My 15-year old cousin moved in with my sister and I this past August. The transition for all of us has been hard. In the last seven months we have been faced with so many issues, I wonder what's left that we could possibly deal with. That's a stupid thought for any parent to think, by the way. There is a list a mile long of things my kid could be doing that are worse than what we're going through. When I think I can't possibly take any more, I let my mind wander for just a second to this list, and then realize I should be grateful. And I do try...to be grateful. I try to put those big girl panties on, and strap on my warrior parent vest, and count my blessings like every good parent should. But the truth is...sometimes this job is just really, really...really hard. I have spent more time crying in the car and in the shower, recently, than I care to admit. It's just like that right now.
I am still trying to adjust to my adventures into insta-parenting. (I say "insta-parenting" because I've never actually raised children, and am now jumping into it with a 15-year old with some major issues.) The last time she was here, she was only here for 5 months. Now she's here for 5 years. Adrenaline only takes you so far, and then the honeymoon period ends and the kaka starts hitting the fan. I think our "honeymoon period" literally lasted the length of most honeymoons (probably a week or two), before we started getting slapped in the face with it. I wish we could have had one of those rich people honeymoons that lasts for like a month. That would have been nice. :)
Before you go thinking that I hate parenting, or my cousin-daughter, let me tell you about some really cool things about being a parent, and my kid in particular. First of all, she is AWESOME!! She is super-creative. And if I were ever able to pick what kind of child I would have, it would be a creative one. She draws and paints, and makes crafts, cooks (without recipes), and loves color...on everything (her hair, the walls, her body, etc.) She often draws on herself, and I feel like (if she wants to), she would make a great tattoo artist some day (if she keeps practicing her art).
Her brain thinks differently than a lot of people's. Chances are, she will never work in a corporate setting (at least not in the way most people think of "corporate"), and I'm okay with that. Those people are stuffy anyway. I like the creatives, the nerds, the geeks, the people who are tattooed up to their necks, with weird hair and ear lobes the size of golf balls, the people that tend to be socially awkward, but have hearts of pure gold, and are usually geniuses that just look "weird". (And yes, I think gauging is ridiculous.) But there is something about these people that strikes a cord with me, and that's how I feel about my kid. I WANT her to be weird in this way, because it allows her to be herself, and because it makes her more awesome, and I think the world needs more awesome.
The next cool thing about my kid is she's really perceptive. She can sense when I'm deep in thought, when I'm sad, or when the mood of a room is just "not right". She's tuned in to that stuff more than most people I know, and I think it's great. Honing those skills will do her good in life. She's also very spiritual and introspective. She knows a lot about herself. Combined with years of counseling, and her own natural giftedness, she is able to say to me, "I NEED ATTENTION"...literally. She says that to me, exactly those words, exactly that way. Who does that?! I don't. I beat around the bush like, "Hey, wanna do something together sometime?" Yeah, no. She is not like that. She just comes right out with it, and is very opinionated about what she thinks, and what she wants. She'll walk out of yoga and say, "Wow, I feel so at peace right now!", while I might just think it was a great workout.
She has never met a stranger. Whether it be the stray cats on our property, our neighbors, random people on the street, this girl just talks to anyone. I feel like "stranger danger" was not introduced to her properly, or maybe she was absent that day in kindergarten, because even at 15, I'm constantly trying to remind her that there are dangerous people out there, and she needs to be careful about going into stranger's homes. ?????? Yeah, it's like that. She has named all the stray cats on our property, and knows practically every dog-owner in our complex, by association to their dog. (She doesn't know their human names, just the dog's names.) My kid is also hilarious...and VERY sweet!!(when she is not acting as Sassy McSassypants...haha)
The last thing I'll mention, in a long list of what could be a novel about the awesomeness of my cousin-daughter is that she loves to be loved. Her biggest love language (for those of you who have read that book) is physical touch. She loves to hold hands (a LOT), walk arm in arm, have her hair played with and her back scratched to fall asleep. (I will just point out here, that having a 15 year old that craves love and physical touch is TERRIFYING!!!)
Ahem. Okay, back to her. My cousin-daughter was adopted by my aunt and uncle when she was 2 1/2 years old. Her birth mother was using cocaine (and other drugs) when she had her. She was also abused and severely neglected during her first two years of life. She was finally removed from that home, and that is ultimately how she ended up in our family. I believe those first years have a hard link to her craving for physical touch, and her constant need for nurturing.
About two weeks ago we had some major stuff go down in our house, some big issues were discovered, and some very devastating choices were made by our cousin-daughter that has left us all in a state of damage & safety-control. Schedules have been revamped. Items have been removed from our home, and most importantly we are on 24-watch patrol. Needless to say, it has been stressful on all of us!!! And what 15-year old wants their parents around 24/7?! Right. NONE!
A few days after all of this went down, the emotional breakdown hit. It's the post-breakdown breakdown. Not the initial one, but the one after that, when all the depression hits and it starts to get real. It was my day off, so I was home in the evening. She was getting ready for bed, and started crying over what seemed like really insignificant stuff, so I calmly talked to her to see if we could resolve it before she fell asleep. The tears actually had nothing to do with the insignificant crap (as they rarely do with any woman). They just kept coming. Not sobbing, but they might as well have been. Just constant tears from a very broken heart.
So I did what any mom (or quasi-mom) would do. I climbed in next to her in her little twin bed, and held her up against me like I was holding a baby...a little 5'10" baby. If I could have walked her around the room, bouncing her, and patting her back, I would have. As we lay there on our sides, facing each other, her crying into my chest, I learned all about what was plaguing her brain and her heart. I allowed her to cry, as I kept stroking her hair, speaking affirmations to her, praying for her out loud, praying for protection, for angels, for any living or celestial being available, to come protect my child's thoughts, dreams, heart, life and well-being. What else was I supposed to do at this point? So far we had us, our friends, our family, therapists, church...what else was there??!!
I held her for almost an hour and a half like that. I had been silent for all of two minutes when she says in her almost-asleep whisper, "Say something." (Remember previously mentioned calls for attention. She is not shy about asking for what she needs.) So I start in again with the affirmations, with the prayers, until her breathing is so heavy and deep, I determine that she is finally asleep. I stay holding her for several more minutes until I can remove my grip from her, and go into the other room. Ten minutes later I hear her frantically calling my name from the bedroom. I go in, and she's asleep, but breathing like she terrified. I start in again with the stroking and the praying, until I feel it's safe to leave again.
That night may have been the first night in a week or so that she slept through the night. She was dead to the world the next morning. Something had worked. After a week of nightmares and not sleeping well, something had finally worked. After speaking with her therapist, he explained that this act was similar to rocking a baby to sleep (something that she rarely, if ever, experienced). With all the therapy she was getting, and all the stuff being drudged up, she was literally craving the nurturing one receives as a baby. He suggested we continue our now fondly named "cuddle therapy" every night to help her get the physical touch, and comforting nurturing she had been craving. Some (hopefully a lot) of her behaviors would be helped by this.
