Tag: #theemotionalalchemist

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My breaking writer’s block, and my broken body

I am relieved to find that as I began to read this morning, all of my own words began to take precedence over the page. A lot of times that’s how it happens. I’m also a little surprised because I feel too weak to even write. Reading felt somehow more resigned from my usual 1000 watt glow. Just after I wrote that line I felt immense gratitude for my mind and my self. Not everyone has this drive. There’s a dark underbelly to it though, and that’s a whole separate blog post, that isn’t quite ready to emerge from the Koi Pond that is my mind. Picture an over populated one with the fish frenzied and panicky and you might have an idea.

I had a Crohn’s attack last night. I have to get this out first so I can move on from it, otherwise it will impart a tone of sadness or less sparkle to my post, and you, the reader won’t know why. It’s been so long since I’ve had one I almost forgot I have this fucking disease. I think the fact I am able to forget for periods of time is a genuine blessing, and I also attribute it holistically to the peace and happiness I have found in this half of my life.

The attack goes like this this time. They can be different, and come on without warning. I typically limit myself to one drink these days as alcohol works very poorly with my system. This fact makes me feel socially stunted in certain ways. I’m at times jealous of my pals that can “have another round”, and not pay some price. But I’m finally getting over my id, and being able to accept my special instructions. I used to get really down about it. Severely worried I could turn a fun evening or getaway into a pity party for me, and inconvenience people by needing to leave quickly and without warning. I’m overwhelmed easily enough in those situations, without my body rebelling against me as well.

I had a cavatelli pasta with lobster in an old bay cream sauce. I also mixed some of my friends salad with it, because it was just sitting there. She was selling solar at the dinner table, and I was reading a debut blog post that I’ve been anxiously anticipating. Not the present dinner I would, normally go for, but I match affect almost naturally at this point. And there was live music, so struggling to hear one another was annoying me anyway.

The salad was probably the nail in the coffin. But I’ve realized by this point it’s not fair to me to try and figure out what I’ve done wrong in the scenario, sometimes I’m just fine. But any creamy sauce mixed with salad usually marks death, but I had been spared for so long that I forgot. I had one martini with lots of food drawn out over the whole evening. So when I became very dizzy when I got home, I couldn’t understand what was going on. My heart began to race and I thought maybe it’s just exhaustion let me lie down.

Next thing you know it’s 2 am and I wake up with my heart beating around 120 bpm, feeling like my stomach is simultaneously on fire, and also being squeeze and writhing like a boa constrictor trying to make its way out. I break out into a sweat all over. I barely make it to the bathroom, and while I’ll spare you the more gory details, the fact that much of anything can come out of one human made me actually feel like I might die. I felt as if all of my insides were being purged, not just the contents of my bowels. It hurt so excruciatingly badly that for a few moments I debated calling for my wife (what only to disgust her and embarrass myself, what could she do anyway), calling an ambulance, and then went down the path of wondering what they could do or would find. It started to radiate all through my back, aching, twisting, and the sharp chest pains that used to send me to the ER.

After a bout concluded and I was given sweet relief for a few brief moments, my heart rate would be down in the 70’s and I would begin to shiver violently. I got back in bed with my wife, she was loving, covering up my cold parts and becoming comforting, rather than annoyed she was dead asleep. She is a blessing. She asked if I was ok, I said no, but I refuse to begin panicking because once that starts it’s really hard on my body. So if I got her all up and concerned I would feel even more anxious.

I was hoping I could settle into a coma induced rest after that. A sweaty, tangled, dehydrated mess, thrashing between hot and cold. But then I heated up again and felt as if my face was burning, and my heart was high again. It was time for round 2, 3 came later. And by the time I went to sleep I know I was dehydrated enough that IV fluids would have really helped. I used to feel safe at the hospital and like they would be kind and comfort me. After so many experiences and them not believing you (before diagnosis) I’ve had such poor treatment at times, that I will be on deaths doorstep before I go.

As predicted I woke with a monster headache, squeezing and pulsating behind my eyes. And a weakness that could only be described as feeling like a corpse that has been summoned on All Hallows Eve. A lead block could have become mobile easier, but nevertheless I am a slave to my writer’s mind which wakes promptly around 6 am and will not stop yammering until I get it something to do.

So here I am in my beloved bath. I was very careful this am and even thought of skipping it, as losing even sweat at this point could probably put me in a life threatening situation. So the water is tepid, and I pre-gamed with slowly introducing fluids, a banana; a couple crackers and a Tylenol awhile before. My head is still pounding, but after being through hell much of the night, the water soothes my screaming joints, and cleans the stress and suffering off.

This seems so unfair my inside self throws a tantrum, the outside self unsure she can even make it out of the tub, let alone move or make her head throb worse. I should only feel like this if I were irresponsible and drank a ton and am hungover. Who gets the hangover without the party. The self pity is a seductive mistress. If this went on as it did before diagnosis for weeks, and any food became Russian roulette, perhaps it would get me again. But it never helps. I’ve learned I just have to care for my body better and be kind to myself when this happens. To not become enraged at the time it took from me, especially in recovery. A vibrant hyper strong woman reduced to barely being able to pick her head up.

