Tag: #parenting

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Chicken Soup and the Written Word…. for the Soul

*When I was a kid I devoured as many Chicken Soup for the Soul books that I could get my hands on. I remember they stirred something in my empathic soul. I can still remember some of the stories to this day. I kind of wonder how much of my value system was formed in those, always telling tales of people who would go above and beyond and then the effect that had. 

Let’s see what kind of Sunday thoughts I can organize (or not organize) with a house full of eight girls. Am I having a birthday party you might ask? I am not. My daughters are very social and love to host their friends. With such a great group of friends how can a mother argue. It’s such a wonderful thing to hear their laughter and to watch them all experimenting with who they are and coming into their own. This is one of those moments where I am at the top of the parenting mountain and able to catch my breath for a few moments and take in the breath taking view. These moments will quickly blur into the rearview and the next challenge will be on the horizon, but it’s incredibly important to soak them up and log them into the long term memories folder. The issues I was speaking about in previous posts with twin A have subsided for now. We finally came to an understanding, a partway meeting of sorts. Her attitude has been better ever since.

Today’s blog title began with me buying ingredients after I dropped my son and my adopted son (emotionally not literally) off for a day of work at Trader Joes. They are sixteen and part of the my first work program, and I couldn’t be more proud. It’s a great company to begin learning from, and a job that was able to carry me financially and personally in ways I only am able to see now through a painful divorce and many transitions in my life. My Trader Joes family will always be an important piece of my personal history. It is so good for my son to be out in the world learning about new things and people, rather than just holed up in his room playing video games. I am proud of the balance I have encouraged in his life. Granted it is not always easy to know how much to intervene and how much to let him have his own lessons and conclusions. I am putting a lot of work into that recently as a parent. A Client session recently and the movie I love Simon, brought to my awareness that I can be a little overly intrusive into my kids lives. You know trying to pry them open like using a knife to open a can of tuna, for their every feeling. I mean I know the value and necessity of having a space for that, but with my own children I just may not be that space. It’s heart breaking to acknowledge that. But seriously where is the magic formula for when to make sure you are involved, and for when to give them space? If I ever find one I’ll let you know.

So my trip to Trader Joes was for ingredients to make chicken soup. They are chilling on the counter right now, waiting for the teenage girls to depart the kitchen. The reason I am making a pot of chicken soup (not that I need one, it’s delicious and becoming a staple in our home) is because I am really struggling with my Crohn’s Disease right now. It’s flaring it’s ugly head. My typical MO is to try and deny or ignore, or reduce it. In the past I have told my self that I was sick, and therefore felt even more sick, believed I was sick. I believe in the power of the mind. This is a good thing except when that belief reduces the validity of my very real experience with this disease. It’s coming up on five years now since my diagnosis. The testing and my own knowledge suggests I had it for long before it was known though. I guess the theme of today is balance as my trouble here is trying to strike a balance between acknowledging and validating my disease, and yet not letting it take over my life. How do I know then when I am really sick … (ok the teenagers have asked me to play computer video games with them, and I’m actually really thrilled at this age I would even be asked, so I’ll have to come back to this).

This turned out to be a lot later. I just finished separating the bones from the chicken and the soup is nearly done. Turns out it is the perfect thing, because twin B has a sore throat and hardly slept. I got sidetracked and ended up trying to delete some of the 18,000 pictures/videos on my laptop. That task, much like cleaning out my e-mail feels insurmountable, and probably is. I wanted to sit and read for a good solid hour. It’s gorgeous outside so perhaps I will try for out there. It is still chilly though. I started reading Every Love Story is a Ghost Story, a book about the life of David Foster Wallace (author of The Infinite Jest). Something about it was calling to me. I have yet to figure out whether this reading ADHD is pure genius and exactly as it is meant to be or whether I could definitely be doing better.

Here are the books I am currently reading: Lisey’s Story by Stephen King (thought its been months since I picked this one up). Bird by Bird Anne Lamott (I don’t want it to be over). Carry on Warrior by Glennon Doyle Melton (Wambach). 3 or 4 books on brain and behavior wiring etc that are all WILDLY interesting. The whole series of Julia Cameron’s the Artist’s Way. The 3rd installment in the Ripley series (Ripley’s Game I think)  (the book series that the movie The Talented Mr. Ripley was derived from, by Patricia Highsmith.) I am also trying to read magazine articles, because lately I am wondering if a way to begin with a smaller goal of getting my writing out there, would be to try to do articles first. I just started listening to 11-22-64 I think it is? by Stephen King on audiobook. It hasn’t captured me the way The Dead Zone did, but I also have been doing different things with my time.

On the home-front my first born son, (and only son I will ever give birth to) just passed his driver’s license exam, and pending some insurance sorting will be making his maiden voyage of a first solo car ride shortly. I am proud, astounded, nervous, awed, reflective, contemplative… and so many things about this. I told him this morning that if he isn’t careful and something happens to him I would stop breathing on the spot. Too much pressure? Seriously though I would. I feel simultaneously like still my 20 year old self, and also this foreign entity that has a 16 year old boy with a driver’s license. I am both selves, rich with everything in between.

The thing that is happening the most lately is the writing piece. If I look back over the past couple of years my reading and writing has grown exponentially. If I can avoid the gremlins who say things like: yes BUT you aren’t published, and who really reads what you’re writing anyway, and couldn’t you be doing something more productive to make money during that time, and it’s frivolous, and it’s already been said, and on and on and on. If I avoid those guys and just take an objective look at the facts. This is my 41st blog post, and even as I am writing it I feel it is just disjointed, and who would get something out of reading it, and my ADHD and Crohn’s is trying to sabotage my existence.

