I watched 2 videos yesterday which sparked a challenge for myself. One was by Glennon Doyle, whose words have really spoken to me (though her book Love Warrior left me disappointed in the end, I'm excited to read Untamed), and the other was by my friend Yoga Spice (whose daily video encouragements have been a base for sanity these days). Glennon spoke about being a writer and talked about how when she started she told herself to write a post a day, write for an hour and let it go. No drafts (which I actually don't do either), no critique, let it out and keep moving. Spice talked about doing, not trying, doing it. I'm completely stir crazy right now, lonely, sad, so why not?
Though I just said no critique above, I'm already upset with myself. Looked back and saw my post about My Next 90 Days, which didn't happen. My post about Hope for 1 Year, didn't happen. But as a reminder, and perhaps giving myself grace, I also looked at my post I Get Derailed Easily and thought about all that occurred to make me immobile.
Here goes...
First thoughts here are I have nothing to say. Don't feel like talking about Covid19, or being shut in, or how tired I am while doing nothing. It's all so overwhelming. I know at it's core this is a lack of control for me. Though in truth we're never in control. "Bad things" can happen to anyone, any time, anywhere. Yet it was that perception that if I did everything "right" I'd be protected and OK. Nothing feels OK right now.
Talking to a friend recently and the words hope and faith came up. Two things I don't recall ever having. I've thought back as far as I can and there has always been hyper vigilance for survival, which got progressively worse as life tumbled into unimaginable hell. Even in childhood there was never a foundation of feeling I'd be taken care of.
I feel like I've already blogged about this memory but I'll do it again anyway as something else might spring up from it. When we were living in Louisiana and there was an outbreak of burglaries followed by arson. The burglars would watch the house and wait until the family was out of town, steal everything they could then torch the place. One night we were called outside to our neighbors home to see it engulfed in flames. It was a large beautiful home on a few acres. The fire department was called but they wouldn't come as we were outside city limits. Neighbors were scrambling to find some way to put out the fire. Attempts were made to take the water out of a swimming pool up the hill, buckets of water were thrown on it which did nothing, the garden hose was being sprayed on it but it was like spitting into a bonfire. As the fire got bigger you could hear glass shattering, guns going off and sounds of the structure crumbling. We all finally stood there helpless. Many were crying but I stood back in shock and unable to move. Not too long after this we went on a short week end vacation. Driving back I thought about watching our neighbor's house burn and became overcome with fear that we'd return to that. I asked my father as we neared our house, "Daddy, will our house be burned up?". He replied, "It could be. There many be only a pile of ashes." I was around 8 or 9 years old. To get to our house you turned a corner before going down a hill and couldn't see the house until you began the decent down the hill. I sat as high as I could trying to look over the hill and holding my breath. I sighed with relief as I saw our house was still there and not on fire. At no point in any of this did either of my parents give support or ensure I'd be taken care of.
Though my father was a pastor I don't recall ever feeling "God" would protect me. He was incredibly negative, as was his family, so the focus I felt from him always came back to obedience and fear of punishment. As my life went on the other shoe kept dropping. And dropping. And dropping. All the prayers and begging in the world didn't stop the trauma from happening and continuing. I get punchy whenever I hear someone say, "Well things can only get better!" No bitch, they can get much worse. They can turn into a nightmare you could have never perceived or dreamed up. And then when you think you can't take anymore it can all explode in your face.
My hope and faith is in myself. I believe in my own resilience. I know I can hustle like no other. I know I can survive what would have destroyed most others. It's not a happy place to be, to live a life with your dukes up and looking for the next thing to go wrong. It's exhausting but for this moment it saves me.
Let's start this by saying I truly doubt I'll have any profound thoughts at this time. We're all living this surreal existence of fear and unknowing. We look for what little we can control yet are often immobile to even act on these things. Our choices will truly affect the world...and that's daunting to say the least.
I woke up around 5am with a fear I couldn't quite place. Unsure about what day it was, as seems to happen every day, and feeling like I was forgetting something important. I then remembered my one task for the day was to bring my son face masks. He works at a coffee shop, which apparently makes him part of Food and Agriculture and essential. Even though he's 21 I've wondered as a mother if I'm allowing him to risk his life...for coffee. Should I go into my savings and pay him to stay home? Should I have made him wear a mask sooner even when we were being told they won't work? Have I done enough?
