It has been a long time since I've written. I have been thinking a lot about why that is and I think that it comes from feeling too exposed and what that brings with it. Being open about this aspect of my life--and I am referring mainly to my childhood relationships here--brings up a lot of emotions that I sometimes would rather avoid. Self-preservation is the name of the game folks. But aside from that, I think it is also the feedback that sometimes comes with being exposed. The wonderful thing about technology is that I can write in the confines of my own safe space without facing the reader. Once I am faced with someone who has actually read it I feel very vulnerable and awkward. The other issue is that sometimes people, well-meaning of course, have advice or thoughts on how I can move forward in my life. And I think that maybe people just want you to be happier or they think that they have answers that you don't or maybe they are just uncomfortable with your (their) sadness. I find myself this way with my children at times--it is hard watching someone you care about go through tough emotions. And writing this, I am reminding myself that sometimes just being a witness and really hearing someone's story is healing enough. I wish that I could let people live in my head for a day, especially a day like today, that is full of triggers and anxiety and absolute dread in the pit of my stomach and help them to understand that, though I try to control all of these things, my brain and body often react in ways that I can not control. And I want to find a way to figure it out--I have tried many things and will continue to do so--but I do feel helpless at times like this. Thankfully I have days that are much better than today and for that I am grateful.
But on to the real purpose of this post....
The last three days have brought on a barrage of texts from my mom--in the past it would have been days of voice mails but, once again, technology has come to the rescue and expanded opportunities for families to connect. There is a context to all of this that I will get to in a minute, but first I feel it necessary to say that I sincerely thought that if this happened again I would be able to handle it. And I guess if I am comparing apples to apples, I would say that I am doing better than I would have in the past--but then again this assault of texts is mild compared to what it has been in the past so maybe comparisons don't work here.
Remember when I talked about triggers earlier? Well, welcome to a very obvious and direct trigger of my appropriately named "Complex PTSD." I think the complex part makes me sound more sophisticated, don't you? This is much easier to explain than all those other pesky subtle triggers that are unexpected or nonsensical. What is this Complex PTSD you ask? Well here is a link for your bedtime reading: http://outofthefog.net/Disorders/CPTSD.html
I realize now that it is getting late and so this is going to have to be a 2-part blog. Oh, the suspense. I have to tell you that I already feel a little better after writing so that is the whole point right? I promise to finish this story soon if you'll promise to read it...
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Friday, May 11, 2012
Happy Mother's Day
Though I hope that during this blog I've been able to convey my immense love and respect for my mom, not just the struggles between us, I am not sure I've been able to do her justice as of yet so here is my attempt to do so.
Growing up my mom was my shining star. I loved her so intensely and completely and wanted to be just like her when I grew up. She is the most hilarious person I know (though sometimes at other people's expense). She is very quick-witted and highly intelligent so getting into a fight with her is literally a losing battle. She taught me to be empathic and extremely sensitive to others' feelings, through her own struggles and through watching her in action when it came caring for the most marginalized in our society. She took risks, lost jobs, and wore herself thin in order to advocate for those who could not do so themselves--maybe because she often had felt the same and wished someone was fighting for her. She was my hero and still is in many ways. I am not near as courageous as she is but I do have a tendency to create waves if I feel something is unjust and it makes me feel proud to know that I am at least a little like her in this way.
It's hard to describe the kind of mom she was. She was complicated, still is complicated, but back then I saw her as infallible, larger than life, which I guess many of us probably do when it comes to our parents. She is beautiful. I never have doubted one moment that she loved me. She worked several jobs sometimes just to keep us afloat financially and still managed to be involved in every aspect of our lives. She worked hard, non-stop, while also dealing with her own demons. Her body has taken a beating, literally and figuratively, her whole life and she somehow has kept going. She has been victimized in every way possible, so many times, that it makes my heart sick to even think about. She is truly a survivor and I am grateful that she continues to go on in the face of so much pain, though I know for her the choice has not always been so easy.
What I am the most sad about is that this is a woman who is amazing and who could've had a different life had her childhood been different. I have been angry with her but never once have I felt that the outcome of our relationship was her fault, or even her parents' fault, or their parents' fault. Well, OK, so I have blamed her parents at times but I know that they are the product of their environment too and so how do you blame any one person when it is just a cycle of dysfunction? The main point here to take away is that though my mom had a very dysfunctional childhood, she managed to come out of that with an amazing determination to do better for her kids. And she did. And it wasn't perfect by any means and some of the damage done to her had an impact on us, but she did better than she knew how--by a million degrees.
I am sitting here thinking of so many memories of her and I really miss how I saw her when I was a little girl. It was so much simpler then. I think I always understood her, from a very young age, but not necessarily how that translated into my relationship with her, especially as I grew into my own person. It is nice to think back and I try to do it once in awhile, but it is hard too. I just want her to know that I love her, have always loved her, and that I want only good things for her. I would take away all the pain she has experienced if I could and let her have some real peace--she deserves at least that.
I love you mom.
Growing up my mom was my shining star. I loved her so intensely and completely and wanted to be just like her when I grew up. She is the most hilarious person I know (though sometimes at other people's expense). She is very quick-witted and highly intelligent so getting into a fight with her is literally a losing battle. She taught me to be empathic and extremely sensitive to others' feelings, through her own struggles and through watching her in action when it came caring for the most marginalized in our society. She took risks, lost jobs, and wore herself thin in order to advocate for those who could not do so themselves--maybe because she often had felt the same and wished someone was fighting for her. She was my hero and still is in many ways. I am not near as courageous as she is but I do have a tendency to create waves if I feel something is unjust and it makes me feel proud to know that I am at least a little like her in this way.
It's hard to describe the kind of mom she was. She was complicated, still is complicated, but back then I saw her as infallible, larger than life, which I guess many of us probably do when it comes to our parents. She is beautiful. I never have doubted one moment that she loved me. She worked several jobs sometimes just to keep us afloat financially and still managed to be involved in every aspect of our lives. She worked hard, non-stop, while also dealing with her own demons. Her body has taken a beating, literally and figuratively, her whole life and she somehow has kept going. She has been victimized in every way possible, so many times, that it makes my heart sick to even think about. She is truly a survivor and I am grateful that she continues to go on in the face of so much pain, though I know for her the choice has not always been so easy.
What I am the most sad about is that this is a woman who is amazing and who could've had a different life had her childhood been different. I have been angry with her but never once have I felt that the outcome of our relationship was her fault, or even her parents' fault, or their parents' fault. Well, OK, so I have blamed her parents at times but I know that they are the product of their environment too and so how do you blame any one person when it is just a cycle of dysfunction? The main point here to take away is that though my mom had a very dysfunctional childhood, she managed to come out of that with an amazing determination to do better for her kids. And she did. And it wasn't perfect by any means and some of the damage done to her had an impact on us, but she did better than she knew how--by a million degrees.
I am sitting here thinking of so many memories of her and I really miss how I saw her when I was a little girl. It was so much simpler then. I think I always understood her, from a very young age, but not necessarily how that translated into my relationship with her, especially as I grew into my own person. It is nice to think back and I try to do it once in awhile, but it is hard too. I just want her to know that I love her, have always loved her, and that I want only good things for her. I would take away all the pain she has experienced if I could and let her have some real peace--she deserves at least that.
I love you mom.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Life Of An Imposter: Take Four
In my recent posts I think it is obvious that I am struggling. It's interesting in some ways, because each day the amount of struggle I feel varies and maybe that is how it is for everyone. I have trouble really knowing what feeling "normal" means and maybe it means nothing but still I feel like I am always striving to reach it. This is why I want to hear other people's struggles so desperately, so that I can gauge my own thoughts and feelings against theirs and figure out if I am getting closer or further away from who I want to be. I am fearful that I will never reach that point and that so much damage has been done in my past to ever fully recover. When I look at where I was 10 years ago, I am amazed at how different I am and how differently I view the world, but still I am not content with who I am. It feels like I am in this constant internal battle with myself and I don't really know who I want to win. I have moments where I think that I need to accept myself as I am and then moments where I think that would mean giving up on things getting better. And as I write this I am thinking, "Well, why do the two have to be mutually exclusive? Can't I accept myself and strive for better?" And the answer is likely yes, but my brain has trouble with seeing the gray sometimes. Though in recent years, I am discovering (to my great awe as I spent 22 years of my life identifying solely with my mom) that I am strikingly like my father and most of this seems to be pure genetics--which is both extremely interesting to me and a little frightening since I would prefer my own kids not to have to struggle with anxiety and depression as I have had to. I am sure though, that my environment didn't help my predispositions to these things, and I hope I can at least provide some relief to my kids in that way, though some days I wonder if I am doing a good enough job.
To illustrate the difference between my old life and my life now is a text I received from my mom yesterday relaying a story of yet another altercation between her and my brother where he attacked her while she was driving over something seemingly minor and fractured her wrist in two places. I wasn't there and so I don't know the full story but does it really matter when the end result is a fractured wrist? These are the kinds of things that I used to witness growing up and just getting a text about something like this occupies my mind for days as I relive the event as if I was there, since I was there for so many times before. And I am relieved that I am separate from this now and proud that I have been strong enough to pull away for myself and my family but I am deeply sad too, as you all know, for the loss of the family I wanted to have. And as I've grown older, and maybe even from a young age, I have always known that it is hard to place fault since I understand why things have turned out the way they have and I know that I have to just accept this and move forward. And I do. I keep moving ahead, but the past trails behind me, popping up at all sorts of interesting and not so convenient times. It limits me and I don't want it to do that forever. But like someone who has been through war, my mind is wired to be hyper alert, sensitive to vulnerability, and ready for attack. The only difference being that the ones I fear, I also lived with and love with an animalistic instinct that is beyond my control.