Speaking of Crohn’s to bring this post full circle. I am really struggling right now. The migraine’s have spiked up again, which likely means inflammation is wreaking havoc in my body. Last week I thought I was going to pass out while a new client sat across from me, I felt heavy and far away from my own body, and for a second I almost warned them. It passed, but the memory of the feeling and the fear it would soon return did not. I have been having ringing in my ears followed by rushing and pressure in my head often throughout the day, my hands and legs and fingers etc have been going completely numb or unpleasantly tingly during the night. I’ll wake up with a swollen hand, severe nausea, terrible stomach pain until I use the bathroom. My temperature regulator feels broken, I can be freezing and not able to get warm or too hot and puffy and swollen. My abdomen without warning will swell to a 5 month pregnant status. I can hear my stomach running and it feels like my food tries to call back out of my esophagus. At night I have been “flushing”, red hot feverish episodes that come on without any warning and leave people asking if I am ok. The only remedy is to lay down and rest. I don’t want to lay down and rest. My body is sabotaging my natural enthusiasm and joy for life, and it’s so hard not to be angry about this, to deal with it with grace and to not fear the worst. The possibility of surgeries etc. But even that is a distraction from the very real fact that each day having some unpleasant physical symptom that I am attempting to ignore, banish, push through etc, adds a gigantic extra layer of exhaustion to my life. More overwhelm, and lately this is the thing that feels the biggest threat to the breakthrough of me writing. 🙁

One of the worst aspects is the having 0 idea of when it will strike. Another terrible aspect is trying to look for ways that I have caused it by being unhealthy etc. From my understanding while certainly you can make it worse by being excessive in certain behaviors etc, for the most part you can’t really do anything when you have a disease to control whether you have symptoms or not. I mean you can try to be as healthy as possible, but it may or may not stop the symptoms, and unless you want to live in a bubble and not enjoy anything. I mean there needs to be what’s this b word again? BALANCE as with everything. But even then. It is hit or miss. I can eat something one time and be fine, and eat the same thing another time and be miserable for hours.

There have been times when I have had a few “bad tummy days” that I was afraid that I was coming out of remission, but I recognized that to be just fear. However I think this is different this time. Whether it is or isn’t the process is completely draining and sends me pummeling the air with my fists until I break into a fit of tears. I don’t want to give one ounce of my life up to Crohn’s. I refuse. My will is not enough here, and I have never come up against something where this was true. Somtimes when you write yourself all the way to the spot you needed to reach the emotions just end up flowing. This always happens for me, the dead center of the fear or the helplessness when touched with the tip of the needle bursts. I am at the mercy of this disease. Not since I was a child have a felt so helpless, and that was not a place that was very pleasant for me, so being brought back in this way evokes strong emotions from my core.

Back to David Foster Wallace for now. Oh a quick thought about that. I am still always more interested in reading about the creator, than what they created themselves. People will always be the most interesting thing… the why, the how, the when, the where of their lives. Endless fascination….

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“I’d do anything for Love…but I won’t do that….”

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.

💜

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Parenting: The most extreme sport you will ever undertake…

Truer words have never been spoken

*this blog became by unrefined process very disjointed. So here’s a little help. If you are interested in parenting and the struggle involved, if you are a Highly Sensitive Person, if you struggle with Chronic Illness. If you are seeking balance in your life in any way. If you have a blended family, or are struggling with co-parenting with an ex partner. If you enjoy reading other people’s story, and delicate weavings of past, present, and dreams for the future, then you may enjoy this. If you are willing to sit through a writer who goes off on tendrils of branches, and who is currently finding her rhythm and tone.

So here I am in the midst of daily struggles with teenagers. I want to share with you a raw accounting of my personal experiences, again so you may resonate and find something helpful within. I do this for myself and for my readers: gorgeous reciprocity. I know intuitively and from my daily work in my career that I am not alone in this battle. I spend the largest chunk of my time trying to sort through the insurmountable task of ever keeping the big picture in mind versus getting caught up in moments. This feels nearly impossible. I believe in fact we are wired to respond and react to what is right in front of our face in any given moment, and it takes a considerable larger amount of effort to sort through how we choose to act on any given impulse or reaction to the entire process. Exhausting. I am exhausted a lot of the time. So let me first lay forth the extra complexities of my personal situation at hand.

Factors to consider: I am divorced, their Father is involved and pays his share, which lessens my burdens considerably. I am always aware of this, and how much better I have it than others. Since scales of comparison are rarely helpful I usually don’t use them. But I am careful because parenting is the hottest of all topics I think. We are ever wanting to do it well, and mostly in situations that feel like we are failing. Everytime we figure out the system and make a grand jump over a hurdle clearing it with strength and agility, the course switches up on us, landing us on our faces.