Though I hate the cold, and it was a brisk 19 degrees, I drove with the windows down. I wanted to feel the air. I wanted to feel the cold I detest so much. I see how my response to this has been to numb myself: Facebook, food, substances, and even beneficial things like yoga (should I take more than 2 classes a day? That's still maybe 3 hours...there's too much time to think). I gave him the masks (one being a makeshift one I made out of a bandana...fearfully watching the how to video and feeling the weight of fear as what if I do it wrong...), told him more were coming and he went into his job. I glared at his job thinking what if he catches this and dies all because some covid invested mother fucker wants his morning latte.
I have so much anger and I'm directing it nowhere and everywhere. Livid at our idiotic president "China lied to us." No, your vain orange ass was on the golf course. Shut up! Anger at myself as I'm worried there were times I didn't sanitize enough, or did I touch something after I washed my hands, or did I not clean the groceries well enough....will my mistakes kill someone? Or me? Livid at a God I don't believe in and annoyed at the posts I'm seeing about their God's special protection for them...too bad he said, "Fuck Italy!", right? So angry.
Driving back home the sun was rising in a beautiful orange ball. Sunrise is my favorite and I had no memory of the last time I'd seen it. It gave me a single sigh of relief and familiarity before the fearful thoughts came back. I see it will be sunny, and though it will be excruciating on my hip, I plan on walking far. I want to walk until what I'm seeing is no longer familiar. I want to walk until I'm hurting. I want to walk so far away. Yet we're all in this, we're here, and there is nowhere to hide.
Another of today's tasks, which I've avoided for over 2 years, was to go through a box in my storage locker. This box is a mish mash of things I threw in it as I was moving out and leaving my husband. I labeled it "Shit I can't deal with right now". But today was finally the day...I feel like hell anyway so why not go all the way? It was all random items, thankfully with no sentimental value, thrown in a big mess. Though two of the items gave me pause. One was a big bottle of hand sanitizer! Has the universe finally smiled on me?! The other was a card that said, "Be here now". Ugh. I don't want to be here now yet that's really the only choice. We are all here now.
So I look out my window at the sunshine and remember how it makes me happy. I feel gratitude that I'm in a warm home, cat asleep on the floor in front of me and a belly full of chocolate chip cookies. I look at the art on my walls that so perfectly reflects my personality and see how far I've come since packing up that box of shit I couldn't deal with at the time. I think of those that offered to help me get masks for my son and remind myself there is still goodness in people. I remind myself that my choices in life are still mine and no government, person or thing can take that away from me.
I'm here now.
This is a difficult post, as they all are, and I've been avoiding it for months. Though I'm going to be vague in details, I still want to be raw and open about my thoughts and feelings on it. I'm still struggling with what I want to say and truly processing it all.
There was a skill I thought I had for many years that I've recently learned wasn't as good as I thought it was. Wasn't something I used for work, really just a fun party trick, but it was something I was proud of. On the short list of things I said I was good at, this was on top. When I was down and feeling like I wasn't one of the talented people, I'd remind myself that I had this.
Now I did know my limitations with this skill. I had no illusions that I'd ever do anything special with it. Yet it brought me happiness, I had fun with it, and again....I felt good about it.
So this supposed skill got put to the test and I apparently failed. Or I felt like I failed. Words were said to me that shattered me and my confidence was pulverized. No one intended to hurt me. Yet they were specific words about things I'd pushed down and tried to ignore so this shining light on them burned me.
The thought of doing it now makes me cry. I can't even do it for my own enjoyment alone. It's gone. I'm specifically not saying what this is as I don't want commentary about it, advice on what to do, or any other bullshit. I've heard enough.
As I contemplated my feelings over the past months I'm realizing I'm experiencing loss. I'm grieving what's gone. I'm sad over what was actually never there. There is anger (underlying hurt) but I have no one to be angry with. I find I'm silently screaming to the nothingness, "Why?! What do I have now?! I didn't have much to begin with!".
I'm also facing an ugly quality about myself here, where I shut down when I perceive things as going wrong. Black or white. In or out. I've been noticing this in aspects about myself as well as how I handle personal relationships. My therapist typically asks me, when I talk about issues in my life, "How old does this feel?". And this feels like a teenager.
