Not as I'd planned

Looking back over my blog I found my post from October 2nd talking about what I'd do in my next 90 days.  Before I even started to read it I thought, "Hell....I know I didn't do any of what I said I would."  And that's true, as all the plans for waking up earlier, meditation, maybe even a little less wine/whine just didn't happen.  One line stuck out for me though "I want something bigger though; I want to look at my choices, ideas, decisions and how I react to life.  In short; I want to fully own my life."  

Well it didn't go as planned; and when in life does it really go that way?  But I actually did do as I wanted in a round about way.  I stood up for myself in situations where I'd normally back down.  I set difficult boundaries.  I made painful choices when I saw the truth of the situation.  I said Yes.  I said No.  I made mistakes but it was my life decisions.  I fully owned my life.

My 90 days aren't through yet.  In fact, I expect the next week to be my most painful this year.  I want to hide.  I want to sleep it away.  I don't want to feel this.  Yet it's all necessary.  We try to drink, eat, drug, sex, shop and avoid what won't feel good.  But do we ever actually not feel it?  The pain is there even when we make attempts to buffer over it.  Then if we're doing the hard work to get healthy we have to feel it all over again!  Fuck.  Best to feel it the first time, right?  Rarely happens?  True.

There may be objection to this statement (come at me therapists!) but I think not feeling is OK sometimes. It's survival.  There are times I've had to say, "I fucking can't right now.  Not now." Those moments when your body, mind and soul are too overloaded and to 'feel it' would crumble you.  I'm still facing situations from many decades ago that I didn't have the strength to feel at the time.  Do the work, push yourself, but allow a shit ton of space too.

So to finish out my 90 days I'm choosing me. It will look, feel and be as I choose.  It may appear selfish.  You may disagree.  Either way I choose me.

How far do you have to walk?

One of my favorite quotes is from Ram Dass, "We are all just walking each other home."  It always spoke to me of a release of religion, of basic kindness and caring, and that we're all in this together.  Though I've had to ask a lot these past two years; how far do I have to walk? 

I tend to be a person that put everyone else's needs and wants before my own.  I compromise when I don't want to.  I smile sweetly while seething inside.  Hard to say how much of this is my personality or from social conditioning.  It's not healthy.  Ultimately I hit a breaking point, blow sky high and those around me to experience it come away dazed and confused as they never saw it coming.  I don't recommend being like this. 

It troubles me to no end when I know someone is sad, hurt or worse yet angry at me.  Somehow my boundaries mean less than their feelings.  I've had to ask myself frequently "Why don't my feelings count?", and I'm asking that of myself as I don't let them count. 

Now if you've met me this all may come as a great shock to you.  Upon first meeting me I've been told the following "You looked scary." "You seemed like someone that would pummel me in a back alley." "You clearly don't take any shit."  I'm vocal and opinionated so it's assumed that I have boundaries like a mother fucker and would never allow an overstep.  I'll about kill if I see another person being harmed yet typically hold back when it comes to my needs.

I've had multiple situations in the past few years, and some doozies recently, where people I believed to love me unconditionally left me.  People I thought were my ride or die, people related by blood, people who said they'd always stand up for me.  Yet they didn't stand up for me.They turned a blind eye when I was mistreated or were even part of the mistreatment.  They got enraged when I had the courage to share a hard truth.  They walked away from years and sometimes a lifetime.

So they decided they were walking no further with me.  Maybe sometimes I chose to walk no further with them.  I had to face horrible behavior I'd allowed for years.  I had to face the reality of our relationship.  I had to put myself first even when it hurt terribly.

It still hurts.  I still panic at what happened; though some were recent and others longer ago. The thought comes, "Who is next?".

So how far do we have to walk?  I suppose when respect is gone.  When the pain becomes greater than the happiness.  When you've cleaned your side of the street and they would rather have theirs a mess.  When you fucking feel like it.  

Staying Busy

I'm carrying over quite a bit of PTO from this year to next and was called out on this by a co-worker.  "Your bosses take vacation!  You have the time!  Do it!"  Though vacations are wonderful they make me anxious.  Doing nothing brings up huge fears in me.  These fears aren't fully formed and I can't say exactly what's bothering me.  Not having my hyper-scheduled days planned?  Wondering what's happening at home?  Typically when I take a vacation someone else suggests dates and it's much longer than I want.  I shave a day or two off with an excuse but still get concerned at the length of time.  When I arrive it takes me a solid 2-3 days to truly unwind.  I may be poolside with a drink in hand but my mind is swirling everywhere trying to regain a sense of control.  When I'm busy I feel in control.

