that it is my existential roots rearing their pragmatic heads. I know, have always known that there are no guarantees and that “life can change on a dime”. This last line being in my head I can quote to having begun to listen to 11-22-63 by Stephen King. I am about 36 minutes in.
It’s an interesting tale of how I came about to be reading Stephen King in the first place. Let’s see my first knowing of him at all was when I worked in video stores (circa 1996) and would see movie covers for Carrie, Pet Cemetery, and KujoActually to this day I have never read or seen those movies. I think I read the Tommy Knockers during my young traveling days when I moved from Medford Oregon, to Moses Lake Washington (where I would give birth to my first born). I never even saw the original IT movie, while most of everyone I knew had. Several years ago to the movie Stuck in Love was recommended to me (I am trying to remember my whom, it was Ash I think ironically enough, that is a whole other story). Anyway in the movie one of the characters gives his girlfriend the book, and they share an intimate exchange where he says that she will cry in the end. Cry I thought? I thought this was a horror novel. It was enough to pique my curiosity. However due to my appetite for life and my many varied interests I still have not finished that on audiobook or paperback, yet I have finished The Dead Zone, Bag of Bones, am about 1/2 way through Lisey’s Story… and I have seen the new version of IT. Later someone I am a big fan of, brought Stephen King’s Memoir On Writing to my attention. It has one of those jacket’s that is soft and buttery to the touch. Of course now it is all worn from carrying it everywhere. I blew through the first half all about him specifically, but I couldn’t bring myself to finish it. This unfinished book is because it was so dear to me and so good I couldn’t bear to have that feeling of loss when it was over. So it remains unfinished. I don’t know if there really is a mystical meaning to this madness of reading a little of this and a little of that, and the timing of when things cross my path, or if I just need to get my ADHD in check a little better. As I am writing a thought just crossed my mind, mine is a lot of acronyms for anybody to live with; ADHD, PTSD, HSP (highly sensitive person), IBD (inflammatory bowel disease)…. hmmm. Being sick scares me extra because of taking Humira and having a compromised immune system. I am waiting as usual for the story to take a turn that somehow feels due (again why I don’t know) where I end up having a real and true scare with a hospital visit and an infection I can’t seem to fight, like they warn in the fine print of the brochure. Why do I feel like a ticking time bomb? Why does it feel like I am due for a bad bout of things, and all the stories about these possibilities are regularly run pieces in my mind?
Some information about PTSD and feeling dread that the future may be shortened.
Sig is driving me crazy. He’s in tasmanian devil mode and it feels personal, as if my attempt at writing while already not feeling well is being utterly sabotaged. As I roll my neck and close my strained eyes, taking in a deep breath and attempting to block it out. Just as I do he ramps up and barks as loud as possible and smashes into my laptop. One of my least favorite parts of not feeling well is the irritability that goes so against my natural enthusiasm for life. I can’t stand feeling on edge to the point I grit my teeth hard just to maintain control. All of my muscles tighten. My already high priced small window of attention sits like a train that has been de-railed. Frustration sets in. Heartburn blazing through my esophagus threatening to burn right through. Sometimes I feel like I might go up in flames. No one is home right now which amps up this anxious feeling. If someone was home then they could at least find me if my now 2 day long stint of a head filled with pressure turns out to be more serious. What is the acronym for hypochondriac ? Add it to the list.
Well this took an unexpected turn. Tomorrow is a badly needed day off, though as of late taking care of the dogs is actually as bad as two toddlers, and the kids actually help with this a lot. I think it’s time for a vacation. Sounds like it eh?
Something always seems to prevent me from the well intentioned writing that I just keep getting closer to. I refuse to give up on this dream, no matter how difficult finding the space to nurture it may be. This past couple of days though it’s been physical aspects that stand in my way. In those moments I feel robbed unfairly of something that is supposed to rightfully be mine. Something I’ve worked incredibly hard for.