When I was about 15 I was in my living room practicing ballet. I loved dancing and wanted to be a dancer when I grew up. My parents were in the middle of a bitter divorce at this time and everyone was edgy. My mother walked by and said in a condescending tone, "What are you doing!?!" I said, "I'm practicing so I can be a dancer." She let out a hoot of a laugh and said, "You'll never be a dancer! You're too short!" I quit dance that next week.
About a year later my parents were divorced and my mother was with a violent man. His friend's daughter had come to our house and dug in my room and found my ballet dress from when I was 11. I loved this dress. I thought it was the perfect ballerina dress and I dreamed of giving it to my daughter some day. I came home to find the dress destroyed. No idea why this little shit did it but I was told I couldn't do anything because "he" would be angry. I decided at that moment I never wanted to have a daughter (and later other reasons came into play as to why I only wanted a son).
I don't want to be this person who checks out when something hurts, when there is loss, when there is disagreement. I don't want to believe that everyone must agree with me (politics anyone?), yet I sort of do. I want to be able to enjoy what I felt was taken away again someday....
I'm a few hours off of being under anesthesia so this post may be a bit convoluted and off kilter. Just need to get the words out that are scrambling through my brain. And really...aren't all my posts actually this way? 😊
I had a colonoscopy this morning. Nothing wrong; just one of those age appropriate preventative checks. Before going in for it I was pretty vocal about not looking forward to the "prep" (sitting on a toilet all day). I was told I shouldn't be talking about it. Many made faces and said nothing. Now admittedly one of the times was at a meal so my timing was definitely off. What was most clear was this was an off limits subject. This was something to be said only in certain company. Yes, most of us will go through it at some point but I was supposed to be a bit more subtle about this.
I've found when it comes to the human body there are societal norms of what we should talk about and what we shouldn't. What we should feel sorry for and what we mock. What are appropriate conversations and what should be said in more hushed tones, if at all.
It always, and I do mean always, comes down to is it considered sexual or not. Thankfully with enough press and discussion, breast cancer isn't a taboo subject anymore. Finally men are encouraged to do breast self exams and talk to their doctors about issues. Yet all things vagina, penis and rectum (and all the parts in between) are still body parts that can elicit embarrassment, shame and nervous laughter. Side jokes about prostate exams, a woman not wanting to have sex is frigid and God forbid a man have erectile dysfunction. 43% of women and 31% of men have reported (again, only those saying it) some form of sexual dysfunction...would you be willing to talk about that the way you would a hamstring tear or needing a root canal?
So we don't talk about it. We hide it from medical professionals because we don't trust their responses. We don't mention it to friends because we fear them not understanding. Or what's happening or not happening is simply "gross" so it's easier to stuff it away than face it. But why are these things disgusting? Why is our normal human body function (or dysfunction that could be helped) something to be ashamed of?
Well we learned this growing up and some of us got it worse than others. We're born naked without a care in the world and then at a certain age (determined by your upbringing) we were told we had to cover up. We began to be told what was appropriate to say out loud and what needed to be silenced. In many religious upbringings there was intense shame around anything sexual outside of marriage and this included those same body parts which are used for many other things!
I wasn't able to complete my colonoscopy today because I wasn't "cleaned out enough". (About to go TMI so move along if your delicate eyes can't take reading this.) I've had chronic constipation for 22 years to an embarrassing level. If I did tell anyone it was as a self deprecating joke. It started with pregnancy and then I later went on to make things much worse with my eating disorder by severely abusing laxatives. Between the laxatives and clear liquid diet yesterday (felt like starvation) it was an eating disorder trigger zone and mind fuck for me. I should have had what they called a Double Prep but I hadn't told anyone about my issues. I did everything I was told and coming up on 11pm last night nothing much had happened. I knew I was in trouble but was hoping it would work out. So why couldn't I just say to the doctor that I have a shit ton of problems with my intestinal system!? (All puns intended...) Shame. Fear. Embarrassment. All over something every mammal does.
I have more to say on this subject in multiple areas. But I'm groggy from being under and need to end this here. So why don't we talk about these things?
Everyone that's made it out of preschool knows you'll be talked about in this life. There will be lies. You will be spoken about from their perspective. You will be cut down, made fun of and mocked. The old saying goes, "Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me." I'd say throw a stone at me any day because words can slaughter me. We comfort ourselves saying we don't care, ignore the haters, be above it...but come on...it hurts.
