Tag: #theadhdriddledmind

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We all need someone who helps bring our walls down.

🙏🏼

There are times in our life where we need that so badly that we accept it in the form of someone who doesn’t keep us safe.

Then what?

Only to be shown what’s possible but then put them back up even thicker.

Needs are an interesting thing.

I’d venture many if not most broken relationships are the result of not being able to communicate our needs and be responsive enough in the demands of the culture and society we live in.

I used to think America was the greatest.

Because I was told that right. Now I’m leaning much more towards it emphasizes all the wrong things.

What fundamentals are we built on? Stepping on the backs of others to achieve our own status while not considering others. A beautiful Instagram feed?!

When mostly behind the pictures are struggling lost souls.

There is no pleasure allowed, only the pursuit of the American dream.

I’m finding at this point in my life other cultures have it so much more figured out. That life is also about family and connection and pleasure and the TIME to have those things.

Time!

How is one to have time if they have not achieved society’s idea of the American Dream.

But what are my dreams ?! Where are my dreams?

Completing the stress response cycle ? Perhaps. Hint Emily Nagowski probably spelled wrong.

I dream of not having my trauma and coping mechanisms dictate my life.

I know I’m far from isolated in that dream. Many people share it and are seeking exactly that in my office.

Spoiler: I don’t have it figured out either, but I desire that.

There’s desire! Hi my old friend how have you been?

I need to understand you better.

You’ve caused such grief in my life, but also had my back and opened so many doors.

You raging compass.

You really fuck me up sometimes …..

But you also led me to my true self and north.

Why’s it gotta be so complicated. You get it Avril, and Taylor, and Pink…..

Music you get me. I’m writing this to the tune of the piano guys radio.

Music pulls down my walls and gives me back to myself.

It’s why I want to play it, listen to it, more fully experience it and myself. Don’t forget yourself champ. But how ?!

And the song ended.

Now maybe there will be a different rhythm to my writing.

I’m sweaty and lost and sad on a Monday morning. And I’m also hopeful and excited about the possibilities of the day. These are my defaults as much as anything else. Thank god.

Music stimulates my brain in the right way to bring the walls down. It’s steady. I am in control. If I don’t like a song I change it. But I rarely do actually. I like to take in everything music has to teach me because it’s safe.

Writing is too I am learning and I’m finally letting go and doing it.

Having no idea the outcome.

The guy in 22 is trying to navigate his grass. He stands over it puzzled begging it to look as nice as the other lawns. But he’s just beginning. Someday it will because of his patient attendance and devotion.

So it’s one day at a time for now with music, walking, reading and writing.

Finding balance between thinking and feeling. Head and heart.

They are navigating too…..creating their connection.

No negotiations needed!

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Victims and Perpetrators

“There are three sides to every story”, makes me want to throw up.

https://medium.com/the-ascent/in-an-abusive-relationship-there-are-not-two-sides-to-the-story-dc833dbc3af5

Who would’ve thought that taking responsibility for your own joy and happiness could be so difficult.

Who knew that it’s much easier to place it in the hands of others. (I think of Iyanla and myself before I came across her saying a relationship with others is only a reflection of our relationship with ourselves, ok good so a pervasive lack of self trust and some major attachment shit? Fun) Easier in the moment and more difficult in the long run.

Story of the ultimate human battle: discipline over satiation. Long term satisfaction over immediate. Well when you don’t think you’ll even live to see the next day now it all makes sense.

The legacy of the trauma survivor in so many ways is being sentenced to only live life in the current moment, and at times inside their own imagination because that is the only safe route.

Momentary safety overrides all other mental processes.

I’m thinking a lot about roles and boundaries lately. This makes sense as I am parenting teenagers, or as I like to call it herding cats 😉 Pema would say trying to get all the frogs in a bowl, and nobody likes a bowl of dead frogs lol. Fail, fail again, fail better she says.

Am I failing better these days or sentenced to life without parole inside my pattern? Stay tuned. I am failing better, but the fall is no less hard. I am angry at the fault lines inside of me laid down without my consent. Angry!

It’s lonely right now and yet it’s not. It’s lonely in a new way. A secure loneliness perhaps is taking over a desperate one, and maybe that will make all the difference in the world.

My thoughts are ahead of their time and I’m always ahead of myself. That’s a lot to come to terms with.

The proverbial cart is always before the damn horse. “How did you get the beans above the frank”, I’ve turned silly now. There’s Something About Mary reference and I suppose no better metaphor for the situations I get myself in could be had, no less painful.

There is no greater pain than to not be able to trust oneself and reality. This is a suffering I wouldn’t wish on anyone. In a matrix of my own making. I guess when you lived alone with only your imagination and your initiative this makes sense. And frantically looking for answers outside, rather than anyone helping. And worse being used and manipulated. It’s worse than I thought….

The benefit of childhood wounds directly at the surface is the opportunity to RE parent and become steadfast and solid. Not the same thing as boring and stagnant but they can often be confused for the other.

No black and white and there isn’t 50 Shades of Anything. A ridiculous fantasy. There’s just one foot in front of the other and I intend to taste and be the damn rainbow. Whatever that means. Like I said stay tuned.