These are some of the scattered, painful, frenzied up close things. When I step back for perspective, what I see is someone who only spoke wistfully of writing (as if she dreamed of being someone else) now about to complete her 40th blog post. I see someone who couldn’t sit still long enough to read one book, having finished about 5 already this year and well on her way to several more. I see someone who while running a thriving private practice and learning about business ownership is still making daily steps to nurture her dream. This is how I battle the not feeling well. I keep my focus on my dreams. I dream of my first novel in print, what it will look and feel like. I dream of having a Stella with Elizabeth Gilbert and that she will endorse my book. I dream of being able to afford a life that is even more my own so that I have time to go to a cabin by a lake and be with my thoughts and allow them space. If you could literally see the dogs going nuts right now and how hard I am working to get the rest of this out, it would be comical really, or sad. For now I am going to curl up with Eat, Pray, Love the movie and try and rest my weary body. Try to beg for it to heal and let me have an energy filled day tomorrow so I can pursue my artist’s date and walk, and so I can find magic among the mundane.
I wanted to write a post about the debate I am having with myself over whether or not to take Martha Beck’s Write into Light course. I think I am running out of steam (patience), and will have to save that one for tomorrow hopefully. For now here is some information on the course.
I’ve been lost in the trenches lately. The high of finally finding a healthy love has waned into the realities of blending a family, and helping teens navigate the murky waters of adolescence. And that is ok, it’s part of the process. Wouldn’t we like to stay in the good feelings forever? Why must we also wait and feel through the hard times? For perspective of course. To wake us up to all that becomes invisible in the rush.
I’ve been riddled with ADHD lately. I am really suffering with it. As I vibrate with an almost visceral certainty that my story will be written and shared with others, the closer I get, the further I feel. What an illusion! The Universe is a great trickster, and I’m taking the joke overly seriously all the time.
I seek something to fix this pain all the time. Chocolate, food, happy hours, snuggles…. some healthier than others. My frenzied mind that constantly is telling me I’m running out of time. Always miles ahead in awareness. I can’t even hide from existential truths long enough to allow more joy. One of my greatest tasks right now.
This morning I’m thinking back to a time when I worked 40 hours, had internship and full time school. When I didn’t breathe, and I somehow managed, and now I have way more time… and yet it seems always not enough. I’m thinking this not enough bs is a filthy filthy liar. Why are we like this? Is it an innate drive meant to help us survive ? Then why is it killing us in droves? It’s killing spirits and dividing families, and it’s simply not true. We are enough, we have enough. We are usually more than we realize, and have more than we realize.
I have relationships with Clients that are valuable and I have one fully present hour a week, and even later move to every 2 or 3 weeks as they fly out of the nest more often. These are meaningful relationships and they are just one piece of the puzzle. So why do I always see mine with my children as I can never connect or do enough? It’s deeply painful. Maybe that’s also why they feel it’s not enough? I’m afraid sometimes that my kids get even less than that one present hour weekly even. Often my love is shown to them in acts of service in between things. We can’t always see a transition as it’s happening, and after are left reeling to figure out how to adjust. That’s what I am going through right now.
I stumbled across a show the other night on Netflix. It’s called Atypical. One of the best things that ever happened. First, it’s depicts so wonderfully some of the challenges children and parents with autism experience. I love that! But the part I really identify with is how as the teens grow and face growing up, the parents are also facing who they are, and what their roles are now? They are up against feeling less needed, and being pushed away. I identify so much. My last tiny one who has begged and begged for time with me is now bristly and defiant. The breaking of my heart is audible. Mostly because I realize how many times she asked for just a moment of my presence, and I didn’t know the value. I had free front row seats to Hamilton for one of the best experiences in life, and I was lost in my head worrying about providing, and my health, and figuring out how to run a business. If I had just lifted up my head out of that fog a little more. What if I screwed up? And see even now I’m doing this thing…. because weren’t there still moments of beauty in between? But my hurried mind is always trying to skip ahead, it can’t settle down enough to just be in a moment. I know I am not alone in this.
It can never just be that I am meant to be this way. It always has to be what’s wrong with me, and how can I do better. One of those questions helps, and the other hurts. I work so hard to ask my mind to just take it one moment at a time, but it wants to bite off ten. It’s painful really. We have to work with what we have though, and find outlets, and places and people who understand our brand of crazy. And we have to work harder to see enough versus not enough. It’s our only choice.
So many hard working beautiful people suffer at the hands of perception and misunderstanding, and our own innate nature as human beings. One of my greatest missions is to be a part of alleviating this. One of the best ways to do this realistically and fairly with life’s demands is simply to realize: your story as is has tremendous value!!