We are a week in to "cuddle therapy", and I notice a difference. I wouldn't say I "love" half-hanging off a twin bed three nights a week, for an hour and a half, praying I don't fall off. But what I do love is filling a love tank for my cousin-daughter, that has been empty for 15 years. I love that. I love hearing about her day, and allowing her space and safety to talk about what is on her mind and her heart as she falls asleep. I love telling her about herself, and praying for her as she goes into her dreams every night. And I love the effect that it is having on her behaviors, as the blow-ups don't seem so bad, and the frequency has decreased (at least for the time being). Along with all the other coping mechanisms we are learning as a family, "cuddle therapy" has turned out to be really rewarding.
I heard someone say recently that kids are often not craving attention. They are really craving is connection. And her therapist repeated it only days later, so it must be true!! The proof is in the pudding, I suppose. I'm sure we'll learn how well this "cuddle therapy" (and all the other therapy) is working out. So...here's to cuddling!
One thing is for sure though...we really need a bigger bed.
Signing off for tonight as I keep practicing...
Friday, February 13, 2015
Sunday, January 4, 2015
And The Word Is...Love.
I made it a point at the beginning of 2014 to spend the year building friendships, and to be more available to the friends I already had. In some cases I succeeded, and in some cases, realized there wasn't enough of me to go around. Even the best goals can be brought down a notch by my own humanity. Now, at the end of 2014, I look back with a grateful heart at the changes made to my personal friend list.
I have said, and will continue to say, I have the best friends in the world. While there is a natural ebb and flow to all relationships, there are some really solid ones in my life. After a thoughtful and thorough look at the people and relationships in my life, I have have come to many conclusions. The biggest one being this...
I've been thinking lately about true love. I'm not talking about the Kristen Stewart, Robert Pattinson, starring oddly into each other's eyes for too long, while weird music plays in the background, and everyone else waits impatiently for a plot, kind of love. I'm not even talking about the love between a couple. The rarest, truest, and most pure form of love is the kind that we give unconditionally, with no expectations, no strings. And that can be with anyone. It is also the kind of love that comes with one of my least favorite words: Sacrifice.
It goes against everything within me, whether it's upbringing, society, my past, PMS, my sex, or the bad day I just had, to truly sacrifice and love someone, with no guarantee on the return. It's harsh, isn't it, to invest time, my heart, and a list of other things, into a relationship that I want to work, only to be faced with rejection, indifference, or worse - hate?! Whether it is family, a partner, a wannabe partner, a child even, a stranger, or an enemy of any kind, love comes at a risk, and sometimes makes me wonder if it's really worth it. And I've been wondering about this a LOT lately!
I could spend a lot of time talking about the path I have walked this last year, all that I have learned, and the harsh realities I've dealt with, in my previous blogs and postings, and I'll have to save the rest for another time. I'm sticking with love, for this post.
There are some people in life that are loved and just can't, or won't see it. Then there are others who aren't, and wish every day that they were. The way I see it, the world is full of people looking for love. Like Johnny Lee sings, sometimes we're looking for it in all the wrong places. We find ourselves oftentimes disillusioned by love, because it didn't pan out the way we thought it would, or wanted it to.
This year has been a swirling mix of overwhelming love and growth, facing demons, and a lot of hurt and betrayal. It has also been a year for setting boundaries. I don't find the correlation ironic at all (boundaries and love). In fact, I believe they had to go hand in hand. Because for me, with my Cancer loyalty, my Dutch stubbornness, my eldest child bravery, my heart on my sleeve feelings, and my ideological independence, I can sometimes find myself putting all my eggs (loves) in one basket, and fiercely protecting all the eggs, when really, I should be pushing some out of the nest...so to speak, of course. Sometimes I feel like the loud speaker of my life speaks loudly, "Clinger, aisle five!", because unlike that stupid "Frozen" song begs me to do, I can't seem to let it go. And by "it", I mean anything I care about.
That fulfilling need I had to drudge through school just to please someone else and feel accomplished. Let it go. Guilt over failed personal expectations. Let it go. Fear of losing someone. Let it go. Men and babies. Let it go. The need to feel wanted, loved, respected. Let it go. The need to control things, and make sure everyone (and I do mean everyone) is attended to, happy, safe, comfortable, and taken care of. Let THAT go!! And the fear of letting go. Well, I had to let that go too. All these needs, and fears, and expectations were just binding me up, restricting me from truly being myself in every way that mattered, and sucking all of the time, energy and life out of my heart in the process.
The problem with holding on to things, is that we're usually planning the future with them. It's a control thing - the holding on, the expectations. You're holding all your loves right there in your basket, and filling your little world with expectations, and hopes and dreams for you, and everyone else in it.
From politics to religion, to parenting and relationships, fear motivates us to do some really crazy shit. And "love" that is motivated by fear?!! Well, that's the stuff of Greek legend right there. That never brings anything good. I see it all the time, and so do you. Stories of love and lust, and fear, still grace the 5 o'clock news, and are the topic of water cooler gossip updates at the office.
I'm gonna put a little disclaimer on this next part here, as we transition into the world of singleness. Here's where all of this gets real for me. Here is what plagues my brain at 2am...
I am attracted to all of the people in my life. It's true! Now, don't let your mind go to the gutter on this one. Just think about it. If you look at the people in your life that you actually like, it's because they are attractive to you. There is something about them, whether it's personality, brains, the way they look, a common interest or hobby, their fire for life, their passion, or simply the way they make you feel when you're around them - there is something about them that attracts you to them.
I am not attracted to everyone on this planet. There are some people that I just feel like saying, "Please, stay away." I can respect them as a person much better from a distance. To push us any closer would bring out the worst in both of us. There are people like that for you too. I know it. There are some people we just don't jive with. As long as we can respect people, and love them, knowing the boundary we need to have in order to do so, I really believe that's okay. To say that I can't love someone is simply not true. It's just that I'm not attracted to them, and I choose not to love them. Love is always a choice. Attraction, not so much.
Enter in the opposite sex to a single life, and our attraction to a person sets off a chain reaction of thought and action. (I realize that entering in the opposite sex and attraction to ANY person's life sets off this chain reaction, but I'm keeping it "single topic" on this one, so bear with me. I write what I know.) I'm single, they're single, through a process of interactions and "that look", we figure out we're attracted to each other. Awesome. A couple of initial, possibly-awkward phone calls, and a couple coffee dates later, we're still attracted to each other, and now we figure out we have some stuff in common, and become even more attracted to each other. Yay.
Hormones and opportunity have presented themselves, and you have something I like to call "lust". Oooooo, dirty word, right? That person that's so philosophical and intelligent, and you've been sharing all these meaningful conversations with over the last few weeks? Well, now you're checking out their ass while they're buying you a drink, and you start thinking, "What if...?"
One of a few paths one can take at this point. I'll narrow it down to two very generalized ones, for the sake of argument.
Path #1:
Two drinks in and we're telling each other all about what we're going to do with them and to them. We have some really passionate and amazing sex, start dating and call it love. I've skipped a lot of stuff, I realize, but a lot of us hit the pause button right here. This is where we keep things, in a state of passion and lust, calling it love, when really that's just a part of love. Passion can make some really stupid decisions. It can also bond people together in ways that shouldn't be overlooked. On a pie chart graph of what love consists of, this wouldn't be the biggest slice. We all know that's true! Passion is like the lighter fluid of a BBQ. It's an inferno of uncontrollable flames, wild and hot...and it doesn't last forever. There has to be something else there to keep those coals hot.
