#brenebrown – The Emotional Alchemist

April 12, 2020

The Arena

So lately I’m sitting in my stuff. It’s been a long time since I’ve been intimate on here because of shame. Isn’t that always why we withdraw?

I have been battling shame. A lifetime of it. For how I’ve needed to live to survive. I’ll shame myself. Because how I’ve lived to survive has impacted others along the way, in sometimes very painful ways.

I am trying to tow the line of taking accountability for that and also realizing that we don’t grow and change without pain, and have that be a universal truth and not a justification.

I will say in my battle of shame that I have never in my life purposely misled anyone. I have primarily not even known myself, and I look like someone who knows a lot. Sound like someone who knows a lot. I have a lot of information.

However having integrated that information into creating a whole person. I’m not even close. I’m as scattered as my adhd and c-ptsd ridden mind. That is true.

It is deeply painful for me. That is also true. And becoming involved with me on an idea of who I am without knowing the depths of what is in here can be very painful for others. And for me!

Only took me until (almost) 40 years old

To figure that out.

But what each person does with their pain is their own responsibility.

My pain is no one else’s responsibility as it’s filled with my interpretation of the world and what is just and what isn’t. I’m the only one who can save me.

So many Bruce Almighty moments. “Smite me mighty smiter.”

I’m the girl who tried to figure out human connection from 80’s movies. That’s probably why I’m so good at cheesy romance 😉 and then like the ending of a 90 minute movie there’s another broken heart.

But my heart breaks too. I experience another loss I never wanted too. And when I lose someone I lose everything. My family. My identity. My safety. My pain reliever. My grounding force. Because that’s what another human being always had to be: everything.

That’s what happens when you begin with nothing. Forced co-dependence. You never stood a chance against it, without an entire RE-wiring.

An idea of who I am as a human being. Trying on lives trying to find something that fits. It’s the most exhausting clothing room try on. The lights are fluorescent and they burn.

They burn.

So I am going to burn for awhile into ashes. I think rising as a Phoenix at this point is a tall aspiration. I think I need to stay ashes for a bit.

Like an addict recovering I think I’ll try to keep a house plant alive for awhile. You have to walk before you can run. I flew before I could breathe. I was an adult before I was a child.

I’m all out of order.

The chronology of me is a painful thing.

It’s created one hell of a ride.

June 19, 2018

PTSD, Stephen King, aspiring writer, and FEAR(S) running wild….

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.

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4166378/

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.

http://www.writeintolight.com

Brilliant light and love to all….

Christina

December 2, 2017June 6, 2018

My first Counselor….

One post unlocks more….. or so it seems.

My first mental health counselor was Dr. Bob Murray. I saw him in New London at The Coast Guard Academy. This is who the military sent me to. It was about 45 min from my home in Milford Connecticut at the time.

I arrived at counseling because I was stuck. Because I thought having a husband and three beautiful children, a good man who loved me… was supposed to be the key to happiness. I thought this because my mother was never happy and she always focused on the fact that if she had a man who stuck around and who was good she could have been. At least that is what I heard. So I took that and ran with it. I was eager to watch what was around me and to learn. I am a spongey human being who easily fits in, takes on, and becomes what is around her. That is my default mode because it pleases others and receives so much positive feedback which I was starving for. Having been raised by grandparents who were very displeased at the fact their daughter got pregnant by an older man out of wedlock at the age of 19.

My mother was not capable of raising a child. My mother was not capable of caring for herself even. She enjoyed the romantic aspects of being a mother, but seemed to be unable to stay with the difficulties. Now that I am later on in years I understand this as her literally not having the capacity. The first half of my life I experienced a range of emotions around this. I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t choose ME, choose to be my mother. Confusion is probably the most appropriate word here, and that confusion resulted in a lot of discomfort for me. But as anyone who is determined to “change their stars” I was unwilling to give in to that. I got strong, or perhaps I was born strong, or maybe both? I suppose this is the reason I am so interested in how much of things is how we are wired, and how much is what we are subject to. I’ve been considering and wondering about nature and nurture for as long as I can remember.

