Tag: #vulnerability

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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My first Counselor….

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you for reading another piece……

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She thinks I’m funny…

I am noticing the more that I write, the more ideas come to me. Basically everything is becoming a blog post in my mind. The trick here is to actually have the proper mixture of inspiration and timing.. the “and timing” being the most important. For example I just got an extreme shock wave of amazing inspiration, and the kids will likely walk in the door any minute. They will all want to talk and my train of thought will be completely de-railed. My challenge is to not be irritable about this process and remember that these moments are moving more and more quickly toward my rear view. Soon I’ll have all the quiet in the world, and then the silence will be deafening. I know me.

Once again with this book (Carry on Warrior) I am able to read her mini essay format quickly in between things and they spark inspiration of my own. One thing I just noticed is how hysterical she is, you can’t help but love her. I notice that I would never give myself the same permission to admit some of these things. I just read a chapter called “Sucker-On Vacuuming, where she describes in hysterical format how she duped her husband into believing she had vacummed by having her young daughter maneuver her baby stroller in just the right way. It made the lines that made it looked as if the floor was vacuumed. She is so pleased with herself that she was able to get away with “keeping her lifestyle the way it was”, until her husband came home with a new vacuum at which time she taught her daughter that big girl strollers have engines and continued the game. I shall include a picture. And also they are home. Let’s really stretch things and see if I can finish this post. Stretching my patience and perseverance muscles here tonight.

Yeah this “muscle stretching” didn’t turn out much different than my attempts to work out. Sigh. The kids indeed did arrive home, and I chose to be present. They were cranky and tired, and I as well, so it was short lived… and then the unthinkable happened I was flossing and popped out a huge chunk of filling, basically half a molar and now I’m just waiting for some kind of intense pain and wondering how I will fit fixing this into my schedule :/ My tongue keeps seeking out the gaping hole and testing it for pain. I absolutely hate dental anything, which will now probably end up a blog post. I have a very tricky history with being able to get numb, and having had nerves hit etc. My mouth is extremely sensitive and historically dentists have not always been so understanding of this. I’ve been made so often to seem like I’m just overly sensitive, and this definitely does not only extend to dental care.

But the original point of this was to say that in admiring how funny Glennon is, when I look at myself I get nervous that I am not that entertaining to read. She is much funnier than I am. However my person thinks I am funny. She always tells me actually. She laughs at/with me all the time. She makes me feel so good about myself, in a way I haven’t experienced before. It’s pretty amazing when someone looks at you like the best thing in the world. When they appreciate your mind and heart. When they think you’re funny and tell you so often. She loves me so well that I’m nearly convinced I’m at least 50 percent funny. But I feel so serious all the time. I am almost always in some contemplation, and if I am overwhelmed forget it I seem spaced out and as if I can’t focus on a single thing, and it’s usually because I’m focused on a million things.

I’m not good at sarcastic funny. I’m always teaching the kids that something is only funny if it’s funny to all involved parties. Then there are the people that feel as if “just joking”, or saying they only meant it to be funny etc. excuses behavior that is at times appalling. It masks their own discomfort at the expense of someone else’s. I was the butt of a lot of peoples teasing when I was young, perhaps this has something to do with it. Some pretty brutal teasing actually.

I have a funny story that thinking of Glennon’s mishaps as a wife and mother brought to mind. The very first time I ever used a dishwasher, which I think was after I got married and had moved to Virginia. We were in a 2 story brick house with a screened-in sun porch. I put dish soap in the washer. I had no idea you were supposed to use detergent. I found this out when our entire kitchen floor was covered in frothing bubbles coming out of the machine. My now ex-husband thought it was hysterical. I literally had no idea what was happening, he did though. Tyler was a baby. I had a child before I knew that Dawn does not go into the dishwasher. I have definitely done more than one thing backwards in my life.

I’ll end on a note of the next chapter I began reading. Glennon says “Craig and I have two recurring problems in our marriage. I feel sad when I don’t get listened to, and he feels sad when he doesn’t get made out with. I am starting to understand that these two problems are related. They’re both about intimacy.” She goes on to say that her and Craig lack intimacy. Perhaps she is funny out of a place of need. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism. I would describe myself as genuine and sincere and that is my super power of sorts, that people who talk to me can feel that I am invested, in more than just me using my counseling skills. Regarding the differences in intimacy I am happy to report with my person thankfully I have both. The fact that she thinks I am funny gives me encouragement that in turn gives me a lightness that makes me more funny. Even when I feel I might have streched it a little far, she laughs so sincerely, and I feel like the most attractive person on earth. Is there any greater thing really than feeling seen and loved just as we are. I feel lucky beyond all imagination… every single day. I hope to write our love story, and my love story, and everything in between.

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Sanctuary
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On feeling like a fraud….

Thank you Dave !!