Back to the factors: Despite his support and involvement in the kids lives that I am ever grateful for, our working together to parent has intense complications. He remains at a certain point in our lives that I have moved much further beyond, this means that he has an idea of me that is constantly creating complications. Think believing in the worst possible version of someone, and this is of course MY interpretation and I am aware of that as well as the fact like we all do, I have blind spots. I think it’s being revealed to you this is a loaded topic. So for the purpose of not losing sight of the original plan of this post we shall summarize as the logistics currently are probably the most difficult part. This means that due to his career in the Coast Guard he has mostly lived far away during their lives. Ohio, then Boston, and now Staten Island. He comes for all things important for the kids and shows up, which is lovely. BUT he has no space near here to have them at overnight etc. This is further complicated by the fact that Tyler now has a job and needs rides to it, and he can’t just go to his Grandparents in upstate NY on the weekends. So the time I was able to have just for me while they are with their other parent is really only decided last minute, and often with just hours spent with him, but not overnight and all of them away. This allows for tensions to build between us and difficulty to arise and not much of a break to get insight and recharge. I understand that with families not in divorce perhaps they get no breaks, but also this is their set up. Each of us have unique struggles. I can only write so intimately from my pool of truths, and subsequently learn from those.

I am definitely going into detail to the degree that I might be losing “the point”. I am learning about how my writing process works or doesn’t haha. I try to be concise and summarize, but perhaps in the feeling space, that is more difficult to do. You are getting unrefined writing here. Perhaps the flavor is not nearly as good as something that has been perfected, but we are not there yet. We are just beginning.

So factors: An ex who isn’t my biggest fan and navigating his military career and how that changes the choices, and map of how we handle divorce and co-parenting. The careful tip toeing of honoring another parent’s journey with their kids in the face of criticism and bitter old wounds, that the smallest of things seem to resurface, even all of these years later. A non-traditional, non-consistent custody schedule, a new partner that they are learning, after several partners they became used to who departed, (severed connections are no joke on the heart) their personalities, my personality, their wiring, my wiring. Add in a healthy dose of misunderstandings, high sensitivity, strong strong personalities and character which I love, but is impossibly difficult in practice….

I used to go eat out at buffet’s when I was little. My grandparents loved buffets. Always buffets. JJ North’s Chuckwagon and Home Town Buffet, low in quality and large in quantity and variety, food excursions. They disliked needing to tip (which I think that you are still supposed to, what can I say they lived through the depression), being limited to one type of meal, and not “taking care of it themselves I think”. Also they appreciated the affordability. And my Grandmother bless her church going soul, loved to pack as many cookies as she could possibly nab from the dessert area into napkins and into her cavernous handbag. I recall snickerdoodles and peanut butter being favorites. I chuckle at this memory. He most egregious of sins being all the VHS tapes we rented that she copied with glee and a touch of shame (as the warnings exclaimed that this was a federal offense), and her stolen cookies from the buffet. I imagine she experienced much guilt over this, and yet another part of her was exhilirated with the mischief. Anyway the point of this story was that if life was a restaurant I would choose a buffet (even though I won’t eat at them now, yuck) and I would fill probably 5 plates full of every possible food, and try to eat them all. Yep that’s what I do. And then I end up sorting through the indigestion and gastrointestinal distress of it all. Which is quite the fitting metaphor for someone with Crohns Disease.

Maybe I should have just called this blog post factors? Maybe I’ll just keep going and it will be the book. “Maybe it’s Maybelline at this point”…this popped into my head, a charming and witty line from a dear person who has been in my journey from their blog that I highly recommend. Credit Kat “the Wizard” from. http://www.seekerandthewizard.com

So here I am at present day with three teenagers whose turn it is to be allowed to learn/audition to navigate the world, when some parts of me are still so delayed in my own process. Here my partner and I are trying to establish a new connection and have enough time and resources for that, while having our main task be loving and teaching these kids well. This has gone quite poorly in the past, and my assessment of readiness and also the want to spend life in this way of people I chose in the past did not end up working out in the whole story. But in the scheme of things I have embraced each of those journeys as completely necessary and can find nothing but affection and gratitude for each of them.

We have a full home. We enjoy entertaining and offering what we have in love, food, comfort, and space to others. We both, all of us really, enjoy this. We like entertaining and cooking for others and inviting them over. We are very social creatures. However that takes a huge amount of effort in terms of upkeep. We have two dogs. One of them an overly neurotic border collie with a gargantuan pile of issues, whose favorite pastime is barking at the highest pitch you can imagine at the mail person the entire time they are on the street. We have a couch, it’s a funny story really in the scheme, perhaps I will tell it at some point. But both my person and I came with “stuff” from our past. We have a very over-priced couch she was forced to pay for in their break-up, and it has no place in our home of children, and misbehaved pets. So a great deal of time and stress is keeping this thing nice in a house that is not a museum. We even had a therapy session surrounding it once. This couch is the perfect couch for a single couple (gay of course because of it’s impeccable taste ;)), and for dinner parties and a gorgeous, clean, non-chaotic, floorplan. So both dogs attempt to scale the couch to get into the bay window to bark at anything they could possibly bark at. They are breaking down the cushions and increasing the wear and tear. And my second dog Sigmund Freud the therapy bulldog occasionally likes to mark it as his and relieve himself on it. This of course distressing my person greatly, as if nursing the wounds of the financial inequalities of that relationship were not enough, now the thing she was forced into buying herself is being peed on. To keep perspective I suppose if one of us was to fall ill the couch would become an after thought, as we should train ourselves to make it be without. Learn to have it be a funny story based on a lesson. I know personally I luxuriate over having such a piece of furniture as I probably would have gone my whole life without ever 😉 There are a variety of ways to look at this.

So we have five different personalities under this one roof. Five different people who each hold their priorities and process sacred, and need to learn to work together to acheive balance individually and as a family. How does anyone do this? My guess is with a lot of space, a great sense of humor, and not taking life too seriously? And this is a problem in our home. Highly sensitive people take everything seriously, and they also become easily overwhelmed. If you aren’t overwhelmed by reading the factors in my daily life, whether you have the High Sensitivity trait or not, I would be shocked.