And to tie this all back to my Imposter Syndrome, I will say that feeling like you live in a war zone, when the people who love you are also very likely to be the ones you need to fear the most, is a lonely place to live. It is hard for others to understand and even if they do, it is likely hard for them to love someone who has such a damaged approach to life. This is what I fear the most, that though I am scared to be loved too much, I will not be able to be loved at all because I am too damaged from the past and my brain and heart have been broken beyond repair. The combination of genetics and environment have taken their toll and I have worked hard to fix what I can and I will continue to do that, but will it ever be enough? Will I ever be enough? And just not enough for others, but for myself? And maybe the answer won't be a resounding, "Yes, of course you can overcome this!" but instead, a more subtle acceptance of where I have been and who I have become and the ability to let doing my best be good enough.
As I walk through my daily life, internally battling all of these things, it is hard to relate to people in a way that feels authentic. I learned early how to act "normal" but not how to feel it and so I feel perpetually scared of being found out as the imposter that I am. And more than fearing being known, I fear not being accepted once I am.
To illustrate the difference between my old life and my life now is a text I received from my mom yesterday relaying a story of yet another altercation between her and my brother where he attacked her while she was driving over something seemingly minor and fractured her wrist in two places. I wasn't there and so I don't know the full story but does it really matter when the end result is a fractured wrist? These are the kinds of things that I used to witness growing up and just getting a text about something like this occupies my mind for days as I relive the event as if I was there, since I was there for so many times before. And I am relieved that I am separate from this now and proud that I have been strong enough to pull away for myself and my family but I am deeply sad too, as you all know, for the loss of the family I wanted to have. And as I've grown older, and maybe even from a young age, I have always known that it is hard to place fault since I understand why things have turned out the way they have and I know that I have to just accept this and move forward. And I do. I keep moving ahead, but the past trails behind me, popping up at all sorts of interesting and not so convenient times. It limits me and I don't want it to do that forever. But like someone who has been through war, my mind is wired to be hyper alert, sensitive to vulnerability, and ready for attack. The only difference being that the ones I fear, I also lived with and love with an animalistic instinct that is beyond my control.
And to tie this all back to my Imposter Syndrome, I will say that feeling like you live in a war zone, when the people who love you are also very likely to be the ones you need to fear the most, is a lonely place to live. It is hard for others to understand and even if they do, it is likely hard for them to love someone who has such a damaged approach to life. This is what I fear the most, that though I am scared to be loved too much, I will not be able to be loved at all because I am too damaged from the past and my brain and heart have been broken beyond repair. The combination of genetics and environment have taken their toll and I have worked hard to fix what I can and I will continue to do that, but will it ever be enough? Will I ever be enough? And just not enough for others, but for myself? And maybe the answer won't be a resounding, "Yes, of course you can overcome this!" but instead, a more subtle acceptance of where I have been and who I have become and the ability to let doing my best be good enough.
As I walk through my daily life, internally battling all of these things, it is hard to relate to people in a way that feels authentic. I learned early how to act "normal" but not how to feel it and so I feel perpetually scared of being found out as the imposter that I am. And more than fearing being known, I fear not being accepted once I am.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
The Best Laid Plans...
I had all of these grandiose plans to write a fantastic blog today but yet here I sit, a few minutes before I am due home to take care of my kids and I have managed to put it off. The issue is not that I don't have anything I want to say, it's that I have too much I want to say. This is how I get sometimes. My anxiety gets high at certain times and I get easily overwhelmed. I don't sleep well . I am crabbier. It's like my brain starts working on overdrive and I want to do everything and nothing all at once. Decisiveness is illusive and the checklist in my head gets increasingly longer. You can imagine that this would be frustrating right? I know it will pass and I believe this is mostly hormonally driven, but frustrating nonetheless.
Just to give you an idea of what my mind is like, here is a list of the things in my head over the past few days:
1. Cleaning for upcoming party at our house--this is a broad category that entails many detailed projects I think I MUST have done before Sunday.
2. Finishing numerous sewing projects--though there will always be more I want to do so I shall never be satisfied.
3. Ideas for blog posts ranging from the continuing inequality of woman to the annoying girl at the Bread Garden to my obsessive compulsive tendencies to parenting to birth order to friendships to mistakes I have made to my likes and dislikes about myself to my sibling and on and on...
4. Thinking about how my issues impact my relationships, now and in the past
5. It's been too long since I've seen my therapist. lol!
6. Always struggling to be a better parent.
7. An on-going list of tasks I feel I must complete to feel like a competent human being
8. The need to be more positive because people don't like negative people but then arguing with myself that positivity is sometimes just a mask of what lies underneath and so isn't it better to be honest but then shouldn't I be expressing more gratitude for what I do have and on and on.
9. If this blog is worth while.
That is just a sampling. Oh lord--I better refer to #5.
Just to give you an idea of what my mind is like, here is a list of the things in my head over the past few days:
1. Cleaning for upcoming party at our house--this is a broad category that entails many detailed projects I think I MUST have done before Sunday.
2. Finishing numerous sewing projects--though there will always be more I want to do so I shall never be satisfied.
3. Ideas for blog posts ranging from the continuing inequality of woman to the annoying girl at the Bread Garden to my obsessive compulsive tendencies to parenting to birth order to friendships to mistakes I have made to my likes and dislikes about myself to my sibling and on and on...
4. Thinking about how my issues impact my relationships, now and in the past
5. It's been too long since I've seen my therapist. lol!
6. Always struggling to be a better parent.
7. An on-going list of tasks I feel I must complete to feel like a competent human being
8. The need to be more positive because people don't like negative people but then arguing with myself that positivity is sometimes just a mask of what lies underneath and so isn't it better to be honest but then shouldn't I be expressing more gratitude for what I do have and on and on.
9. If this blog is worth while.
That is just a sampling. Oh lord--I better refer to #5.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Craigslist Has Super Powers...
About a year and a half ago, my husband and I were looking for someone to help watch our kids once in awhile. I would look on Craigslist as part of our search and one day I saw an ad from someone who seemed like they might be a good fit. And though Craigslist gets a bad rap, the person we interviewed soon became a regular part of our lives.
I will call her only by her initial in case she doesn't want to be known. K. has brought an interesting component to my life, though it is likely she doesn't even realize it (until she reads this post that is!). Aside from our kids loving her, she and I have gotten to know each other over the past year and a half--usually by cramming in conversations when she arrives or before she leaves. Many times, when we talk it feels like we are in a race trying to say all the things we want to say before the buisness of tending to the kids takes over. It is one of those relationships where you never run out of things to talk about because you have so much in common.
And that's the funny things about K. and I. We met through something as anonymous as Craigslist, yet we are so much alike. In fact, when she read the first couple posts for this blog, the next time I saw her she seem confounded that I had written things that she first took for being about her. We have had funny moments of finding out we are reading the same book at the same time (this has happened more than once) or realizing that the shoes I just bought, look very similar to ones she already has. Once we even bought the very same fabric at the fabric store to make a similar gift for my son. We are both creative and love to constantly learn to make new things. If you asked us both what a perfect afternoon would be, I would bet that we would give very similar answers. It is a strange thing having so much in common with someone who just came suddenly into your life, who you see once a week, and who you pay to watch your kids.
The more complicated part is that though she is nowhere close to being old enough to be my mom, she reminds me so much of her. Not the parts of my mom that I wish could be different, but the amazing parts of her--the fun, empathic, adventure seeking, creative parts. All of the things K. likes to do for fun are the same things my mom and I had our greatest memories doing together growing up--going to garage sales, flea markets, being out in nature, collecting weird stuff, taking spontaneous road trips, going to the zoo, and on and on. Many of these things, K. does with her own teenage daughter and I find myself wishing that were me--wishing that I was the one who got to have this mom, who reminds me so much of my mom, without the darker parts. But that's confusing right? I mean, she is not my mom obviously and it is not that I really want her to be, I just wish that I could have the good of my mom without the hard stuff. It makes me sad. It makes me long for those moments my mom and I had when I was growing up that were pure joy and goodness. I miss it so much.
So with K. I always feel confused. It seems like we should be friendship soul mates right? But because my relationship with my mom is complicated, so is my internal relationship with K.. I know rationally that she is not the same as my mom but I still have this fear of getting too close to her, of being hurt by her, or maybe just being reminded too much of what I don't have. I struggle with my feelings even though I know it makes little sense. In the world of therapy, we call this phenomena transference. Wikipedia defines transference as, "a phenomenon in psychoanalysis characterized by unconscious redirection of feelings from one person to another. One definition of transference is the inappropriate repetition in the present of a relationship that was important in a person's childhood."
So where does that leave the relationship between K. and I? Are we friends? Employee/Employer? Kindred spirits? What happens when she is no longer watching my kids? Do we just go back to our completely separate lives and that's that? I really don't know. It all seems very strange. And all of this from a little ad on Craigslist. Gotta love life--always keeping things interesting.