The chronology of me…. another potential book title. Throw it in the pile with the rest as my attention threatens to betray me at every turn.

Just when you don’t think you can’t handle any more betrayal ….

I betrayed myself. And there’s nothing worse than that.

It’s a long way home…

And then she danced….

That’s been the longest running book title.

It and I are a work in progress that currently resembles a pile of raw meat. Shredded. Pulverized. The perpetrator and the victim and there is no reprieve.

Pema would say lean into the raw vulnerability. And I would cry out I’m exhausted of that, and some other voice from far away would say, hush Christina, you are just beginning, not ending. Why won’t you see it. You’re the only one who doesn’t.

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Where is Virgil When you Need Him…

I can say with great confidence that becoming a mother has been my greatest privilege…..

“I make no apologies for how I try to fix what you broke” – with regard to my path all these years with love.

I barely stood a chance with this hand and I have played the hell out of it. Hurt people do hurt people and I am no exception.

Holidays are tough for me. No secret there. Those closest to me know my battle intimately and I’m so grateful for the ones who do. I’m invited and wrapped warmly in a variety of ways with other family’s and have had the privilege to know and learn so much from so many.

This Mother’s Day is particularly difficult for me. I have a broken heart and as a result of being consumed am being hard on myself on who I’ve been lately as a Mom. Guilt about disappointing them again.

Feeling lost does not really go very well with owning the place you deserve in the world. I know there is a discrepancy here, but right now I don’t have the energy to sort it.

This morning I have waded through the options on what to write about. As thoughts of my own experience with a mother bring a fresh bout of tears I think of writing that, perhaps it will come later.

My beautiful friend is visiting. She’s sharing some of her wounds with me. It eases my own. Her particular survival has involved her accepting love way less than worthy of her efforts, her self and needs not even in the equation, as she shares with me about how she hasn’t been held in twelve years, and that she needs that.

Twelve years. My God twelve days is excruciating for me. I know how healing the power of touch and connection can be, and how devastating as well.

People who do the best they can are a thing of beauty. Be careful with people you never know when someone is doing the best they can. That often looks like things that could easily be judged. When wounds are invisible healing is so much more challenging. When there is no story for what’s happening that makes sense.

People need their story to make sense and to be tailored and fair to the wounds they carry. Unfortunately that’s uncommon. It’s one of the things I have the privilege to do for others, and am finding I need to include myself. It’s no longer enough to heal others, I need to feel worthy of healing too.

My mind goes to not having anyone to help the kids do something special for me for Mother’s Day, and I get sad before I think about people I know whose Mothers still demand unreasonable things of them or punish them for their own wounds. I am grateful I’ve healed enough to not do that.

Those feelings pass and I return to gratitude hanging onto all the nice things people do for me, or even a text of those I’ve helped on their journey through life. Appreciation for me, and I warm back up. It’s not really grand gestures on a single day that makes the difference it’s the showing up. And this past few weeks so many people have shown up for me, random flowers, help with my lawn, texts, encouraging that I am seen. And that always has to be bigger than the pain and loss. But since love is very different for me this isn’t always the case.

Lately I haven’t shown up very well for my kids, and I’ll be careful to be kind to myself about this. I’ve had a lot of loss recently, and so have they. I have an idea of the mother I want to be, but lately I feel as if all the air has been taken right out of me. And it’s all I can take it to get out of bed.

My priories are all out of whack and originally that was in the name of love, but now as I watch everyone else make sure their priorities are in tact, I simply will learn from them. I need to do that too. And I’m all my kids have their everything. And this my own doing. It’s unfortunate all too often I feel too guilty and unworthy of that space so I stay isolated. I want closeness with them but I don’t know how with that other safe adult buffer to make sure nothing happens.

In my life something bad could happen at any moment. And another safe adult around makes that feeling less. It’s just always been my truth. I wish I could be one of those moms that isn’t like that. It’s how I learned to survive, finding a space that felt safe, which was never inside of me, because outside of me was never safe. My whole childhood.

Not only was it physically dangerous but it was a mental game of manipulation and terror.

Like I’ll hurt or damage them somehow just by breathing. If you knew what it had been like with my mother, if you knew is all I can say here.

But excuses are unacceptable when it comes to finding the worthiness to accept their love enough to show up near them. It is non-negotiable.

I have always kept another adult present as much as possible just in case I somehow morphed into my mother, in case too many bad things still lingered on me. To breathe enough life back into me by holding me at night, so I could face the next day. And this last time I chose one of the best humans I’ve ever met.

And then my own emptiness inside led me to destroy that. Trying to fill empty holes when there is no end to the holes, so nothing can collect. Nuclear sized craters all around. I am amidst the sheer devastation of myself and I don’t want them down with me.

So I hide at the bottom of the hole curled up hoping for some light. And then I dig and I build and a rush for relief and it’s momentary, never stable. Leave the healthy people alone my dark thoughts scathe. Leave well enough alone.

Momentary fixes to long standing issues only create craters. This post apocalyptic hell is inside and all around me right now.

When you’re in survival mode you don’t see anything clearly until later. I’m permanently wired in survival mode, doing the best I can. That will always be the truth of the matter.