Have you ever bought those coals where after the lighter fluid wears off, they just stop burning altogether? Yeah, there's some relationships like that too. Duds. You went to the store, intending to get the Kingsford brand quality coals (your soulmate), and they were sold out ("all the good ones were taken"). So you settled for the cheap store brand (the one you met at that bar). They're the same thing, right? Mmhmm. And we wonder why things didn't work out.
All the hype of that new relationship is gone, and we're left with each other. Flaws and all. We start seeing that that philosophical, intelligent person you met so long ago, with their mysterious and alluring eyes, was actually crazy. All that attention you were giving them wasn't making them love you any more. You were just feeding their fire. That ass that you were starring at has migrated south, and started to become one with their legs, and those eyes don't seem so mysterious and alluring anymore either. What did we love about this person again? We can't even remember. Something about a common interest...that isn't even an interest anymore. Or maybe we just didn't know what love was. Maybe we interpreted attraction as love. Hmmmmmm.
What we wanted was for those coals to get to a controllable heat, so they could run the distance on this BBQ, and now all we have are stomach pains, no heat, and no food!
Is anyone catching my metaphors here?! 'Cause if nothing else, I am getting really hungry. Haha. So, we're good? All on the same page? Great. There has to be some substance there to keep a relationship alive. Nobody likes burnt steak, that you end up having to throw out. We like it nice and juicy. You gotta be patient to get that. Get yourself a piece of quality steak, some long-burning coals, and some time, and you have yourself a winning combination. Again with the food metaphors. I think this diet is killing me!!
Okay, path #2:
We have decided that those eyes we've been staring into, and that ass we've been ogling, is worth more than burnt steak. There might be something there, more than a few weeks of intriguing conversation, anyway. So we reel it in. I tell myself this all the time, when I feel my emotions or my hormones getting the better of me, sending my mind down a path that looks nothing like reality..."Reel it in, Marci!"
What if we went into this thing with zero (and I really mean zero) expectations of a future relationship with this person, leaving it open to go (or not go) wherever both of you decided it should? What if we wanted to really get to know this person and figure out if the things that mattered to us were the things that mattered to them, or that we didn't embody all the things they didn't want in a partner, but could appreciate in a friend? What if that was our "what if...?"
It's so counter intuitive, right? It's not even really dating. It's boring. It's hard work. It requires too much of that awful word "communication", and others like "self control". Sounds like dating in the 1950's. Yuck. Who brought the lame brains to this party anyway?! Instead of a BBQ, we've chosen more of the "slow cooker" route. It's not flashy, but we're just praying it works.
We might start really getting to know this person, asking all the hard questions, and grow more and more attracted to them. We think, "Wow, this person is really amazing! I really, really like them." Or we may start picking up a bunch of red flags along that way that has us wondering what in God's name we thought was so perfect about this person. Either way, we now have another choice. To walk away (mostly) unscathed, from a couple-relationship that never was, or to start a relationship as a couple, grounded on an already-existing friendship.
I mean, these analogies are great and all, but it's a lot harder than this in reality, isn't it? We're so quick to equate attraction to true love. We think if we're still attracted to someone, even after all the red flags, then we must be in love with them. "Surely if they were not the right partner for me, I would no longer be attracted to them."
No. Aucun. Nein! Ne pas! NIET!!!
Attraction ≠ love! If it did, I would be IN love with everyone I know. Haha.
I was commenting to one of my very good friends just recently about the string of guy friends I have. I really do have a lot of them. And I have a lot of really good ones too. The kind that share their hearts with me, and allow me to do the same. The kind that help me when I need it, encourage me, confront me, hold my hand when I'm about to cry, let me borrow their shoulder when I can't stop myself from doing so. They kiss me on the cheek and tell me they love me, go to the movies with me so I don't have to go alone. They invite me to things in their lives. They share ideas, their past, their present and their future with me, and when they say they love me, they really do mean it. And I mean it when I say it back.
And I'm not dating any of them. This shocks a lot of people, and honestly, it shocks me too sometimes! This is where my conversation went with my friend the other day, in that why do I have this string of guy friends, who love me, but don't looooove-love me? "How far is it really, to go from here to here (using my hands in this conversation, marking a space of about two inches apart)? I mean, what's the problem?!", I asked him dramatically. "It is just that they can't see themselves having sex with me? Is that it?! Because I don't know what else it could be! From here to here is not that far! (Again with the hand gestures and dramatics.) I feel like there's something wrong with me! Is there something wrong with me?! There has to be some reason why!"
The poor guy really didn't know what was coming at him. The (kind of) funny part of it was, he was one of them. One in the string of guy friends whom I love and who loves me back, and yet we're not IN love. And then, right out of cliche hell, the words come out, "There's nothing wrong with you. You just haven't met the right guy."
Who is this mysterious "right guy" fellow?? Is he living in a cave on the other side of the world or something??! If I ever do meet him, I have half a mind to strangle him, instead of love him...haha.
And yes, I did have a meltdown after we left this conversation. Why? Because I hate being single. And it's Christmas! Flat out the worst time of the year to be single! I miss making dinner with someone, while having a Netflix marathon. I miss having sex with the same person all the time. And even though I hate that stupid Hallmark holiday, I want a box of Ferrero Roche chocolates and overpriced flowers for Valentine's Day, like every other schmuck, dangit! And I want to say and hear I love you, and know that that person is coming home to me at night. Me. Not anyone else. And they're going to wake up next to me in the morning...happy!
And there it is. I know this is all sooooo non-PC. I don't freakin' care. I'm so tired of pretending that I don't feel that way...that we don't all feel that way (at least sometimes).
This was my meltdown to God...in the car...on the way home, raw, honest and full of tears and questions. Why can't any of this just happen? Thankfully, this didn't last very long, before I came to the epiphany that is the sum of this blog post. Finally, the sum of it, I know!
I could choose to sad about the love I wasn't getting. I really could. And honestly, sometimes I do. Instead, I could choose to be grateful for the love I was absolutely getting! All these people in my life (including my women friends too), loving me so well, and in all the right ways, and I was still upset because I wasn't getting the kind of love I wanted to get. Why? Fear.
Fear. Oh, that again. You see how this is all coming together now, don't you? Sorry for the ten back doors, and eight paragraphs of food metaphors in order to get to this point, but there really was...a point. Haha.
I was practicing a little fear-based love of my own, placing unfair expectations on the people I loved. I wish I had known what I was doing. It was so buried that I didn't even realize it was an issue, but there it was. Fear had me holding on to crappy people, who didn't really love me, just because I was afraid of losing them. I loved them, but they just didn't love me back. Or...they said they cared, but they really didn't. All of them. Not just guys. Everyone. I expected them to care, to be honest with themselves and with me. I expected...
Fear had me wishing that this relationship or that one, would move out of the "friend zone" and into something more, simply because I was attracted to them and we loved each other unconditionally. That seems like enough, doesn't it? Love seems so simple when you break it down. But we all know there's more to it than that. If love is a choice, then sometimes people just aren't choosing you. They're choosing themselves, their job, anger, bitterness, or someone else.
It could be timing. It could be that your paths are headed in completely different directions. It could be that your idiosyncrasies are just too much to handle every day of every year. It could be that their head is so far up their rear end that they're too scared, blind or stupid to love you back. Whatever it is, it can sometimes feels like a game of "Mixology" in this crazy, single world. Unfortunately, games always end up with a winner and a loser, and it sucks when you're the latter.