My grandparents stepped in and took over care of me (after court involvement and a try with being with Mom when I was young). They have both passed away now. Grandma (Mom) died of Lou Gherig’s Disease in 2006 at the age of 79. Grandpa (Dad) died of duodenal cancer in 2013 at the age of 89, or of missing grandma as I like to think. One of those married couples that had so completely fused that one can’t be without the other for long. The emptiness just kills them after separation. He hung in there for my younger brother I believe. To try his best to get him to more self-sufficient adulthood before giving in.

What I remember most about me and being a child was that I was primarily received as being a pain in the ass. I was loud, outspoken, semi-aggressive, very physical and touchy, exhibited many attention seeking behaviors (not shockingly), a hypochondriac long before I knew what that was. I was a “chatter box”. My aunt and her boyfriend would try in the car to get me to play a game they referred to as “Monks and the Vow of Silence”, in this game I was to be quiet until a gong rang. They probably got a couple of rounds of this in of me really wanting to succeed and win before I was onto them. I was FULL of life in a situation where my life had not been wanted there, at that time, in that way. That is an unfortunate circumstance for all involved. I frequently recall my grandparents saying out loud they didn’t understand why I always had to be on the go or wanting to be doing something, that when they were young they played with paper dolls and were told they were “meant to be seen, and not heard.” I was often told “children are meant to be seen and not heard”. Being highly sensitive what I never knew was how completely and entirely I internalized every single one of these messages. I was wrong, bad, flawed… even in these subtle ways, this then greatly compounded by my behaviors increasing as I reacted to the stress in my direct environment. This also compounded by my being different than most of my peers. I was a tomboy, wanted to dress like a boy, and ultimately be like one. My theory on this is that represented a strength and stability so opposite to me. I also think at that young age without realizing it I knew I would have more power as a boy and would be treated different. They seemed to be somehow more legitimate and I wanted that.

I wanted to feel valued, and like I belonged somewhere. Unfortunately consistenly the message was different. There was a lot of chaos around me, and it slipped inside too. It slipped inside so much that I would find later in life I would need to continue to create it so I could feel comfortable enough to function. It is what I knew.

A confused, sad, scared, lost little girl who wanted to belong to one of those families who planned for you and got excited about new life. Not whose legacy was “their mother was a slut”, and we are now burdened with the care of a child we didn’t ask for. We were going to travel in our retirement. The words always rang in my mind. I always knew what was going on. I couldn’t be blissfully ignorant about it, and sometimes I feel like I wish I could have been.

There is so much more to unravel that happend prior to me getting to counseling. I have no model for how to unravel this so I’ll just have to say what comes when it comes for now, until a better system develops. I will summarize for now to: a very unstable beginning led to me being a tiny adult and thinking at the tender age of 18 that my priority was to find a good man and get the heck out of dodge. And that’s what I did. I married a good and lovely man who was in no way shape or form a good fit for a life long partner for me. And the fact I didn’t already know that, couldn’t have seen it, then gave me great conflict because as you may have guessed it breaking my promise to myself and the world that I would immediately at age 18 create a better family than the one I had been given was unthinkable.

Ending up in a counselor’s office would be the thing that I didn’t know would save my life. It began with validation. That was step 1, but then there were so many more to go….. I had so many pre-conceived notions about what Counseling was. I was struggling with my sexuality at the time, but at the very beginning I was looking for more palatable reasons that could be, like perhaps sexual abuse (that would have been preferable than being gay, you see that could be managed and I could have kept my dream of staying married to one person and having the “perfect” family)… but if you thought I was gonna tell a heterosexual middle-aged man who worked on the base of my husband’s profession that… you would be wrong. I had decided I would tell him about my family life and do that work and it would end there. As I unfolded tales of my beginnings the thing that sticks out the most that he said to me was “he didn’t know how I had made it here to this point”. Those words seemed so foreign to me. What do you mean I’m fine? What is he even talking about? My defenses were grand at that time. My being strong and likeable on the exterior protected me, and it held me back. Week after week he continued to ask how I had come so far? And I continued to think is this guy nuts? Come so far? Don’t you realize I’m way behind? Don’t you know I’ve found myself in Connecticut amongst only people on their way to dazzling careers (and most already there at that age)…. I was an alien at that point.