I’m an adult in survival mode that can be so incredibly healing to others, but for herself, she is lost.

I am lost, and I need to find myself….

I don’t need to be seen or found or loved anymore. I’ve been loved well and I rush right around life looking for a chaos that feels like home. If I wanted to be loved well I would have stayed right where I was.

I’ve had plenty of brave batters step up to that plate. I’ve never felt worthy enough to be still enough to see what happens outside of the scary, or boring period that inevitably comes. I bail one way or another before I can lose anything. You can’t lose anything you never let sink in.

I need to be able to see the person in the mirror that other people see. My long standing people who stay in my life, seek my wisdom, provide warmth and love…. they see me. So I am not unseen.

Most of my life I spend afraid everything I love will be taken, or worse damaged by me….. and then I create exactly that.

So when you’ve found yourself in a self fulfilling prophecy that’s come full circle, and you’re all alone with yourself, the only thing to do is slowly form a relationship with her. And hope that you’ve traveled far enough that this time it’s a healthy one.

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Writing the Life Authentic: How to not repeat a pattern, complete with raw example from my own life

*Somewhere in the town of Stamford far removed from family and creature comforts my wife is coping with another possibility of life leaking out of her. Hurting physically and mentally. Here at home I am doing the same. We are both sending one another signals of love and light, they are powerful enough to make it across Countries, so I have faith that they will reach one another and hold us safely these few towns away.

Interesting that our love has such a strong and safe foundation, and that a love that was built on expectations and ideas of dreams yielded three children in a way that felt effortless at the time. It could have been easy to expect that this should be granted us because true love would make us entitled to the gift of children. This is often not how life works.

We all take so many things for granted…

I was brought in a round about way to thinking about childhood me. I want to talk about her, but also what got me here.

In an attempt to not be upset with myself for yet another thing I bit off, but was unable to chew and swallow, I took some time today to watch the next video in my Martha Beck Write into Light course. The material will no longer be available as of October 31st. After all the talk, and the money invested I am determined to finish this thing that I started. So here I am again facing myself down in the mirror, this course demands nothing less. I have learned by now that it is not all or nothing, but rather beginning anew as many times as necessary to keep going. I am grateful I was born with the courage to continue on this process. I don’t believe everyone is so lucky, In fact the more I understand, the more I see my gifts as rare gems in this way.

In fact this is what module 5: Writing a life authentic, is concerned with. In it MB talks about how will power doesn’t work when it comes to change. Funny because the power of my will has often felt like the only thing that kept me going. MB describes how our neural pathways are wired for habit, and something we are used to doing gets deeply entrenched and becomes essentially automatic (myelin sheathing on the neurons) and nearly unstoppable. She describes the only process she has found to be successful at actually creating change to be “light writing”. A process where you observe a pattern and watch yourself like a field researcher, you must be removed enough to not get sucked into the story, so you can actually watch the behaviors. She suggests you write DEEPLY into whatever you are working on. It’s kind of like taking a plain sheet of paper out and brainstorming. For this particular lesson she is teaching about how to not repeat a pattern. She has suggested two things.

One is to take a pattern you do not want to repeat and write it down on a piece of paper. She says it is important that you choose something you yourself deeply want to change, it has to come from a DESPERATE NEED THAT IS YOUR OWN, versus something your mom or partner etc wants you to change. Then take that paper and rip it into many pieces or burn it. Say outloud as you do this, “I invite in a new pattern”. She explains even if it sounds silly the importance of putting a physical aspect to this. She then instrucs you to do one of two things in your exhale. The exhale is the part you brainstorm through and get all your thoughts out. The inhale is the more constructed piece of writing that gives attention to your reader.

So I need to choose to either write a manifesto about leading a revolution to break this pattern. Rally! Have fun with it. …. here is what I will no longer tolerate about this pattern.

Or to write a comedic anectdote, one that is lighthearted. How you did something over and over again, how you can look at it with humor enough to be able to change your behavior.

Something that came to mind was how when my wife and I get stressed out with my ex-husband and some of the petty arguments that we both must engage in to fuel: we think of Buzz Light year and Woody in Toy Story, and say “you’re a sad strange little man, you have my pity”. It has helped us more than once. Now a disclaimer to this is that I do not feel my ex-husband is a bad person, or any less of a father because we get into these tifs. In fact as I chip more and more away at the bedrock of the issue I am able to see both of our disappointment and how deeply that can run that we didn’t get to have the picturesque idea of all these years of our children’s having been shared together. That we both have needed to endure the sharp pain of separation, misunderstandings, and watching our kids be confused or hurt during the process. That we both are being challenged with re-writing a script that we thought we had already worked so hard at. We already risked so much, and carved so much out, to have to begin again and again feels unbearable. It feels wrong, and flawed, and bad, especially according to the rules of society. How deeply ingrained in each of us is it that once you make a committment of a lifetime that it must work that way. Particularly for the conscientiously minded folk such as ourselves.

