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.

A Big Hard Birthday

I have a difficult birthday coming up in four days.  I'm turning 50.  Yes, it's a time for celebration, and my friends have gone over the top with making sure I feel loved, cared for and not alone.  Yet that number.  That fucking number.  When I hit other age milestones I didn't care that much.  At 30 my son was still a baby and I was so caught up in him that I have no memory of that birthday at all.  40 was a little daunting, and I didn't appreciate my age being written on my calf in marker as I did a triathlon the next day.  Though turning 50 isn't what it's used to be, it clearly signifies your youth is over.

I'm scared to say this, as I've spent a lifetime cutting myself down to beat you to the punch, but I look the best I've ever looked in my life.  I can actually look at some pictures and not cringe and cry as I would before.  I went to a check up with my doctor and she kept looking back at her computer screen, then to me, and back at the screen before she laughed a little.  I said, "Something wrong?".  She said, "No, not at all.  I just have to keep reminding myself you're not in your 30's.  I'm getting notices of all the baselines checks and tests we should be doing for you turning 50 soon and yet there is nothing about you that presents this way.  You are the youngest 49 year old I've ever treated."  How can I look younger but not look like I'm trying to look younger is my daily battle.

We don't get much of a break as women in this area.  It feels like we're not allowed to talk about the reality of what we're facing as it comes back as something to be made fun of, or worse yet something to be used against us.  Either you've let yourself go or if you present as too sexy then you're a cougar on the prowl.  I'm none of these things.  I walk a line between feeling powerful, owning my strength and being proud of my wisdom that age has given me, while on the other side there is shame, fear and regrets that I push aside as they are too painful and nothing I'm able to change.  I go back and forth between insecurity "Do I look OK?  Do I look old? Am I enough?" and "Fuck your opinions".  It's a tiring way to live.

I love pivotal moments.  I love rituals to celebrate, to cleanse and to renew.  So I am looking at the calendar on the last days of my 40's and asking myself, "What is the life you want?  You are closer to death than ever.  You can no longer procrastinate.  All the choice is yours....what do you want?"   First, and I've said this since my divorce, is that I want happiness.  And with the exception of shoes and make up (mind your business...you have something too), I don't care at all about things. I want experiences.  I want to eat well as I laugh with friends.  I want to see amazing sunrises all over the world.  I want to be honest.  Brutally honest.  I want to say, "No".  I want my pain to mean something.  I want to have the bravery to share my most horrific experiences that I survived so someone else feels hope.  I want to release the opinions of others.  I want to make sure those around me know I love them.  

As with most of my blog posts, I don't have a special conclusion here, and I'm OK with that.  Most of life doesn't have perfect answers.  We're all broken, damaged and kicking and clawing our way to our next happy moment.  You're allowed to make mistakes.  Life is full of bad choices.  You're also allowed your own redemption and your own ways to find joy.  It will be over soon....Lets go be happy.

Your Perception

I hate weddings.  When I say hate I don't mean it in the weddings are boring, archaic and a general drag. I mean hate in terms of wanting to slit my throat with a dull knife to get out of it.  Hate them.  But I went to a wedding, or rather had an adventure, where it was magical, lovely and beautiful.  This post isn't about weddings, or my core belief I'll never find love, but about my journey to and from this wedding and the self discovery that happened.

I try to keep my blog rather anonymous so I won't name names here, but a little backstory on what brought me to the Wheel of Bliss retreat center in Hot Springs, North Carolina for a Hippie Mountain Wedding.  I met my friends who married as they were just beginning their journey together.  One was having his 30th birthday party and invited all of his thousands of Facebook friends.  I'd found him, as he was a Christian blogger, and had been following him for sometime but we'd never met.  I saw the party was in Minneapolis, realized that I'd know no one and clearly be the oldest there by a good 15+ years (I'm probably being kind to myself here)....GOING!  I knew he liked yoga so I reached out and asked if he'd like a private class for his birthday.  This morphed into renting a phenomenal space in NE Minneapolis, private candlelit class with a theme of "I am enough".  With the exceptions of the 2 classes I taught at his wedding, I still rank this as the most powerful class I've ever taught (and of no credit to me...the energy in the room was felt by all).  I've become close to these two over the years and was thrilled to be invited to be part of their day.