Hopefully in an upcoming post I’ll be talking about how wounded people, wound people, and that there is hope for this. Listening and seeing when we hurt someone, being willing to look at our own part is the key to change. It’s messy work, but on the other side it’s so worthwhile.
My life’s work has been on healing fractured attachments. I had to begin with my own, understanding my own behavior and actions, and fight to make changes. On the other side … this space where I am healing I can see where I have been, and it makes me able to help understand when others have found themselves there. A wounded healer, and an earned secure. This work is not for the faint of heart, and it’s also not impossible. Are you ready for your life to feel better ?
Remember that song by Meatloaf? I used to really like it. In fact I really love the 80’s and 90’s genre of music in general.
I’ve spent the last several days in a tremendous amount of pain and it’s taken me on quite the emotional journey inside myself. It’s amazing the more we exercise our awareness and noticing muscles, the easier it becomes to clearly connect the dots on the why’s and how’s of our behavior. For example I notice how short I become when I am trying to manage pain (in this case physical) on my own without asking for understanding and stating my needs openly. When I try to be strong, but that model seems to fail. The “suffer in silence don’t scare your children one”. I want to create a more in depth post about chronic pain versus acute, and a story about some of my experiences with both.
But first what’s on my mind tonight.
I am learning to realize you can apply some of the same concepts of romantic partnership to parenting. That in fact the old school model of parents and adults very separate from kids has its flaws. Of course on the other end of the spectrum is too enmeshed, which has its own set of issues. So what I was thinking about when I drove home is getting a bouquet of flowers and splitting them amongst my kids/partner. It was a daydream of sorts and random, but when I considered it’s meaning I found not to forget the little ways to let someone know they are special. And I know how to do this so much better in adult love when it’s only one person to please. With 4 people it becomes so overwhelming financially and thought wise that I usually give up. I show my kids they matter in all the normal parent ways, my responsibilities. But do I show them how much joy they bring to my life and not burden? I fear this because it is my nasty core fear that I keep trying to feed, and because I speak so openly about my struggles at times.
So on the way home I was brainstorming the how’s of this all… and then now I am still thinking about it. I thought what common ground do we have? How can I show them without being unfair or being accused of that anyway regardless? So I came home and laid down with one of my daughters in her room. And just decided to sit down and not rush or expect anything, to just talk. Meanwhile the other one became very frustrated that her Star Wars movie she had been watching with my person (her person too;)) was on pause and kind of blew her top. Alls fair in love and parenting. You can’t please them all, and you can’t take personally when a tiny, over-tired, irrational dictator, finally lets go of all the feelings she has been holding tightly onto. But because I am a human being I did. I came to hide in the bath. This is 1/2 good. It’s a healthy coping mechanism. I wrote through my feelings and much more peaceful now. But not before I told her very sternly that she won’t get what she is looking for by speaking to me like that. I was very angry. She really blew up and kept going and going. You can’t please them all, especially your own children. You will need to find validation and gratification for all the hard work and sacrifice you have done for your kids elsewhere. You most likely won’t get it from them anytime soon. I’m 37 and still learning lots about perspective and gratitude.
Anyway I had an adult temper tantrum, internally this time thankfully, and came to soak it out. I came to commune with all the invisible parent spirits before me who have been down this road. In the quiet of my magical sanctuary I can do this. So I started to think about ways to relate and to do things together. Things that aren’t focused around money spending and extravagant gestures. Just authentic connection. But also trying to feed their interest and encourage growth in that way. Tall order ? I think so….
And of course the mall popped into my head…. and I could nearly picture Rian beam with joy at a new outfit and shopping date. And picturing that even almost made me go out and arrange it right away. “I could be a hero just for one day.” In a music artsy mood tonight. I could. But at what cost to them?! What would I be taking away in all the giving.? If we are to consider things in one direction, always for good measure I try to run the opposite scenario.
Do you know how many people (myself included), give in to make their lives feel easier, and to feel better by the immediate gratification of a child’s smile. The problem is when it empties as quickly as it spread because their mind is already onto the next moment they get what they want. So the mall would be the easy way, but only on the surface. I don’t wish to live on the surface…. not ever. So I must dig deeper in myself for ways to be close with my kids and connect that don’t involve stuff, or getting their way. It works folks.