I would write him …. my Counselor… I would write him agonizing pain filled e-mails full of angst and confusion. In the position I am in now I wonder how much worry that caused him thinking if he was doing the right thing to allow the letters, or if I was ok or not, safe I suppose is the more operate term here. I often wondered if it was fair of me to use his time in that way. But I felt like I didn’t have a choice. I had all of these thoughts and feelings and they needed to go somewhere. I write more because I need to write, ever than I just wanted to. It is only now I am realizing the full breadth of how important and intricately connected to my healing this gift is. And now in this almost 37th year of my life. I need to find a way to share this journey even further so others can benefit from it, the way I have benefited from those who have shared before me. My life has been saved many times over by Counselors and Authors, and they lit a spark and modeled a template for healthy love, that I fiercely continued to study and pursue. So much so that I am making it my life’s work. No one really gave me permission to do this, and that’s why it has taken so long. I am giving myself permission now. Flaying myself raw for the world in hopes that perhaps it can turn into something with the right parts humor, polish, or of whatever it is meant to be… to then be delivered to those lives whom it most needs to touch. I want that more than anything.

My Authors along the way include Paulo Coelho (The Alchemist, The Pilgrimage, Veronika Decides to Die, The Valkryies, and so many more), then there was Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat Pray Love and Joan Anderson’s A Year by The Sea. These came at at time when I had lost so much hope in love, when I needed strength to be on my own. Now there is Brene Brown, Pema Chodron, Cheryl Strayed, Glennon Doyle-Wambach, Anne Lamott, Anne Patchett, …. I could go on forever. These are the ranks of the people I want to fit in with. I want to be one of these. Someone who guides and speaks openly their truth and who shares wisdom with others. With others who respect and can realize the price tag this wisdom came with.

I think now more than ever this will be a book, or become one. Because of what I learned just today, and over these past weeks about blogging and writing. Once I begin more just flows, when I turn away from it, it shuts off almost like a faucet. These probably won’t continue to be small essay’s. The book will probably unravel from this. The book that has haunted me… and taunted me…. just out of grasp (only because I believed that was so).

Lastly the most important thing (because I just apparently have to choose a place to end because I would write feverishly all day I think). Is I want to tell you guys why this field means so much to me. This man… this first Counselor of mine…. I didn’t talk to him for years and years, and then literally in true Christina fashion, impulsively I contacted him a few days before graduating from my Master’s Degree…. and I asked him if he would come. I invited him. He lives far away I believe, over an hour at least. It was a 7 pm December graduation. It was December 14, 2014 to be exact. This man who hadn’t heard from me in years came to my graduation. He is the first person who ever truly validated and helped me understand my painful parts, and he is the only person who knew a young me in that way who came to my graduation. I had the closest thing I could ever get to a real parent invested in me there. I also had my supervisor Dr. James Dipisa who I am eternally grateful to and his wife, my children and my partner at that time Kat. These are all people who have held a deeply meaningful place in my journey. For me it hasn’t always been the same people, in fact my core people have changed quite often, and some have been throughout. I always thought so much more of what I didn’t have and how my life should be or could be, and now I realize I missed out on so much joy seeing life in that way. There isn’t one right way to live a life. Our stories are meant to be unique and to stand out from the crowd and to be shared.

Thank you for reading another piece……

November 12, 2017June 6, 2018

A great journey can occur in only a couple of hours. It’s the depth that matters.