I will call her only by her initial in case she doesn't want to be known. K. has brought an interesting component to my life, though it is likely she doesn't even realize it (until she reads this post that is!). Aside from our kids loving her, she and I have gotten to know each other over the past year and a half--usually by cramming in conversations when she arrives or before she leaves. Many times, when we talk it feels like we are in a race trying to say all the things we want to say before the buisness of tending to the kids takes over. It is one of those relationships where you never run out of things to talk about because you have so much in common.
And that's the funny things about K. and I. We met through something as anonymous as Craigslist, yet we are so much alike. In fact, when she read the first couple posts for this blog, the next time I saw her she seem confounded that I had written things that she first took for being about her. We have had funny moments of finding out we are reading the same book at the same time (this has happened more than once) or realizing that the shoes I just bought, look very similar to ones she already has. Once we even bought the very same fabric at the fabric store to make a similar gift for my son. We are both creative and love to constantly learn to make new things. If you asked us both what a perfect afternoon would be, I would bet that we would give very similar answers. It is a strange thing having so much in common with someone who just came suddenly into your life, who you see once a week, and who you pay to watch your kids.
The more complicated part is that though she is nowhere close to being old enough to be my mom, she reminds me so much of her. Not the parts of my mom that I wish could be different, but the amazing parts of her--the fun, empathic, adventure seeking, creative parts. All of the things K. likes to do for fun are the same things my mom and I had our greatest memories doing together growing up--going to garage sales, flea markets, being out in nature, collecting weird stuff, taking spontaneous road trips, going to the zoo, and on and on. Many of these things, K. does with her own teenage daughter and I find myself wishing that were me--wishing that I was the one who got to have this mom, who reminds me so much of my mom, without the darker parts. But that's confusing right? I mean, she is not my mom obviously and it is not that I really want her to be, I just wish that I could have the good of my mom without the hard stuff. It makes me sad. It makes me long for those moments my mom and I had when I was growing up that were pure joy and goodness. I miss it so much.
So with K. I always feel confused. It seems like we should be friendship soul mates right? But because my relationship with my mom is complicated, so is my internal relationship with K.. I know rationally that she is not the same as my mom but I still have this fear of getting too close to her, of being hurt by her, or maybe just being reminded too much of what I don't have. I struggle with my feelings even though I know it makes little sense. In the world of therapy, we call this phenomena transference. Wikipedia defines transference as, "a phenomenon in psychoanalysis characterized by unconscious redirection of feelings from one person to another. One definition of transference is the inappropriate repetition in the present of a relationship that was important in a person's childhood."
So where does that leave the relationship between K. and I? Are we friends? Employee/Employer? Kindred spirits? What happens when she is no longer watching my kids? Do we just go back to our completely separate lives and that's that? I really don't know. It all seems very strange. And all of this from a little ad on Craigslist. Gotta love life--always keeping things interesting.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
All I Want For Christmas...
Today I am holed up in my house for the third beautiful day in a row due to a recent surgery extracting my two front teeth that has left me looking (and feeling) rather crappy. The irony of this situation is that so often I long for time alone to write, read, or sew but now that I have this time, I am bored and restless and wishing I could be outside in this wonderful weather with my family. I am not particularly vain, but I scare myself when I look into the mirror so I am not ready to go face the world just yet. I feel uninspired to do much of anything really since I am in pain and on mind numbing medications.
Being the impatient person I am, I thought that I would be up and running again by today but instead the swelling is at it's worse and my face looks nothing short of a bloated horse. I now have these fake teeth that are uncomfortable and look strange and are pressing up against the swelling of my gums. These fake teeth have to get me through the next several months until I can have yet another procedure to place two rods in my jaw bone and later place permanent caps on those. It is going to be a long process and one that I have avoided for as long as possible. It is expensive and painful and time consuming. Eating is almost impossible and, for some reason, I didn't think that part through much either.
When it comes to medical procedures, I have a tendency to just not think about it much at all leading up to the event since I know doing so would make my anxiety out of control. The downside is that I often feel unprepared for the outcome as I didn't take the time to think it through. But which is worse, worrying for weeks or being unprepared after? I think I'll stick with my way. My husband, on the other hand, always likes to know the fine details of things and so I look to him to research, go with to appointments and ask questions. I tend to tune out the doctors after awhile but he is able to engage with great interest until his questions are satisfied. I think these differences between us, which I've touched on before, highlight the greatness of having a partner who has different strengths than you. We share much in common too but it is really the ability to pick up where the other one leaves off that is key. But I digress.
I bid you farewell for now. Maybe I will feel more inspired as I get better to write more. Wish me luck.
Being the impatient person I am, I thought that I would be up and running again by today but instead the swelling is at it's worse and my face looks nothing short of a bloated horse. I now have these fake teeth that are uncomfortable and look strange and are pressing up against the swelling of my gums. These fake teeth have to get me through the next several months until I can have yet another procedure to place two rods in my jaw bone and later place permanent caps on those. It is going to be a long process and one that I have avoided for as long as possible. It is expensive and painful and time consuming. Eating is almost impossible and, for some reason, I didn't think that part through much either.
When it comes to medical procedures, I have a tendency to just not think about it much at all leading up to the event since I know doing so would make my anxiety out of control. The downside is that I often feel unprepared for the outcome as I didn't take the time to think it through. But which is worse, worrying for weeks or being unprepared after? I think I'll stick with my way. My husband, on the other hand, always likes to know the fine details of things and so I look to him to research, go with to appointments and ask questions. I tend to tune out the doctors after awhile but he is able to engage with great interest until his questions are satisfied. I think these differences between us, which I've touched on before, highlight the greatness of having a partner who has different strengths than you. We share much in common too but it is really the ability to pick up where the other one leaves off that is key. But I digress.
I bid you farewell for now. Maybe I will feel more inspired as I get better to write more. Wish me luck.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Life Of An Imposter: Part 3
This post is the most personal thus far and is one that I've been struggling with posting. Instead of giving any long explanation of the complicated relationship I share with my mother, I am instead choosing to put out a selection of letters in a series I wrote to my mom during a 5 year period when we were estranged. We are now speaking again and have come to some sort of understanding about the relationship we are able to have at this point in our lives, but it is not what I wish it would be nor is it what she would like either I am sure. These are letters that I wrote for myself and have only been seen by a couple other people so it is scary for me to let them go out into a world where they will be judged and I won't have control over the memories anymore, but that is also what I am seeking...a chance to let some of this go. So here it is, another attempt to explain my Imposter Syndrome and how it is linked to how I grew up--it is not direct by any means but I hope I am getting closer to finding a way to explain this feeling that follows me and slowly become more free from it.
#1
4-1-08
She is right down the highway, east and a little to the
south. I know her doorway, her broken windows
that refuse to open, her flowers and lilac bushes she planted herself—stolen
but hers. Her smell. Cat fur flying,
smoke lingering in the air—motionless.
House filled with things that tell you something about the woman who
lives there. A tight box. Suffocating.
Can’t breathe here. Ashes and Patchouli. Laughter. Stories told with full gestures and
such clarity it is like you were there.
Bitterness. Anger. Loss. Hammer to skin. Black and Blue. The knife out of the drawer. The big one.
Point in her soft belly.
Stopped. Barely in time. Dust lingering, being tossed around this way
and that, never to settle the same way again.
Screaming. Begging. Confusion. She
can’t breathe. Violence from angles I
never imagined—though I should have known. I should have known. Threats or
reality? Those eyes. Who is right?
What can I do? Fear. Am I still here? Numb with tears—tears for who?
Just one button on my phone straight to her ear. That’s how quick—how close she is. Lost the connection. Barriers as thick as the blackest fog. Impossible to see in the dark, I wasn’t born
that way. Where is my phone? I hope I don’t find it. I still know the number by heart. Can’t get through, can’t bring myself to
try. Frighteningly comfortable with the
lack of noise, chaos, promises of death, and eccentricities. Everything seeming so grand—larger than life
when really she is more like a mouse, searching for a crumb in hopes of being
filled. Bottomless hole—black and
unrelenting. Feed me. It is never enough.
#2
4-1-08
I want to die. Tell
me it is okay to go. I have no reason to
stay here. I’m in so much pain. Please.
Just say I can go. You don’t need
me anymore. I have no purpose. It’s not fair to make me live just for
you.
Please don’t die. I
need you. I love you. I can be your purpose. I will do more, be more. Just stay.
I will save you. I’ve done it so
many times before. I’ll list the reasons
to live. But I can’t think of many. Is it selfish to want you to stay? Or if I’ve thought about how much simpler
life would be without you—without this?
Oh god! Maybe I should just let
go. Let you fall into the dark. Heart broken into pieces of glass that fill
your lungs and let the air out slow, like a balloon with a small leak. You can almost hear the sound of the
deflation, the fading rasping of life passing you by. An ending.
It has to end somehow.
Somewhere. Sometime. I can’t think of any more answers. I can’t give you any more reasons. What will happen if I am not here to save
you—surely you will die. You will die
and I will be to blame. You have said as
much. I did leave you to freeze to death
on the shores of a creek out in the middle of nowhere. Out of gas, out of touch, wanting to be found
but you are lost. Alone. Your greatest fear yet one that you create
over and over again. Proving to the
world that you are unworthy. No! You mean so much. I should’ve done more.