Speaking of stones, and the owners of glass houses that should not be throwing them; do I talk shit about others? All the time. We could probably say daily. I feel justified though because "I'm only telling the truth!" "They won't know!" "They say far worse about me!" So is karma kicking me in the ass when I can't take what I've dished out?
I have a coworker who I butt heads with constantly. I rip on her to anyone who will listen. Why can't I just shut up? It's partially to vent; I'll go to other coworkers who experience the same thing to get their confirmation that it's not just me. I'm angry at her actions and have nowhere to place the anger except with words. I can even own that I get enjoyment from it. It's a passive aggressive way to "get back" at her while she knows nothing. Sadly in this situation if it weren't for her awful work actions, we have a ton in common and could potentially be great friends.
When my parents divorced my father pretty much went door to door talking about my mother. He wanted it known that the divorce was her fault and he was "innocent". He did this without care or thought as to how it would affect his children. He was a pastor at the time, and stepped down from his role due to the divorce. Between the things he said, and typical church gossip, the stories took on a life of their own. At one point I heard it said that my mother and I were hookers (I was 15) and I was doing coke. To take the weight and pain out of what was said I would reply, "You could at least pick the drugs I'm on!" (I smoked pot.) I broke down when no one was watching.
During my own divorce I know my (ex) husband said a lot about me. He shared things that were personal. He wanted me to be the bad guy and for everyone to be on his side. We've since reconciled all this and get along great. But I am still haunted by people, many unknown to me, who have information about me. I get bothered by what they think they know and that a piece of me is out there that I can't get back.
With all of this, and many more moments, I have a huge need to control the conversation. I want to defend myself. I want to be right. I want it to be fair. I don't want my secrets revealed. I want you to shut the fuck up.
Yet control is an illusion and impossible. People will hate you for no reason. They will hate you for good reason. Your secrets will be told to hurt you. Your vulnerability and honesty will be used against you. And you will do all of this to others as well.
So what would happen if I somehow found the strength to let their words roll off of me? What would happen if I stopped talking shit as well?
I have shameful secrets I think I will one day expose here because I know others suffering need to hear they aren't alone. What stops me is the fear of what others will say, how they might laugh, how they might view me, how I can't control the conversation once the words are said.
Looking for freedom from them and from myself.
I've been playing with a few posts but while writing they weren't resonating with me. Nothing seems to be working. Saw a dumb Facebook game where instead of them telling you things you should write (Ex - Favorite Color?, Where were you born?, Etc.) you list 10 things about yourself no one knows. Interesting and Raw. I was going to do it on Facebook but decided my blog is a better place and felt safer. If you know me decently well you'll know some of these but I'm hoping everyone gets a few surprises.
1.) I'm Danger-Prone-Daphne (Scooby Doo reference for you young'uns). If you can fall into it, over it, on it....then it's happening to me. Amazingly I've only broken 1 bone (a finger) as I get hurt all the time. I can perfectly sync up with a line dance, walk off the dance floor, trip on air and splat on my face.
2.) I have an eating disorder. The clinical name is EDNOS (Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified). I like to say it's the one that doesn't end in a sexy A (anorexia, bulimia, orthoexia, etc...). I like to say I'm a good 85% cured on a good day. One author wrote "It's like someone who hurt their leg, they learn to walk again, but every now and then you detect a limp." I believe those of us in recovery need to speak openly about it so others can release their shame and get help.
3.) I smoke weed every day. I have multiple conditions that would qualify me for medical marijuana but I've never been certified. The cost of getting certified is ridiculous, and the quality I get is also medical. So why would I give them money for certification if I can use that on more weed? (Uh...because what you are doing is illegal...) I feel strongly weed should be legalized and I'm vocal about it. Probably too vocal.
4.) I have a medical condition called seronegative spondyloarthropathy (and I'm incapable of pronouncing that last word correctly). How it was explained to me is "you have all the symptoms of an autoimmune disease but it's not showing in your blood work". In constant pain every day, all day. I get a small break in my pain each night once I'm off work, home from yoga, not driving, just before I go to bed. This is the primary reason I use weed (not the only...I won't kid you).
5.) I used to be a pastor's daughter. Hated it! Whenever someone finds out they love to lower their voice and make some comment about being a "bad pastor's daughter". (oh wow...you're so original...) I've thought about this a lot, as I certainly wasn't reading my bible and listening to Michael W. Smith. The things I did which would have been considered "rebellion" were really just exploring. I'm a naturally curious person. I'll try most things once. There was never peer pressure for me as I already wanted to do what they were offering. I never thought about acting up or being troublesome....I just wanted a big life.