I've mentioned several times to friends that I have given up on dating. It's easy, after all this thinking, to want to give up on love. I even thought maybe that was the better way. It is downright painful to keep hope alive inside of an aching heart. It burns and stings, and it just feels safer to close up shop and call it quits on love altogether. But all that does is wall off parts of our heart that we need, or that other people need from us. And even though keeping our hearts available means keeping it vulnerable to being hurt, it's a risk worth taking. It is.
In my observation, neglecting areas of our heart for the sake of safety for the other parts, means we can't allow ourselves to be loved fully, or fully love anyone else either. There's a part of our heart that's black and cold with fear and hurt. To say that it doesn't effect the rest of our heart is only a lie we tell ourselves to keep from feeling it. And this is why I couldn't give up on love, but I could give up on "the try".
My God conversation - the one after the meltdown in the car, was about true love. I realized that I had it all along. True love, the unconditional kind, is free of expectation, guilt or worry. It is freely given, and freely taken. It is not assuming or demanding. It is freedom. True, it isn't couple love. It is definitely not the same thing! But I bet if you evaluated the longest lasting couples, unconditional love would be the biggest slice of the pie chart.
I had to understand the root of it all. I had to see for myself that I was already truly loved, and allow myself to feel that. No other love I could expect to get in my life can come until I grasped what was already present in my life. My tears of frustration were because my expectations of love weren't being met. There have been so many years...so many, where I have felt unloved, not worthy of love, or too hurt to love again.
I thought the pain of losing people, and setting boundaries in my life was going to hurt more of my heart. Instead, it opened parts of it that were walled off for a long time, parts I wasn't sure worked anymore, parts I wasn't always sure I wanted to work anymore, because the vulnerability of love is sometimes too overwhelming. I removed so much negativity that was holding me back, sometimes by setting some really tough boundaries, and made space for forgiveness and more love to cycle through. It turns out fear and expectations were only keeping me from enjoying what I already had. I'm just glad I realized it before it wasn't there anymore.
You're right, it's not the same thing. I still want a relationship. I still want a family of my own. I still want all the things I cried out to God for. But I am done trying to get them. I am done. Let the chips fall where they may, and if some person walks into my life who wants to lay claim on my heart, it will finally be available and willing to accept it and give it back, again. I don't need to be anxious for what I don't have. I could spent an entire lifetime hoping for love the way I wanted it to happen, with my eyes set fixed on that, or I could broaden my lens, and realize love was trying to get my attention while I was off daydreaming about it.
Like I said before, there are plenty of people in this world that don't get love and wish they would, and here I have it, and it would be insanity not to take it all in. I would encourage you as well, to give up the try, and just start accepting the love that you have. Let it heal some of those hurt parts, and open up doors to new parts you never knew were there. You might be surprised what you find. I know I am! It's probably trying to get your attention too.
If I put my complete trust and faith in people I would never be able to do this, because I know that people will ultimately fail me, just as I will fail them at some point. They will hurt me. It's inevitable...kind of a human thing. There is only one who holds my heart so completely and securely, able to unlock all the doors, and break down all the walls with the purest love and grace. He's been doing a lot of work this year. And that is my story for 2014.
My God story in print. "When you let the light of Love and Truth in your life, you're able to forgive and find peace so that your soul can awaken and love again." 2014 was the year of my soul's awakening. People comment a lot on my smile, laugh, or the happiness that seems to be a constant in my life. I like to respond, "Oh, that's my Jesus light!" (It's either that, or the dimples. Haha.) An outward reflection of inward change.
I welcome 2015, and I'm giving myself permission this year, to live in the reality of true love in my life, in whatever forms it comes to me, and to give it wholly in the same way. I think it's a great mindset to have. If love never returns void, then why not set my year up for getting and giving it. Can't hurt. True love is never wasted (even when we feel it might be). I'm so thankful for the people in my life who have a part of this process, and have continuously poured love into my heart, so I could finally come to a place of accepting it. Like I said, true love is never wasted. So, let's get on with it.
As always, still practicing...
1 Corinthians 13:4-13New Living Translation (NLT)
I have said, and will continue to say, I have the best friends in the world. While there is a natural ebb and flow to all relationships, there are some really solid ones in my life. After a thoughtful and thorough look at the people and relationships in my life, I have have come to many conclusions. The biggest one being this...
I am loved.
It goes against everything within me, whether it's upbringing, society, my past, PMS, my sex, or the bad day I just had, to truly sacrifice and love someone, with no guarantee on the return. It's harsh, isn't it, to invest time, my heart, and a list of other things, into a relationship that I want to work, only to be faced with rejection, indifference, or worse - hate?! Whether it is family, a partner, a wannabe partner, a child even, a stranger, or an enemy of any kind, love comes at a risk, and sometimes makes me wonder if it's really worth it. And I've been wondering about this a LOT lately!
I could spend a lot of time talking about the path I have walked this last year, all that I have learned, and the harsh realities I've dealt with, in my previous blogs and postings, and I'll have to save the rest for another time. I'm sticking with love, for this post.
There are some people in life that are loved and just can't, or won't see it. Then there are others who aren't, and wish every day that they were. The way I see it, the world is full of people looking for love. Like Johnny Lee sings, sometimes we're looking for it in all the wrong places. We find ourselves oftentimes disillusioned by love, because it didn't pan out the way we thought it would, or wanted it to.
This year has been a swirling mix of overwhelming love and growth, facing demons, and a lot of hurt and betrayal. It has also been a year for setting boundaries. I don't find the correlation ironic at all (boundaries and love). In fact, I believe they had to go hand in hand. Because for me, with my Cancer loyalty, my Dutch stubbornness, my eldest child bravery, my heart on my sleeve feelings, and my ideological independence, I can sometimes find myself putting all my eggs (loves) in one basket, and fiercely protecting all the eggs, when really, I should be pushing some out of the nest...so to speak, of course. Sometimes I feel like the loud speaker of my life speaks loudly, "Clinger, aisle five!", because unlike that stupid "Frozen" song begs me to do, I can't seem to let it go. And by "it", I mean anything I care about.
That fulfilling need I had to drudge through school just to please someone else and feel accomplished. Let it go. Guilt over failed personal expectations. Let it go. Fear of losing someone. Let it go. Men and babies. Let it go. The need to feel wanted, loved, respected. Let it go. The need to control things, and make sure everyone (and I do mean everyone) is attended to, happy, safe, comfortable, and taken care of. Let THAT go!! And the fear of letting go. Well, I had to let that go too. All these needs, and fears, and expectations were just binding me up, restricting me from truly being myself in every way that mattered, and sucking all of the time, energy and life out of my heart in the process.
The problem with holding on to things, is that we're usually planning the future with them. It's a control thing - the holding on, the expectations. You're holding all your loves right there in your basket, and filling your little world with expectations, and hopes and dreams for you, and everyone else in it.
It's unfair, and it's not love.
News flash to those who, like me, need this reminder: We can't control other people.
In my opinion, the need to control comes from fear. Think about it. I'll wait..........................................