I understand. You are
too fragile for these things. You have
never been strong enough. I forgive you.
Have you forgotten all we’ve been through? All the ways I tried to be everything for
you? Your mother, your child, your
friend, your partner? You hate me either
way and love me every way. How can that
be?
I am a burden to you.
You would be better off without me.
You don’t even want me around anymore.
You don’t need me. You aren’t the
same person--as me.
I am not the same, I admit it. I am myself and you are you. That is okay, isn’t it? The way it’s supposed to be? At least that’s what I thought. Why can’t you see it? I know.
I really do know. But we are both
feeling this gut-wrenching pain—a baby taken from its mother. Primal.
I’m so sorry.
#3
4-1-08
What do you write about a mother lost? Too much time to think. Too many memories attacking my brain. I feel like crying, but I’m not sure I have
tears left for this. How can I be your
daughter now—if you can not be my mother?
Why do you have to be so good and so bad? I want to be angry at someone. It’s not your fault. It’s not mine. It just is.
How can I explain this to people? It isn’t a matter of will to change on either
side—it isn’t a lack of love. There must
be a solution. No one can tell me what
it is. I want no part of it all but
still I ache for what I can not have, what you have given me and what you can
not. I feel so guilty. Blood on my hands. Abandoned.
A child who only wanted a mother who loved her unconditionally. I thought she did. Didn’t realize she couldn’t.
#4
8-26-06
I don’t like when it’s quiet
Your absence gets much louder
Too busy to cope
Too still to stand.
You’re probably sleeping
Maybe on the couch
Fallen asleep to the t.v.
Snoring and restless
Grinding teeth, fitful dreams
Your sweet scent filling the room
Patchouli, lavender, and mom.
Mom.
Your breath is slow
You hold it now
Savoring the oxygen
Are you okay?
I’m sitting here killing myself too.
Why?
Identification with you?
One last thing to hold in common.
One way to be near you—like you.
Making my own destiny—it’s out of my control?
It’s not—but yours is.
I can’t take that.
It makes me cold.
Freezing.
I wish…
I hope…
I can’t stand the quiet.
#5
8-26-06
I am getting closer,
To being far away
Or moving in
to crack open the door.
Peaking inside
Fearful and shaking
All of my hope in a sliver of light.
How can I be so scared of someone I love so much?,
Know so well.
I wanted it to be okay.
I want it to be okay.
Can I be safe with you?
Can I keep myself safe?
I don’t know.
I am not so strong anymore.
Not in that way.
I can’t fight now.
Can you accept that?
Please…
Thursday, March 1, 2012
For the Life of Me...
Over the past several months, my 4 year old son has slowly begun asking questions about death. It started when I was talking about my grandmother, who died several years ago, and he wanted to know if we could visit her. I explained that she had died, which was the first time he heard of such a concept and he was confused. The next time the subject came up it was after watching a YouTube video of Janis Joplin. Again, he wanted to know where she was and I explained that she had died. Several days later, as we sat talking, he asked if he could see her dying. He wanted to know what it meant to be dead and was searching for answers in his little 4 year old mind. I told him I didn't think there were pictures like that.
As the last several weeks have progressed there have been more and more conversations like these where he asks questions like, "Do we celebrate Hanukkah? Do dead people still wiggle? What world are dead people in? Where do you go when you die?" and the worst being, "You and Daddy are going to die." "Why do you think that?," I ask. "Because you are old," he replies. "We aren't THAT old. People can live a really long time."
Each time we have one of these conversations he seems to contemplate it for a few days before new questions and insights arise. I think this is a good place to state that my son is very bright--and I know every mother thinks that about her child--but I am saying this because I have no doubts it is true and because everyone who has gotten to know him is shocked by the things he knows and thinks about. He is this funny, social butterfly (I call him the absent-minded professor) that you'd never guess was so smart unless you quizzed him on facts about the solar system, human body, or asked him to read to you. His memory is phenomenal and his ability to think abstractly about things started quite young. My point being that he seems to really get things that another child his age may not and he asks questions that I am not prepared for.
The latest entry into our conversation about death and dying came this weekend while leaving the fabric store. This was when he asked about dead people wiggling and where they go when they die. I explained that dead people can't wiggle because their hearts are no longer beating and they don't need oxygen anymore and so their body is done--man did that feel harsh coming out of my mouth. I proceeded to tell him about cemeteries and burial vs. cremation. Then came the hardest part...the God discussion. My husband and I are both atheists and have no belief in a higher power. Believe me, I wish I did believe as it would make the idea of life and death much more comforting, but I just don't. I have always known this would come up with my kids but I just didn't think it would be so soon. My belief is that you should let your children chose who they want to be, while obviously guiding them towards being pro-social, good human beings, but leaving the big decisions up to them, which is precisely what I told my son. I told him briefly about the idea of God and Heaven and that many people believe in this and that he can chose to also as he gets older and learns more but that daddy and I didn't believe in God and Heaven but instead that once people die their bodies are done and they live on in the memories of those who loved them and miss them.
In trying to help his little mind sort all of this out, we went to the Unitarian Church in town to assess their religious education program as we want him to become an educated citizen about all things so that he can make the best decisions for himself in the future. He is too young for the program at this point, but we will be making an effort to take him to play with other kids at the church and see parts of the services so he gets what we view as the one positive of organized religion and that is the community it can create. UU churches are known for being accepting of all beliefs, even the belief that there is no higher power, and so we can go there as parents without the pressure to conform to something that is not what we believe. I have checked him out books from the library about World Religions and we continue to have discussions about life after death or the lack thereof. These are very difficult discussions for me being that I am very afraid of death and I am trying my hardest not to convey that to my child who I want to feel differently about it than I do. Of course to him, the idea of Heaven sounds much more comforting than what we believe, as it does even to me, and so I tell him that he can believe whatever he chooses but that his daddy and I just want him to keep learning as he grows and when he becomes "big" like us, it is up to him to make those decisions.
Being a parent is such a difficult task with so many different things you are trying to convey to your children about who you want them to become while also letting them become who they want to be. It's a delicate balance and I hope that we are able to walk the line with grace so that he and his brother always know that it is okay to be whoever they want to be and we will love them, without hesitation, through it all.
As the last several weeks have progressed there have been more and more conversations like these where he asks questions like, "Do we celebrate Hanukkah? Do dead people still wiggle? What world are dead people in? Where do you go when you die?" and the worst being, "You and Daddy are going to die." "Why do you think that?," I ask. "Because you are old," he replies. "We aren't THAT old. People can live a really long time."
Each time we have one of these conversations he seems to contemplate it for a few days before new questions and insights arise. I think this is a good place to state that my son is very bright--and I know every mother thinks that about her child--but I am saying this because I have no doubts it is true and because everyone who has gotten to know him is shocked by the things he knows and thinks about. He is this funny, social butterfly (I call him the absent-minded professor) that you'd never guess was so smart unless you quizzed him on facts about the solar system, human body, or asked him to read to you. His memory is phenomenal and his ability to think abstractly about things started quite young. My point being that he seems to really get things that another child his age may not and he asks questions that I am not prepared for.
The latest entry into our conversation about death and dying came this weekend while leaving the fabric store. This was when he asked about dead people wiggling and where they go when they die. I explained that dead people can't wiggle because their hearts are no longer beating and they don't need oxygen anymore and so their body is done--man did that feel harsh coming out of my mouth. I proceeded to tell him about cemeteries and burial vs. cremation. Then came the hardest part...the God discussion. My husband and I are both atheists and have no belief in a higher power. Believe me, I wish I did believe as it would make the idea of life and death much more comforting, but I just don't. I have always known this would come up with my kids but I just didn't think it would be so soon. My belief is that you should let your children chose who they want to be, while obviously guiding them towards being pro-social, good human beings, but leaving the big decisions up to them, which is precisely what I told my son. I told him briefly about the idea of God and Heaven and that many people believe in this and that he can chose to also as he gets older and learns more but that daddy and I didn't believe in God and Heaven but instead that once people die their bodies are done and they live on in the memories of those who loved them and miss them.
In trying to help his little mind sort all of this out, we went to the Unitarian Church in town to assess their religious education program as we want him to become an educated citizen about all things so that he can make the best decisions for himself in the future. He is too young for the program at this point, but we will be making an effort to take him to play with other kids at the church and see parts of the services so he gets what we view as the one positive of organized religion and that is the community it can create. UU churches are known for being accepting of all beliefs, even the belief that there is no higher power, and so we can go there as parents without the pressure to conform to something that is not what we believe. I have checked him out books from the library about World Religions and we continue to have discussions about life after death or the lack thereof. These are very difficult discussions for me being that I am very afraid of death and I am trying my hardest not to convey that to my child who I want to feel differently about it than I do. Of course to him, the idea of Heaven sounds much more comforting than what we believe, as it does even to me, and so I tell him that he can believe whatever he chooses but that his daddy and I just want him to keep learning as he grows and when he becomes "big" like us, it is up to him to make those decisions.