Neither of us intended things to work as they did. That is one thing that I can say with 100 percent clarity at this point. And keeping us on the same page as far as the pain that comes with divorce is a much healthier way to look at it than one of us a victim and one a perpetrator. At this point in his storyline of events, he is still much more determined to see me as the perp and he the victim, it comes out time and time again. And he ups the bar as he attempts to recruit my ex-partners into those rankings. He has stated as much that he feels people should not be bought and discarded like cheap dollar store toys. He appears unable to see how this is his projection of our relationship not working out, and takes a great deal for granted when it comes to specifics. If he were able to look a little closer at what I had to overcome to achieve healthy relationship perhaps he would understand more. He is right actually that love should not work that way, and boy is it painful when it does. But there is much more than meets the eye here with me and love. There is a lifetime of work, several actually, that I’ve somehow managed to do in one.

And I do promise that you must be up close to truly see. And you must have been able to do your own self work of separating from your ego enough to observe things in such a way so that they can be changed. Otherwise your main fight will be that of how you are perceived by others. One can spend their whole lives in this way. 

But my realization in the here and now is that for me to beg to be seen in a particular way brings me right back to my childhood. A person can only see things from a viewpoint that is reflective from how far they themselves have traveled. To try and ask for them to see further is impossible and will end up frustrating to levels I cannot even begin to tell you. This is possibly one of my greatest sources of pain in this lifetime. And now the gauntlet is thrown for me to not repeat this pattern anymore. My only battle is to see myself through a generous lens. I have borrowed my wife’s for now, and people before her. But I understand as well as anyone by now that when using this model, if you do not please the person seeing you in the way that they are looking for, the generosity expires.

Much like in therapy if you don’t take the lessons that are offered and make them your own, and make them real, bring them outside the office, the magic ends at the end of the appointment and dissipates with the termination of the therapuetic relationship. A therapist lends their generosity of vision, seeing people at their best selves, but the Client themself must learn this way of seeing and apply it. They must seek to understand how the therapist is able to do that with such information to the opposite end. As if the stigma of seeking therapy itself is not cause enough to not be able to do this. So many people with their opinion at the ready to slay a person’s attempt of breaking out of painful patterns with their criticism. And to what end? To be able to stroke the ego. To be able to say “see look I was right”.

To this point with regard to my ex-husband, what would he possibly gain by proving me to be the mother that he believes. If he were able to be right and he could know that I am in fact selfish, and get my kids to believe this. What is the prize here? I see only loss and suffering at that. Immense confusion and pain.  And this is why I must challenge myself to not be a victim either, because what is possibly to gain by believing the father of my children is a bad person, in the name of ego. Wouldn’t it be healthier to believe that his life turned out so differently than he had imagined that he can’t bear to live in a truth that doesn’t back his story, that he has lost the zest he once had from this attachment fracture. Such extreme disappointment that he is lost with how to move forward. And what is someone feeling this way in need of? Certainly not more criticism and turmoil.

Sometimes in life I think we end up fighting so hard for something, when we aren’t even sure anymore what we are hoping to acheive from it. That’s a little scary don’t you think? May I always strive to be aware of the “why”, the reason I want to acheive what I am working hard towards. If I put this template down, would I ever be able to see it as a good thing for my children to see a dark and ugly side of things? This helps me to be truly aware of the power the ego can wield, of how seductive it can be. Come to the dark side it says, we have cookies it says. Of course it would say that to me. I love cookies.

If you’re looking for me I’ll be here resisting cookies and my ego lol. And being honored to be invited into the sacred processes of my client’s world, so that we both may feel less alone.

My blog post on childhood me, will have to wait… or perhaps I’ll post it after this one since I am “on a roll”.

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Frozen in time… just like our donor Sperm

What does an excessively driven/determined person do at a 14 day post intrauterine insemination negative pregnancy test ? Ha say that five times fast.

Did I mention this was the third round overall? Did I mention before we could start it was awaiting the thyroid level each month? I guess we have been at this longer than I realized.

She obsesses of course. Finding every bit of tangible evidence that we still could be pregnant. Some people don’t get their positive until day 18 or so, but that’s probably not with for sure predicting of ovulation like we have with IUI. The clinic said test today and if negative to stop progesterone. Go to Jail, do not pass GO, do not collect $200, you are failing at the game of life. No cute little blue or pink figures to stick gleefully in your car.

And she writes to cope of course.

Except she can barely write because she can barely focus on anything else. Thankfully as a Clinician she is drawn out of her own mind naturally during session and at least has that break.

Ok that’s enough third person. Third, third, third…. no charm here, not today. Stay positive they say. The stork is on the way.

I’m starting to get hard on myself. Christina are you always going to find something to be unhappy about? Three teenagers, two dogs, a career you adore, and healthy and happy love. Am I allowed even to want more? Or to have the emotions I do right now? Therapist says of course you are. Human says don’t you dare, it will hurt too much. You’ll get too caught up in them, and then what.

Don’t get down because stress inhibits pregnancy, don’t drink coffee, don’t have processed sugar, don’t exercise too hard….. Make sure you sleep enough, eat healthy… and my head spins. Hyper focus and it’ll be more likely.

Superstitions abound.