It’s Sunday morning. Well afternoon now. What do you do when you feel like there’s no possible way to capture the journey you took (in the span of one morning for only a couple of hours), in one blog post? I guess I need to find or develop more skills in terms of summarizing and organizing. This morning I took an emotional journey. I journeyed miles through feelings physical and emotional. The most important aspect of this I think is that at the finish line I was able to lay in my person’s arms and just cry. I cried for so many things. Initially she was concerned, and because of my work I was able to tell her I was crying because I needed the release.

I needed to let all of it out. To allow all of my feelings with no judgment and just to share them. I told her she was my safe space. She is my safe space. I told her how new this feeling is for me. I used to push down tears and my own experiences in exchange for the stiff upper lip that felt at the time like it helped me to survive. This worked UNTIL I had kept my side that had needs alone for so long, that it could no longer take it. It needed air. And because I didn’t know how to meet it’s needs I struggled in anger. I was angry at my disease, at my pain, at myself, at so much more…. and it came out on others for awhile. I couldn’t access my calm and understanding parts, especially when I needed them the most. My basic natural tendency was to be tough, and we are not always nice when we are so tough. I couldn’t access the parts of myself that could help me have compassion and understanding for others, and I knew I would need that if I were to survive as a Counselor. I knew that I could not help other people find a way to allow their process and meet their needs if I hadn’t first climbed that mountain myself. I wish I could say it’s one mountain. It’s not. It is a series of mountains, with peaks and valleys, gorgeous views, and also dark and seemingly endless nights.

Two times since we have gotten together I have broken into a heap in my partner’s arms. I am always welcome to share my full spectrum of emotions with her, and that safety is irreplaceable. But these two times I was at my limit and I allowed myself to not worry about being a burden, about being over-sensitive, that she would shy away from my pain. She is a warrior…. a warrior behind her service to the Army (which I still need to post about). She is a warrior for myself and my children. She is the best kind of warrior. The kind who constantly faces up against her fears and continues on inspite of. It is because of her I have learned the importance of being gentle and sometimes succumbing to our sense of overwhelm and fears, and that this is OK. She doesn’t try to fix my pain, nor does she shy from it. She doesn’t try to compete with it or put it on a scale of comparison. She doesn’t squirm uncomfortably trying to change the subject, or invalidate it in any way “like telling me to look on the bright side”. She doesn’t become so upset herself that there is no room left and I feel I must zip myself back up quickly so as not to harm her. She just offers her presence, and it turns out that’s all I need.

I began my day today with my beloved bath, my books, and my writing. My favorite way to begin a day. I also began it with severe abdominal pain, gut wrenching pain, frustrating nausea, and symptoms that are quite unpleasant and leave a lot of fear in their wake. I am grateful I had the perfect arms of her, and the words of Glennon Doyle Melton in Carry On Warrior to compliment. As always I had everything I needed. Now that list also includes compassion and understanding for MYSELF. This was the missing piece that has made life so much different.

I write my best when I write to her. It is how we fell in love. So I am going to share a personal letter, because aren’t those the best kind? A letter that came on the wings of inspiration while I was having my struggle this morning.

Here it is: A quick note about it. She is a Veteran of the United States Army. She did two tours over seas. She often struggles with identifying with this experience or remembering it for ways she could be hard on herself about it. Since she doesn’t fit the traditional role of what someone would think of as a Veteran she at times struggles with owning her bravery and power. Last night we ate at Texas Roadhouse and came across other Veterans who banded with her and helped us celebrate. It was random and it was beautiful. I know in my heart that one of our greatest gifts in this life will be bearing witness to one another’s journey.

*I feel very vulnerable about sharing this letter. My thoughts are should I? Do I need to? Does someone need to hear all the parts when particularly some of the letter and the way it flows will only make sense to her. I think to Glennon’s book where her Dad say’s to her “don’t you think you should take some of these things to the grave Glennon.” Her reply is how I found the courage to share this part of myself today. “I thought hard for a moment and said, no I really don’t. That sounds horrible to me. I don’t want to take anything to the grave. I want to die used up, and emptied out. I don’t want to carry around anything that I don’t have to. I want to travel light.”