Being a parent is such a difficult task with so many different things you are trying to convey to your children about who you want them to become while also letting them become who they want to be. It's a delicate balance and I hope that we are able to walk the line with grace so that he and his brother always know that it is okay to be whoever they want to be and we will love them, without hesitation, through it all.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
WANTED: New Body and Mind...
I am so anxious today and really can't even form cohesive thoughts to write this blog. I have no rhyme or reason for my anxiety. It could be many things or it could just be how my body and mind are handling stress on this particular day. It is very frustrating and it makes me crazy. These are the days when I wish I was a different person in a different body with a different mind that I felt more in control of. I have been on medication for years to try to manage my anxiety and mild depression but most have either proved ineffective or caused troublesome side effects. The medication I am currently on, I have been on for several years and it helps, but not enough. It is amazing to me that I can have these days where I am calm, in the moment, energized, and excited about life and then the next day I am shaky, overwhelmed, scattered, and have a body full of anxiety. Some of this I think is linked to all the hormonal changes involved in being a woman and how those hormones interact with my predisposition to be anxious or depressed, but what can I do about that? It makes me feel very helpless. It is difficult to parent effectively when your mind and body are not cooperating and that then makes me even more anxious.
Nothing gets me down more than feeling like I am not being the parent I want to be. On these days I often wish that I could just hide in my bedroom staring at the tv or sleeping and not even have to face my kids and try to function in the way that they need. It takes considerable mental and physical energy to parent two small children on a good day and doing so on a day like today feels impossible. I manage somehow but feeling like you are just managing many days is not the way I want to live.
I have a lot of inexplicable health issues besides the anxiety that have led me to have many difficult days in the past 4 years--I have been to numerous doctors and specialists (many of whom have been less than helpful or even hurtful), kept multiple charts of my symptoms, researched, given up and then tried again to find answers and no one still really knows what is wrong with me though everyone has different theories. I will say that my symptoms have improved some in the last month or two and for that I am grateful. The biggest problem is that it is all very unpredictable and so it is hard to lead any kind of life where plans you make often get cancelled and you can't function some days to do much of anything. On my good days, I am active, energetic, present, and calm. On my bad days I am crabby, fatigued, shaky, foggy, and distant. On my worst days, I have headaches, am nauseous, lightheaded, weak, can't think, and have trouble staying awake I am so tired. I get sick easily and often I am oscillating between catching some virus and having my unexplained symptoms and being my normal anxious self--sometimes it feels as if there are no good days, though I know there are. I have always had a horrible immune system and been very sensitive to medications and changes in my body,but this all seemed to intensify after having my little guys.
And so the whole point of this is that when my health is bad, my anxiety and depression worsen because I feel like I am not being the wife, mother, friend, daughter that I want to be. It's a vicious cycle people! But life keeps plugging along and so I do too with hopes that someday things will get better or I'll find the answers I've been looking for.
And now I must be done with this post because the mental energy it took to write this is substantial and I need to go stare at a wall for an hour to recover!
Nothing gets me down more than feeling like I am not being the parent I want to be. On these days I often wish that I could just hide in my bedroom staring at the tv or sleeping and not even have to face my kids and try to function in the way that they need. It takes considerable mental and physical energy to parent two small children on a good day and doing so on a day like today feels impossible. I manage somehow but feeling like you are just managing many days is not the way I want to live.
I have a lot of inexplicable health issues besides the anxiety that have led me to have many difficult days in the past 4 years--I have been to numerous doctors and specialists (many of whom have been less than helpful or even hurtful), kept multiple charts of my symptoms, researched, given up and then tried again to find answers and no one still really knows what is wrong with me though everyone has different theories. I will say that my symptoms have improved some in the last month or two and for that I am grateful. The biggest problem is that it is all very unpredictable and so it is hard to lead any kind of life where plans you make often get cancelled and you can't function some days to do much of anything. On my good days, I am active, energetic, present, and calm. On my bad days I am crabby, fatigued, shaky, foggy, and distant. On my worst days, I have headaches, am nauseous, lightheaded, weak, can't think, and have trouble staying awake I am so tired. I get sick easily and often I am oscillating between catching some virus and having my unexplained symptoms and being my normal anxious self--sometimes it feels as if there are no good days, though I know there are. I have always had a horrible immune system and been very sensitive to medications and changes in my body,but this all seemed to intensify after having my little guys.
And so the whole point of this is that when my health is bad, my anxiety and depression worsen because I feel like I am not being the wife, mother, friend, daughter that I want to be. It's a vicious cycle people! But life keeps plugging along and so I do too with hopes that someday things will get better or I'll find the answers I've been looking for.
And now I must be done with this post because the mental energy it took to write this is substantial and I need to go stare at a wall for an hour to recover!
Monday, February 13, 2012
Happy Valentine's Day--A Love Letter
As I sit writing this, my husband and two children are making dinner together--watching them is watching love in action. This blog is dedicated to my husband and our love story. It is not a love story out of a movie or fairytale, but it is ours.
We met in graduate school through mutual friends who we would go out for drinks with from time to time. What I noted about him at the time was that he was good looking, very intelligent (which intimidated me), and he always had a girlfriend. I also thought all he ever talked about was politics and therefore was not much fun. He later told me that he regarded me as a quiet, not so smart, hippie type. Needless to say, the idea that we would someday be married would've seemed laughable at the time. Long story short, we finally had a night where we got to talk and realized the other one wasn't as stupid or boring as we had thought. After that, we started dating. This lasted for about a month before I started avoiding him citing reasons of wanting to remain "independent." The real reason was that I didn't know how to be relationship with someone who wasn't a jerk so I found reasons that it wouldn't work. So, we went our separate ways and saw each other only on occasions where our mutual friends invited us both out--it was awkward.
During one of these awkward get together's, Brian was telling us how he was applying to Graduate School in another town a few hours away. I instantly felt this sinking feeling--knowing that he was going to be leaving and that the chances that we would find our way back to each other were slim to none freaked me out. I remember going out to the bars and finally realizing that this wasn't what I wanted anymore. There was an exact moment where I realized that I could love this person or maybe already did and I had let him go. As the time for him to leave got closer, I made attempts to reconnect with him. I finally got him to agree to go out for drinks with me and I was going to work up the courage to tell him I still had feelings for him. While we were having drinks, he showed me pictures of a recent trip he took with his friends and there was a girl with him in a couple pictures. He said he was dating her, but that it wasn't serious. I had another drink. I decided to still tell him about my feelings for him, but it was hard--really hard. I think he was surprised, but we kissed and held hands that night and I felt relieved.
The next day, one of the most traumatic things that has happened in my life (a story that I may tell at a later date if I ever find the courage) occurred and I had to leave town fast. I had a cat at the time that I couldn't leave alone and the only person I could think of to take him was Brian, so I showed up at his doorstep (we lived two apartment buildings down from each other) crying hysterically and asking him to take my cat for an unknown period of time. I still can't believe I asked him, of all people, to do such a big favor for me and know so much about the inner workings of my family life, that was typically reserved only for those who I had known for many years and grew up with. He agreed to take my cat even though he'd never had a pet growing up and my cat was no picnic to live with.
I came home several days later, and though things are blurry during this time in my life, I remember at some point that he told the girl he was dating that it wasn't going to work out. Never during this time though did he commit to a relationship with me. We spent his last couple weeks in town together and happy and when he left, I wasn't sure what would happen. We talked on the phone and I would get jealous if I knew there were other girls trying to get his attention. He wasn't ready to commit to a long distance relationship and I am sure the fact that I had quite a bit of baggage and already broke up with him once didn't help my cause. I went to visit him for a weekend and did everything I could think of to convince him that we should be together--housewarming gifts, chocolate covered strawberries, etc. He still didn't commit but I did see hints of jealousy when I was approached by other guys and so there was hope (though at the time he would swear he didn't get jealous--liar! LOL!). The following weekend he took me on a visit to meet his parents. After the weekend ended, he came to stay at my apartment for the night and told me that he thought he loved me. I told him I loved him too. It was that quick and we pretty much knew within weeks that we would end up getting married. We had some family members that thought we were rushing into things, though in reality we waited 4 years to before getting married, because we just knew we wanted to be together and that it was right.
After a year of living apart and traveling weekends to see each other, I finished graduate school and moved to be with him. That year apart was very hard but romantic too. It was also during one of the hardest times in my adult life and he stuck with me through all the ups and downs and loved me regardless. I will never forget that. Meeting him was the most trans formative event to happen in my life. He saved me in many ways and still does on so many days when life seems too hard. It is now 10 years later and we have been through a lot--we both have had many demons to face and our marriage has suffered at times, but we are in this life together and I hope with everything I am that this is the person I get to grow old with. No one understands me, loves me, makes me laugh, inspires me, believes in me, or drives me more crazy than him.
Love Is...
Waking up earlier than your partner every day so she can sleep in.
Making your partner food because she hates doing it.
Knowing that your wife needs a chocolate pie to make her feel better.
Loving the songs that your wife makes up and making her sing them over and over--even for the the kids.
Giving your partner endorphins when she needs them.
Taking the time to research, go to appointments, and even make spread sheets to help your partner figure out health problems.
Knowing what your partner wants and needs without her even telling you.
Going along with your wife's crazy impulses to go on trips or outings when you'd rather stay home.
Finding ways to lessen (or work around) your wife's anxiety and need to have things in order.