I’ve watched my children be better people when they constantly are forced to remember how fortunate they already are. Perspective is everything…. perception is important to look at. We are the teachers and the students and it’s harrowing work with very little observable gratification. Long hours of overtime and very low wages. But at the end of the day would you change a thing. You have only to call upon a special vivid memory to recall why anyone would want this. It will be your most meaningful work. Meaningful and gratifying are two different things… I think in the end it will be both. But both require you to see further, to see past the end of your nose, to see below the surface of the dawn lake water glistening under the first peek of sunlight, to see the gifts that lie deeply beneath what the eye can see. Your children are gifts and they have gifts, unlocking that potential lies in how much we build them up and encourage, not in one thousand trips to the mall for a desired item. Don’t lose vision and perspective, especially when it gets tough, that’s when life is asking you to step up, to grow. Rise to the occasion, and you will light the way for them.
Filling my morning with some of my most treasured….A Home and Life Under Construction….
Good morning readers! It is 1:31 pm and I am still in bed. My immediate view is the one you see in the first picture. My son who no doubt stayed up most of the night “nerding out” on the computer, and my fir son snoring together gently at my feet as I write. What isn’t pictured here is my daughters that were also in the bed, and my person. Storytelling, snuggling, them listening (in short spurts, we all have ADHD) to me reading about writing. I am noticing (realizing) in this very moment that several years back my mind would have been in total chaos and none of this peaceful contemplation space was able to exist. This is heaven right here on earth.
This home that I live in…. I have been in it for six years this March. Six years is longer than most things in my life have been consistent save for my children, everything else has been constantly changing. It was move in ready when my ex and I bought it. The previous owners favored yellow, orange, and brown paint colors, but it was fresh and clean and bright. At the time we said it was ours we knew, but hadn’t told the kids. They were ten, eight, and eight years of age. Her parents video taped their reaction in the living room to us saying “do you like this house”, and they jumped around excitedly, an emphatic yes uttering with sheer glee from their innocent mouths. And then we said “good because we bought it”, and we all jumped up and down together in the empty clean living room and celebrated. I wonder if and where this video still exists.
Since then this house has seen many changes, and it has become a refuge for many a “lost traveler”, someone needing something in their lives, and they found some piece of that here with us, in the roaring of our beating hearts. This home is full of life, and strong strong personalities, every one. Members of this home that have lived here and departed include; my one almost marriage partner of most of my children’s young lives, this one came with a lovely supportive family that I am ever so grateful to to this day for all they taught me about family. The woman that I dated after her who lived with us for about 1.5 years. A magical wizard of a chef who wore her heart on her sleeve, and shared similarities with me in family of origin shit. Our triggers lied within each others triggers. We were mirrors. The roommate and still bestfriend and her son who is like my own, who gave birth to her second son here in our home. A single mother who always put her son first, and loves with every ounce of her heart. They rented our downstairs, and still to this day some of my fondest memories are of them being here. Then there was the last of my life changing relationships of someone who would inhabit this home. There is still much unfinished work in processing this relationship. This person brought the nurturing, almost parent like capacity to our lives. She was the first person I ever co-habitated with that I functioned well with. We worked very well together. She helped me get my practice off the ground and managed my business for a time. She taught me how to fiercely love myself, and to self-care. She showed up for us, and it all felt very safe. I was trying to crack the code on my inability to last in a romantic relationship. I broke my pattern by not turning this into a romantic relationship it wasn’t, just to belong and to not be alone. So we lived together like a family, with the best aspects, without the tearing at one another with expectation. I didn’t need to because she just took care of anything and everything we could have wanted, the missing needs, without being asked. Because she enjoyed being loving and nurturing. However there were some unseen flaws in this model and it ended quiet abruptly and unexpectedly. The lack of her presence is felt, I wish we could have kept eachother in our warrior tribe of women. I think fondly of her. To the best of my knowledge she does not share that sentiment towards me. I took more abrupt actions in her leaving our home. It would be very hard to explain. But I still think we each took things we desperately needed from that situation, but that it didn’t have to end how it did, with the severed connection.