I just go back to how blessed I am in life and love, and believe it will pass, rather than running all the scenarios and what if’s as I used to. This one snuck up on me so stealthily though. I am sad and hurting, while also trying to hold to the determination I have, and joy I feel writing. I must give myself permission to lay my truth on the page, and not believe that I needed to be able to whip up something witty and charming, to be able to take up space in the world. To not fear others as me seeking pity. I am seeking solace in the act of writing. And if one soul finds this kind of determination inspiring then amazing. If not I still have these thoughts written down so I can see myself in a compassionate light. I just want to hug her, and this was not always the case.

You see here is what’s been happening in my mind and my heart. First, I didn’t know I would spend most of my post on this, I expected to gloss right past. So this post shows me how much room my feelings around having this disease need, and how cathartic to write my truth as I’m experiencing it.

Truth be told whether it’s wanting to make sure I’m determined, or whether it’s another aspiring writer’s courage, it looks like my current writer’s block might be broken. Maybe yes, maybe no. The block itself I am recognizing has been caused slightly by the all consuming nature of trying to conceive. That’s actually what I meant to write about. How I can hardly think or focus on anything else. How even if we don’t talk about it, or take the advice of others “just don’t think about it”, wouldn’t that be nice.

It hangs in the air as if it’s one of those machines that freeze everything, but myself and my wife. Our journey is in movement, and the rest of the world is frozen. And I can’t move or breathe until we get that positive. And I can’t even know how I will feel, how she feels, how my family feels, because we are experiencing a great in between right now. Right in between a before and an after.

But you know where I’m not anymore? Purgatory.

I’ll be happy everyday for the rest of my life for this new in between. And I’ll take what comes, with as much grace as my fragile human heart can muster, including the ambiguities of this disease. Because love is my lighthouse, and no matter how rough the seas are, I can always find my way back to my heart now. We are not separated.

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The Only Constant is Change

*this post comes to you from a yoga mat outside my home, after a 2 mile “run”, the reality of this is way less glamorous than you might picture. There was jiggling, struggling, and probably a decent amount of swearing.

It’s time Christina, my body has kept nagging at me. Having a good relationship with my body might just be my longest standing obstacle I have to overcome. I have been distracted by other things, but I can’t escape my most organic and long standing home base. My current mission is to make it a place I feel proud of. Not curb worthy, but deeply renovated and designed in a way that makes my senses dance with joy.

How could I not honor this home that has been through so very much. My long legs have carried me quickly out of danger many times in my young life. I was always able to run, a gift, and a necessity. It’s only now when I reflect on growing up, I see how so many would comment on it, and I at times do the same thing. Nothing terrible, but just so much focus on it. My Grandpa liked to joke about my large appetite, saying that “I had to fill up both of my legs also.” That memory makes me smile. It’s nice when I can find those amongst the minefield of others.

My young body was in some ways a great source of pride for me. I was slender regardless of eating habits, muscular and lean. Unfortunately due to asthma my stamina has always been poor. I think the fear of not getting my breath back in such a terrifying way, has definitely left an apprehension to running. I am trying yet again to work my way through that now. Despite this I was athletic and excelled at volleyball and basketball. I played on high school teams. I’ll even admit to shaving the underneath of my head. Having a Nike swoosh, and my basketball number in there at one point.

This mornings new try at “a run” is motivated by the visit of my Dear friend Steven, who makes his yearly visit from Virginia. Now that I am thinking about it, it may seem “small” or “odd” this tradition, however again I have found it to be one of the longest standing consistencies of my life. It has outlasted three marriages (don’t worry the third time really is the charm in this case), many relationships, job changes, higher education degrees, and millions of anxiety filled moments. Steven gives us an opportunity to vacation ourselves. When he is here we try new things, and have an excuse to go explore our digs with a new invigoration, the kind that comes with sharing joy with others. My favorite kind.

Anyway for the past two years my routine has been to get straight into the bathtub and write. I am grateful for this, however lately I can’t seem to write much and there is a great restlessness within me. If I am to translate in this moment, I’m picking up that my body is asking to no longer be ignored. It could be saying something like, “ok Christina I get this writing dream, and I’ll do my best to carry you through your many uncertainties, but it’s time you listen to my needs a little bit, you can only go on like this for so long.”

Awhile back I tried to join Weight Watchers. I usually begin things way before I’m actually ready, but somehow the beginning calls me back into line at some point, and despite my criticisms, I usually know what I’m doing. Yeah we will go with that, rather than I failed. There is still time, there always will be until my lungs no long take in oxygen. Until my body has had enough of housing me. This is why we must have a good relationship. Anyway weight watchers asked us at a meeting, what is your why? They say if you know your why, you’ll be more likely to succeed.

I am realizing right now in this moment that my why has already evolved even since beginning, and it includes a beautiful soul of a client who is grieving his mother, and Grandfather, and the childhood he deserved, one full of acceptance and kindness. This client’s courage gives me so much strength. He doesn’t even know what he has brought to my life.

His grief is a special kind of hell, the kind where his parent is between worlds, and asking for release, and he as a witness, would like to be released as well. And since that is not up to him, he allows me to sit in Hell with him. He runs, and writes, and tries to understand, and we laugh, and we cry, and try to understand. We look for glimmers of peace.

But what I have really taken from him is a new motivation for my health. As I watch him miss the Mother he once had, and struggle with the mixture of anger and pain around her having neglected hers for a time. I can’t bear to think of my children feeling what he is now. So I will learn in a new way that my momentary indulgences will not be worth their suffering in this way, if it can be helped. In the end we don’t know what our ultimate end will be, but what does it hurt to hedge our bets.