I don't think you need to look all too far into my past to see that control and survival are at the core of my busyness.  I can only relax at home when truly everything around me is perfection.  And it's never perfection.  I have no concept of a day watching Netflix or laying in pajamas.  Even when I procrastinate, which is much more than you'd expect from me, my mind is going.  I'm making mental lists, looking at the time, planning the most efficient way to get things done.  I worry constantly that I'm missing something, that I'll drop the ball somewhere, and it will all crash down on me with no one to pick me up.

Even being a yoga and meditation teacher, it takes tremendous effort and will for me to practice what I preach.  I go to yoga almost daily and know well how a class ends; you get comfortable on your back or whatever position feels good, get still, breathe.  And it's hard.  The joke in yoga is that this pose, savasana, is the hardest because you do nothing.  I can't just lie down either; I need to set my blocks so they are ready to be put away, wind up my strap, and make sure I can have everything done so I'm first out of the room.  Why do I do this?  Am I late for something?  No, I just need to get the busyness out of my system to allow myself those few moments of stillness.

Staying busy allows me not to think too deeply about what is bothering me.  When I'm busy I can avoid the hard questions that lurk in my head.  Too much inner thought can take me down scary roads that bring up pain or force me to face the things and take action.  Action could mean discomfort, I may need to say yes, say no, accept a hard truth and no longer pretend I don't know.  

I'm extremely tired...

Processing

I was having a conversation with a friend recently who is working through some hard shit she learned about her past (with her permission: she's adopted and learned she's the product of a rape).  A lot to take in for anyone.  She said, "I feel like I'll never be done processing."  I felt those words.  I can't recall a time in my life I wasn't processing something that happened to me, or if I wasn't then I was stuffing down the pain in some unhealthy way.  

I do feel processing is a necessary part of being a healthy human.  All the people I've met who haven't processed their trauma, "I just don't think about it.  I'm fine." are most certainly not fine and they throw up their inner demons on the rest of us.  But how long does this go on?  For some of us will it never be over?

A friend recently posted this pic that says, "When you can tell your story, and it doesn't make you cry, that's when you know you've healed."  I agree as there are terrible stories of my past I can finally tell without crying.  I still have feelings towards what happened, I'm not numb, but my emotions are in check in a calm manner.  I had a therapist say it a different way, "When you can tell your story the same way you'd talk about the weather then you know you're healed."  

There has been another saying going around that didn't quite sit well with me.  "Trauma is not your fault but healing is your responsibility."  I would carefully say this...Trauma is not your fault. Period. Yes, healing is available and offers hope and freedom. But too often the "your responsibility" part carries unsaid timelines and expectations. Healing comes in waves; you can forgive, go to therapy, do the work and find yourself 5, 10, 15 years later being hit with the trauma from another angle. Though it may appear someone is going on and on about the same tired subject....it's not the same and a new level of processing begins. Ram Dass said, "We are all just walking each other home." And many times that is what is needed more than anything...someone to walk by your side saying, "take all the time you need".

So for those of us doing the work perhaps it's a lifetime of processing.  While understanding the pain and sadness of the past will likely lurk back, I'm learning to have happiness in today.

Am I honest?

I have a lifetime of priding myself on my honesty.  I like to joke that my best quality is that I'm honest and my worst is that I'm really honest.  But am I?  How often do I smile sweetly when I want to rage on a person?  How many times have I said to myself that everything is fine when I was dying inside?  I stay silent to avoid conflict.  I let things go that I shouldn't because I don't want to face the truth of a situation.  I avoid my feelings when facing the truth would force an action I don't want.  So am I honest?

I stayed in my marriage decades longer than I should because telling the truth about it would make me the bad guy.  I pretended I was fine because when others would find out it about it they became a little too interested, gossipy, I felt like a soap opera they where you enjoy watching the drama.  The full truth said out loud would have forced me to act.  So I went numb to not have to deal with it.  So am I honest?

I recently lost a friend when I got honest.  The honesty was not in merely saying how I felt to this person, but also personally accepting the dysfunction in our relationship, and how my silence was a key contributor in this.  Now they will tell you an entirely different story, and they are welcome to that, but in my story it all fell apart when I got honest.  So am I honest?

I'm too terrified of bad karma to do anything dishonest in a monetary way; taxes, payroll, etc... But what about that yoga Groupon where I went to 1 class, they didn't mark redeemed, and now I still have the face value after it expired?  What about the item from Target that was in my bag but wasn't rung up or on the receipt?  What about the gift card I found on Walmart's floor on Black Friday where I didn't ask if anyone dropped it and pocketed it?  So am I honest?