The letter:

“I’m writing you to distract myself from the discomfort I’m currently in. I keep getting out of the tub because I have to use the toilet, and each time this happens I am cold and shivery and soaking the bathroom floor 🙁

I wanted to focus on and tell you how cool last night was. It was so lovely seeing you get to honor yourself with others. You sat with it and owned it and didn’t reduce or dismiss and I’m beyond words proud and happy for you, with you… all of it. I feel so lucky to have shared that with you. I also feel lovely that I’m able to move through momentary petty emotions without them ruling my life anymore. This has changed my whole world. What I mean by this is for a few minutes there I felt so anxious and overwhelmed, and then loud people coming over, and you being super into whether you’re going to text this guy who may or may not want to get close in any way possible with my baby,…. and I was nauseated and hot. For a few moments I felt horrific. And because of that most likely and not because you did anything wrong I almost got cranky with you. Almost let my mind tell me that this wasn’t how I saw our night and you weren’t paying attention to me. Like a baby…. lets modify that to be kind. Like someone not feeling well getting caught in a wave of panic induced negativity.
and then as you so often do you read my mind, I had also worked through it myself, but it’s so refreshing that our intuition does that.

My ex was intuitive too, we scanned one another for flaws and the world so we could be hyper-vigilant and flip out at shadows. You read my mind which said without me having to get upset you noticed. You said out loud that you were present…And in reflection I would have regretted it terribly if I had made those lovely moments about me, whether I didn’t feel well or not. Actually where I took my mind to was how I felt the day I did the Crohns walk, and how important it was for me to take that day to be about me and honoring my experience, and people give that to me, have helped me find my way to it. So I’m so glad I kept my initial feelings at bay because I would have missed out on irreplaceable moments of witnessing you honoring an important part of your life. I also enjoy so much seeing you blossom and open up and share you with others. I have to remember to not get jealous and crazy because I just love you so much, and because it isn’t healthy. I have had to learn this security, it doesn’t come easy.

Today I woke up short of breath with abdominal pain…. terrible bloating and some bleeding actually :/ waves of nausea and terrible joint aching. And it’s so tempting to be taken over by anger and frustration at my body. To beat myself up or make our whole experience that I shouldn’t have gone or any other thing. To lash out at the world, great pain makes us lash out at the world, and those around us. It makes us claw and bite and bargain and deny. When really our only choice is to feel it until it passes, it will pass. It passes easier with someone like you by my side.

So when I tell you how grateful I am know that it includes this: that I am just sitting here smiling, even as I cry in pain and frustration…. because I loved logging that experience last night and I wouldn’t trade it. And if I’m going to have this devil disease it’s so nice to have it near to you…. I could be alone. Someone else could still have you right now. So when I take account of my life I feel like I have a fortune in the bank and houses all over 😉 rich beyond my wildest dreams.

I feel grateful for less panic. Somehow your steadfast gaze and warmth helps me panic less. Our love. I know it’s just a superstition of sorts that nothing terrible can happen because our love is so good. But it feels better to choose safe and calm waters while I can, since we have no control over some storms anyway.

I’ve gone to the bathroom enough that I can finally breathe a little better. Boy is it an unpleasant feeling to have so much air built you can’t even breathe and to not know whether to take an ant-acid or my inhaler :p

I love you with everything that I am. I am the best possible version of myself when I am with you. You make everything worthwhile.

I see you. You seem so much less hard on yourself. I know that will still be a natural default tendency for awhile and Rome wasn’t built in a day. But I see changes and I’m so grateful for your strength. To be able to live my life next to someone who sees things and gets them and then puts action into those things to make changes that benefit all of us as a whole. Amazing. That makes you a true warrior even, with now an invisible uniform. We now have a teammate in this pursuit. No longer having our resources sucked out of us by being misunderstood and misunderstanding. What an amazing feeling.