Throughout all this time I was mostly focused on school, my career, and internal processes, this left no room for home improvement. The only small scale experience I had is when the almost marriage partner moved out and I was devastated for a period of weeks. I repainted and changed my bedroom in attempt to pick my devastated self up off the floor. I also watched Under the Tuscan Sun every single day and night on repeat. I read Eat, Pray, Love, and a Year by The Sea by Joan Anderson. I walked, and read, and exercised. I even “saged” at one point I believe. I got massages and Reiki. But I never knew much about DIY home things, inside or outside of the house, and learning proves to be daunting, and leave a slight flavor of irritability as I would rather be writing. Maybe it just isn’t my thing, or maybe I just allow myself to become so overwhelmed I don’t do it. In any case it was time for a change…. so my person this time is partially the catalyst for this. In a home with so many memories of others lingering, as part of our process to make this feel like our story, we are painting. Also on a longer term plan we would like to relocate closer to both of our jobs. So either way the house will be ready for market etc,. Initially I resisted this movement mostly due to all the effort it requires and financial resources it takes. But after a long while of having stated an intention and not doing anything about it, one day, in true me fashion, we just picked up and bought the supplies and began….
So far the guest bathroom has gone from this horridly abrasive yellow/brown color, to a smooth, creamy, and calming Avenue Tan. It’s very zen-like. Though the outlet covers are naked, as we haven’t found the right fit yet, the towel rack with one hook broken on it remains unreplaced, and the new espresso cabinet we got to go over the wall where the toliet is still remains in the box from Amazon. I abhor attempting to assemble and hang things. I have very little patience for such tasks. I often wish this were different, and I try to make up my mind a new adventure will be different. Alas, each new attempt just tries my patience, and makes me wish I never started. Also although I appreciate thoroughly the beautiful view of a finished product, and the ensuing sense of accomplishment, I often thought that I hope this is the last time I can’t just pay someone to labor for me. :p I always wanted to be one of those “do it yourself people”, I admire them. But I am thinking as I write that they find a joy during the act of such work and crafting, that is not the same for me. Maybe those type of people would just as soon have a root canal as put their most inner thoughts and feelings into words, let alone allow the world to view them?
Maybe there is a lot more to this “wiring” thing than we think sometimes. I always tended to think you could do anything you set your mind to. But then again I also thought if I set my mind not to be gay, that was also a possibility, as it turns out, it wasn’t. I think it is true that you can (try things way outside your comfort zone/capability). But to further extrapolate on this, I realize now that while you can “try on” anything, and have many adventures, some will speak to your soul and be enjoyable to you, and some will not. With regard to hard work it’s not that I don’t appreciate it. As a core value I really do actually. But anymore I get physically tired so much more easily. I give so much more of myself to the rest of the world. And since I do so sitting in a chair in a cozy office, on a schedule of my own-making, I often am unfair to myself in my perception of how much I give, and how hard I work. I also attempt to constantly deny the fact I have a Chronic Illness, because I can’t find balance on this. I either am dying from it, or choose to pretend I don’t have it at all. There is no in between. Historically I am not so good at balance, or regulation for that matter. It’s been a big task of mine. It is ever a work in progress in my life.
My daugher is making “bids” for my attention as I write this, and the thing is happening. Where I become frustrated at being plucked from my reverie, every few seconds as she asks me questions that could easily be figured out by herself. She wants my attention. She has wanted it often. She is still “younger” than her other siblings in a certain sense. She still wants to play. Bless her heart. The other twin (A) is probably thinking about her boyfriend and brooding about her phone and the complexities of life. My son is sleeping off his computer all nighter “hangover”, the bullodog encouraging him by joining. It serves me more to pull myself from the reverie to be present, it gives myself and my daughter something we both need, but again it is in ways so against my wiring. It is if I am wired for lots of peaceful quiet, books, cups of tea/coffee, being cozy or as the Danish call it Hygge (Hoo-Gah)… a post on that later. I am wired for contemplation and to ponder the mysteries of everyday society, unmet needs, and the complexities of the Universe. I could basically do that all day everday, and yet I dislike my mind tricking me into perceiving my children as a burden. This has been a battle of my existence for certain.