From politics to religion, to parenting and relationships, fear motivates us to do some really crazy shit. And "love" that is motivated by fear?!! Well, that's the stuff of Greek legend right there. That never brings anything good. I see it all the time, and so do you. Stories of love and lust, and fear, still grace the 5 o'clock news, and are the topic of water cooler gossip updates at the office.
I'm gonna put a little disclaimer on this next part here, as we transition into the world of singleness. Here's where all of this gets real for me. Here is what plagues my brain at 2am...
I am attracted to all of the people in my life. It's true! Now, don't let your mind go to the gutter on this one. Just think about it. If you look at the people in your life that you actually like, it's because they are attractive to you. There is something about them, whether it's personality, brains, the way they look, a common interest or hobby, their fire for life, their passion, or simply the way they make you feel when you're around them - there is something about them that attracts you to them.
I am not attracted to everyone on this planet. There are some people that I just feel like saying, "Please, stay away." I can respect them as a person much better from a distance. To push us any closer would bring out the worst in both of us. There are people like that for you too. I know it. There are some people we just don't jive with. As long as we can respect people, and love them, knowing the boundary we need to have in order to do so, I really believe that's okay. To say that I can't love someone is simply not true. It's just that I'm not attracted to them, and I choose not to love them. Love is always a choice. Attraction, not so much.
Enter in the opposite sex to a single life, and our attraction to a person sets off a chain reaction of thought and action. (I realize that entering in the opposite sex and attraction to ANY person's life sets off this chain reaction, but I'm keeping it "single topic" on this one, so bear with me. I write what I know.) I'm single, they're single, through a process of interactions and "that look", we figure out we're attracted to each other. Awesome. A couple of initial, possibly-awkward phone calls, and a couple coffee dates later, we're still attracted to each other, and now we figure out we have some stuff in common, and become even more attracted to each other. Yay.
Hormones and opportunity have presented themselves, and you have something I like to call "lust". Oooooo, dirty word, right? That person that's so philosophical and intelligent, and you've been sharing all these meaningful conversations with over the last few weeks? Well, now you're checking out their ass while they're buying you a drink, and you start thinking, "What if...?"
One of a few paths one can take at this point. I'll narrow it down to two very generalized ones, for the sake of argument.
Path #1:
Two drinks in and we're telling each other all about what we're going to do with them and to them. We have some really passionate and amazing sex, start dating and call it love. I've skipped a lot of stuff, I realize, but a lot of us hit the pause button right here. This is where we keep things, in a state of passion and lust, calling it love, when really that's just a part of love. Passion can make some really stupid decisions. It can also bond people together in ways that shouldn't be overlooked. On a pie chart graph of what love consists of, this wouldn't be the biggest slice. We all know that's true! Passion is like the lighter fluid of a BBQ. It's an inferno of uncontrollable flames, wild and hot...and it doesn't last forever. There has to be something else there to keep those coals hot.
Have you ever bought those coals where after the lighter fluid wears off, they just stop burning altogether? Yeah, there's some relationships like that too. Duds. You went to the store, intending to get the Kingsford brand quality coals (your soulmate), and they were sold out ("all the good ones were taken"). So you settled for the cheap store brand (the one you met at that bar). They're the same thing, right? Mmhmm. And we wonder why things didn't work out.
All the hype of that new relationship is gone, and we're left with each other. Flaws and all. We start seeing that that philosophical, intelligent person you met so long ago, with their mysterious and alluring eyes, was actually crazy. All that attention you were giving them wasn't making them love you any more. You were just feeding their fire. That ass that you were starring at has migrated south, and started to become one with their legs, and those eyes don't seem so mysterious and alluring anymore either. What did we love about this person again? We can't even remember. Something about a common interest...that isn't even an interest anymore. Or maybe we just didn't know what love was. Maybe we interpreted attraction as love. Hmmmmmm.
What we wanted was for those coals to get to a controllable heat, so they could run the distance on this BBQ, and now all we have are stomach pains, no heat, and no food!
Is anyone catching my metaphors here?! 'Cause if nothing else, I am getting really hungry. Haha. So, we're good? All on the same page? Great. There has to be some substance there to keep a relationship alive. Nobody likes burnt steak, that you end up having to throw out. We like it nice and juicy. You gotta be patient to get that. Get yourself a piece of quality steak, some long-burning coals, and some time, and you have yourself a winning combination. Again with the food metaphors. I think this diet is killing me!!
Okay, path #2:
We have decided that those eyes we've been staring into, and that ass we've been ogling, is worth more than burnt steak. There might be something there, more than a few weeks of intriguing conversation, anyway. So we reel it in. I tell myself this all the time, when I feel my emotions or my hormones getting the better of me, sending my mind down a path that looks nothing like reality..."Reel it in, Marci!"
What if we went into this thing with zero (and I really mean zero) expectations of a future relationship with this person, leaving it open to go (or not go) wherever both of you decided it should? What if we wanted to really get to know this person and figure out if the things that mattered to us were the things that mattered to them, or that we didn't embody all the things they didn't want in a partner, but could appreciate in a friend? What if that was our "what if...?"
It's so counter intuitive, right? It's not even really dating. It's boring. It's hard work. It requires too much of that awful word "communication", and others like "self control". Sounds like dating in the 1950's. Yuck. Who brought the lame brains to this party anyway?! Instead of a BBQ, we've chosen more of the "slow cooker" route. It's not flashy, but we're just praying it works.
We might start really getting to know this person, asking all the hard questions, and grow more and more attracted to them. We think, "Wow, this person is really amazing! I really, really like them." Or we may start picking up a bunch of red flags along that way that has us wondering what in God's name we thought was so perfect about this person. Either way, we now have another choice. To walk away (mostly) unscathed, from a couple-relationship that never was, or to start a relationship as a couple, grounded on an already-existing friendship.
So, where does that leave you and me?
No. Aucun. Nein! Ne pas! NIET!!!
Attraction ≠ love! If it did, I would be IN love with everyone I know. Haha.
I was commenting to one of my very good friends just recently about the string of guy friends I have. I really do have a lot of them. And I have a lot of really good ones too. The kind that share their hearts with me, and allow me to do the same. The kind that help me when I need it, encourage me, confront me, hold my hand when I'm about to cry, let me borrow their shoulder when I can't stop myself from doing so. They kiss me on the cheek and tell me they love me, go to the movies with me so I don't have to go alone. They invite me to things in their lives. They share ideas, their past, their present and their future with me, and when they say they love me, they really do mean it. And I mean it when I say it back.
And I'm not dating any of them. This shocks a lot of people, and honestly, it shocks me too sometimes! This is where my conversation went with my friend the other day, in that why do I have this string of guy friends, who love me, but don't looooove-love me? "How far is it really, to go from here to here (using my hands in this conversation, marking a space of about two inches apart)? I mean, what's the problem?!", I asked him dramatically. "It is just that they can't see themselves having sex with me? Is that it?! Because I don't know what else it could be! From here to here is not that far! (Again with the hand gestures and dramatics.) I feel like there's something wrong with me! Is there something wrong with me?! There has to be some reason why!"
The poor guy really didn't know what was coming at him. The (kind of) funny part of it was, he was one of them. One in the string of guy friends whom I love and who loves me back, and yet we're not IN love. And then, right out of cliche hell, the words come out, "There's nothing wrong with you. You just haven't met the right guy."