Ok back to my morning pages, maybe a little reading and soaking my sore bum in this bathtub. So grateful to be able to breathe a little better.

All of my love darling….”

November 10, 2017June 6, 2018

On the importance of trying new things…

So this morning I woke up nearly regretting my decision to schedule an 8 am oil change for my Jeep. I don’t have a Client until 11 am and I so value my morning time. So much so that that also will be at least an entire post, if not also melded into this one. At the dealership they asked me if I would also like a tire rotation (that is mercifully included with my “Jeep Wave” warranty), so I knew it would be a few extra minutes. With my Crohn’s I am often nauseated in the morning, especially if there is nothing in my stomach. When I went to sit and wait, it was nagging at me.

There is a small coffee/breakfast sandwhich place literally right next door I have never tried. It’s called Safari Kaffeine Fix. It like many gems in life does not have much to attract you from the outside. However here on the inside the piece that draws me in the most is a wall where people have written their well wishes, and a variety of things. It gives it that human touch. Many of the sentiments state that they are so glad this place is back, and they missed the coffee. This lends me to believe that this is a second try…. BRAVE.

More aspects of human touch …. a woman came and put her money on the counter and the man came out immediately with a regular order. I love that! This is a place regulars hang out. It is also a world apart from downtown Fairfield, the land I typically live in. I love both. The hard working laborers and people struggling paycheck to paycheck. There is a man in here very frustarted with his job as a contractor and he is telling everyone his foibles on re-doing someone’s bathroom. At face value he kind of sounds like a complaining jerk, but as I have watched him longer his rough around the edges demeanor melts into a man with family values who is polite and considerate. He just bought a woman’s coffee. This makes me think of a line in a book I’m currently reading by Brene Brown. She says that “it’s hard to dislike people close up”. This is the thread during this time of division that can bring us closer together. When we generalize and hold onto our fears and keep looking from a distance with our judgements we miss out on a lot. Get a closer view of anything that is causing you frustration or you’re having trouble with.

Back to the topic at hand…. When I do things differently or try something new, I ALWAYS gain some new awareness or receive a gift. Doesn’t matter where you go or what you do, just try something new. Go into a new place, talk to a person you’ve never talked to before, try something different in your day. This is much more difficult than you think. It is easier to know what to expect with what you’re getting, and we are more wired to stay safe in that way. New experiences no matter how insignificant create new thoughts.

Sometimes I have learned lately from my client’s we need permission to try new things in our lives, whether that is career or taking a risk in our relationship by sharing a feeling that may upset our partner. So if you’re reading this post today this is your permission…. Try something new.

*To me this post feels disjointed and I’m not as happy with it because I feel like there are real and raw things inside of me I need to be sharing right now. Things Glennon Doyle Melton and Brene Brown have given me the permission to write. However I have to trust the process. The reason it’s all over the place is because I looked up from my laptop, broke my consciousness, to lend some of my heart to this person who clearly really wants someone to listen. This is what I do. This is why I fear I won’t write a book, because there are people all around me always that need my presence, and if I am able I will give it. Sometimes I become frustrated that I get pulled from my writer’s heaven that exists within me, but when I step back for a moment and look my life is richer from everything I give, not from hunkering down in my brain. Finding balance in this arena is one of my greatest tasks. I can be upset about the struggle or thankful that I am even able to have it.

Stay tuned for a post on my favorite Veteran…..

November 7, 2017June 6, 2018

Restless with no rhyme or reason

*listening to Joshua Radin Radio on Pandora; His song “Only You” *

I am restless today. Very very restless. This can easily be confused with anxiety, the sensations are very similar, and misunderstood this could easily feel like not a good thing. However, today I am entertaining the idea that this restlessness could actually be excitement. I’m thinking that it must be because I have a lot to be excited about recently. One of the things is a secret, so you’ll just have to stay tuned and be curious. I am like a locked vault. *yeah right*. LOL. The idea that excitement without anxiety could actually have a place in my world is a little mind blowing currently.