Let’s list the complex factor’s without going further into each one, the blog itself will do that. I’ll just list words and see:

ADHD (most of us, if not all), High Sensitivity, Stubborn, Opinionated, all internal factors of our wiring and personality, how to fit each person’s needs and balance with their wants. Crohn’s Disease, Financial concerns, namely cleaning up after beginning my career very late, and being a “single” mother in the state of Connecticut for many years. I have debt that is impeding the larger than life dreams that I have. Which includes the possibility of another child, wanting to travel and explore, actually more of late really wanting to move to another Country, but seriously. Knowing with evermore certainly that some windows on my dreams are closing in that I cannot have them all. I have to CHOOSE. I have to choose which dreams to give life, and this is a Sophie’s Choice for me. This is deeply painful for me. Apparently I can’t list without elaborating, that has always been present, now how can I capitalize on it rather than thinking it is wrong? In addition to this I want to author books, I want to organize and produce theories from all my labors of love and learning as a counselor. I want to tour, and to talk to others, and to teach. I want to share my gifts on the largest scale possible, not for the wealth and the fame of it (in fact I think I would hate that), but for the purpose of it. I want to help. I want to contribute to society, and my process of needing to heal myself before I had room to do so has been lifelong and taken up so much space. I am aware and grieve that. I can’t help but indulge the what if’s of that.

I burn with desire, sometimes I burn up, and it’s not good at all,…..I burn to create. It is a drive, a compulsion, a non-choice it always seems. It is a brooding and painful thing all of these thoughts, that if I could just untangle I could help. My mind is painfully cluttered, and as I try to de-clutter it, more piles just topple over into the space I have cleared, and on top of it I just continue to add more ALWAYS rather than staying with what I’ve got and putting down roots. This task before me now is to SLOW DOWN and STAY with things, see how much more richness can be produced by choosing three things in particular and sitting with them and seeing them, and allowing my eyes to graze over my greatest works of art. And the fear in this? In this noticing? Is that it could hurt that much more if the connection is ever severed. And severed connections have been a thing most of my life, they are more consistent than safe ones. It’s all I know in a way. Being severed from these: unthinkable. I stop breathing even thinking about it. So I stand at a careful distance at times, from my own life. It is terribly painful knowing my kids can feel that, and may perceive it differently, personally as a way I feel about them, or don’t. And part of my life’s work is at least trying to put down in words enough that they will be able to read and understand who I am inside, and the why’s of my choices. That was something with both of my parents that I will never know. If I do nothing else right in my life: I will always show up for my kids. They may not always understand this or interpret it the same. Sometimes they will have to sort through the pain of their experience, without it being unthinkable to me or a threat to my ability of parenting. We are not there yet. I am a work in progress. But I will never stop trying. I’ll always show back up. These are connections that only death will sever, and perhaps not even that. This is the thing I’ve been so thirsty for in my life, and yet I so often am blind to the ones I already have. Or I move too quickly to stop and see. This is my current task as a person to slow down and develop my relationships I have now, and find a way to still do that while helping others along their journey.

My writing continues to take on a life of it’s own and go on a direction I never planned at the beginning. This is like all of life though. This is something we can count on. So I’m going to try for that to be ok for now, until my next victory opens up before me. They sneak up on you, you know. For one thing I’m writing so much more in so many more ways than I was last year. I write more, and more comes. It is unfolding.

I lost sight of the blog that was meant which was to describe a singular situation that happened with my daughter this morning, and to explain the different choices and outcomes of how it was handled. To illuminate what I have learned. Let’s hope I can learn to come back to this and also make that post. Or maybe it will get lost in the land of ADHD and life in general.

Thanks for listening….I wrote this in the midst as you can probably tell. The midst of real and everyday life. Not at a writing retreat, not on top of a quiet mountain. In the midst of scheduling, random questions (many), my daughter being up set over an overwhelming project, the dogs, the phone… LIFE… I write in the midst of life and I have ADHD, and I am trying to find out how I can produce great works of art without sacrificing my childrens childhood. Without us both missing out. How to be a driven thinker requiring quiet space, and a fully present mother. It is difficult. I think of Pema Chodron and her admissions on parenting at the end of Fail, Fail Again, Fail Better. This was comforting to me.

 

More later

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Hog Heaven and a pit bull named Iceman

So we (Courtney, Rian (twin A), and myself) are sitting here waiting for Tyler to have a therapy session. We are trying out the fit on a new family therapist. She has some big shoes to fill, Fran was one of a kind. We were all reading, but then I had a moment of inspiration.

Recently we had to have our furnace replaced and last night Courtney and I walked up to the home of the neighbor who did the job. We were taking him the second half of a very large payment, ouch. Anyway I often think how lucky one is to be able to be in a profession that they can benefit by cutting the costs in their own lives. So for example: a plumber’s family never has to worry about that aspect of home ownership. And then there are those real handy people (typically in my experience men) who seem to be able to fix anything in the home. Those are the ones I admire the most. I am in fact so interested in trying to be more efficient financially I would almost trade in my true sexuality for such a man. Just kidding sweetie. But seriously it seems so unfair that I can’t fix all of the hurts and issues that currently plague our home. Why can’t we take advantage of low cost, free really… in home therapy?