Does this mean we are meant to foster and adopt? Of course I know my wife wants to grow her own baby in her belly. It tears at me when the emotions finally hit and she bursts into tears. I fool myself into thinking I’m the strong one in this scenario. Just because I can hold my emotions hostage with much more command, an ability I never asked for.

I recall being witness to another’s journey of this variety and my well meaning and with little understanding advice at that time. I remember feeling a tad critical of their sharing with me that they couldn’t be around happy pregnant women. And here I am not even able to look at my FB feed because there are just fucking babies everywhere. It hurts doesn’t it? Oops.

It’s only three rounds I try to tell myself. I try for perspective seeing people have to try for years. But we are using science and spending a hell of a lot of money. Guilt. Another rub of not being how “God intended” of course. I don’t even ascribe to that belief and yet by now it attempts to leak in.

Can I ever just be still and happy? Couldn’t we have just honeymooned ? Be enjoying our love? Why do I drive so hard? Why is this so important when often it feels hard to connect with the children I’ve got. Why are we bringing a child into a world like this? Only to struggle and await the many impending disasters? I’m already overwhelmed at the drop of a hat. What am I doing ? And is it the negative result that makes me feel this way? That must be the sadness, frustration, and pain talking.

Because in clearer moments I know exactly my heart and what it wants and deserves. Why do we get so nasty with ourselves, so unfair?

I’ve been sick the past couple of days, and I know that isn’t helping. Sky high irritability, dizziness, and a variety of uncomfortable symptoms. I’m too driven even to be sick. It is just who I am. Do I have to make myself wrong for everything?

Be still Christina. Stay…..

Broken hearts heal…. and you will get your baby. Be patient….. I’ve never been patient. Does this mean this is my fault, and I’ve brought this upon us? Will I always function at a frenzied pace? Is this a fault?

Life brings you to your knees so you are forced to find faith in something. Faith in myself is always the lesson needed.

Stay…..

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Into the great wide open

I am in, an in-between right now. A waiting period we could call it perhaps, waiting for many things and also wanting for nothing. I think I am better at chaos, because perhaps then I can always feel productive/ important in some profound way. Karpman says, “it’s the situations we could call ourselves victims in, that we need to goad our creativity into action.” At least that’s my interpretation of his drama triangle that I’ve been working on in my life / practice lately.

It is more difficult to find peace in the stillness, for me at least. This is what happens when you have a desperate need or want based on a theory. Life inevitably hands it to you, so that you can see it’s different than you imagined. And back to the drawing board.

My wife and I are trying to have a baby. As usual I am skipping steps. Where are my blog posts about this process, my detailed chronicles of each step? I’ve already moved light years beyond those also. What is meant to be of this frenzied pace that is more natural to me than breathing oxygen? I have shifted from wanting to change and cut off my innate qualities, to accepting them, but also wanting to know (quickly of course) what they all mean.

Since we are trying to have a baby, and already have 3 large ones, and two fur babies, it makes sense that I am foreshadowing about any career moves. I already love my practice and my clients, so why am I already thinking of expanding, in a way that isn’t about my writing. Ie perhaps working at a college to help the kids pay for school.

We want a life that is our own. And right now we are slave to the necessity of good health benefits, a pension (prison), and a false prophet of stability that these things represent. Now don’t get me wrong I am grateful. This baby would not be without good health coverage. But as is typical of me what about after we have him/her/them?

The worst part of this dispatcher job is the grueling schedule that grates away at our emotional well-being. My wife works 7-3 one week, with an hour commute each way (and more when there is traffic), and the next week she works 3-11. So in short if we begin and end our days together as our love begs us to do, our sleep wake cycle one week is 1-2 am bedtime, 8-9 am wake, and then 9-10 pm bed time and 5-6 am wake. This also doesn’t include the fancy frenchie that has itchy fits and wakes up for a 4 am potty.

We joke that at least we are ready for the baby. We don’t scratch or claw at one another under these demands, but there are other downsides. My wife being chronically tired, and then hard on herself to boot, being one of them. My body is so attuned to hers that I feel it’s hardly a choice that I align with hers, even though my schedule does not. There is no choice when it comes to my love for her, I choose to spend my time with her. Does this mean that my writing won’t happen then? Can I do “it all”?

Would the grass necessarily be greener though.? It seems in life often you just trade one stress for another. It can’t be all that hard right ?! If only one of us worked and the other tended the children and home there might be a whole different stress. Resentment perhaps ? God I hope not, that is the 7th circle of hell that I lived in most of my past relationships. Financial stress? Nothing seems worth that.

So this morning in my pages writing I started to draft out equations. The first I wrote was that: whenever the focus is money, passion is killed. Then I attempted to reframe to: passion invites money. Written in mathematical formula:

$ =/ passion (couldn’t find the equal with a slash symbol.

Passion = money

Except that’s not at all what we are told. We are told about starving artists and stability. No wonder everyone is so confused. We are told that passion is frivolous. And indeed I had no room for any of my passions while food was needed on the table.

I am one of those rare people that has found a career that turns her passion into money also. But that only began at about 35 years old. That means I’ve been broke and struggling the better half of my young life. And no one wants that for their children.