My father was brutally honest; heavy emphasis on the brutal.  He would constantly hurt people by telling them the truth as he saw it.  His favorite commentary was physical appearance; how beautiful or ugly he considered a person, if they weighed an ounce more than he deemed appropriate, race, height...everything was up for his scrutiny and judgement.  I never wanted to be like him so I can't imagine making demeaning comments to another person about how they look.  This means I've lied.  So am I honest?

My biggest honesty issue is how honest I am with myself about my feelings: when I'm hurt, when I'm scared, when I'm angry... I smile and say, "I'm fine.  Everything is fine.  All fine."  So am I honest?

My Next 90 Days

I've felt "off" for about a year now and possibly longer.  Nothing specific but just not as together as I typically am.  At one point each month I'd make some new goals or a plan for organization and well being.  That said, I've been driving with my wedding dress in the trunk of my car for two years, I have boxes in my closet labeled "Shit I can't handle right now", and I can't remember the last time I did exercise involving cardio.  I'm off.  

Saw a Facebook ad a few weeks ago (since Zuckerberg can now read minds) for a planner entitled "My Next 90 Days".  It was appealing.  Worksheets, Reflection Sheets, Thought Prompts, Week at a Glance and Stickers!  The Radiant Raspberry color made my eyes twinkle.  But then I got back to reality and reminded myself I've used a zillion planners, books and prompts, and what actually works for me is a plan with deadlines and achievable goals.  

Back in my running days (and we use the word "run" in its loosest definition for what I did) in order to achieve my goal (marathon) I had to get my miles in.  To get in the miles I had to get up early and split them between morning and night.  Worked decently far from home so there was no room to sleep in, be off by 15 minutes or be in any way lackadaisical.  Having to be highly scheduled meant that everything else in my life had to be in order.  I found I was more productive at work, to do lists were accomplished in record time and I felt secure.  

If I start today then this basically gets me to New Year's Eve (oh so appealing!).  So what do I want in the next 90 days?  When I think on this my eating disorder comes out of hiding and starts screaming about carbs and calories and deprivation.  I've made so many eating plans.  Fuck that noise.  I used to meditate and write every morning, and that grounded me, so I'd like that to be incorporated in some way.  I want something bigger though; I want to look at my choices, ideas, decisions and how I react to life.  In short; I want to fully own my life...in 90 days!!  (Please laugh with me...)  It's a start though.

In the name of accountability, and having a plan, I'll blog about it monthly.  Perhaps you'd like to join me in some way?  Feel free to comment or message me privately.  Encouraging others helps me immensely.  

My Son's Depression

Mental illness runs deep in my family for many generations.  And these are only the diagnosed cases.  I saw psychological issues my entire life, though initially I didn't have a name for the craziness.  I saw families torn a part, insane behavior and people left to be a shell of themselves.  I was scared it would happen to me and even more fearful it would happen to my children.

I tell people my aunt died at 51 of mental illness.  It's an easy explanation and rarely does anyone question me further.  We don't really know how she died; there was alcohol, pills and also the possibility she was killed (crazy side story).  But making a blanket mental illness statement is easiest.  She was an artist and used her art as therapy a lot to process what had happened to her.  Horrifying paintings depicting self hatred and abuse. She had a lifetime of pain and it's hard not to believe that maybe her death was the best thing that could have happened to her tortured heart.

When I got pregnant I wanted a boy.  I hoped, prayed, begged and rubbed my belly every day saying, "Boy Boy Boy" as if I could will the Y chromosome in me.  I was terrified of having a girl.  In my head all the women in the family had mental illness so if I could just have a boy then he'd be safe.  I later learned of the male suicides and had male family members get taken down by it.  I also felt that a girl would be destroyed by my father and having a boy he'd have a chance.  Once my son was born I had my tubes tied so there would be no chance of a baby girl coming from me.

My son's depression seemed to come on after a break up with a horribly abusive ex-girlfriend, though I expect it was happening before then and this is actually what enabled her to keep him.  I tried talking to him, got him a therapist (who he thankfully loves and is still with to this day), made some medication attempts that ended horribly.  A lot of ups and downs but then it felt like it all got very dark for him. If I didn't hear from him at a certain time my first fear was that he'd killed himself.  I'd go into a panic texting, calling, texting my ex-husband, Facebook messages, Twitter messages, Instagram messages and once even charging into the house screaming his name until I found him sleeping in bed.

I don't know how to help my son anymore.  I encourage, check in, offer guidance, pay for therapy but it never feels like enough.  And I do understand this; I know all of these things never got me out of my deepest depression...I wanted it and did it myself.  (Side note: this in no way takes away from therapy, medication and self care.  Hard stop.)  I wanted so much better for him.  I'm mad at it all but nowhere to direct it; mad at my genes, at life, at the universe and at the unknown.