Making beautiful children together and doing the work necessary to make our family a happier and healthier one.
Thank you for all of this and so much more. I love you to the Oort Cloud and back.
Happy Valentine's Day.
We met in graduate school through mutual friends who we would go out for drinks with from time to time. What I noted about him at the time was that he was good looking, very intelligent (which intimidated me), and he always had a girlfriend. I also thought all he ever talked about was politics and therefore was not much fun. He later told me that he regarded me as a quiet, not so smart, hippie type. Needless to say, the idea that we would someday be married would've seemed laughable at the time. Long story short, we finally had a night where we got to talk and realized the other one wasn't as stupid or boring as we had thought. After that, we started dating. This lasted for about a month before I started avoiding him citing reasons of wanting to remain "independent." The real reason was that I didn't know how to be relationship with someone who wasn't a jerk so I found reasons that it wouldn't work. So, we went our separate ways and saw each other only on occasions where our mutual friends invited us both out--it was awkward.
During one of these awkward get together's, Brian was telling us how he was applying to Graduate School in another town a few hours away. I instantly felt this sinking feeling--knowing that he was going to be leaving and that the chances that we would find our way back to each other were slim to none freaked me out. I remember going out to the bars and finally realizing that this wasn't what I wanted anymore. There was an exact moment where I realized that I could love this person or maybe already did and I had let him go. As the time for him to leave got closer, I made attempts to reconnect with him. I finally got him to agree to go out for drinks with me and I was going to work up the courage to tell him I still had feelings for him. While we were having drinks, he showed me pictures of a recent trip he took with his friends and there was a girl with him in a couple pictures. He said he was dating her, but that it wasn't serious. I had another drink. I decided to still tell him about my feelings for him, but it was hard--really hard. I think he was surprised, but we kissed and held hands that night and I felt relieved.
The next day, one of the most traumatic things that has happened in my life (a story that I may tell at a later date if I ever find the courage) occurred and I had to leave town fast. I had a cat at the time that I couldn't leave alone and the only person I could think of to take him was Brian, so I showed up at his doorstep (we lived two apartment buildings down from each other) crying hysterically and asking him to take my cat for an unknown period of time. I still can't believe I asked him, of all people, to do such a big favor for me and know so much about the inner workings of my family life, that was typically reserved only for those who I had known for many years and grew up with. He agreed to take my cat even though he'd never had a pet growing up and my cat was no picnic to live with.
I came home several days later, and though things are blurry during this time in my life, I remember at some point that he told the girl he was dating that it wasn't going to work out. Never during this time though did he commit to a relationship with me. We spent his last couple weeks in town together and happy and when he left, I wasn't sure what would happen. We talked on the phone and I would get jealous if I knew there were other girls trying to get his attention. He wasn't ready to commit to a long distance relationship and I am sure the fact that I had quite a bit of baggage and already broke up with him once didn't help my cause. I went to visit him for a weekend and did everything I could think of to convince him that we should be together--housewarming gifts, chocolate covered strawberries, etc. He still didn't commit but I did see hints of jealousy when I was approached by other guys and so there was hope (though at the time he would swear he didn't get jealous--liar! LOL!). The following weekend he took me on a visit to meet his parents. After the weekend ended, he came to stay at my apartment for the night and told me that he thought he loved me. I told him I loved him too. It was that quick and we pretty much knew within weeks that we would end up getting married. We had some family members that thought we were rushing into things, though in reality we waited 4 years to before getting married, because we just knew we wanted to be together and that it was right.
After a year of living apart and traveling weekends to see each other, I finished graduate school and moved to be with him. That year apart was very hard but romantic too. It was also during one of the hardest times in my adult life and he stuck with me through all the ups and downs and loved me regardless. I will never forget that. Meeting him was the most trans formative event to happen in my life. He saved me in many ways and still does on so many days when life seems too hard. It is now 10 years later and we have been through a lot--we both have had many demons to face and our marriage has suffered at times, but we are in this life together and I hope with everything I am that this is the person I get to grow old with. No one understands me, loves me, makes me laugh, inspires me, believes in me, or drives me more crazy than him.
Love Is...
Waking up earlier than your partner every day so she can sleep in.
Making your partner food because she hates doing it.
Knowing that your wife needs a chocolate pie to make her feel better.
Loving the songs that your wife makes up and making her sing them over and over--even for the the kids.
Giving your partner endorphins when she needs them.
Taking the time to research, go to appointments, and even make spread sheets to help your partner figure out health problems.
Knowing what your partner wants and needs without her even telling you.
Going along with your wife's crazy impulses to go on trips or outings when you'd rather stay home.
Finding ways to lessen (or work around) your wife's anxiety and need to have things in order.
Making beautiful children together and doing the work necessary to make our family a happier and healthier one.
Thank you for all of this and so much more. I love you to the Oort Cloud and back.
Happy Valentine's Day.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Life of an Imposter: Take 2
This is a follow up to my first post where I seemed to do a lot of rambling about relationships and the influence of social media but failed to really talk about why I personally feel like I don't fit in anywhere. This subject is much harder because it is so personal and I will admit up front that it won't be the full story because that would just be risking too much, but I will try to convey enough so that this time I explain the title of the blog more clearly.
The story, of course, starts in childhood. My parents divorced when I was 3 years old and though I don't remember the time they were married really, my first memory is of a big fight they were having in our family dining room. In my memory, the fight started in the dining room with my brother and I trying to pull them apart (this may or may not be true as memories this far back tend to take on their own life but this is the truth of how i remember it). Our house was one where all rooms are connected so the floor plan created a circle and so the fight continued as a chase around this circle into the kitchen where plates were thrown and broken on the kitchen floor, my mom ran out of the house and the next thing I remember is seeing the flashing lights of an ambulance or police car out our front window and wondering what might have happened to my mother. Was she hurt, lost, run away? Was she okay? This is the first memory of my life and it is clear and dramatic--it made it's impact. After that, I remember snippets of calls from my mom (we were living with my dad) where I would ask her when she was coming home. I don't remember how much I saw of her during that time or if I cried for her or what I might have been thinking in my little 3 year old mind. Before she left, she had stayed home with my brother and I and so I am sure it was quite the change when she was gone and I was then in preschool full-time. But while I am writing this, I am still shaking--it being 30 years later and the thought that keeps going through my head is "But this is really nothing compared to the all of the other things that have happened in my life," and for that, I am terribly sad.
This story is important, I think, simply because it is when recalling this memory that I start to feel different from other people. Most people I know have first memories that include toys, favorite games, playing with siblings or parents, going on vacation, etc. And I am not saying that my story is unique by any means, in fact it is probably mild in terms of what many people have gone through in their lives, what I am saying is that it plays an important role in how I start to define myself and perceive things and people around me. It isn't often that talking about your first memory comes up in conversation now that I am an adult. There was a time, a few years back, that I was at a conference for therapists to learn new skills in working with children who have suffered trauma. Often at these conferences we are asked to participate as if we were the client doing the exercises so that we can better understand the process. If I were doing these exercises in the confines of a trusted therapeutic relationship, I would be glad to do them, but when asked to reveal such emotionally charged parts of yourself, often to strangers, it causes much anxiety. To get back to the point, in this particular conference they asked us to draw about our first childhood memory, which looking back, I think the presenters probably saw as a relatively benign exercise. I remember looking around as everyone got started right away with their drawings and there was a moment where I thought, "Do I make something up?" and I search my brain for any other memory that might have escaped me all these years. In the end, I always am true to my story but it is uncomfortable to explain this scene to a complete stranger who then talks about their favorite barbie or bike. Ugh!
And this is how it is with many parts of my life--things that I reveal to the people in my adult life about my past life are often shocking and so wholly different that I feel separated, damaged--alien. I would be being untruthful if I didn't reveal that there is also a part of me that feels special for having been through so much, odd as it may sound. I feel as if I understand things that others couldn't possibly--though this is likely not true--but this is part of my identity and one that I would feel even more lost than I am now without. I don't know if I would know how to be happy, whatever that means, or content if I ever found a way to shed the past (and some of my genetics would have to be worked out too!). I have removed much of the dysfunction from my life in the last several years, though damage still exists of course, but removing important places and people from your life leaves gaping holes and how do you fill the hole of a lost mother, the place you grew up, or a best friend? How can you live in the present when you feel you have no past to turn to, to ground you, to run back home to? It's like being born all over again but with the memory that you lived a life before this but can never go back to. It is grueling.
I want to offer an aside that though I am writing about the harder times in my life, there were many, many truly wonderful moments of joy, love, and pure happiness. My parents, who are both highly intelligent, beautiful, loving, and engaged parents did an absolutely amazing job in so many ways and I love them both tremendously. They did an immensely better job parenting my brother and I than either of their parents did and so I feel they were able in many ways to break the cycle and help me to be able to be part of breaking the cycle with my own children.
I am only realizing now that this blog is going to be one that will have to have many parts, partially because the story spans a lifetime, but also because it is emotionally draining. I had visions of just summing everything up in one neat little package of words but that feels like cheating--myself and those of you who are reading. It is hard deciding what to include and what not to, always considering who might be hurt or who might read this and know more about me that I would typically reveal. But I think telling your story is very important, it helps others not feel so alone and it helps me feel more free to be myself without feeling like I am always hiding behind this past that makes me feel like a girl between worlds--one foot in the past, one in the future but none in the present. Until next time...