So dear dear Client, you are my new why. For every moment of your suffering I will run. So I can suffer alongside you 😉 no really running and I were never meant to be, but since there is a why, I WILL find a way.

So for now my routine has to change. Am I afraid I’ll lose my writing?! Of course I am. But I am going to have to trust my body, and ask it to help me adjust. I will ask myself if it could be possible getting up and out, the blood flowing, can’t actually help this cause. And that I lied to myself because that’s easier. I don’t want easier, because easier now is usually more difficult later. I want the whole dirty truth right up front, and to keep facing down my demons and my obstacles as I go. The truth is life is short, and our great moments are not guaranteed to keep building. Sometimes it’s only the memory that keeps us afloat (or holds us prisoner it feels like at times).

They will pass, and that is where the job of the mind, and writing, can capture and etch forever. Dear client, please keep writing your pain, and your heart onto the page, until it breaks and all the love and gratitude flow out as well. It’s all part of the process. And I’ll keep running and working on my relationship with my body, so I can be around to tell my stories, and to hold my client’s sacredly as well. The only constant is change and often we are not warned when those changes will take place. A before and an after. Be grateful for everything as you go, hold those memories close, because a time will come when you will be lost, and they will carry you through.

My Clients and my Family carry me through, they are my why. In my photo I am wearing one of my wife’s old Army shirts, because in it I hope to be brave like her. She had the courage to go to Iraq two times, to leave everything she knew and held dearly, not knowing if she would return or not. She had to know that was a possibility. And she couldn’t even have known at that time, that wouldn’t be the bravest journey she would ever be on. Right now, right here with us is that one. She took the care and time to make sure she knew she wanted this life with us. Again leaving behind her way of life as she knew it.

And now we are venturing into this journey of growing this family, amidst all the challenges that already exist. For all the brave souls I travel with, life is a delicious and grand adventure. I am blessed beyond reason.

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Third Time is The Charm

*this was the case in Love, and hopefully it will become a theme and produce a baby for us to share all this love with, in our 3rd cycle of iui. I am dreaming of the moment.

Love was always my biggest battle. To achieve it, to know when it was real or not, to find it given freely and not with too large of a price tag. To balance it with the demands of a life of my own creation. This one I have struggled with particularly.

Over the years as most human beings I have received a great deal of various critical feedback on my love. The way I love, my beliefs about love, the way this has shown in my life. Particularly with regard to a certain set of rules around ex partners. What these well-meaning people intended I think was very different than what was delivered.

Healing loads of shame and critical judgment. So much that I almost lost trust in my self with regard to love. Almost.

Several days ago my ex wife got married. I was surprised to find this brought up a lot of emotions for me. It isn’t supposed to is it? I mean we have both moved on, and I am happy now. So I “shouldn’t” have those feelings or they should mean something threatening to my current marriage. Why do we do such things to ourselves.

My realization is that love in its purest form, the kind where no one intentionally wronged another (and we rarely do), is beautiful regardless of if it lasts forever or not. But isn’t it supposed to? There’s that damn word again. We can unintentionally cause so much pain to another by assuming we know the one correct way to do things. Such arrogance. What makes us think we know such an important decision for another’s story?

I have been shamed and criticized often for seeking connection or communication with people I have loved. Only now to realize that was their fear and insecurities and not actually some unhealthy behavior in me. I knew I was being genuine.

My conclusion is there are many different kinds of exes in our lives. Many are teachers, and companions for a length of our journey, not the duration. How much less might people suffer if we honored this process of trying for love, and licking our wounds with respect and dignity when it doesn’t work. Rather than being labeled a failure. Or being instructed in some particular way based on the advice givers perspective, thus causing more shame.

Love in its purest is never a failure, perhaps a redirection or a lesson, but never a failure. As if it doesn’t hurt enough to hold deep disappointment, without the criticism of society.

Time is one of the only things that can make the blur and confusion eventually clear. I am fortunate enough to see much more clearly after only a little time, and I’m a person who likes to reach with those truths. This does not mean that much of the rest of the world is ready for that variety of work. Because of its rare form, in my mind I always became “bad or wrong”, an easy legacy minted in childhood. I carried it too long.

So you can imagine my relief in this 37th year of my life when I examine love with such a different lens. When I watch a wedding video of my ex wife singing to her new wife, and can only find gratitude and joy for them. And also that little bit of sadness that is a part of my story now, when our paths diverged. Imagine my joy now that I have found that is not only allowed, but to me this is what it means to be enlightened. It means we can hold Love in our hearts for others, without it meaning anything but pure gratitude.

As a “doer” these are wires that were crossed for a long time for me. I thought a feeling meant you had to do something with it. I would charge boldly and often blindly forward, not even quite sure what I was doing, but always knowing it felt like some important truth to me. And then shortly after I would be bathed in shame of one variety or another. Other people aren’t like this. They move forward with a resolve of steel. I should be like those other people. Why am I so weird and wrong? I felt I was begging to be loved, and always at the core was my extreme dysfunction, and then the self-loathing would begin. This for me, was as easy a process to take over as breathing oxygen.

The profound gratitude for my whole story you will see written all over my body and face now is the gift. So I encourage anyone who finds their way to this post to learn to find closure within themselves, and to see their hearts and stories through the generous eyes they deserve.