My dreams currently, as intentions placed in the warm and loving hands of the universe. I am picturing Te Fiti here, when she holds Moana and Maui on her hand and gives them their “reward”, Maui his magic hook, and Moana a beautiful boat to travel home in.

My wife and I want a life where we have a home like in the movie The Family Stone. Picture a two story home, with staircases and railings. High ceilings and a fire place. The smell of wood and food baking in the oven. The sounds of laughter from friends and family. A home that you lay memories down in. Maybe that will be this home just as easily and we don’t know it yet. Because not living above our means to try and reach a dream, that we don’t know how it will actually feel anyway.

Can you have too many dreams? My head immediately shakes, no. But the shackles of reality argue.

We want a life where time together is our biggest priority. Where we can sit and read and craft and pursue each our passions. Where we can be near nature, land and water. Where we can feel alive and sacred.

We are having dreams of more than a 9-5 (ha if only). We want to see and do things, but doesn’t that require money?

And all the while in the back of my head I keep thinking the way is to trust my gift of writing and keep going. Except I keep trying to abandon it for stability, and not believing in my magic. I get more glimpses daily, but then it feels too dream like, and I collapse back into routine.

If all my dreams really have come true already…

I truly am rich beyond imagination.

Why is it always swiftly onto the next?

My guess is that passion drives this force of nature and something is meant by it. But what?! I want to know now ! I am always in a rush, even after I’ve crossed the finish line, I can see now that I just keep running.

I’d bet on that I’m always going to have more questions than answers, because for me being more curious than afraid never felt like a choice.

It feels like destiny….

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The Seven Deadly Sins…. Sloth and Gluttony

*Everything in moderation. Unless you are ADHD, then it is everything all at once immediately as soon as you want it, and deal with the consequences later. With a force and a fury that feels impossible to get a handle on.

It’s blog post Sunday. The girls are blasting Hamilton, playing Jenga (which is really cute), and also playing with Siggy and his new toy. There is a pot of chicken soup with veggies and potatoes simmering on the stove. These are the warm and comforting things of family that I have created and now have the privilege of basking in, for moments at a time at least. Directly before this calm one teen was yelling at me, and then at the other. It felt like a grenade had gone off in the kitchen, but I am noticing that as quickly as the waves of anger and frustration come, they can become diffused and calmed, or turned into a nuclear explosion. I am constantly working on myself to learn which choices create the best outcome, and then having to undo my wiring and humanity to force myself to behave differently than I feel in a moment. It takes a lot of awareness, practice, and patience with self and others.

In my “pages” this morning I named my gremlin. For those just catching onto my blog, “gremlins” are the name I ascribe to the tiny little havoc creating beings of malice that tell me messages of self-doubt and attempt to undermine my attempts at creating and being my truest self. I named the leader or a particularly bad one Besmirch. I was being playful and creative, and it gave me pause and wonder. I had a quick moment of clear vision where I saw me as DOING what I have set out to, versus just talking about it, and always feeling not enough. When we are in the midst of actual changes we can rarely see them as they are happening. It is only in hindsight and reflection. Really these days my whole life has become reading and writing, it is always what I do in free moments. I am BECOMING exactly who I want to be.

We went to Courtney’s cousin’s wedding last night. It was at the Union League in New Haven. The kind of affair where frantic employees dressed to the nine’s, flit about with small silver trays containing a single shrimp in a shotglass of cocktail sauce. I had some realizations about myself one that I liked and one that I didn’t. The one I liked is that I feel like I may have been the only person who when alone with the service staff asked them how their evening was going. They seemed genuinely surprised that I would think to do that, and perked right up. Even a quick kind smile and polite word to them seemed to be received not unlike a man who has been in the desert for 2 days with no water and who just has the first sip. I notice things like this. Perhaps because I feel more comfortable on the worker’s side of things serving the rich. I was always on that side. On the side of the actual guest I felt out of place and at times undeserving. Hmmm.

The thing I didn’t like: I am a CONSUM-ER. Not one who purchases things. Ok, wait I think I should have said it this way. When I am nervous particularly, I think that I hyper focus on food and drink. Let’s be honest I don’t need to be nervous for this to happen either. I watched those hors d’oeuvres like a hawk. Fun fact about me when I was young I read things way above my level, and I would pronounce the word for these delightful little treats whore-DO-VOORS. lol. For the purpose of this tale I wish I could remember the exact moment that it dawned on me how much I had butchered that word, and how many times I’d said it aloud. Anyway an issue for me currently is gluttony. It as if I need to experience ALL of the Seven Deadly Sins just for good measure. That by doing so I will more readily be able to relate with all of humanity, not just the portion of whom I aspire to be like. If we are looking at this from a clinical model (because why not) I have a terrible terrible time with impulse control in many areas of my life. And lately I have absolutely no self-control when it comes to eating and drinking.