The story, of course, starts in childhood. My parents divorced when I was 3 years old and though I don't remember the time they were married really, my first memory is of a big fight they were having in our family dining room. In my memory, the fight started in the dining room with my brother and I trying to pull them apart (this may or may not be true as memories this far back tend to take on their own life but this is the truth of how i remember it). Our house was one where all rooms are connected so the floor plan created a circle and so the fight continued as a chase around this circle into the kitchen where plates were thrown and broken on the kitchen floor, my mom ran out of the house and the next thing I remember is seeing the flashing lights of an ambulance or police car out our front window and wondering what might have happened to my mother. Was she hurt, lost, run away? Was she okay? This is the first memory of my life and it is clear and dramatic--it made it's impact. After that, I remember snippets of calls from my mom (we were living with my dad) where I would ask her when she was coming home. I don't remember how much I saw of her during that time or if I cried for her or what I might have been thinking in my little 3 year old mind. Before she left, she had stayed home with my brother and I and so I am sure it was quite the change when she was gone and I was then in preschool full-time. But while I am writing this, I am still shaking--it being 30 years later and the thought that keeps going through my head is "But this is really nothing compared to the all of the other things that have happened in my life," and for that, I am terribly sad.
This story is important, I think, simply because it is when recalling this memory that I start to feel different from other people. Most people I know have first memories that include toys, favorite games, playing with siblings or parents, going on vacation, etc. And I am not saying that my story is unique by any means, in fact it is probably mild in terms of what many people have gone through in their lives, what I am saying is that it plays an important role in how I start to define myself and perceive things and people around me. It isn't often that talking about your first memory comes up in conversation now that I am an adult. There was a time, a few years back, that I was at a conference for therapists to learn new skills in working with children who have suffered trauma. Often at these conferences we are asked to participate as if we were the client doing the exercises so that we can better understand the process. If I were doing these exercises in the confines of a trusted therapeutic relationship, I would be glad to do them, but when asked to reveal such emotionally charged parts of yourself, often to strangers, it causes much anxiety. To get back to the point, in this particular conference they asked us to draw about our first childhood memory, which looking back, I think the presenters probably saw as a relatively benign exercise. I remember looking around as everyone got started right away with their drawings and there was a moment where I thought, "Do I make something up?" and I search my brain for any other memory that might have escaped me all these years. In the end, I always am true to my story but it is uncomfortable to explain this scene to a complete stranger who then talks about their favorite barbie or bike. Ugh!
And this is how it is with many parts of my life--things that I reveal to the people in my adult life about my past life are often shocking and so wholly different that I feel separated, damaged--alien. I would be being untruthful if I didn't reveal that there is also a part of me that feels special for having been through so much, odd as it may sound. I feel as if I understand things that others couldn't possibly--though this is likely not true--but this is part of my identity and one that I would feel even more lost than I am now without. I don't know if I would know how to be happy, whatever that means, or content if I ever found a way to shed the past (and some of my genetics would have to be worked out too!). I have removed much of the dysfunction from my life in the last several years, though damage still exists of course, but removing important places and people from your life leaves gaping holes and how do you fill the hole of a lost mother, the place you grew up, or a best friend? How can you live in the present when you feel you have no past to turn to, to ground you, to run back home to? It's like being born all over again but with the memory that you lived a life before this but can never go back to. It is grueling.
I want to offer an aside that though I am writing about the harder times in my life, there were many, many truly wonderful moments of joy, love, and pure happiness. My parents, who are both highly intelligent, beautiful, loving, and engaged parents did an absolutely amazing job in so many ways and I love them both tremendously. They did an immensely better job parenting my brother and I than either of their parents did and so I feel they were able in many ways to break the cycle and help me to be able to be part of breaking the cycle with my own children.
I am only realizing now that this blog is going to be one that will have to have many parts, partially because the story spans a lifetime, but also because it is emotionally draining. I had visions of just summing everything up in one neat little package of words but that feels like cheating--myself and those of you who are reading. It is hard deciding what to include and what not to, always considering who might be hurt or who might read this and know more about me that I would typically reveal. But I think telling your story is very important, it helps others not feel so alone and it helps me feel more free to be myself without feeling like I am always hiding behind this past that makes me feel like a girl between worlds--one foot in the past, one in the future but none in the present. Until next time...
Monday, January 30, 2012
"Wellness is a Choice"
I recently saw this statement on an advertisement and it has stuck in my craw ever since. Being an advertisement for a buisness the assumption then would be that if you receive the services of said buisness, you too can be well. Elitist bullshit at its best and here is why:
1. Not everyone has insurance, has access to, or can afford to go to a doctor, therapist, chiropractor, etc.
2. Not everyone has the time, babysitter, money, or transportation to get to said appointments so that they can be "well."
3. Not everyone has access to healthy foods and/or supplements.
4. Not everyone can afford healthy foods and/or supplements.
5. Not everyone can pay out of pocket for alternative therapies.
6. Not everyone has the emotional support to make the choice for wellness.
7. Not everyone has been exposed to or has had positive experiences with doctors, therapists, etc.
8. Many people are just focused on survival that "wellness" isn't quite on the top of the priority list.
And on and on the list would go. The idea of choice is irritating to say the least. It works on a small scale, like when I tell my 4 year old he can chose to listen to his mama or he can chose to take a break. This choice is pretty straight forward I think but this just doesn't translate into the larger picture of life where someone's whole history has substantial influence on their "choices." We all grow up in different circumstances and unique experiences that shape us--for better or worse--and what I am saying I guess is that saying something is a choice is such a simplistic way to think about the world and I find it very frustrating. What do you think?
1. Not everyone has insurance, has access to, or can afford to go to a doctor, therapist, chiropractor, etc.
2. Not everyone has the time, babysitter, money, or transportation to get to said appointments so that they can be "well."
3. Not everyone has access to healthy foods and/or supplements.
4. Not everyone can afford healthy foods and/or supplements.
5. Not everyone can pay out of pocket for alternative therapies.
6. Not everyone has the emotional support to make the choice for wellness.
7. Not everyone has been exposed to or has had positive experiences with doctors, therapists, etc.
8. Many people are just focused on survival that "wellness" isn't quite on the top of the priority list.
And on and on the list would go. The idea of choice is irritating to say the least. It works on a small scale, like when I tell my 4 year old he can chose to listen to his mama or he can chose to take a break. This choice is pretty straight forward I think but this just doesn't translate into the larger picture of life where someone's whole history has substantial influence on their "choices." We all grow up in different circumstances and unique experiences that shape us--for better or worse--and what I am saying I guess is that saying something is a choice is such a simplistic way to think about the world and I find it very frustrating. What do you think?
Friday, January 27, 2012
Always in a Hurry
It is just in the last year that I figured out what an impatient person I am. When it finally dawned on me that this word describes me so fittingly, my husband looked surprised that I didn't already know this. I like things to be done. Everything in my head is a checklist that I want cleared of tasks. Being that life is one task after another, the insanity of trying to finish EVERYTHING is obviously irrational yet still I try day after day to catch up to myself somehow and just be done. When people talk about "the process" being full filling, my mind wanders. I would love it if the process was enjoyable and relaxing to me but I only feel relief when a project is finished, but then there is always another project and so the process starts all over. Sound stressful? It is. I am sure that this is all tied in with my anxiety, as I am a highly anxious person, or with the fact that I strive for constant order in my life as a way for dealing with the chaos that is in my head. I would diagnose this as 50/50 nature/nurture.
I oscillate between thinking that I must change this quality--it has led to some problems that I can detail later--and thinking that I should embrace this part of me and just accept who I am. Oh, to finally accept oneself, now that would be grand wouldn't it? It sounds so easy writing it here. Maybe tomorrow I will wake and decide today is the day I accept all of who I am. But then I think, well where is the growth as a human specimen, where is the admitting my faults and striving to be a better me? Where is the struggle that Oprah and all her guests seemed to discuss? And would that mean giving up going to therapy and my identity as a damaged person? What would be left? Oh, I shudder to think of an ultra-positive, chi balancing, chakra aligning, spiritual awakening, steel cut oat eating, running daily for fun, watching only PBS Teja walking around Iowa City. But I digress...
So, as promised, I will give a few examples of how this impatient quality causes problems in my life:
1. One year I was so impatient about just sending off my taxes (this was back when Brian didn't do mine) that I didn't make a copy for myself. And because of my impatience, I also made mistakes on my tax return and was later sent a letter asking for details about something or other and I had no copy to look at to figure it out. Thank god Brian and I were together and he helped me figure it out--which I will note that he often has to do after I do something too quickly.
2. Many of my first attempts at sewing projects end up having some major flaws since I like product rather than process. I have had to force myself to slow down when making things for other people or to sell but I always worry that I am still too careless.
3. Brian and I working on anything together is a chore. He likes to plan and talk about things, I will argue WAY too much, while I of course just want to get whatever it is done! Because we are so different in this way, working on anything together is difficult and frustrating. We do much better when we divide and conquer based on our relative strengths.
4. I am fearful of taking on any buisness veuture because the past has shown me that I am not good at managing the details necessary to any buisness. I have the creativity and skills to create the product, just not to manage it.