What is my life going to be like without that constant companion of “feeling like the other shoe is always going to drop, or feeling like the rug will be pulled out from under me”. I am slowly coming to…. to the realization that I don’t feel that way anymore. It feels like being re-born. I say this because this sensation can only be described as so new that it is foreign and so foreign that it feels as if my body is trying to reject it.

I am happy, and safe, and confident. And how do a few words on a page make the reader’s heart squeeze the way mine is right now, and the tears begin to release. I need to tell my story, because it is starting to burst forth from my seams, to leak out into everything, and to reduce me to a puddle of emotion on nearly a constant basis. My gratitude is endless. My nerve endings are all alive. The sense of hope I always maintained was not without merit. This is real. This is real.

I’m physically restless, tapping my foot, moving around a lot, not able to sit still. I bit my cuticles a bit too (gross habit). All of my sensory systems feel sharpened. All of my emotional systems too.

I somehow made it through 2 pages of Morning writing, even with this distractibility. I become consumed with Facebook and a drama on there that later I would be hard on myself upon realizing it was a time suck, and generally left me feeling less grounded and pleasant than is my choice. Change begins with noticing. You must notice first, then you must take action. If you do those 2 things with anything that is important enough you can make the changes you desire. But you’ll have to be brave!

Speaking of brave… I began my drive to work listening to …

Life Changing Book by Ms. Brave Herself. I want to be like her when I grow up!!

One gem so far is her describing how she has posted up in her office Oprah’s words: “Do not think you can be brave with your work and your life and never disappoint anyone, it doesn’t work that way.” One of my biggest misunderstandings in life was feeling disappointed in myself so often for everything, simply because I am sensitive and didn’t understand what that meant or why. The only template I had for it was one of shame and deep misunderstanding. What if most of us are only a few layers away from uncovering this type of treasure? I think that is true. And I am finding proof it is true in the lives of those I am able to touch now. My greatest privilege in this life is to be a counselor and walk with others on this journey. I walked alone for so long, and in so much more pain than I ever had to. If I knew then….. but scratch that because I KNOW NOW, and it is meant to be this way.

You see even this much writing, in a space that is rapidly becoming a second home to my heart… the restlessness has calmed. I have written my way through it. Just as I have written my way through most of my many unanswered questions and a heaping load of trauma and pain. My greatest hope is to write a story that others can access and feel the way I did this morning listening to Brene speak her truth.

It wasn’t really bravery that I’ve had a problem with. I developed that being a problem because I believed others with their should’s and should not’s. I watched other people in shame and thought I’d rather belong to the herd than to be cold out here alone. I’ve changed myself so many times to try and belong somewhere and to something. I didn’t realize at that time that the price would be my soul, and then on top when it turned out to not fit for me I blamed myself. So much pain. I’ve suffered immensely, mostly at my own hand. At the hand of my rapidly over-thinking mind. My mind is capable of being a great paradise or a terrible prison. I have known both, but I didn’t know that I had a choice, and now I do.

Thanks to feeding my mind with the brave and the many stories of people who came before me, my life has become a whole different kind of place. Now… I just want to share that journey with anyone who wants to listen. My heart is so open and raw lately. It is just out in the air beating for everyone to see, and the vulnerability of it all is often overwhelming. I wouldn’t change a thing.

As I listened to Brene this am and her story of belonging and her struggle I just could not stop crying. It touched me so deeply. And having those experiences help me unlock how to touch other’s lives in such a way. ….

Stay tuned …. I am on the brink of something special here.. .every second it is becoming…. just like how I “woke up” in this career where I belong that feeds my soul every day.

Tag: #brenebrown