This morning’s writing was clearly all over the place, nothing that I expected that is for sure. I expected a summary I suppose of the current year. Some tender musings on hopes for this next one. The obligatory Resolutions. Today most importantly is the one year anniversary of initially reaching out to my beautiful person. We celebrated not with fancy dinner or fanfare, but with allowing ourselves to wake slowly and lounge in the comfort of one another this morning before she left for work again. It was the best feeling. Maybe the fact that my posts have less of a beginning and an end means its meant to be more of a book. My daughter has the hiccups and she is desperate for my attention from the next room. She has been asking someone to play a game with her constantly. So I am going to go be present and hope to write more soon. I did want to share some of my thoughts on Anne Lamott’s “Bird by Bird” that I started reading this morning. At first read of her I was a bit turned off by all the religion speak, and something about her disjointed style (hmmm pots and kettles), but as her language familiarizes itself to me… it’s a bit like falling in love. I guess that’s how it happens really anyway, right ?
Unchained Melody is on Pandora. I think of days of glamorizing Patrick Swayze and in Dirty Dancing, when these days I look back at tomboy Demi from the movie ghost and swoon. Life is funny.
*seemingly random events are so often connected in ways that are only revealed in hindsight and reflection. If we don’t take time to reflect, if we don’t honor our whole journey we do ourselves and one could argue the Universe a great disservice.
I had a unique experience with my morning pages this am. I want to try and find the words to describe it and capture moments that will otherwise become lost. Isn’t that what writing is anyway? Capturing a feeling or moment and preserving it as you remember it with a clarity only being close up can provide.
The problem is always I don’t know where to begin to capture the whole backstory. I say that out loud so I can work through the problem. Much like a mathematical equation. If I just thought about the equation and tried to envision a successful solution without the help of brainstorming and visually seeing the whole picture, the result I fear would just be pure overwhelm. I wonder if that’s what is happening with my writing now. I just don’t get enough of it on paper, and this blog is my stage to do that. But it’s an odd show because instead of being dazzled by a fully formed finished product in my blog you are literally watching the process unfold. You are seeing the rehearsals and auditions, and we aren’t even there yet. Right now you’re seeing a thousand unformed things laid to paper. And I worry… why would anyone want to watch that?! Do they want to watch the making of the movie before they have even been impressed? I guess that can’t matter here. There is no place for it here, because this is mine and it’s ok as it is. Yes that is my choice of where to land from all these thoughts.
So this mornings magic. Perhaps it was a result of the Pure bath bomb labeled “Repair”, or perhaps the fact my phone was needing to be charged and therefore less multi-tasking. Perhaps it was the jets, ah yes the jets did help. I learned something this am. So often quiet seems the answer to collecting my thoughts, but quiet also haunts, and leaves lots of rooms for each tiny noise to be a distraction. I used my bath jets more than I usually do. Usually they irritate my senses, but this am without music on my phone they were comforting. Like the waves in the Ocean. I remembered something about my young self this morning. I remembered how I would always want to write whenever I was near the water. It called to me. Every ocean trip…. I felt the magnificent calling power of this larger than life body of water that contained so many unseen things beneath the surface. In that way we are all like Oceans. What an incredibly powerful thing.
So this morning my morning pages were different. Most often lately I’ll get 1/2 a page to 1 full one versus the 3 that is intended. I am multi-tasking like crazy. But after all writing feels in its beginning as a self-serving pursuit. If I get a wall painted and can show my person and family immediately my hard work, or cook an amazing meal we can all enjoy together, the gratification is much more accessible. And then I can feel like I’m doing the right things, and being a good person. Being lost in the recesses of my mind has never yielded positive feedback from my self or others. A denial of my very existence as usual. The deepest pain that has ever existed for anyone. The anti-thesis: living your life in your own way as you were meant to be. Permission to live in this way, but then why in God’s name is the the absolute hardest thing to do.