And I will be here wishing in earnest for a baby, wishing that my ex-husband could find this clarity also so we could have a good relationship, wishing my ex-wife and her new bride all the happiness in the world, and wishing myself peace from a mind that would always try to find her at fault and shame her.

I am here working toward these goals in earnest. Also I wanted to share an excerpt from a part that after editing will be in my memoir someday.

“That was back when I thought pure love for someone meant you had to be with them…

I watched your wedding video and at first there was sadness. Sadness I would later identify as the unlived possibilities of our unfinished life together. And later I watched it again.. and smiled from ear to ear for your joy. For you getting your wedding, the one you wanted, with the dress and the family. And witnessing love, and being in the Love I have now, for some reason opens things, rather than closing them.

I am open to the truth of the gratitude I feel for the fact that our love was/is real. I see where this is non-traditional, or even crazy. By societal standards I am a stalker with an unstable mental state. But in my truth, the one I know, I’m just deeply grateful for my whole story, and you have a big place in that. You know from having been with me that I don’t travel by the standard rules of doing things, or what other people think. I had to find my truth. And the truth I feel today is nothing but unconditional love for my whole experience, for this home, for your family. For you.

Wouldn’t it be easier to just chalk you up as an ex and feel all the things one should about an ex. I think maybe now I can feel all the love I wasn’t able to then. Yes that is the sadness. Now that I have achieved this state of security within myself, I can see what was always there. I can weave a story that isn’t me being unhealthy or writing like a crazy person to an ex all those times. I was simply offering the real love I had found within myself. (With a very real side of the panic I have often lived with, rejection sensitivity, and PTSD, oh if only I could have found kindness for myself then)

And I can know now that you didn’t have to accept that offer for it to be genuine and real. In this way no one can actually take our own experience from us, no matter how things change. Wasted time is a lie we tell ourselves in the name of shame. I have never wasted a second, well ok maybe now with Instagram and Facebook, but never in my attempts at Love.

A favorite Rumi quote still on the fridge is “The heart is comforted by true words, just as a thirsty man is comforted by water.”

I have always found this to be true for me. Perhaps for you they will just be unnerving. It’s not an easy thing to have a mind like mine. At least in my earned security I can write into the Universe and for anyone who wants to read, and not make those who do not want those words uncomfortable. Boundaries were one of my biggest battles. One I am still working on. They get stronger each day, and they honor my self, rather than shame her.

I like this new awareness of the space I occupy in the world. My life feels like an authentic adventure story, and I find gratitude for every single part.

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Letters to my children

A post on parenting. The perils and celebrations of it all. And the battle against screen time and lost connection with one another.

I wrote a letter to my son this morning. The letter was a product of hearing a hard truth awhile back, the truth that sometimes it feels to him like I’m not listening. That makes sense, because listening is a lot of my job during the day. Being present for other people is what I do. And when I get home I’m fortunate enough to have a clan of people also clambering for my attention. Burden? I think not, but sometimes it comes across like that. This means some work needs to be done.

The particular topic at hand here is if he can have his computer back. He wanted time to talk about it, and I wanted to not do any more therapy for the evening. Clash. We have learned in our home that over-tired is not the time to try for a family meeting. Which sadly for a long time were more like mommy bitch fests. Eeek. That’s a hard one to sit in.

The good news!? If you are brave enough to look at the hard truth at times, and find love and compassion for yourself, then you can do better. I am always trying to do better. Not type A better, but deep seeded repeating of painful patterns and behavior from how I was parented, better. We so easily and unconsciously end up parenting how we were parented. Even with a staunch commitment to doing the opposite. We can even believe because of our intention we are doing different, when inevitably some of those wired in behaviors are happening. This is a whole other post I suppose.

This summer we have been battling screen time (of many varieties) in this home. I noticed that mindless scrolling was leading to poor interactions between one another. That our priorities were all out of whack. Scrolling Instagram and cute videos became our focus. Just another dopamine hit mom please. As bad if not worse as any drug that has ever been made. And the proof is in the behavior particularly when said activity is removed. Suddenly family time felt like an inconvenience too. And that’s when I knew we were in trouble.

Now changing habits such as these are not for the faint of heart. They take constant effort and vigilance and for ourselves the parents to be accountable as well. If you’re thinking with all the demands of life today that that is just too much then you’re normal. But the proof in the theory and the effort is in what happens when you hold to your kids reading rather than binge watching a season of something and see the changes with your own eyes.

I think the saddest part is that originally this change was framed as grounding, as in a punishment. So the kids feel they are being punished. When what really happened was wanting to not go directly back to the terrible habit that made us treat each other so poorly. When the toxin gets entirely out of the system suddenly we returned to our normal selves. We could stop dreaming of perfect abs, mansions, becoming rich and successful just be being noticed, vacations, cute proposals, the list goes on and on.

Escapism. And why would we want to escape our lives? Well for a thousand fears I am sure. We are over worked and under connected in this time and in this place, and I want to change that in our family. If you can’t beat them join em’ is a powerful drug for me though. Always seeking belonging. I want to just emulate what I see in people I feel close to. So if I’m hanging out with friends who have all their devices going and think it looks so cool, all that technology, then I am more likely to think it’s ok. To not see it for the enemy it is. Substance abuse is similar right ?! If you find that group you feel you belong in, it’s more powerful than reality or truth. Belonging takes the lead.