Who is this mysterious "right guy" fellow?? Is he living in a cave on the other side of the world or something??! If I ever do meet him, I have half a mind to strangle him, instead of love him...haha.
And yes, I did have a meltdown after we left this conversation. Why? Because I hate being single. And it's Christmas! Flat out the worst time of the year to be single! I miss making dinner with someone, while having a Netflix marathon. I miss having sex with the same person all the time. And even though I hate that stupid Hallmark holiday, I want a box of Ferrero Roche chocolates and overpriced flowers for Valentine's Day, like every other schmuck, dangit! And I want to say and hear I love you, and know that that person is coming home to me at night. Me. Not anyone else. And they're going to wake up next to me in the morning...happy!
And there it is. I know this is all sooooo non-PC. I don't freakin' care. I'm so tired of pretending that I don't feel that way...that we don't all feel that way (at least sometimes).
This was my meltdown to God...in the car...on the way home, raw, honest and full of tears and questions. Why can't any of this just happen? Thankfully, this didn't last very long, before I came to the epiphany that is the sum of this blog post. Finally, the sum of it, I know!
I am loved well.
Fear. Oh, that again. You see how this is all coming together now, don't you? Sorry for the ten back doors, and eight paragraphs of food metaphors in order to get to this point, but there really was...a point. Haha.
I was practicing a little fear-based love of my own, placing unfair expectations on the people I loved. I wish I had known what I was doing. It was so buried that I didn't even realize it was an issue, but there it was. Fear had me holding on to crappy people, who didn't really love me, just because I was afraid of losing them. I loved them, but they just didn't love me back. Or...they said they cared, but they really didn't. All of them. Not just guys. Everyone. I expected them to care, to be honest with themselves and with me. I expected...
Fear had me wishing that this relationship or that one, would move out of the "friend zone" and into something more, simply because I was attracted to them and we loved each other unconditionally. That seems like enough, doesn't it? Love seems so simple when you break it down. But we all know there's more to it than that. If love is a choice, then sometimes people just aren't choosing you. They're choosing themselves, their job, anger, bitterness, or someone else.
It could be timing. It could be that your paths are headed in completely different directions. It could be that your idiosyncrasies are just too much to handle every day of every year. It could be that their head is so far up their rear end that they're too scared, blind or stupid to love you back. Whatever it is, it can sometimes feels like a game of "Mixology" in this crazy, single world. Unfortunately, games always end up with a winner and a loser, and it sucks when you're the latter.
I've mentioned several times to friends that I have given up on dating. It's easy, after all this thinking, to want to give up on love. I even thought maybe that was the better way. It is downright painful to keep hope alive inside of an aching heart. It burns and stings, and it just feels safer to close up shop and call it quits on love altogether. But all that does is wall off parts of our heart that we need, or that other people need from us. And even though keeping our hearts available means keeping it vulnerable to being hurt, it's a risk worth taking. It is.
In my observation, neglecting areas of our heart for the sake of safety for the other parts, means we can't allow ourselves to be loved fully, or fully love anyone else either. There's a part of our heart that's black and cold with fear and hurt. To say that it doesn't effect the rest of our heart is only a lie we tell ourselves to keep from feeling it. And this is why I couldn't give up on love, but I could give up on "the try".
My God conversation - the one after the meltdown in the car, was about true love. I realized that I had it all along. True love, the unconditional kind, is free of expectation, guilt or worry. It is freely given, and freely taken. It is not assuming or demanding. It is freedom. True, it isn't couple love. It is definitely not the same thing! But I bet if you evaluated the longest lasting couples, unconditional love would be the biggest slice of the pie chart.
I had to understand the root of it all. I had to see for myself that I was already truly loved, and allow myself to feel that. No other love I could expect to get in my life can come until I grasped what was already present in my life. My tears of frustration were because my expectations of love weren't being met. There have been so many years...so many, where I have felt unloved, not worthy of love, or too hurt to love again.
I thought the pain of losing people, and setting boundaries in my life was going to hurt more of my heart. Instead, it opened parts of it that were walled off for a long time, parts I wasn't sure worked anymore, parts I wasn't always sure I wanted to work anymore, because the vulnerability of love is sometimes too overwhelming. I removed so much negativity that was holding me back, sometimes by setting some really tough boundaries, and made space for forgiveness and more love to cycle through. It turns out fear and expectations were only keeping me from enjoying what I already had. I'm just glad I realized it before it wasn't there anymore.
You're right, it's not the same thing. I still want a relationship. I still want a family of my own. I still want all the things I cried out to God for. But I am done trying to get them. I am done. Let the chips fall where they may, and if some person walks into my life who wants to lay claim on my heart, it will finally be available and willing to accept it and give it back, again. I don't need to be anxious for what I don't have. I could spent an entire lifetime hoping for love the way I wanted it to happen, with my eyes set fixed on that, or I could broaden my lens, and realize love was trying to get my attention while I was off daydreaming about it.
Like I said before, there are plenty of people in this world that don't get love and wish they would, and here I have it, and it would be insanity not to take it all in. I would encourage you as well, to give up the try, and just start accepting the love that you have. Let it heal some of those hurt parts, and open up doors to new parts you never knew were there. You might be surprised what you find. I know I am! It's probably trying to get your attention too.
If I put my complete trust and faith in people I would never be able to do this, because I know that people will ultimately fail me, just as I will fail them at some point. They will hurt me. It's inevitable...kind of a human thing. There is only one who holds my heart so completely and securely, able to unlock all the doors, and break down all the walls with the purest love and grace. He's been doing a lot of work this year. And that is my story for 2014.
My God story in print. "When you let the light of Love and Truth in your life, you're able to forgive and find peace so that your soul can awaken and love again." 2014 was the year of my soul's awakening. People comment a lot on my smile, laugh, or the happiness that seems to be a constant in my life. I like to respond, "Oh, that's my Jesus light!" (It's either that, or the dimples. Haha.) An outward reflection of inward change.
I welcome 2015, and I'm giving myself permission this year, to live in the reality of true love in my life, in whatever forms it comes to me, and to give it wholly in the same way. I think it's a great mindset to have. If love never returns void, then why not set my year up for getting and giving it. Can't hurt. True love is never wasted (even when we feel it might be). I'm so thankful for the people in my life who have a part of this process, and have continuously poured love into my heart, so I could finally come to a place of accepting it. Like I said, true love is never wasted. So, let's get on with it.
As always, still practicing...
1 Corinthians 13:4-13New Living Translation (NLT)
Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged. It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.
Prophecy and speaking in unknown languages and special knowledge will become useless. But love will last forever! Now our knowledge is partial and incomplete, and even the gift of prophecy reveals only part of the whole picture! But when the time of perfection comes, these partial things will become useless.
When I was a child, I spoke and thought and reasoned as a child. But when I grew up, I put away childish things. Now we see things imperfectly, like puzzling reflections in a mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity.[b] All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely.
Three things will last forever—faith, hope, and love—and the greatest of these is love.
Friday, November 21, 2014
Two Almonds With A Side Of Water
I recently signed up for a weight loss program. I've been thinking about it for a while. I have several friends who have recently gone through very big transformations in this area, and after setting my own goals at the beginning of the year and not even making a step towards them, I found myself contemplating my next step. What is the right plan? Is it safe? Is it supervised?