So this morning I started to think about who the cast and characters of my memoir will be and just start listing them. This process took me on quite the journey. It took me through my history and I was actually surprised at how many aspects I have blocked out, or never looked back upon to seek understanding. One could argue the only way to more fully understand our selves in the present is to occasionally peek (reflect) on our journey as a whole. Holy shit mine looks crazy. Do you know I have lived 1,000 different kinds of lives in this one?! I forgot how many houses I tried to live in, create …. how many jobs I tried on. How desperate my seeking was. And I didn’t even know what I was trying to find, but I knew I would fiercely try. If one thing didn’t yield an immediate desired result at that time, I would try another and another. In this way I have amassed so many stories I don’t know which to breathe life into. Do I write my current love story, or do I write how that one even became possible ? What has the most entertainment value? You see that is my last concern, I write for me, and yet I know that if people are to read it needs to have something that grabs them. You know what grabs me? True words in any form. And complex mysteries that slowly unfold. What grabs me is any person telling any piece of their story, and I’ve become intimately involved with 100’s. Please do not misunderstand this statement haha. By intimacy I mean knowing at a deeper level each persons story. I’ve been blessed in my life to know probably thousands. It could be the lady at the nail salon that notices the Brene Brown book in my lap. The lady that allows her curiosity to breach the unspoken contract of social etiquette. And we each take something away from that encounter. If nothing else that we are meant to connect, and allowed, and our lives are in fact enhanced by the answering of that attraction.
This writing I am doing now is the product of the wings of inspiration. It just flows, it is not labored and painstaking. It is joy in its purest form. That is the why of writing. To enjoy the craft. To do that though, for me anyway, some unlocking, and lots of unthawing, and undoing programming is in progress. What has felt like a labor becomes passion. They meet and intertwine, sharing a secret dance. A tango becomes a slow dance, and then the magic happens.
This morning I may have begun to craft my memoir. To at least lay to paper the swirling and merging characters of my personal story. As I thought of some more clearly, others swam into focus. It was 9 pages of honoring my journey, rather than omitting it due to shame, or not even being able to access it because I move to quickly onto the next.
Last night Victoria (twin B) and I watched No Reservations together. An adorable movie about a chef who lives to cook, and needs control over her environment at all times. Until life throws her circumstances that catalyze a change that runs much deeper than the original action. The change spreads and suddenly she is unfolding into the person she could never give herself permission to be….
This will have to be placed on hold, and hopefully returned to. I need to see my person before she heads off to work. Tomorrow is our day, the day I had the courage to follow an intuition, only a tiny inkling at the time. And our destinies have now forever changed. As we know that we want to spend the rest of our stories exploring together. Certainly more complex, and yet also greater reward. If extra complexity and challenge equals greater reward, if that equation is real and true. I am moving ever in the right direction. What a nice feeling to land on for the day.
Happy New Year’s Eve to my beautiful readers, my supporters, my friends, my loves…. the cast in my story. Thank you for your part!
Every time that I have a really intense bout of “feeling feelings” I come out as if I am staring over a totally still lake at sunrise. I can see straight to the bottom. It’s as if my most profound truths are completely revealed to me, and I rush to capture every second, because as quickly as I can see them all, life amps up and demands my attention and then they are clouded again. The lake has boats and people water skiing and playing, and living their lives, and watching those moments captures the primary part of my attention. So I try and soak up these moments of clarity. I feel sometimes like an entirely different breed of human. These days however it is much less lonely… people are beginning to see and understand me, because I am allowing myself to be seen. This is because I am living much less in fear, and much more growing into my confident capable self. It’s a great feeling.
I had the hardest of days yesterday, with the sweetest of endings. I was scared going in, but I faced my fears and didn’t avoid the situation (as tempting as that was), and I SHOWED UP. I showed up with my whole heart present and didn’t stay consumed in my pain, especially old pain. Even if it makes an appearance to show back up you just gotta let that shit move on. Please for the love of your lives, don’t hold onto your pain as if it does anything for you. It doesn’t protect you from it happening more or again. That is an illusion. Let pain go as quickly as you forget all you have to be grateful for. If only we could do that. The waters of my life have become so much more calm lately. I used to live from one wave of something to the next. Constantly drained. It took so much of me. It took so much of me from my kids, and I am just thawing out and realizing how my fears of myself kept me from having the relationships I want with them. I held myself back. I felt unworthy I think of gifts so special and fragile. But we human beings are anything but fragile. We are tough as nails, but so few know that. Because something happening to someone we love is unthinkable. It still is for me. I have never truly been touched by a tragedy of such a nature, and I cannot imagine how it might change my life if I were. I am in awe of the strength of those that have.
