The things I think about

Just re-read some of my more recent posts.  In doing so, I am left wondering about whether a general disclaimer is necessary, that things are not that bad.  I'd even started to write one...but realized that is was more of a gremlin, make it all look good, people pleasing motive, than anything of actual substance.


It is Sunday morning, I am up because there is something in the oven for Church.  Kate is asleep, Winslow and Lily have both been attended to.  I am always particularly reflective on Sundays. 

I am thinking about God, faith, fate, free will.  This poem comes to mind:

Footprints in the Sand

One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord.
Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.
In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand.
Sometimes there were two sets of footprints,
other times there were one set of footprints.

This bothered me because I noticed
that during the low periods of my life,
when I was suffering from
anguish, sorrow or defeat,
I could see only one set of footprints.

So I said to the Lord,
“You promised me Lord,
that if I followed you,
you would walk with me always.
But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my life
there have only been one set of footprints in the sand.
Why, when I needed you most, you have not been there for me?”

The Lord replied,
“The times when you have seen only one set of footprints in the sand,
is when I carried you.”

--Mary Stevenson

There have been dark points in my life.  Pointed where I was so angry with God that I walked away for years at a time.  I did not feel his presence with me, or perhaps I was just too numb to notice. He probably was carrying me too, which is how I made it through, despite a few bumps and bruises, an occasional scar.  I've distanced myself again, I feel his presence, but not to the degree I did two years ago.  But I suspect that is more about me than anything else.  His gifts are all around me, I see them, I know them, I just do not always feel as connected to him directly.

I want the words to mean more. I want to feel that warmth that I do at other times, as I read the words, recite the words. Sure I went to CCD as a kid, even taught it--but what do I actually know from that experience?  Not a whole heck of a lot. 

Why do I associate faith with text and tradition?  I am not sure.  Socially constructed perhaps?  Full of shoulds and expectations?  Faith is different than religion.  Perhaps this is where I need to start.  I have faith.  I believe that there is a God, I've always gotten a bit hung up on the Jesus thing...but more in the why him?  Why then sort of way.  And then when the hell is he coming back to clean up the mess we've made?  Granted, I was not around in 1st century Palestine, but are we really that much better off now?  I think we missed a memo somewhere.

I do talk to God, though not in any sort of organized way.  There are points throughout the day/week where I am feeling particularly grateful.  It is in those times that I let him know.  I figure it's a good start.  I have stopped 'asking' for things--aside from guidance.  Figure he gets enough of that from the rest of the world.  I don't really yell at him anymore...though I do have discussions at times about the things I do not understand.  And there are a lot.  Perhaps I am also growing, shifting, maturing.  You know--sort of like the angry vengeful God of the Old Testament to the softer one of the New Testament.

We'll see.

Finding balance

Today has been an emotional day.  I started out on a high.  Feeling truly grateful for the people closest to me.  God sent in the heavy artillery recently to help me out of the hole I've been in.  Despite my best efforts, I have not been in the greatest shape this year.  And I know this. But things have started to turn around, and for this I am forever grateful.

Then I fell.  It hurt, on multiple levels.  I couldn't get up on my own.  I needed help.  You know how much I hate asking for help.  Talk about a dose of humility. But I stayed positive.  Focused on the day.  Still okay.  Even tried to laugh it off with one of the people who sees me through to the core.  I doubt it worked very well.

The energy from the morning faded as I moved my office.  The move itself isn't the problem.  Right now it's feeling unsettled.  It was hard to leave at the end of the day with things in disarray.  But I did it.  Because it was what needed to be done.  There will be time tomorrow.

Now, I am feeling raw.  A little insecure.  Vulnerable.  I could use a good cry, have felt that way for the last few days...but not necessarily out of sadness or despair the whole time.  In fact, there is nothing wrong as far as I can tell.  Perhaps it was the fall...taking that to a deeper level...

Perhaps some of it was the talk of walls, rubble, and gates.  How am I doing with taking down those walls?  Am I sifting through the rubble like I could be?  And who gets a key to the gate?  Yours? mine?  Do I deserve one?  Should I be allowed to help with the reconstruction?  Gremlin, I know.  But still it's where I am at.

In emotional times like this, it is not uncommon for me to have the highs and lows.  I think it is part of the balance of the universe, positive and negative, ying and yang.  Just wish I was better at slowing the roller coaster a bit.

There is also the fact that one of the ladies at the front desk asks me every day if I went to the gym the night before.  Pisses me off really.  But only because I know that it would be in my best interest if I did.  But, I can't seem to get my head out of my ass to get there.  Part of me says to go now...but if I do, I won't sleep.  I'll try to go in the morning.  She wants me to report back about the interval training.  Truth--I've been avoiding it.  Because it will be hard.  And I am mad at myself for gaining the weight back; for not stretching.  I know it was partly my depression kicking me in the ass over the last year, and partly being comfortable with Kate for the year before that.