6.) I'm Agnostic / Atheist. Raised Evangelical, forced to say the "Sinners Prayer" around age 5 (and asked big questions that they couldn't answer at this same age), hated it but had so much fear of burning in hell that I stayed another 35 years. Releasing Christianity was one of the scariest and freeing days of my life. I will some day write more about this but it's too long a road for me to go down right now.
7.) When I got divorced I changed both my middle and last name. And my last name isn't my maiden name. My new middle name would have been my son's middle name had he been a girl. My last name is my grandmother's maiden name. I was using these names together as an alias to rip on my old cult church and to fight with strangers online. My friends were all Facebook friends with my alias and knew it was me, and this included my son. When I was deciding on the change I asked him if he'd be upset if we had different last names (my mother has been married 4x and the constant name change got to me). He said, "Depends on what it is". I told him it would be my Facebook alias name and he said, "Perfect!" so that was all I needed to do it. The new name brings new freedom and owning of my life.
8.) I have a bunk ass degree - Bachelor of Science in Natural Health. Online college, not accredited with anything, yet it seemed aligned with what I wanted at the time (also during the height of my eating disorder). I have the degree (if we can call it that) framed and don't know what to do with it. It's worthless and brings me shame.
9.) Calling a Customer Service line scares me. I have no idea why. It can be something simple, fixable, easy and yet I will procrastinate to a ridiculous level. I know through therapy I have an over-arching belief with everything of "I'm going to be in trouble" (now this is typical pastor's daughter). In all reality I've never been in trouble. A couple speeding tickets, late bill or two, never fired...so no need to be in terror over a phone call. I've even considered paying people to call for me. It brings me that much anxiety. (I would never be a "Let me speak to your manager!" Karen)
10.) I don't believe in Soul Mates. And frankly I find people that use the term to be smug and obnoxious. I believe people can be much better matched together than with others. I believe it's both being lucky and making good choices. I believe it's work. But when I hear something refer to another as "my soul mate" I have to run to the bathroom to puke.
Care to share yours?
*Picture is me with my first bible
If you know me even slightly then you know I love Star Wars. Not just a fan...I'm full on crazy for it. Star Wars is my thing. I have a lot of things that make me happy but Star Wars is special for me. I've been laughed at and made fun of for it, and admittedly I've done this to other people who are into something I don't understand, as we all have our thing that does it for us.
Rarely do we know the backstory to why people get obsessed with something. Most of us don't share why at 50 years old we want a light saber tattoo or still look to the sky at night in hopes of seeing the Millennium Falcon zoom by. The reasons may surprise you and you might even find a different understanding towards others odd things they are into.
Star Wars was the 2nd movie I'd seen in a theater (the first being Apple Dumpling Gang) and it blew my mind. We were living in Leesville, Louisiana, which was a hick town outside a military base. We didn't even get hit movies until a good year after they'd been out. Star Wars was like nothing I'd ever seen and I was mesmerized. I spent many nights looking out my 2nd story bedroom window at the night sky dreaming of Han Solo taking me out of Leesville.
My father was a raging misogynist so I wasn't allowed any Star Wars toys because "they are for boys". My brother had Star Wars sheets, action figures and even a garbage can. I was only allowed a school folder with Princess Leia on it. I cherished it and wouldn't use it for school and instead kept it pristine as it was all I had. A few years ago while at an opening night for the latest movie they gave out trading cards. I put them on my kitchen counter and few days later a friend came over, laughed, and asked what I was going to do with those. I said, "They are mine! I'm the fan! I get them!". I found I was even a little teary eyed about this.
I walked down the aisle at my wedding to the theme to Star Wars. I mist up when it comes on and the word crawl on the screen begins. This song, these movies, allow me a mental escape I rarely get. I see myself in the characters. Their fate feels important to me as if it's happening to me. If you're around me it can seem bizarre, as it's pretty opposite of the rest of my life, but it's my thing.
So when you see that person doing Harry Potter cosplay, painting their home the colors of their favorite sports team, collecting tea cups...know that this may be the one thing that gets them through a day. It may look odd to you, their exuberance may annoy you, but allow them this. We are all flying on a rock through space to our deaths. You can shut up your opinions for a second and give another their moment.