I mean I am sure we benefit from all the “family meetings” that my kids adore so much. They probably wish they had those normal parents that do what they are supposed to, but are careful not to venture into unknown territory. Afraid to shake up the system by having difficult conversations. Folks difficult conversations are the cornerstones of growth.

Things have been hard in our home lately. Resentments have been built between my children and currently they are holding onto anger in their hearts, and forgetting the true value in one another. And all the family meetings in the world don’t seem to be fixing it, because since I am Mom (and when I’m a therapist it’s annoying;)) I am rendered useless except when it comes to rides and money. Oh and cooking and cleaning.

I worry a little extra when this happens. This is because my Mom and my Aunt never grew up. They never evolved and I have watched their lives unfold; it appears quite unhappy from the great distance of safety I keep between us. Across that great divide I see lonely and sad women who spent their life hating one another. They never gave in. Never relented in holding the other in the absolute worst regard possible. My Mom was “the welfare bitch” who got everything handed to her, for what… having a child out of wedlock and tarnishing the family? And my Aunt was “a lonely cat lady who nobody wanted”. Every Christmas was the worst affair you can imagine. It has taken me a long time to create my own magic to holidays and leave the past behind.

I remember my grandparents having to carefully select just the right amount of gifts at the same value for each so no trouble occurred and they would still find something to fight about. My Aunt actually stayed living with my grandparents until her late 30’s at least I believe as a statement that if my Mom was going to get support she deserved it too. Would a person really stunt their own life’s growth as a means to stick it to “whomever”, their parents I guess or each other? She stayed and fought for her equal right to a place in the support of her parents.

These two used to take me off the shelf like a porcelain doll, except nobody was gentle with me. Random memory: My grandma collected porcelain dolls, they were creepy. Anyway if my Mom wanted to play Mom for a day she would entice me with some event making it sound fun, but it was always in her interest, it was not about spending time with me. If my aunt wanted to take me out, she was lonely and looking for companionship. She seemed to mean well and did try to take me to do nice things, but usually not without a few comments about my Mother along the way. And also without considering anything about what’s appropriate for a child. On one particular outing she took to see Silence of the Lambs, I was eleven. I also was highly sensitive (way before I knew what that was), and slept on my grandmas floor for months. Still to this day would probably never be able to help someone broken down on the side of the road.

This doesn’t mean I don’t have good memories of them, and this is the most confusing part. But for any nice or fun thing they did, their behavior along the way was so uncomfortable, and the way they treated each other so frustrating, the costs outweighed the benefits by far. I was a puppy begging to be loved, rambunctious and wild. I was outspoken and as soon as I found my own voice and stood up for myself, they didn’t like spending time with me much anymore. But not before my childhood was filled with uncertainty and chaos.

I lived above a bar called Hog Heaven once. The owner’s name was Paul, and he had a white pit bull named ice man. As a side note: I believe that relationship ended by her kicking him in the balls and throwing his engagement ring out into the grass (I’ve heard tell he’s still looking for it). They brought me Shirley temples and beef jerky for dinner. I thought it was great for a day or two, then I begged to be back in the safety of my grandparents arms. I was a novelty item, that nobody could quite figure out. But everyone was willing to lean on if I was willing to bare the brunt, and I usually am. I have always been strong. Sometimes I think it’s the best thing I know how to do, and some of the other important things like being soft and gentle, they don’t come as easily. Thankfully my partner now compliments me quite well in that way. And also I have learned we are not meant to be everything to everyone. We are a piece to fit together with other pieces to make the whole. Or at least with regard to taking on a gigantic task like parenting.

So here I sit in humble waiting in the therapist office as a woman we have just met replaces some of the nurturing parts for him that I couldn’t yet find in my youth, perhaps I never will. But the good news is I have found a way for that to be ok. As this woman helps my son know he no longer needs to be worried about his mother because I have travelled worlds away from whence I came. And because I heal daily alongside the other wounded and searching, and that is the best decision I ever made. My career constantly grows me and holds me accountable.

Journey on warriors, you never know what is around the next bend. There are always moments to appreciate, even when there is also much struggle. I still remember those delicious virgin drinks from “Hog Heaven” and Paul and iceman, and the way it felt to ride in my mom’s 84 Pontiac Firebird listening to loud rock music, the wind in our hair. A far cry from the grandparents church hymns. My mother was a mad woman, but to that little girl at that time she looked exciting and full of life. My childhood was eclectic and it carried lots and lots of lessons. I’m hoping to turn them into stories and to re-experience it in a new way as I do. I can write about it now because it no longer haunts me how it used to.

Anyway the hour is up, his therapy, and mine (writing) as well. Our reward is Bella Napoli Pizza and some much needed family relax time. Minus twin B who is studiously working on a project this evening and will be greatly missed.

Enjoy the little things…. every little thing…

P.s believe it or not these are not the twins! They look more like twins though 😉

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Don’t turn away….PTSD hurts, and finding what heals….

I had a difficult night last night. My son is having a hard time as a highly sensitive person in an overstimulating world. As a family system when this is hard on one, because we love each other so much, it’s hard on all. And the most readily accessible emotion is anger. It’s the most seductive, the most comforting. We had expectations about the way our day would go. After all we were cutting down our first Christmas tree together as this whole family. I myself have never cut down a tree for Christmas before. This event went differently than planned in every sense of the word. I always say “you can plan a pretty picnic but you can’t predict the weather”…. that isn’t original in fact I am pretty sure a Ludacris song lyric gets the original credit, but I’ve made it an important lesson in counseling over the years 😉 I also got a terrible stomach just at the moment we were cutting with no bathroom in sight and had been fighting a migraine all day. The stress and guilt and frustration at thinking I wouldn’t make it, to the outhouse blech, threw the migraine into full force. The anger thoughts are so tempting…. the why me’s, the I deserve’s….. the it’s not fairs of it all. I needed comfort and warmth, but instead was forced to be strong for my family. I wanted to show up. I always want to show up.