Next Tuesday it will be one year since the things with my parents hit the fan.  I know that is weighing in too...where do I go from here? Brings me back to recent questions...does it have to be black and white?  If there is shades of gray, what does that mean?  For me?  For Matthew?  Kate? 

Complicated really.

Agreements with Self

Yesterday I wrote about perfection.  Asking myself, what have I lost in my quest for perfection.  In that stream of thought, I talked about being disabled.  Being disabled makes it impossible for me to be perfect, based on an ideal.

Today I opened the 5th Agreement, to read the following, ["What about someone who is physically disabled?  Is that person perfect?" Well according to what you know, that person may be imperfect, but is what you know the truth?]  Certainly caused me to pause.  I even read the passage to Kate and reminded her of the blog from night before. 

I've said before that I do not believe in coincidences.  In fact, I have gone so far as to say that when these things happen to me (which is happening more and more frequently), it is in some what God's way if getting my attention.

The four agreements are as follows:

1. Be impeccable with your word
2. Don't take things personally
3. Don't make assumptions
4. Always do your best

I have not been very good at maintaining these...particularly with myself.  I am better when being impeccable toward others. But with myself, hardly.  2-4 are not  much better--I measure myself against ideals that I can and will never meet...nor should I.  These are not realistic--the mirrors I stare into--are clouded, streaked with the views of others, not truths.

There is now a fifth one...but, I will save that for you to discover for yourself....

.however with this i am also not very good.

I need to take it easier on myself.  I need to see myself as fabulous--as a beautiful patchwork quilt.

Perfection

Perfection is as much about control as it is about the ability to lose control. - black swan

I didn't think I would like the movie.  But, I did.  This is probably one of the most powerful lines in the movie for me.  That and the end, which I will not share.  I thought about it for a long time, even after the credits rolled...in the car on the way home.  And even now hours later.

The White Swan vs The Black Swan--perfection/purity vs vulnerability/passion

How much of myself do I lose in my drive to be perfect.  I think of my friend--not fabulous because she isn't perfect.  I tell her this is BS, because it is.  Yet, I hold myself to a different standard.  When am I at my happiest?  Certainly not when I am trying to be perfect.  In fact, some of the best times in recent memory have been, when I open myself up and show those imperfections.  As scary and terrifying as it can be at times...that loss of control, if only for a moment is so freeing, so real.

Where did I get this need to be perfect?  It seems that it has been a part of me for as long as I can remember.  Even as a small child, I had to be the best.  I put on a good front that it was okay if I wasn't, but that's all it was--a front.

I think about being born with a disability.  From the moment I came into this world, I was imperfect.  Hell, I have the scars from birth to prove it!  How much of that plays a factor? I remember when I hit "normal ranges" --90 degree angles.  I needed to go for 100/110.  Yet now, I'd be lucky to hit 45.  I was also the first patient my PT had to ride a two-wheeled bike w/o training wheels.  I was the best.

In school there was the drive for the best grades--NHS, Editor-In-Chief of the school paper, president of this or that.  All covering for the scared little girl, with low self-esteem, and a dark secret--she hated herself, and her life.  But damn did it look good.

College was much of the same, minus the self-loathing.  But still needing to be the best...RA as a sophomore, Honors Club President, ARD by 2nd semester Junior year.  It goes on.  I was happier though, there was more balance.  Pressure sure, and I nearly cracked under it a few times.  Nearly transferred, changed majors more than once, then there was Sr year when I almost quit every extracurricular.  But didn't, because how would that have looked?

I am older now.  But still I battle this need for perfection.  At work, at home, but I am finding that the harder I try for it...the more tired and unhappy I become.  I talk with my clients about setting realistic expectations for themselves.  I think it's about time I set some for myself as well.

I was not put here to be perfect.  I was put here, by the grace of God to be me.  Just me.  Radical Acceptance--right?  I am not perfect.  Nor will I ever be.  I am clumsy, anxious, chubby, a little neurotic, gullible, trusting, and as much as sometimes I hate to admit it, I cannot do some things like the rest of my friends--because I am disabled.  God gave me that gift, as a constant reminder that I do not have to be perfect--because with my CP, I can never be.

Sufi Wisdom

I've been quiet lately.


Normally, this would probably be a bad thing.  But, truth--I'm doing pretty well.  At work today, a ct commented that I seemed like I was in a really good mood, hyper almost.  And I was in a good mood.  Zachariah said something at lunch a few minutes before, that really made me think...

Sufi Islam and Buddhism agree that much of the reason for one's unhappiness, is when the world fails to meet our expectations.

I spend my days talking with people about their expectations, encouraging them to examine these ideals and challenge them.  You know, all that CBT stuff.  But what about my own ideals?  Are my expectations realistic?  Of myself?  Of others?

No. 