I also had the honor and joy of meeting another Facebook friend who is one of my biggest supporters and a dear close friend.  We talk nearly every day but had never met.  Flew in to meet her, had an amazing time and then way too soon she was dropping me off at the rental car place for me to drive to the wedding.

Renting a car scared me.  I've done it before but someone was always with me.  This felt daunting and lonely.  I was terrified they'd try to sell me extra insurance and I'd be stuck paying because they would be too persistent for me to say no.  It was easy, car rented, I was decently comfortable in it and off.

Driving in the North Carolina mountains was beautiful and terrifying for me.  My achrophobia was killing me as I went down steep inclines.  This also brought up scary memories of another time I drove a long distance alone.  I was 19 with just enough money for gas and some food and that's it.  No cellphone, no credit card, no GPS, no one to call for help.  I was driving from San Francisco to Los Angeles.  I looked at the sun rising, figured out which way was south and started driving.  My car was a total piece of shit with nothing but a gas gauge and speedometer.  I had a gallon of water and some bagels.  Panic attack the entire way.  With a brief detour in Compton, I made it.

I had to remind myself this was no longer that experience, I was no longer that person and that I would survive.  I told myself of all my resources: phone, credit cards, cash, AAA, internet, to keep myself grounded.  Yet I still had to tell myself to breathe.  Once I was deep in the mountains I lost texting and internet but my GPS kept going.  It directed me to the First Baptist Church of Hot Springs "Your destination is on the left".  The humor wasn't lost on me.  

I then saw there was a Welcome Center, so surely they could help me.  Walked in asking for the Wheel of Bliss retreat center and the old hippie at the desk had never heard of it.  My resources were mostly gone for getting there and I held back tears.  He looked up the website and said he loves places like this and is always looking for one.  He called some "spiritual people" he knows and one explained it was on Meadow Fork and not Meadow Lane as the website had said.  Another 30 minutes away "you're about to go on a very twisty road", "I though the road was already twisty!"...dead look.  So I started twisting and turning my way around the mountain.  It was the craziest curvy road I'd ever seen.  The motion sensor on the car, to keep you in your lane, was beeping out of control. Fighting through tears I pressed on.  When I got to my location the caretaker was there and directed me in.  It looked like I had to take a left and plummet down a huge hill.  He assured me I was fine, and though I wasn't convinced I made the turn.  I pictured the car going over a ravine where I'd surely fall to my death but not after a torturous ride down.  Again trying to regain my bearings I found the parking (up a huge hill), and not understanding how far up another hill the retreat center was, I hauled my huge suitcase up a gravel road in the mountain.  When I arrived I was trying to be cool but I'd had it.  Everyone was welcoming and kind and I softened to the moment.

The wedding was wonderful.  I was accepted and loved and truly felt happy for their joy (I typically don't feel this).  But I had to get back.  I drank and smoked a lot, as I was upset over some other things at home, but also in panic about the drive back through those mountains.  I woke up my final morning and walked back to the entrance where I was sure the steepest more harrowing incline was...and it was a little hill.  It was nothing.  Even in my fear I knew I could drive out.  I started driving down that twisting road that I'd come in on and it was actually pretty peaceful. 

I started to make my way back over the mountains, preparing myself for the panic to come back and deciding how I was going to breathe through this.  After awhile I calmed, even allowed myself to play some music and sing.  I kept wondering when the big mountains would come.  I found I was then 30 minutes from my original location and I'd already gone over the mountains.  They weren't so big after all.

I really wish I had better insights here than the tired old "perception is everything' or "change the way you look at things", but that's it.  I had blown up my fears to the point of being in physical pain.  I had decided the ride would be scary and bad...and it was scary and bad.  I smirked on the plane going back as I thought of my ride back and how it was calm and easy.  I have PTSD and my survival responses are to be on high alert.  Yet the danger wasn't real.  I wasn't alone.  I have people who care what happens to me.  

I even changed my perception on the address glitch and the old hippie at the Welcome Center...I've decided I needed to get off my path to let him know of this place, before I could continue my journey.  

We're all going to make it.  It's not the end.