If I am not being obsessive about something… well I might not know, because I think I am always obsessive about one thing or another. Now that I’ve found love, and a career that is fulfilling, and my life feels really nice it seems my last self-destructive vice that could very realistically put my life on the line (at some point) is eating and drinking. Eat drink and be merry. Since I have the merry part down so well, most of my mind is occupied with when and what I am going to eat or drink next. I will begin to think about how that particular thing tastes, what it smells like, what it’s served on, and then am relentless in it’s pursuit until I am satiated. Then guess what happens. I don’t just have one, I have two or three. My pants begin to fit less, and I currently have an entire closet of clothes that are for someone who is a size 6, 8, or 10. When I am rapidly approaching a size 16. I am loathe to be honest about this on here, because part of me feels I’m betraying young women everywhere, especially my daughters by obsessing over this. You see though it isn’t attached to my self-worth any longer, so I thought I could just live, but what I am realizing is something else is happening.

 I love that I don’t hate myself enough anymore to torture myself into losing weight. But what is happening is that as a Highly Sensitive Person the sensory experience of pants being tight on my waist is driving me nuts. When I feel as if I am going to burst out of my clothing at any second it drives me nearly mad. It isn’t because someone will have an opinion of me that will be less than favorable, it is because physically I feel like I am about to burst out of my skin. There are many more symptoms to this. There is the swelling of the hands and feet with very much salt for me. There is the terrible bloating with my Crohn’s Disease that makes me look immediately 5 months along in a pregnancy. I am dreading the day that someone mistakes and thinks I must be carrying and comments as such. I already have a difficult history with feeling comfortable in my clothing for an entire variety of reasons. Gender neutrality and fluidity were not a think of my generation. I preferred to shop in the boys section and always have, but then I began to realize what people wanted from me to be accepted into the herd. I tried and tried to feel comfortable in those clothes, but if I am in something I don’t feel comfortable in I obsess about it, and can’t think about anything else. I am aware of the fact that I look like a hobbit in women’s traditional thin and demure dress shoes. I desperately want to be one of the beautiful women in heels, but I just can’t hate myself enough for that kind of torture. And mostly again for others it might just be uncomfortable, but manageable, for me I can’t think about anything else.

So the only solution here is to begin to make healthier choices and get more consistent about it. The barriers to this? EVERYTHING IN MY LIFE, or that’s how it feels. Long unpredictable schedules that can change on a dime, life with teenagers, my wife’s schedule to balance, and mostly my own angst and emotional psyche. I think the angle I am going to try and take with it is that when I am comatose with food or beverage my mind is not sharp in the ways that I enjoy most. It is the opposite of creative, it is escapism.

It’s going to be hard to pick this back up since I got distracted with the kiddos hours ago and am now not in the same thought train. So I guess we can just sum this up as I am trying to do some self-work on fitness and wellness in general, which makes me consider my incredible impulsivity and wonder how I can curb it without ADHD meds working for me. I am doing research and using myself as a guinea pig.

Ok this is now Monday so going to post for now. Stay Tuned….

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Coffee Shops and “College Bound Son” Musings

*I love that I am in a relationship that I choose to drive 30 minutes in the opposite direction just to be with her for a few hours between clients and then all the way back to Fairfield. It’s already coming up on one year of marriage and I still feel this way.

An impromptu afternoon. The more that I sit and intend/attend to writing, the more comes. Surprise surprise. 😉 I am sitting at Safari Kaffeine across from the most beautiful woman. She is fiddling with her new toy (a Sketchbox), watching a tutorial on how to use special blending pens to draw a sketch of an attractive looking gentleman. She just paused to show me how the KOH-I-NOOR kneaded rubber eraser and the magical lifting effect it has on charcoal.  The coffee shop was buzzing with various conversations from local valley inhabitants. Nothing could possibly interest me more. Except for maybe my attention being stolen for the purpose of sorting out car insurance for my firstborn son. That process arduous and frustrating as it may be.

Tyler as a character. Could I write him? Having read Anne Lamott this a.m. and having a nice dose of her as daily vitamin/medicine I am thinking about character development. Speaking of character development let’s talk about arguing for a minute. The purpose of it…. my ex-husband argues for the sake of doing so. Some internal ego battle being played out on the co-parenting field, wreaking havoc amongst the ranks, sigh. I can hear my grandmother delightfully chirping that song “if you can’t say something nice…. say nothing”. Interesting because she had an invisible way of being mean by the way of shame. When the person isn’t even aware of what they are doing or do, what use is it to try and make sense of it or point it out. You can really only try to do better yourself. This is what I have made most of my life into. I have unknowingly embarked upon a mission of being committed to knowing myself above all things. Mostly in my early years this resulted in a way to emotionally terrorize myself, as what I was most aware of were my many shortcomings. Natural behaviors of youth and immaturity became material to analyze for threat and I “worse case scenario’d myself” about myself for a long time. Finding no calm for this anxiety, and a variety of others as I discovered many things about myself including my many blind spots.

As I wonder about Tyler as a character I sift through what I know about young male characters. Let’s see we have Holden Caufield and a young David Foster Wallace…. wondering how he will be alike and different from them. How his unique experiences will shape the landscape of his life. I was thinking this morning about how to encourage him as far as college. Part of me wants to keep him as close as possible and of course reduce costs by encouraging practicality, and the other part is screaming screw practicality get on the other Coast or another country even and see new things, and DO STUFF. In the end these choices will be his, but I know I have a tremendous influence on him as well. You don’t realize when your child is first placed into your arms that someday they will be a real life “almost adult”, and that you will be vulnerable to any suffering they experience without your consent. To love as deeply as I do is a divine suffering. To not love like this; impossible. The choice was never really mine. I didn’t know I loved like this when I first decided to have children. I didn’t know a great many things then. Knowing them now doesn’t make the feelings any different.