The expectations I have of others, tend to be very low.  Unless, of course you are in the inner circle.  On the surface level, I really don't expect much of anyone, aside from basic respect for one another.  To do the best you can in the moment.  And sometimes that expectation is not upheld.

For those who are closest, the expectations are high. But perhaps that is why there are so few who have made it inside, and even fewer who have stayed.  I'm not sure I can even verbalize what these standards are exactly, just something of a code.  Respect, trust, comfort, honesty, genuine. 

Of myself.  Perfection.  Impossible to achieve, yet I try.  To be the best friend, partner, sister, daughter, employee, insert label here.  Yet I try, while still upholding the same characteristics named above.

What happens to our happiness if we are constantly failing our own expectations?


Whatever you have in your mind - forget it;
Whatever you have in your hand - give it;
Whatever is to be your fate - face it! Abu Sa’id (Essential Sufism)

Perhaps my fate, at this point in my life, is to challenge these expectations I have of myself and those closest to me, and follow my own advice.  Face it, push myself (with a bit of help) to examine the parts of myself, that I have been avoiding for too long.  In order to become truly happy, I must adjust these ideals, so not to set myself up for failure.

And this is where I am.  Looking in the mirror. 

I'm a little jazzy tonight.  Kate is in the other room talking to Beth about Australia--we leave in six weeks and we have no where to stay.  Breathing.  By the way, did I mention that our stay down under overlaps with Gay Mardi Gras a bit?  CRAZY TOWN.  I am sitting on the couch with Lori--she is playing Red Dead Redemption--stupid cowboy video game.

Oh, and then there was the 5hr energy shot I took at 12...that stuff is AWESOME!  Works way better than coffee...too bad there was only two in my stocking...

Zachariah (the doctoral intern with the six pack--I've seen the picture--and humility) is developing an exercise and diet routine for me.  A combination of intervals and weights.  Something tells me this is gonna hurt!  But only if I follow it...have to though.  I know, I know...heard that one before.

Been thinking a lot about...about what?  Family.  What does it mean for me.  That definition has changed over the years.  It's had to...evolved as I have evolved and events unfolded.  What triggers this tonight?  Lori seeing my father in the grocery store.

This is me:

The Hero Saves the Day

There is one super-responsible child in every dysfunctional family. Usually, it is the oldest child, but if the second child is a girl she may take on the hero role. She takes care of younger siblings, cooks, cleans, shops and manages money and household tasks. The hero often becomes the unwitting confidant of a parent and has few friends her own age. There is much praise and approval from parents and outsiders for heroes. Many people do not understand the inappropriateness and weight of this role for children.
Another form the hero role takes is the super-achiever child, who may excel at sports and is driven to achieve high academic marks. The perfectionism inherent in this role creates problems when an adult child cannot control the lives of everyone around her. She means well, but often her efforts meet with resentment and her own feelings stay buried. Heroes are certain they have to earn the right to be loved, and to be happy. They equate doing enough with being enough. Their strategy to fix the family is to work as hard as they can so the family will look and be better.

Read more at Suite101: Alcoholism and Drug Addiction in the Family: The Four Roles Children Playhttp://www.suite101.com/content/alcoholism-and-drug-addiction-in-the-family-a146678#ixzz1Amg8me60

Or it was.  And I was good at it too. On the outside at least.  Made it all look easy.  But I was miserable.  I am at a turning point again.  I've been in a similar place before--10 years ago.  But there is a difference now.  I have more choices. More resources.  More supports.  But still haunted by the expectations, the recordings, memories, all of it.

But how to break free of it, is part of this process of letting go, surrender, and release.  Spiral.

Coming up for air...

Breathing easier in the last few days.  Feeling like I have made progress in my search for meaning.  Yes, that's right meaning.  Family has always been of utmost importance to me.  So, to feel like I had none...total devastation and despair.  But, not in the 'are you okay?'--pink piece of paper--kind of way, but more in the 'what the hell do I do now, where do I go from here' kind of way.

What I do now, is notice and move on.  There is no where to go but up.  I create my own family, as I did once before.  But this time I am more selective in it's members.  I was reminded over the last week that there are still people who love and care for me, even though we are not connected by blood.  You know the ones, the ones that you can call at 2am and they'll be there for you, no matter what.  And I would do the same for them.  So I am okay.

2011 will be the year for new beginnings, new traditions, and new memories.  I have to let go of past expectations and live in the moment.  Granted, there will be times when I will get stuck, but I am human and that is part of my process.

Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes,
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Moments so dear.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights
In cups of coffee
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.

In five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
How do you measure
A year in the life?

How about love?
How about love?
How about love? Measure in love


(excerpt -seasons of love-)

I made these.  The necklace says "strength" and "discipline" and the bracelet "serenity".  Physical reminders of what I need to do to more forward.  I think I will add serenity to my tattoo at the base of my neck.  Or balance, perhaps?  Who wants to come?

Serenity.