I wish for our family that our hearts belong to communication with one another and to connection. Not dreaming about a future time when we have more or less of something. But that we feel as rich as we will ever be right now. This right now could be my happiest life. We rarely stop anymore to know what or when that is.

Helpful information about screen addiction

So for good reason right now we are concerned about giving my son his computer back. So yesterday he attempted to stage a coup. He felt it was an injustice he has been working so hard and not been recognized for his efforts. When it was never about that, it was about the fear of things going back to such an unhealthy state. Staring into that screen until 4 am regardless of the cost to the next day or our relationships in this home.

So I am just sitting here this morning reflecting on the root of the argument which was him thinking I don’t see him for his good, that I’m always just focused on his behavior as bad. Loving does not always translate as loving when it comes to parenting, and as someone who often didn’t feel loved, I am committed to cracking this code.

So for now I’ll leave you with this mornings letter I wrote to him. When I first started writing my kids I felt “like a weirdo”, but as I thought about it more and more, if I let them into my process see what it takes to truly weigh options and try to come up with a fair and effective choice, that they can develop empathy as well as know that I am spending the time I am not with them considering myself as a parent. I don’t know what’s more loving than that?! It certainly takes the guessing out of am I loved. At least from my lens.

I’ve had to argue with myself a lot as in my day children were never permitted behind the curtain. Separation was essential for them to know their role. So I tried that for a long time, but as they become older, and I become more human: I believe the importance in what is modeled to be the most invaluable source. So here is me modeling sharing my out-loud process.

I’m still thinking about all this this morning. You and I need to come up with a weekly “date” where we focus on nothing else but catching up. Funny how it’s so easy to make time like that for other people but because of our roles we let that slip. I noticed this am that I miss you. That I’m doing it again. Not listening when you talk. I didn’t listen enough last night. My best time is in the morning. By night after a client day I am toast and here we are in summer not utilizing that at all.

We could only need one hour a week of full presence to be close yet I let it go weeks and weeks and then we collide in some fight. Probably mostly because we miss each other.

I’m always proud of you Tyler. I always believe in you more than anything. I don’t always know what’s best of all the choices as far as parenting, but know that I’m trying to give you what I didn’t have. I’m trying to do my best.

What is most healing about Courtney is she is so generous with me. She’s never suspicious of my character or that things will fall apart. She never doubts us, this family, and that is so warm that I want to work so hard at being my best self.

I want to create that set up in this home. That you’re so well loved here, that you are successful because of all that warmth you’re wrapped in. Not beating yourself into action or out of it. Not so controlled that you learn to not trust in your own power and worth.

I love you with my whole heart. It’s family day today. So get up and get your dishes done and let’s schedule our weekly date always ok. For the rest of forever, even on the phone. Just like my morning writing it takes developing a habit to keep something consistent and it’s damn hard, but this is well worth it.

You’re the best son a mother could have and I never mean me trying to keep you healthy to go across different than that. If it is we need to tweak some things.

I love you….

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It’s the stories that we tell

*I’m just here doing my favorite thing. Well one of many favorite things. Blogging in the bath. It’s 6 am on a Sunday. This is a very special Sunday. I just called Jill the “sperm lady” to thaw our donor D18310. I’ll never forget that number, just like I still know my (and many of my friends actually) childhood phone number. 541-772-7541.

Last night we did the trigger shot at 9 pm and toasted with champagne that my wife had bought for our first try. The bottle is adorable, and she brought me flowers. I am truly blessed.

This blog post was inspired by me reflecting on our journey during the first iui (intrauterine insemination), and our reconnecting in the days following the negative pregnancy test. My wife was so sure this first time she was pregnant. I have come to believe her intuition to a fault, because this love is truly magic. Her particular magic is kindness and a joy for living. She is never negative, unkind, or sarcastic. She’s still human and we were crushed on the morning of her sister’s wedding, when she began to bleed.

Every step of the way of your first iui is new and therefore commands every ounce of presence. It was as if we sat and stared at her stomach long enough and did nothing else we could conjure the baby into life no matter what. And that is how I could describe our attention for the first round.

I remember reading the tutorial for her ovidrel injection (trigger shot that makes you ovulate right when they need). We got a tiny bit snappy with one another which is so rare. I was all business and commanding left and right, she had been begging for my attention all night, and I had missed the signs. I have come to recognize when we do get a little short with one another as a flag for a need, rather than a threat. That in and of itself is a beautiful thing. I slowed down, apologized, and arrived by her side.

It turns out we were nervous because we care so much. Go figure. Because this all matters so much to both of us. Which is a great place to find yourself. “I haven’t doubted things for even one moment”, she said to me on our one year anniversary just a few days ago. Our getting married quickly, and in the way that felt best for us, and blending into a ready made family. She was able to admit all along she was nervous. She had never even done babysitting when she was young she would say. Two tours in Iraq with the United States Army had nothing on this adventure.

My wife is by nature incredibly shy, and often she gets that trait confused with a lack of bravery. It is my moral imperative to show her everyday how wrong she is on this. And she is rarely wrong. My wife is one of the bravest women I know. I don’t think I could do it. Go into a whole family, with all their scars and as an empath, not take on their stress rather than holding it warmly until it all melts into love. She has melted all of my painful parts into warm molten love.