Strong seems to yield hard on self and others for me. So when my teenage son wouldn’t participate in photos I was anything but patient. He having just come off of being distressed the night before because his sisters were fighting over ice cream. The true result of the ice cream was hurt feelings. One feeling the other didn’t believe the best about her and being shamed etc. Hurt all around. He absorbed and internalized and it stayed with him that next day. And heaven forbid my dreams of a peaceful day be interrupted in such a manner. I wasn’t as patient as I would have liked.

All I can think here is that we need to help each other with this hurt. Shaming does not work. Blaming does not work. Anger does not work. Disconnecting does not work. Warm, open, gentle, understanding, kindness, effort, dialogue, patience…. these things work. If we don’t first give it to ourselves we cannot show others how to do the same. The model where we put ourselves to the side in an effort to give all to someone else doesn’t work either, because our unmet needs turn into anger and frustration that must find a way out somewhere.

If I did not feel so guilty for leaving during an important moment, due to something I couldn’t control, perhaps I would have been more patient. If I said to myself it’s ok Christina they all understand, maybe I could have been more understanding for my son. And then later would have been less likely to have an adult temper tantrum when I was afraid, and instead of showing up in warmth …. I froze in terror. I let my teenage son feel like he was responsible for ruining our day, with some words I allowed myself to say out loud.

The truth, my truth is that when it comes to observing intense suffering especially with my children (unthinkable) I freeze in terror. I have felt not nurturing because of this. I have felt like some important part is missing in me. I have had such a difficult time understanding why I can show up so well as a Counselor, but this aspect of motherhood always held places of deep fear for me. This is what PTSD does, it grips and holds and freezes.

As a Counselor I care deeply for my Clients, however the relationship has boundaries and I am an onlooker to their lives. I can stay and be present, and offer support and I mean it genuinely. In my relationship with my children it’s an entirely different ballgame. But I do sit and try and sort through these things. I believe that PTSD changes your wiring. And that you need to learn to work around your unique self. The self that matches your WHOLE story, not the parts that are more palatable. That you need to embrace and work with the parts that have been hurt, versus rejecting them. And that is the most difficult thing because who wants the injured parts? We want to rid ourselves. When you choose a puppy you choose the lively one that is energetic and happy, you don’t choose the sad one in the corner who looks as if it may be ill. But probably most of the time you give that puppy what it needs and it will likely perk right up and thrive like the rest. But if needs go unmet it will continue to suffer.

I had an interesting morning. I decided after a very draining experience last night in my family to rally and continue forward. I wrote an email and I called the school counselor, and I got up and helped my son wake up and I cared for him in the best ways I know how. I helped him get to school and drove him. He usually takes the bus. I pulled up and saw a woman sitting on a bench outside the school breaking down into tears. I looked once and thought you know what I don’t want to butt in, what if I make her more uncomfortable. What if it isn’t my place? So I went to leave…. something stopped me and I thought I can’t let that woman sit on that bench crying and not do a thing, when I know I can do something. Also the part of me that connected to my own pain thought, oh thank goodness I’m not alone, let me try and connect. I needed her as much as she needed me.

I approached gently and asked if I could sit with her. She stated she had just been fired from her job, and that her son who has behavior troubles was about to be arrested, he wouldn’t get out of her car so she was sitting on that bench. We realized that our children know one another in a significant way and I embraced her and sat with her. The school managed to help and her son went to school and she later told me her boss listened and let her keep her job. There’s still a lot that she needs, but this morning neither of us had to face the things on our plate alone.

If you see someone or something that has a need and you get that inclination to reach out…. turn toward it. Don’t turn away. You never know who you may be affecting, but you can guarantee that you will be impacted as well. It takes a village and we all need to be connected to each other.

If you have found love…. spread it as much as you can 💜💜💜

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A story of in-laws: from several lifetimes ago.

*today I oh so randomly decided to dedicate my morning pages to writing a letter important in my healing.*

Writing true words from my heart is one of my greatest joys. Today I read one essay from Glennon Doyle-Wambach actually. I’ve been saying it wrong. Outdated.

I read a few pages of hers on in-laws, and her raw account of the mistakes she made in this department. And of course as it does it made me travel back in time to my own life when I had in-laws, and all the scar tissue that now lies between us. There is a river of pain that separates us. Sadly I believe this is all in the name of my children, for their best interest. I wish we all knew more about what is really the best interest of a child. We think we do but so often we get it wrong.

Originally I was going to transcribe this letter but I think I’ll make my readers suffer through my doctor-esque long hand because it’s more authentic. It’s a real piece of a real life lived in earnest.