Anyway I had a couple of epiphanies that I want to capture in this blog. My person and I are just at the point where I am coming to family events and getting to know her people better. I’ve done this dance so many times, and lost so many families after the difficult work of learning one another and becoming close. This is a loaded area for me. Having 0 family for my partner to get to know besides my children makes me feel on a totally different playing field, and also increases my longing to belong to the pack. Loving my kids and I has historically ended up being a bridge gap in terms of acceptance. In the past in my relationships, partner’s parents who were struggling with their children being gay, would meet my kids and I, and love us so much that it seemed to change their hearts. And I of course loved to be that piece of healing. As it turns out, I think that was my primary purpose in their lives, rather than it being that the person and I would share a lifetime. I have often had this role in a person’s life confused. When I finally became a helper as a career, I could stop confusing my romantic love life with helping others grow (and I recognize I grew too, you can’t help someone else without helping yourself). So now I’ve chosen a partner for me for the right reasons for me, and we help one another grow naturally by loving each other so well. It has a balance.
So the tricky aspect here is that her father is having a very difficult time with a conflict in his religious beliefs and our love. I’ve never had this experience before (surprisingly), where I may not be accepted because of how I am made. It is harder than I thought. It triggers deep places of rejection sensitivity, unworthiness, and a lack of belonging. It takes me back to an old place, one I worked very hard to leave. So as I am trying to navigate those waters and know how and when to be bold with my truths (which is how I am my most happy), and when to be patient and calm and wait. How to gently educate and to be understanding in the face of great pain. I can’t think of much that is more painful than having your existence invalidated. A big fear here is me being any kind of wedge between my person and her family. It is my life’s purpose to bring families closer, not to create conflict. I know that is way too much responsibility for me to bear alone. I know that, but the feelings cannot always be helped. Only processed through and then can make a choice about where to “land”.
So add to this equation that it is my natural thing to do to put any family that is in tact on a pedestal and me as the outsider who doesn’t belong. This is me attempting as we all do to continue my family dynamic because it is where I am most comfortable, whether it is healthy or not. It is what I know. So this is a tricky combination.
The epiphany is that I came out of it last night keeping a lesson that I often share with my clients as they build their self-esteem. Often times I have young women/men, who have not found their way, come to me in the face of accepting relationships that do not value them, but they have not yet learned their own value. I often have women/men coming in wanting to be accepted and when they go into a situation they come at it from a place of “will they want me, will they choose me, will I be enough x, y, or z?” What I tell these women/men is, have you thought about if YOU want this person, have you considered the aspects of who they are and if that is a good fit for YOU, will they be enough to hold your heart with great respect and dignity. To turn the tables and if you are looking at something from one angle, be sure to consider the other one. So I realized last night that I am not just on audition here to see if I will be accepted into the pack. I also need to consider if I want to belong there, if it will be healthy for me or not. This is a balance I haven’t ever had before, folks. A learning and a growth. There is a confidence I found in myself through this experience yesterday. I was raw and flayed open, but I didn’t keep a story about my worth based on where I came from and what I didn’t receive.
We accept the love we think we deserve. I am getting so much better at this, but it’s still a work in progress.
These epiphanies/realizations/clarities… they opened me up to truths about my relationship with my kids that I am sitting in this morning. My trouble with worthiness I realize has kept me at a certain distance from my own children. It is an emotional distance, not a physical proximity, and I know it is one they can feel, but how could they understand it if I didn’t…. I am often in my head trying to fix these sufferings so I can be worthy of a love like theirs. It is given so freely and I didn’t understand that kind of love. The only kind of love I understand is the kind that felt like it must be earned, and even then the supply seemed so sparse. So I’ve been working hard on myself to be good enough to be their mother….. and I recognize the error in this. The hard work makes me tired and less available to their open and warm hearts. I needed to create an open an warm heart so it could meet up with theirs. This means I have needed to bypass a million defense mechanisms that life helped me put into place so I could get to the next phase. The bomb squad has been with me the past year and I think that we are all clear. And can stop living like the bottom will drop out, and that I won’t love my kids like they deserve. I will and I do, mine just looks a little different and a little more complicated than most. But if anyone will find a way to communicate through this to understanding… I will.
These realizations and what will follow them are the greatest gift I could ever receive this year. Capability being the key word of some of my most profound discoveries. I am capable of being a good mother, partner and, hopefully this next year, author. All of my arguments to my own greatness are slipping away and it is the best feeling…