5. Living in the moment is almost non-existent for me. I live mostly in the future and this can be very frustrating and anxiety provoking.
6. I read books very quickly, but the whole experience is quite intense with the need to just get to the end and know what happens. I don't like waiting to know things--surprise, surprise.
I do want to add though that being impatient is an asset in some ways:
1. I make quick decisions and think on my feet very well, which was a great asset in my former life as a therapist.
2. I am task oriented and tend to get things done that I say I will or that I really want to get done.
3. I seek out new things to learn because I get bored quickly doing the same thing.
4. I can anticipate others' needs before they voice them because I am always thinking ahead--this is especially handy when it comes to parenting as I can prevent a meltdown before it happens (sometimes).
I am not sure what the conclusion is or if there really is one to be had. I know that this is a big part of my personality and that it would be difficult to change and so I may be stuck with it. It's a love/hate relationship people.
And now that I have rushed through the last part of this post just to get it done, I will publish it without spell check and only a very quick read-through. :)
I oscillate between thinking that I must change this quality--it has led to some problems that I can detail later--and thinking that I should embrace this part of me and just accept who I am. Oh, to finally accept oneself, now that would be grand wouldn't it? It sounds so easy writing it here. Maybe tomorrow I will wake and decide today is the day I accept all of who I am. But then I think, well where is the growth as a human specimen, where is the admitting my faults and striving to be a better me? Where is the struggle that Oprah and all her guests seemed to discuss? And would that mean giving up going to therapy and my identity as a damaged person? What would be left? Oh, I shudder to think of an ultra-positive, chi balancing, chakra aligning, spiritual awakening, steel cut oat eating, running daily for fun, watching only PBS Teja walking around Iowa City. But I digress...
So, as promised, I will give a few examples of how this impatient quality causes problems in my life:
1. One year I was so impatient about just sending off my taxes (this was back when Brian didn't do mine) that I didn't make a copy for myself. And because of my impatience, I also made mistakes on my tax return and was later sent a letter asking for details about something or other and I had no copy to look at to figure it out. Thank god Brian and I were together and he helped me figure it out--which I will note that he often has to do after I do something too quickly.
2. Many of my first attempts at sewing projects end up having some major flaws since I like product rather than process. I have had to force myself to slow down when making things for other people or to sell but I always worry that I am still too careless.
3. Brian and I working on anything together is a chore. He likes to plan and talk about things, I will argue WAY too much, while I of course just want to get whatever it is done! Because we are so different in this way, working on anything together is difficult and frustrating. We do much better when we divide and conquer based on our relative strengths.
4. I am fearful of taking on any buisness veuture because the past has shown me that I am not good at managing the details necessary to any buisness. I have the creativity and skills to create the product, just not to manage it.
5. Living in the moment is almost non-existent for me. I live mostly in the future and this can be very frustrating and anxiety provoking.
6. I read books very quickly, but the whole experience is quite intense with the need to just get to the end and know what happens. I don't like waiting to know things--surprise, surprise.
I do want to add though that being impatient is an asset in some ways:
1. I make quick decisions and think on my feet very well, which was a great asset in my former life as a therapist.
2. I am task oriented and tend to get things done that I say I will or that I really want to get done.
3. I seek out new things to learn because I get bored quickly doing the same thing.
4. I can anticipate others' needs before they voice them because I am always thinking ahead--this is especially handy when it comes to parenting as I can prevent a meltdown before it happens (sometimes).
I am not sure what the conclusion is or if there really is one to be had. I know that this is a big part of my personality and that it would be difficult to change and so I may be stuck with it. It's a love/hate relationship people.
And now that I have rushed through the last part of this post just to get it done, I will publish it without spell check and only a very quick read-through. :)
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Life of an Imposter
In my first post to this blog, I wanted to explain a little the reason for the name, "Life of an Imposter." The name comes from a perpetual feeling of never really belonging--a feeling of being between worlds, never quite meeting the criteria for any, yet belonging, in some ways, to all. I guess one could argue that this is true of everyone to some degree and it probably is. For me, this feeling has always been strong, even if I couldn't quite place it as a child, and has only increased into adulthood.
This blog is an attempt to explore that feeling and how it is both a symptom of my own issues and of the culture we live in--sometimes it is difficult to separate the two. As I grew into adulthood and became part of the white, educated, middle-class living in a town that considers itself quite open and liberal--I have struggled even more with where I fit in this equation. Becoming a parent, and one who stays at home, has made the waters murkier and many days I feel adrift, disconnected, and isolated.
This is not for lack of trying. I continuously try to connect to others and develop friendships but it is hard for me here. Historically making close and lasting friendships had never been an issue, but I would say that many of my friendships in the past were based on dysfunction (theirs and mine) so that can hardly be a road map for now. For me, I need to feel connected to someone on a deeper level than talking about today's yoga class, the benefits of buying organic, or my favorite pastry at the Bread Garden. And I realize that not every interaction is going to be deep and full filling, nor is every relationship, but when the majority of interactions include such posturing, you feel like you never really get to know people and for me that feels like being alone. As a caveat, I will say that I have a couple friends that this does not hold true for, but unfortunately those friends are ones I don't get to see much because of the business of having small children and the fact that they work and I stay home.
In the world of Facebook and Blogs, it seems like the distance between people is larger rather than smaller. Social media allows people to create a brand for themselves by conveying the image they want others to see, which of course means discussing things that have high social currency depending on who your audience is. In Iowa City, that often means discussing the elaborate meals you cook, the crafty things you make, touting local events, posting pictures of your beautiful and loving family at the apple orchard, maple syrup festival, library, etc. I am guilty of all of these things and will maintain that it is not inherently wrong to post these kinds of things--what is difficult about these posts is that what others hear about your life is only the great moments--much like pictures in an album where it would be odd to see a photo of a parent putting their child in time out or someone crying when they found out their mother died. It is in these moments where life is challenging that we have the greatest opportunity to connect. The focus on positivity seems more harmful than helpful. I want to hear about your bad day, your mistakes, your struggles, your history and how you came to be who you are now--I want to know your story--good, bad, and ugly. I just want the full picture. Maybe the problem is that social media isn't intended to be more than creating a personality because divulging too much to the long list of "friends" would seem ridiculous when many of these "friends" aren't really that at all. So I consider deleting my facebook page and not writing or reading blogs but then I feel like I'd be missing something--I'd lose some valuable way to connect and share, that I somehow managed to live without for 31 years, and it would be one more way I was out of the loop and didn't belong. What a conundrum eh?
I guess, after all this rambling, I still didn't manage to explain why I feel between worlds. Probably because that topic is more personal and intimidating (see how hypocritical I am being here!). Another day perhaps...
This blog is an attempt to explore that feeling and how it is both a symptom of my own issues and of the culture we live in--sometimes it is difficult to separate the two. As I grew into adulthood and became part of the white, educated, middle-class living in a town that considers itself quite open and liberal--I have struggled even more with where I fit in this equation. Becoming a parent, and one who stays at home, has made the waters murkier and many days I feel adrift, disconnected, and isolated.
This is not for lack of trying. I continuously try to connect to others and develop friendships but it is hard for me here. Historically making close and lasting friendships had never been an issue, but I would say that many of my friendships in the past were based on dysfunction (theirs and mine) so that can hardly be a road map for now. For me, I need to feel connected to someone on a deeper level than talking about today's yoga class, the benefits of buying organic, or my favorite pastry at the Bread Garden. And I realize that not every interaction is going to be deep and full filling, nor is every relationship, but when the majority of interactions include such posturing, you feel like you never really get to know people and for me that feels like being alone. As a caveat, I will say that I have a couple friends that this does not hold true for, but unfortunately those friends are ones I don't get to see much because of the business of having small children and the fact that they work and I stay home.
In the world of Facebook and Blogs, it seems like the distance between people is larger rather than smaller. Social media allows people to create a brand for themselves by conveying the image they want others to see, which of course means discussing things that have high social currency depending on who your audience is. In Iowa City, that often means discussing the elaborate meals you cook, the crafty things you make, touting local events, posting pictures of your beautiful and loving family at the apple orchard, maple syrup festival, library, etc. I am guilty of all of these things and will maintain that it is not inherently wrong to post these kinds of things--what is difficult about these posts is that what others hear about your life is only the great moments--much like pictures in an album where it would be odd to see a photo of a parent putting their child in time out or someone crying when they found out their mother died. It is in these moments where life is challenging that we have the greatest opportunity to connect. The focus on positivity seems more harmful than helpful. I want to hear about your bad day, your mistakes, your struggles, your history and how you came to be who you are now--I want to know your story--good, bad, and ugly. I just want the full picture. Maybe the problem is that social media isn't intended to be more than creating a personality because divulging too much to the long list of "friends" would seem ridiculous when many of these "friends" aren't really that at all. So I consider deleting my facebook page and not writing or reading blogs but then I feel like I'd be missing something--I'd lose some valuable way to connect and share, that I somehow managed to live without for 31 years, and it would be one more way I was out of the loop and didn't belong. What a conundrum eh?
I guess, after all this rambling, I still didn't manage to explain why I feel between worlds. Probably because that topic is more personal and intimidating (see how hypocritical I am being here!). Another day perhaps...
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