Before I share I want to walk through just a couple of memories that are some of the more vivid. My MIL was so good to me. She watched my kids and let me take baths in their large tub with this ginger bubble bath from Avon. It was her favorite and her husband my FIL bought out the rest of it when they discontinued it. I used to have a glass of wine, a dark blue Lindt truffle and a bubble bath to drown out the weariness of being a new parent. She helped me find these things. I remember once she said to me “you’re so confident as a parent, I was never like that in the beginning.” She also told me tales of how micro-managed she was by her own MIL. I think it was important to her to take a different approach. I am grateful for that grace she extended to me. When I came out I know it was deeply painful for the family. At that time I couldn’t shoulder any of that or even be gracious about it, because my own journey was so heavy. We all did our best I think. We have had some run ins over the years where less grace than I wished for was present, on both sides. I hope as time moves on we maintain the grace that she taught me by example. Who knew that beneath her grace I think welled a lot of pain, and it has a profound effect. May we all find healing in our hearts. Life is very hard sometimes. 💜💜

My Sanctuary
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Parenthood is not for the faint of heart….

When I was a kid (I kind of chuckled at this, the joke is I never really was a kid) I used to love roller coaster’s and all thrill type rides. Later, probably after watching any of the Final Destination movies, it began to occur to me that these large machines were as capable of breaking as any, and I could be putting myself in danger. Let’s be honest I hit a point in my life where my imagination ran my world, and what it often told me is that death was somehow after me. So I recall after this occurred I would still try and push myself, but by the time that conglomeration of nuts and bolts reached it’s peak, inside I would want to scream “someone let me back down before something bad happens.” I would want to turn back and the only thing that usually prevented me from doing so (was probably my ego) was the fact that other people behind me were waiting and I would cause a scene. If it weren’t for fear of inconveniencing others I would have marched right back down the line and out to safety, never having plummeted.

*A present time update is that I do not ride those rides. I get dizzy, and also feel like the chiropractor is necessary after a single ride. I am officially “old” 😉

In my life currently with regard to parenthood I am going slowly up and up, imagining my impending doom, and feeling sometimes as if I want to scream, let me off this ride. When you’re a new parent you spend lots of time imagining what the heck people mean when they playfully warn you about the teenage years. I feel like I did not take those warnings seriously enough. What I have learned in my 16 years of parenting that IS comforting is that MOST everything (at least so far) is a phase, which means it does pass, you get a brief breath of fresh air, and then a new struggle will be laid out before you. Just as soon as you feel you have the parenting game figured out….. it changes. 

I used to get so scared and bewildered when caught in the moment that I could only intensely emotionally react to each part of the phase. When it was in its worst I thought I would never make it out alive, and when it resolved finally, I felt I would be safe forever. Both of those illusions can be very dangerous. The reality is that all things in life will ebb and flow, there will be good and bad moments throughout. It’s about making it through the difficult ones and how we manage that, and about enjoying the good while still knowing it will not be some constant state to try and grasp and keep forever. It’s like a flower that you can’t pluck and take with you for it will die. You appreciate that moment, take a snapshot in your mind, and buckle up for the next hurdles.

Currently my hurdles are compounded by my self-components : ADHD (this is a big one), being highly sensitive, Crohn’s Disease, Anxiety, running a full time practice doing a job that while very rewarding, can take a large tax on my available resources, which brings me to “being the type of person who constantly is spread too thin because of their sheer thirst for experience in life and inability to sit still, even for a second”, PTSD (also a big one), an ex-husband who does not really fall into the category of supportive (understatement), personal struggle with self-image including still feeling inside like I look like my 20 year old self and becoming terrified when I see my “nearing 40 self in the mirror”. I am sure there are more, but these serve the purpose for now.

At any given moment I burn at 1,000 KW hours (this probably doesn’t even make sense and I’m not going to fact check it, because if I do my thought train will leave the tracks, and my inspiration may be lost). I burn bright ok, strong and bright and I go and go UNTIL I drop. When I have dropped you WILL KNOW. If you see my drop you are most likely to be my partner or my kids. The drop can appear as ugly snoring on the couch curled up with Sig, but more often the drop appears with me being able to hardly focus on anything, and being very SHORT. Here I sit knowing I can show up day in and day out warm and friendly, an ALLY for my clients, and knowing that my children get what appears to be “the shit end of the stick”, the very worst parts of me. Writing this line even almost brought me to tears. They get me running on fumes, and we all scratch and claw and bite at one another at the end of the day.

And here is the epiphany fellow parent travelers who come across this: The great trick here is this is also what I get, “the very worst parts of them”. I said to my partner the other day in an adult temper tantrum moment, “but I don’t want to be the mom”. I came across a lovely woman on my travels to Texas. She is from Iowa and has a beautiful family that sounds like a dream. When I shared some vulnerabilities with her she said something to me, that I will keep, treasure, and now share with others. She essentially told me that our kids are for other people and not ourselves. We are home base, they come home and refuel, and pack up and go out into the world to others. I think I didn’t know, that I didn’t know, if I was ready to be home base yet or not.

When we feel safe and loved really well, our full selves are able to be present. This means also our selfish and mean selves, selves we have to learn to manage. I want to show up for my kids journey with this. *disclaimer this is not an excuse for blatant poor behavior and if you come up with some code for how to know exact lines around this please share it with me. Discerning how much wiggle room to give, and when being a parent takes priority over being a friend is a costant battle.

Children when they are young are very gratifying, they love the daylights out of ya. They give and give and give, and would fix everything if they could. Their warm light brightened the path for me to come back from years of a neglectful  and confusing childhood. My children saved me. I’ve struggled with, is this ok?, should I be guilty for this? Are they too parentified? So many things. The reality is though they are my greatest motivator, for which I would never have traveled this far. I need to keep this in perspective as I journey these treacherous paths.