Safe love is healing. Generous love is healing. Our love is healing me every single day. And the love of my children always encouraging me to become a better parent, it’s beauty inspired me always, is the reason we are all here taking this journey now.

Our family has safe and healthy love to share with as many as we can, and especially with this new little life that will hopefully be conceived today/tomorrow.

So the past couple of days my wife and I reconnected in our love. We picked our heads up from the daily grindstone and found one another’s gaze like we did so much more often in those beginning days. And I swear our love grew 10,000 times in a single moment, AGAIN! How big can it get? My heart might explode.

And this left me reflecting on two very important things on this very important day.

First, I ended up writing in my morning pages that I think the first failed iui was a blessing. Yes a blessing. How to succeed by failing is a writing assignment in my write into light course, and now I do this by habit. What I found is that it gave us even more clarity on several things, mainly of which is how much we want this baby. It gave us the opportunity to be graceful in the face of some powerful emotions, it made our love stronger, not more strained as everything warns about this process. And I know that if it takes years, and much more of an invasive process that it can be harder, but I also know we will love each other well through the whole thing, which is what we are on this earth for. To experience a love like this…

Second. We want this baby, and the ones we already have more than any other choice of how to spend a life. We are both on that page. We are not having a baby to save a marriage, to distract from something, to create something we never had. We are having a baby because of safe and healthy love. I was brought into this world so differently. The anticipation of me was the polar opposite of this. And perhaps only because of that awareness, I am able to feel every beat of the heart of this love now.

I am grateful every second. Speaking of being grateful, the bathroom cabinet fell off the wall and just scared the wits out of me. A blog post and pics to follow, but we are all so lucky no one was sitting on the toilet when this happened. I laughed (probably shock) that something like this would happen just as I was having such emotional clarity and peace. Curveballs my friend. I guess the bathroom did need another good remodeling :/

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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 angry ex club post process: the conclusion …

*from left to right in the picture: my gorgeous wife, myself, my son (biological), twin B, their father behind them, my other son (“adopted”), twin A, and my other son’s mother, a warrior of a woman who has taught me a lot.

And now the epiphany out of that storm of self inflicted suffering. I am taking a light writing course from Martha Beck. Elizabeth Gilbert is also participating and they have been sharing life changing talks together. The process of light writer is to go deeply into the painful thing, sit with what’s in there, and come out the other side with a healthier (lighter) view of things.

Yesterday something felt dangerous. Made me feel so angry and wrapped up in those feelings. Intense dark feelings. It was the feeling of my lovers scorned congregating and making small comments to shame my character in front of my son. The energy of it all whether it was spoken or not. That felt terrifying to me. My ex husband learning or becoming close to people I had once been very close to felt threatening. Discomfort. In earlier times these feelings could easily have whipped themselves into a frenzied storm lending me to lash out to all who violated me.

Instead I sat with the feelings. Talked and walked. And then last night after a special wedding event that turned out fantastic, my son and I had a deep conversation. It probably was the wedding itself, that made us all feel so close and able to have that happen. He came into the bedroom, my wife and were in bed, and he cuddled and talked. The second he brought up spending time with the three I began to prickle with fear of how the conversation might go.

Deeply insightful my young man is and he began to unravel some things he recognized. Now here is the fear part. I’m such an open book, and one of the hardest parts is knowing what to filter. I said some of my truths and he got very quiet and a noticed a tear trickle down the side of his voice. So covertly I could have not noticed. Could have gone to bed and let it be. We were all oh so tired.

Instead I asked: and he resisted. He knew what he had to say could make me upset. Like me he always thinks ten steps ahead when it comes to someone’s feelings. But I pushed as I knew it needed to happen. The break needed to happen. Breaks are so often more the through variety than the down variety, and we rarely trust in this and know this gift.

He began to sob and was overcome by empathy for my situation and made himself the perpetrator in the scenario. He was so sorry that he had done any possible thing to be disloyal or participate with people who don’t respect me, because he loves me so much. He just kept apologizing. And of course I froze in terror. I had said to much. I did the wrong thing. Here was my son taking responsibility for my very big feelings, and I had caused that. The temptation to self loathe begins.

This is where my wife steps in and is that translator for me. She says the things that fear freezes. She and I were comforting. Myself with holding physically because my mind was racing to all the fearful places. And her with gentle words. Helping him see how heavy it would be to try and take on all feelings for all adults. How he must release himself from that obligation for it is too much for anyone.

He sobbed and sobbed and I feared and feared. Feared he was not ok, and boy have I done it so wrong. Every worst fear snarled and bit. The best I can do during those times is stay still and wait so I can learn.

He had an amazingly hard cry. And what is our model for such catharsis? Oh my god there’s something wrong! It shouldn’t be that way. Being in the presence of such raw emotion coming from your child weaves a tale that sometimes isn’t true. This is why I am sharing this story. People are terribly uncomfortable with what they do not understand, and they tell a story about a situation that makes sense. They forge a scaffolding that reduces their discomfort, and sadly also blocks and covers the possibility for truth to rise out of this situation.

As my son began to calm down, and his thoughts became more clear and realistic, it was like seeing someone who has been released from prison after ten long years. He was light and joyful, and all of his thoughts opened up to him. And all that fear and pain went with the shed tears. What was left over: was light and love.