It can be a little overwhelming. And what's more, if you tell people about it, you have to explain yourself. And, of course, I tell people. I mean, come on. I can't shut up about anything. The only thing I don't share publicly is the who/what/when/where and how I do stuff with the opposite sex. I might spout off about singledom and vague representations of the past, but there is a line I draw around the men in my life to protect them. Sharing even that you went to coffee with them can cause major issues for men, and I know enough to know I don't want to be the one to put them in that situation. I might write about you like Taylor Swift does, in some pseudo-named, tragic love story on my single page, but before we went wrong? Oh heck no. That's on lock down. (Haha)
Back to things I can't shut up about...like my life. There are a few reasons I like sharing it, but I think the joy of writing is not only catharsis, and relieving one's brain of all the ideas floating around in it, but it's also about having an audience. If you directed a play, you hope someone will go see it. If you star in a movie, you hope someone will watch it. Sing a song, you want someone to listen. Take a picture, you want someone to look at it. If you write a book, you want people to read it. Etc, etc, you get the idea. Everyone has a something they offer to humanity, and it is good to recognize it in ourselves, and also in others, so we can be encouraged to keep doing it.
So, I write. I write about parenthood, singledom, moonlit nights, my family, my fears, thoughts, dreams, my tragedies, and my past. I write about God, banana bread, things that annoy me, yadda yadda yadda. It's really a crap shoot. Just like now, because today I'm writing about dieting.
Ahhhhh yes, dieting. It seems like everyone is on one, even if they don't know they are. Someone should tell them. "Um, excuse me, but did you know that your food has cancer-causing chemicals in it, that will not only preserve your organs like a 20-year old McDonald's french fry, but also cause you to die sooner? I didn't think so. Here's a pamphlet. You should really change your diet." Changing it means they already had one to begin with, so this is my belief - that we all are on a diet of some kind.
I started "dieting" (as in somewhat caring about what I ate) about 2 1/2 years ago after a family trip to Las Vegas. When pictures came out of the trip I was mortified. No, disgusted really. That would be more accurate. So I did something about it right then. I started a plan and went walking every night, and lost 20 pounds. Then I got depressed about some douchebag boy in my life, and stalled out at 20. Then I got over him and lost 10 more. Then I plateaued for about 2 years, teetering with the next 5 pounds like I was trying to win a yo-yo competition. Lose it, gain it back. Lose it again, gain it back.
Then my friends started losing weight, and I was like, "Gee, why can't I do that again?" So I set some goals, and then never did anything about it. Good intentions...too much "cheating". So here I am the 11th month of the year I said I was going to do something about my weight, and I'm finally doing something about it. Did I mention I'm a major procrastinator? Maybe not. I may have put it off for another time.
So, I signed up the other day, and I'm going over the (very) strict meal plan with my sister and my cousin-daughter (She's my cousin, but I'm one of her guardians, hence the name "cousin-daughter"). We were laughing about it, because that's what we do when we're trying to encourage each other. We make fun of something together, and it bonds us in laughter over something that may be depressing...like all the food you can't have, for instance.
I had no real rhyme or reason to the food prior to this, but I really like food, so I just ate it. Not the greatest plan in the world! Totally not healthy. Totally not doing anything about those extra pounds. So, I decided to follow my friends and pay some money to somebody who will babysit me (I mean, hold me accountable) to my plan, and supervise my weight loss, to make sure I'm staying healthy in the process.
I go home and tell my sister and cousin-daughter about it, we're looking over the food plan, and the joking starts in. "So, what CAN you eat?" I start detailing each meal and it comes to the afternoon snack where I get a veggie and a fat option. The "fat" option is, of course, healthy fat. Avocado, hummus, peanut butter, etc. And then there's almonds. I say, "If you do the almonds you can do 15 of them! (Said in an excited way that makes it sound like a lot.) My sister replies with something about how hard it's going to be this time of year, and what about when we go out with out friends, or eat at a restaurant, what am I going to order? I jokingly say, "Um, excuse me miss? Could I get two almonds and a side of water please? Thanks!" And we all laugh. Because this is how we encourage each other in the really hard decision of limiting food. We joke about what we can't have, knowing that it's going to be painful.
Three days later, my team at work is having a Thanksgiving potluck. I'm bringing homemade mashed taters and gravy. I dutifully keep to the food I signed up for, even though I know I can't eat any of it. The whole meal consists of absolutely nothing I can eat. I know this ahead of time, and I almost plan for it. Earlier that day, a friend an I go out for lunch. We split 3 sliders. I shouldn't have those either. And some sweet potato fries. Those are definitely not on my meal plan. Already I have broken the rules, so I figure in my head, I have one meal of the day already blown, I might as well make a day of it.
At this point in the week I'm a whopping 3 days in to my diet, losing 8 pounds in that time (which is mostly water weight), and practically "starving" (which I found out later was my own accidental fault). My will power to remain faithful to my meal plan is withering away by the minute - mostly because I'm hungry and want normal food. After the sliders and sweet potato fries, I happily down a banana for my snack, as if this somehow justifies the sliders and fries debacle.
By the time the potluck rolls around I've thrown caution and common sense to the wind, and have loaded up my plate with what consisted of carbs, carbs, fat, sugar, more carbs, topped only by sugar in a can (soda). I've gone all in, and it's beautiful. It tasted wonderful. "Real" food, finally. I savored every bite like it was my last meal, and stuffed myself until I was only pleasantly full (so not to overdo it, or anything crazy like that).
I walk away from the meal thinking, "I'll be able to lose this back. It's only one meal." My body, however, had gotten used to protein shakes and minimal eating over the last three days. The Thanksgiving dinner hit my stomach like a marshmallow in a microwave, bloating me up 5 pounds from the weight I had started with that day. I was uncomfortable, the waist on my pants making itself heard loud and clear, and the pain in my stomach, relentless.
Soooooo, this was a pretty dumb idea. And to top it off my weigh-in was the very next morning - my first weigh-in since I started the plan. I knew I had blown it. I got on the scale that night and nearly cried. All that hard work and one lousy day blew it. I knew I had still lost a few pounds, but not nearly as much as I could have if I had done what I was supposed to. I was paying someone to basically screw myself. Go me.
I went in the next day, knowing my doctor was going to look at my meal sheet for the week and do what needed to be done. That's what I'm paying her for, after all. I step on the scale and had still lost 3 pounds for the week, or technically 3 days, of being on the plan. Three pounds in three days is nothing to balk at, but still...I knew better. So did she.
At least I was honest on the meal sheet. I clearly stated what I ate, even when I cheated. I told her every single thing I had during "Thanksgiving dinner". At least I could be honest. She didn't scold me. I already knew what I had done. Already shaming myself for it.
As I'm sitting there in her office I start to get hungry. Old habits die hard, and all I could think about was Chick-Fil-A, and their stupid chicken biscuits. "I wonder if they're still serving breakfast right now. No, I can't have that! Marci!! You just crashed your diet and the very next day, while sitting IN the doctor's office talking about how you bombed it, and need to stick to the plan, all you can think about is chicken biscuits?!?! Okay, what could I have instead? I need something right now to hold me over until I eat breakfast. I'm SO hungry! Something on the list. On the list. On the list. Something healthy. Something small.........."