So now I talk to myself as much as I talk to anyone reading…. now is my time to fully bloom into adulthood (my path with this has been affected by my personal story, and does not appear on a traditional timeline, if anybody’s really does) and to be their harbor and be patient with them while they go through the phase of selfish discovery, the phase I went through very latently. I went through it while they were young. This happened because I didn’t have the space they do with me. I have to always remember that fact. When I am lost I have to always remember that fact.

I need to find a way to reconnect with my 13 year old daughter. Some of that journey has begun by reconnecting with what my 13 year old self may have left unresolved. Some of it has a life of it’s own I can’t control. Some components I believe are genetic and temperament and some things are beyond the scope of being able to figure out. But I’ll be here keeping on… trying. Because it is what I know how to do. I don’t know how to give up. That is my one true gift. I didn’t give up on becoming a parent. I continue to become one every single day. There are always new lessons and growth to be had. The most I have ever learned in life is from being a parent.

 

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Blogger revealed: parenting struggles and vulnerability

One of my greatest struggles with making a blog is what to include and what not to include. How personal to get when I know that clients especially can read my blog. The stance I think I will always take with this is that if I cannot show someone how to be a raw and real human being, in the number one way that we all teach (by example), then what am I really doing here anyway.

I don’t think that my style will ever be well polished articles (though I usually dream of being like “those other people”, whoever they are ;)), because those fail to show the process of becoming. My life has been a process of becoming, and I have so much that I could share with the world about this. The number one thing that possibly prevents this is the light speed at which I move onto the next adventure and onto the next. I move in my life at a dizzying pace. This alone is terrifying to most I feel, and difficult to understand. And the most important aspect (you’re not supposed to begin a sentence with and are you? I so need to brush up on my grammar etc, but again it keeps me away from my point and my truths, and I refuse to let anything do that) that has been affected in my life by this is my children. Due to the fact that I am propelled foward by an almost alien drive, that even I do not understand at times, I drag my children through life at my pace. I am sitting here this morning as I bask in some of the consequences of this and reflecting.

I have hit a point with one of my 13 year old twin girls where we are very disconnected. This has been the number one thing on my mind. It short circuits all other processes. I cannot just be out in the world experiencing adventures and writing about them if one of my most core connections is suffering. I have felt as if I am banging my head against a wall trying to untangle “the answers” to this puzzle. How much space is the right amount? It is normal for children to branch off into privacy (in fancy therapy speak, individuation). But then also how do we keep them safe in this day of age when technology makes everything beyond their maturity level available.

Trying to crack this code on “the right way to parent” is like trying to decode Mandarin. There is a truth in here that is important. There is not one right way to parent (or do anything for that matter), there is only what works for an individual, taking into consideration their unique path and wiring. This is what we most often do not do. With all of the should’s, templates, and everyone’s well meaning advice on a life well lived. I think some of the truths about this are revealed in the letter I wrote to her. I think I will share it later, when I am not trying to squeeze this in during this magical window of inspiration. Which means I am forgoing getting ready for my day full of clients and will as usual look “comfortable” today 😉

So this morning I woke with my mind so abuzz that the only thing I knew how to do, the one thing I have always been able to do, is to write. I ended up writing her a 7 page letter in long hand. The words poured as if from my soul straight to the page, my most satisfying brand of writing. A brand that once you experience, you become almost unwilling to accept any other kind. This is so rare in my life though. The stars aligned this morning. Which basically means in my world that the dogs after their morning walk chose to nap quietly this am rather than play and make all sorts of noise. It means that the rest of the house was still asleep. I spent a good two hours this morning writing my daughter. I am sitting in here in some self-judgment about that. Thoughts like: “if anyone were to read this they would think it’s way too advanced for the understanding of a 13 year old”, and “why can’t I just be normal”. I said this to my partner the other day. “Why can’t I just be one of those parents who bake the fondant cakes and decorate for every holiday, and their entire focus is their children.” I so badly want to be “those parents”. The ones who do all the external supposed to’s that make their children feel treasured and loved. I am ever envious of those parents. The fact that I am not naturally made this way makes me constantly have my parenting in question. Not that I already didn’t…..

The space I seem to need to keep landing with this is that everyone’s path is uniquely their’s. There is good and bad in everything and we all have choices. One of the toughest is to see our mistakes as they are unfolding and be willing to face them. I look at my mistakes. I used to be so hard on myself that I couldn’t bear to see a mistake, which means that I couldn’t work on anything. I was fragile in my make-up. Since then I have cultivated some Velveteen Rabbit esque values that have helped me to learn to sit in discomfort and own my story, especially with it’s flaws and failures. Flaws and failures are an essential part of our personal map, so why do we do anything to avoid them? Woven within my writing will probably be lots on this.

I guess in this blog you will watch my process of becoming a writer who is able to clearly lay out her truths, the gems she has found in life. I am not there yet. You are going to see poor writing, and grammar mistakes. You are going to have to sift through the confusion and the disjoint for magical nuggets of truth. However I do believe they will be within here, and that you may learn something in the process of reading. I believe this because it is my greatest passion. Sharing knowledge with others. Staying connected in a land of a great disconnect. Looking at our unique types of suffering and finding what alleviates it. The whole process is so beautiful.

As always I wish I could have gotten onto the page more eloquently this rush of inspiration from this morning. As I said I think I will share the letter later, if nothing else so you can see an example of raw vulnerability in it’s process state. One of my favorite things.

Warmly,

Christina