It’s time to head back to the office soon. I don’t want this time to end. I am sitting here thinking about how a coffee shop barista is not unlike a mental health counselor in many ways. People are looking to share their experiences and what is going on in their lives with others. A musician that plays with one of my favorites, Lee-Ann Lovelace who sings with her whole soul (they play Monday nights at Crave) came in for coffee, he is talking about how he brought his cat to the vet today. He ordered a large coffee with a little mocha. Never heard it ordered like that before. I like his hat. It reminds me of a hat of my wife’s that she wore on our most recent date to the casino. It’s very St. Patrick’s like… very Irish I suppose I mean.

Ok back to reading Every Love Story is a Ghost Story, basking in the glow of my love, and then my office and clients.

 

 

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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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“Not enough” is a filthy liar …

I’ve been lost in the trenches lately. The high of finally finding a healthy love has waned into the realities of blending a family, and helping teens navigate the murky waters of adolescence. And that is ok, it’s part of the process. Wouldn’t we like to stay in the good feelings forever? Why must we also wait and feel through the hard times? For perspective of course. To wake us up to all that becomes invisible in the rush.

I’ve been riddled with ADHD lately. I am really suffering with it. As I vibrate with an almost visceral certainty that my story will be written and shared with others, the closer I get, the further I feel. What an illusion! The Universe is a great trickster, and I’m taking the joke overly seriously all the time.

I seek something to fix this pain all the time. Chocolate, food, happy hours, snuggles…. some healthier than others. My frenzied mind that constantly is telling me I’m running out of time. Always miles ahead in awareness. I can’t even hide from existential truths long enough to allow more joy. One of my greatest tasks right now.

This morning I’m thinking back to a time when I worked 40 hours, had internship and full time school. When I didn’t breathe, and I somehow managed, and now I have way more time… and yet it seems always not enough. I’m thinking this not enough bs is a filthy filthy liar. Why are we like this? Is it an innate drive meant to help us survive ? Then why is it killing us in droves? It’s killing spirits and dividing families, and it’s simply not true. We are enough, we have enough. We are usually more than we realize, and have more than we realize.

I have relationships with Clients that are valuable and I have one fully present hour a week, and even later move to every 2 or 3 weeks as they fly out of the nest more often. These are meaningful relationships and they are just one piece of the puzzle. So why do I always see mine with my children as I can never connect or do enough? It’s deeply painful. Maybe that’s also why they feel it’s not enough? I’m afraid sometimes that my kids get even less than that one present hour weekly even. Often my love is shown to them in acts of service in between things. We can’t always see a transition as it’s happening, and after are left reeling to figure out how to adjust. That’s what I am going through right now.

I stumbled across a show the other night on Netflix. It’s called Atypical. One of the best things that ever happened. First, it’s depicts so wonderfully some of the challenges children and parents with autism experience. I love that! But the part I really identify with is how as the teens grow and face growing up, the parents are also facing who they are, and what their roles are now? They are up against feeling less needed, and being pushed away. I identify so much. My last tiny one who has begged and begged for time with me is now bristly and defiant. The breaking of my heart is audible. Mostly because I realize how many times she asked for just a moment of my presence, and I didn’t know the value. I had free front row seats to Hamilton for one of the best experiences in life, and I was lost in my head worrying about providing, and my health, and figuring out how to run a business. If I had just lifted up my head out of that fog a little more. What if I screwed up? And see even now I’m doing this thing…. because weren’t there still moments of beauty in between? But my hurried mind is always trying to skip ahead, it can’t settle down enough to just be in a moment. I know I am not alone in this.

It can never just be that I am meant to be this way. It always has to be what’s wrong with me, and how can I do better. One of those questions helps, and the other hurts. I work so hard to ask my mind to just take it one moment at a time, but it wants to bite off ten. It’s painful really. We have to work with what we have though, and find outlets, and places and people who understand our brand of crazy. And we have to work harder to see enough versus not enough. It’s our only choice.

So many hard working beautiful people suffer at the hands of perception and misunderstanding, and our own innate nature as human beings. One of my greatest missions is to be a part of alleviating this. One of the best ways to do this realistically and fairly with life’s demands is simply to realize: your story as is has tremendous value!!

Hopefully in an upcoming post I’ll be talking about how wounded people, wound people, and that there is hope for this. Listening and seeing when we hurt someone, being willing to look at our own part is the key to change. It’s messy work, but on the other side it’s so worthwhile.

My life’s work has been on healing fractured attachments. I had to begin with my own, understanding my own behavior and actions, and fight to make changes. On the other side … this space where I am healing I can see where I have been, and it makes me able to help understand when others have found themselves there. A wounded healer, and an earned secure. This work is not for the faint of heart, and it’s also not impossible. Are you ready for your life to feel better ?

💜