We cannot be afraid of our children’s big feelings. We must embrace all of it. Their fears also. It does not mean we aren’t doing a good job when they cry. For me watching this, once the grips of my terror let go of me, I could see and hear that he needed that cry. He is very articulate and was able to tell me. But as parents we must learn how to see this, the need for it, without being told.

We became unburdened of our tales woven together with fear fabric. And the after is where closeness exists. This is why and how to find closeness that we are starving for. It’s by sitting in the feelings, and waiting for the catharsis that they are meant to achieve. If we cut things off at the feelings we do a great disservice.

After we had the most amazing conversation filled with understanding, compassion, and love. I broke into all of my fears about my exes adjourning. I realized outside of fear, rejection, and especially ego. What exists is that I just want them to have the same amount of happy that I have found. I want them to be happy and not stuck in repeating stories or patterns that don’t serve them.

I am able to let go of the fears my son will be influenced by their energy, or that anyone could hold the power to effect my relationship with my children except me. This one is huge for me. Our connection is not an easily breakable thing, the way that most of mine have been. I found me using a template too for the world. And that one has so much fear of loss.

Last night I saw how much my son loves me and looks up to me, and how close we are. And I am able to realize that I built that. When children are young they give blindly and can be really harmed in this way. I was always afraid I was the mom that was given to me. Now I am able to realize the gift she gave is that having seen all that I did, I was given the awareness I needed to know the choices before me.

That awareness has sometimes felt like a curse as I fumbled through the dark wood of error most of the first half of my life. My kids know and have felt that fear filled mother who seemed off in her own world trying to find her way out of hell.

I know their lives have been influenced by this. I am keenly aware. But I am no longer afraid that this is the worst possible life they could have had. That is an old story, that was my story at another time.

I am happy to say it no longer is, and it was never theirs. That has taken every ounce of my soul to not recreate in pattern. Making subconscious conscious, and working my way through. And do you know how it shows ? It shows through in their character. My children are so much more than good grades and politely polished.

My children are going to know the courage to pursue lives that feel like their own creation. My children know how to connect deeply with others. My children will never have to wonder if their mother truly loves them. My children have a mother that will help them learn to love themselves, and not just pursue some idea of success based on society.

I will ask my children how they feel, and not tell them how they should. I will strive for this always. I am enough. I am not where I came from, but the more that I live I am grateful for my beginning. There is no other choice. I couldn’t be who I am today without it.

In two short (long) days I am free of the prison of those emotions of all those stories I could have kept. I have no more anger for ex partners. I only wish them light and love. After all who am I to judge their path and what they need to find their own forgiveness and forward motion. Maybe what they are doing is exactly what they need.

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Singing the blues about ex partners that refuse to move on.

I’m extremely moody today. This is your warning. And even as I write this I am telling myself “shouldn’t this be in a journal Christina and not a blog”, nobody wants to see some unfinished drivel centered around your emotions. Of course the meanest possible way I could take the light and love bestowed upon me by other light writers. I’ve always been good at continuing where “they” left off.

The skies aren’t all dark today. In fact externally yesterdays storm and rain broke the humidity streak. It’s clear blue skies and thin and gentle warm air. The perfect weather for a back yard bbq wedding. My wife’s twin sister is getting married. And despite all the confusion around setting it up. How casual to be? Etc. I truly think a good time will be had by all.

We had our second negative pregnancy test this am. Yes we did what is always advised against and tested a few days early. Because we still don’t know. This is a learning process for us. We are no experts, and definitely not immune to human excitement, curiosity, and premature anything. Because logic no matter how necessary does not always win out over emotion. At best a good balance can be hoped for. But nothing can prepare you for something like this. The day we are supposed to test is the 9th, so we wait until then for either a big twist (a positive), or a confirmation of what is already expected. Knowing full well we have no control. Update: she got her period today, of all days. We will be onto round 2 of IUI.

I don’t know about anyone else, but when strong emotions are present and anything feels very big, it always seems to invite some unwanted things with it. Is this accidental? Intentional? Meant to keep things in perspective? I don’t know.

There was a convening of my angry ex club yesterday. My ex-husband, and more importantly the father of my children is the president. This one included my son, which made it feel extra uncomfortable. I try and stay enlightened and mature about the whole thing. To ask myself if something does come up for me: why it is there and what is it telling me I need to work on. I try to use a lens of compassion. And when all else fails…

I walk. The best antidote for that nervous energy. The stuff where you feel your insides are twisting and nauseated. Where you feel the emotions taking hold, and that you may blow your top at any moment. And usually at the wrong people and at the wrong time. The fallout from this has been enough for me to sit on feelings, when everything in me wants to explode. Instead I walk and I talk to a trusted friend who has known me for years. Headphones and sneakers, beating my frustrations into the pavement.

I write. The second step in my process of unearthing negative emotions and seeking catharsis. Needing that deeper understanding of self always. Needing not to land on an unfavorable conclusion, even under these circumstances.

Something about three people who have known me intimately, (and yet still processed me through their lens and world view), all hanging out together makes my skin crawl. Three victims all united by their abuse playing together with glee.

And all the “shoulds in life. I should be so enlightened and focused on my own happiness that it shouldn’t even bother me. Why should it feel like such an invasion? My mind fights back against worrying what scorned exes think of me and why. Is it because I never needed to think them bad people of our ending. That for me it was a bad fit for one reason or another. So why must they claim character flaw of me? And even a more important question, “why do I care despite knowing the full truth of this behavior.”