 

I’m having a lot of emotions open up for me recently. It is occupying a lot of my energy and therefore the lines have been silent for a bit.

I haven’t talked with many people outside my immediate few about my experience with deploying with The Red Cross for Disaster Mental Health Relief to Texas.

This morning I recieved a Houston Strong T-shirt and a special pin from a cherised person whom I look up to in the counseling field. My reaction was unexpected even to myself. I cried big ugly crocodile tears, and I am here sitting in these emotions. I wish I could say I cried because of the generosity of the gesture and how it feels to be seen and appreciated, for all the depth of that. This is my desired wish. The truth is I cried because I felt like I didn’t deserve it. I felt, as I have many times throughout my life… like a fraud.

My first idea to become a Red Cross Volunteer came when in my graduate degree program I met Professor and Red Cross Extraordinaire, Dave Denino. He was teaching a Crisis course at SCSU. He showed us a video of relief effort for Hurricane Katrina and I immediately felt as if I wanted to give in such a way as well. I looked up to Dr. Denino. He had a warm and kind presence and his work to improve the lives of others in a variety of ways is deeply inspiring. He is the type of figure I would have wished to have for a Father. I am grateful that he is seen and believed in me, and in that way he became somewhat of a figure of that nature, someone I wanted to model myself after. I have always decided I want to work to become that which I admire. I work tirelessly on those efforts, but what people don’t see is how often I have struggled and at times failed in these pursuits.

In this case people could see my effort, and my fancy Red Cross garb and my big smile headed to Texas, but what they didn’t see as they thanked me for my service was the internal battle that ended up happening.

All my life I have struggled with biting off more than I can chew, my enthusiasm larger always than my pool of resources. I am beginning to see also the beauty in this and not just the beast, but it’s been quite the journey. The truth about a Red Cross deployment is I have wanted to be that person, the warm and comforting one, since the day I realized that was a possibility, but my life has not afforded it being that option. I knew if I didn’t decide quickly to go on this and just make it happen, like many other things in my life, it would not come to pass. It is perhaps just how I work. But in my situation I have many other people to consider, and the fact that I have a disease. Both of these things came into play with my deployment in ways that I didn’t anticipate. My heart was in the right place, but as always with life when we see what we think something will be like, and what it is actually like can be a world of difference. I am a famous “romanticizer”.

What actually happened is that my partner whom I adore is a 911 dispatcher and she ended up being held over for 16 hour shifts the majority of while I was gone. I could tell and hear in her voice that she was desperate for me to come home. What actually happened is that the travel and stress on  my body made my Crohn’s symptoms come to life in ways that I did not anticipate, that I could not have known, but still feel like a hack and a fraud for wasting resources and going if I had to come back early. What actually happend was is that I rushed to the scene wanting to be a hero, and the version of myself I ended up meeting was someone cranky when things didn’t look that way. A full frontal view of my own humanity was laid out before me, and I did not like for awhile what I saw.

I realized this morning that this entire experience as a whole has important lessons for me. This is what I do with most of the experiment that is my life. I attempt to learn from it, and only in this second half of my life am I learning to do that without being AS hard on myself as I used to be. What actually happened was that I spent the first 4-5 days of my deployment not particpating in much because the operation wasn’t organized yet. Outside the situation that is very understandable and I would not fault the organization, but inside I was impatient and frustrated since it was a big sacrifice on my part to not be earning income for that 2 weeks. I recognize now that I couldn’t skip past this being a learning experience. I now know so much more about what to expect from myself and from the organization, and to make fully sure my home situation is secured before doing such a thing. My enthusiasm is like a giant lab puppy dragging my responsible self across the world.

I wanted to show up better, with more patience. I expect myself to have a positive attitude and to bring it with me. I had more moments on that deployment than I would have liked where I did not feel that way. And on top I feel guilty about that. Because I know if I am not part of a solution then I am part of the problem.

So now the entire experience became this source of shame and discomfort, and once that happened I somehow forgot all that I did contribute during my time, and that my heart was in the right place. My heart is always in the right place, I just make mistakes and have shortcomings like everyone else <3

So for everyone out there that feels like a fraud. Your feelings often can lie to you, and this is also a normal part of being a human being. To take the time to work through it and give yourself the understanding and compassion you would give another is essential.

Thank you Dave. What you don’t know is how this gesture actually became a piece of my healing, because it showed me where the hurt resides and then with some support I can find relief. I can’t tell you how much it means to have a role model like you to be able to watch and learn from. How much it means that you have believed in me. I hope to be that for my Client’s, my Family, and my Friends. A role model that they are proud to call theirs and to learn from.

This post has inspired me to spend some time soon writing a blog post about what I did accomplish in Houston and about my experience there.

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Blogger revealed: parenting struggles and vulnerability

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Warmly,

Christina