The first reason, incorrect sexuality despite the many tries at anything possible to change that. The second, a person whose triggers lie in mine and vice versa, the very circumstances were triggering. A family life with the kids and I was not their intended path, despite how we could comfort one another’s hurt parts in a moment. The chemical was seductive, but how it played out in relationship was in very unhealthy interactions. The third, the least healthy of them all. A rebound played out far too quickly. My attempt at my pattern again, and this time knowing better, being honest right away, but being naive to how honest they were with themselves. A totally different game.

Outside the wake of all of this my healthy self, and therefore relationship emerged. A partner who was gentle and kind, but also strong and solid as a person. A soft confidence. An earnest communication without manipulation. A whole new world. Emotionally attuned and stable. It felt impossible at first. I looked for every possible way I could be wrong again, but finally no red flags were found.

We are all healing in this home. Healing from love and loss. And K and A are red hot raw spots for me. So naturally I would want for them to convene with an ex husband that both of them talked poorly about while in relationship with me. If you’re thinking muddy waters. You would be correct? What could possibly be in it for all of them? Except for desperately seeking the comfort of fellow wounded.

My ex husband never seems to move forward with his own life. For the life of me after years of me seeking therapy and being honest with him about my struggles about being gay, in so many ways he is still at square one. And square one consists of him still attempting to insert himself into aspects of my life he has no business being in. And him valuing his opinion of me (which often includes judgment and criticism for anything and everything), over seeing what is important for him to show and teach our children.

And yet I still sing his praises to all who listen because his standard for being a good parent is “that he pays his child support”, and that “he shows up for his kids.” Well I have news for you guys there is more to being a good person than this. It runs much deeper. You can hand a bag of goodies to a homeless person when you swing by, and make food for all the soccer families, and smile at the pride of your seemingly unselfish acts, but when you insinuate that the mother of your children is somehow in some way not up to snuff to your children, are you then still a good person?

By what standard ? What are the standards here ? Well they always depend on the situation and whom you are asking now don’t they?

I am still working my way to taking myself off the battlefield and not showing up to every party I am invited to. Especially when the invite is to a pity party. No matter how seductive, I won’t go. There is no glory in it.

But processing the feelings out loud so if even one person feels seen by my sharing feels a worthy endeavor for me. A post like this is for both the author and the reader.

Isn’t that ok at the end of the day?

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Choose love ❤️

A short but important piece I wrote on self-love this morning.

When I looked in the mirror this morning, actually when my phone turned on me unexpectedly, like a cruel mistress and I saw myself:

First I saw all the imperfections, the sun spots, the lines, the puffiness, the pale, and my tired looking eyes. How much weight I have gained in my face.

The very next thing I did is think about how loved I am by my family, my friends, and my clients as well. Then I thought you can’t be mean to that person who is loved so well.

I think how much my people love me, and that I must keep how I feel about myself in that equation. If I don’t I would isolate, be irritable, and mean when and in ways I don’t want to be, I would push others away if I felt unworthy.

That’s how it works folks. And then they would miss me, worry about me, and I would unintentionally take more than I give. Loving ourselves isn’t selfish, in fact it’s the most unselfish act we can give, because it isn’t easy. It is in fact often the hardest thing.

This is something that needs to be taught in our homes and our schools. I just read a psychology today article about how we don’t see ourselves “accurately” anyway. Our perceptions are shaped by so many social factors. So when given the choice: why not always choose love. It certainly feels better than any other choice, and that’s the point.

💜

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Sunsets and Rainbows

*last night driving home the sunset brought me to tears. I’ve been crying a lot lately. All of my emotions right at the surface… and then a giant beautiful rainbow. I didn’t even see any rain, it was just there for me.

Lately I am overwhelmed by emotions. Good ones. What even is this that is happening? After spending most of your life feeling strong on the outside, but inside; frantic, desperate, disconnected, panicked, wrong, bad, behind, abandoned, not enough, not chosen, and the list goes on.

Here I sit today feeling blessed, honored, humbled, more love than is ever possible, calm, being able to regulate, seeing Love everywhere and in everything. I feel stable like the roots of a great oak, and gentle like the rustling of it’s leaves. Many storms have passed through me, but still I stand. And to realize I stand as more, not less. The storms didn’t take, they gave.

For me to put down roots I had to break through concrete.

My Oak is in the midst of Times Square; having always felt out of place, but suddenly people are seeing it like it’s the most refreshing thing they have ever seen. It provides oxygen, shade, a different perspective, a place to rest against that is sturdy and vibrant with life.

It’s like an out of body experience, except for the first time I’m inside mine.

I am two feet in.

This morning I read an email from my dear friend Chip that I have mentioned. And I was thinking about how much I wonder about my Father, and hurt at the not knowing. I had an “Under The Tuscan Sun” moment, where I realized that here is this found father, right here. He writes me everyday basically, always checks in on us, and is supportive and kind.

Anywhere something was missing in my life, I had only to look through open mind and heart to see that it could be filled.

I realize in this moment I’ve missed a thousand rainbows and sunsets, just staring blankly into the world because of old pain and the stories it created.

Now in each moment I’m writing a gorgeous novel. And if these thoughts are never organized into a book someone else can read; you have only to look at my life to read it.

My book is one filled with love, and I never would have known I could say that before.