And almost without hesitation, as if I had come full circle in my demise, shame, desperation, and regained hope, the first and only thing that came to my mind was pulling into the nearest drive-thru and asking......"Could I get two almonds with a side of water?"
Haha
Still practicing :)
It can be a little overwhelming. And what's more, if you tell people about it, you have to explain yourself. And, of course, I tell people. I mean, come on. I can't shut up about anything. The only thing I don't share publicly is the who/what/when/where and how I do stuff with the opposite sex. I might spout off about singledom and vague representations of the past, but there is a line I draw around the men in my life to protect them. Sharing even that you went to coffee with them can cause major issues for men, and I know enough to know I don't want to be the one to put them in that situation. I might write about you like Taylor Swift does, in some pseudo-named, tragic love story on my single page, but before we went wrong? Oh heck no. That's on lock down. (Haha)
Back to things I can't shut up about...like my life. There are a few reasons I like sharing it, but I think the joy of writing is not only catharsis, and relieving one's brain of all the ideas floating around in it, but it's also about having an audience. If you directed a play, you hope someone will go see it. If you star in a movie, you hope someone will watch it. Sing a song, you want someone to listen. Take a picture, you want someone to look at it. If you write a book, you want people to read it. Etc, etc, you get the idea. Everyone has a something they offer to humanity, and it is good to recognize it in ourselves, and also in others, so we can be encouraged to keep doing it.
So, I write. I write about parenthood, singledom, moonlit nights, my family, my fears, thoughts, dreams, my tragedies, and my past. I write about God, banana bread, things that annoy me, yadda yadda yadda. It's really a crap shoot. Just like now, because today I'm writing about dieting.
Ahhhhh yes, dieting. It seems like everyone is on one, even if they don't know they are. Someone should tell them. "Um, excuse me, but did you know that your food has cancer-causing chemicals in it, that will not only preserve your organs like a 20-year old McDonald's french fry, but also cause you to die sooner? I didn't think so. Here's a pamphlet. You should really change your diet." Changing it means they already had one to begin with, so this is my belief - that we all are on a diet of some kind.
I started "dieting" (as in somewhat caring about what I ate) about 2 1/2 years ago after a family trip to Las Vegas. When pictures came out of the trip I was mortified. No, disgusted really. That would be more accurate. So I did something about it right then. I started a plan and went walking every night, and lost 20 pounds. Then I got depressed about some douchebag boy in my life, and stalled out at 20. Then I got over him and lost 10 more. Then I plateaued for about 2 years, teetering with the next 5 pounds like I was trying to win a yo-yo competition. Lose it, gain it back. Lose it again, gain it back.
Then my friends started losing weight, and I was like, "Gee, why can't I do that again?" So I set some goals, and then never did anything about it. Good intentions...too much "cheating". So here I am the 11th month of the year I said I was going to do something about my weight, and I'm finally doing something about it. Did I mention I'm a major procrastinator? Maybe not. I may have put it off for another time.
So, I signed up the other day, and I'm going over the (very) strict meal plan with my sister and my cousin-daughter (She's my cousin, but I'm one of her guardians, hence the name "cousin-daughter"). We were laughing about it, because that's what we do when we're trying to encourage each other. We make fun of something together, and it bonds us in laughter over something that may be depressing...like all the food you can't have, for instance.
I had no real rhyme or reason to the food prior to this, but I really like food, so I just ate it. Not the greatest plan in the world! Totally not healthy. Totally not doing anything about those extra pounds. So, I decided to follow my friends and pay some money to somebody who will babysit me (I mean, hold me accountable) to my plan, and supervise my weight loss, to make sure I'm staying healthy in the process.
I go home and tell my sister and cousin-daughter about it, we're looking over the food plan, and the joking starts in. "So, what CAN you eat?" I start detailing each meal and it comes to the afternoon snack where I get a veggie and a fat option. The "fat" option is, of course, healthy fat. Avocado, hummus, peanut butter, etc. And then there's almonds. I say, "If you do the almonds you can do 15 of them! (Said in an excited way that makes it sound like a lot.) My sister replies with something about how hard it's going to be this time of year, and what about when we go out with out friends, or eat at a restaurant, what am I going to order? I jokingly say, "Um, excuse me miss? Could I get two almonds and a side of water please? Thanks!" And we all laugh. Because this is how we encourage each other in the really hard decision of limiting food. We joke about what we can't have, knowing that it's going to be painful.
Three days later, my team at work is having a Thanksgiving potluck. I'm bringing homemade mashed taters and gravy. I dutifully keep to the food I signed up for, even though I know I can't eat any of it. The whole meal consists of absolutely nothing I can eat. I know this ahead of time, and I almost plan for it. Earlier that day, a friend an I go out for lunch. We split 3 sliders. I shouldn't have those either. And some sweet potato fries. Those are definitely not on my meal plan. Already I have broken the rules, so I figure in my head, I have one meal of the day already blown, I might as well make a day of it.
At this point in the week I'm a whopping 3 days in to my diet, losing 8 pounds in that time (which is mostly water weight), and practically "starving" (which I found out later was my own accidental fault). My will power to remain faithful to my meal plan is withering away by the minute - mostly because I'm hungry and want normal food. After the sliders and sweet potato fries, I happily down a banana for my snack, as if this somehow justifies the sliders and fries debacle.
By the time the potluck rolls around I've thrown caution and common sense to the wind, and have loaded up my plate with what consisted of carbs, carbs, fat, sugar, more carbs, topped only by sugar in a can (soda). I've gone all in, and it's beautiful. It tasted wonderful. "Real" food, finally. I savored every bite like it was my last meal, and stuffed myself until I was only pleasantly full (so not to overdo it, or anything crazy like that).
I walk away from the meal thinking, "I'll be able to lose this back. It's only one meal." My body, however, had gotten used to protein shakes and minimal eating over the last three days. The Thanksgiving dinner hit my stomach like a marshmallow in a microwave, bloating me up 5 pounds from the weight I had started with that day. I was uncomfortable, the waist on my pants making itself heard loud and clear, and the pain in my stomach, relentless.
Soooooo, this was a pretty dumb idea. And to top it off my weigh-in was the very next morning - my first weigh-in since I started the plan. I knew I had blown it. I got on the scale that night and nearly cried. All that hard work and one lousy day blew it. I knew I had still lost a few pounds, but not nearly as much as I could have if I had done what I was supposed to. I was paying someone to basically screw myself. Go me.
I went in the next day, knowing my doctor was going to look at my meal sheet for the week and do what needed to be done. That's what I'm paying her for, after all. I step on the scale and had still lost 3 pounds for the week, or technically 3 days, of being on the plan. Three pounds in three days is nothing to balk at, but still...I knew better. So did she.
At least I was honest on the meal sheet. I clearly stated what I ate, even when I cheated. I told her every single thing I had during "Thanksgiving dinner". At least I could be honest. She didn't scold me. I already knew what I had done. Already shaming myself for it.
As I'm sitting there in her office I start to get hungry. Old habits die hard, and all I could think about was Chick-Fil-A, and their stupid chicken biscuits. "I wonder if they're still serving breakfast right now. No, I can't have that! Marci!! You just crashed your diet and the very next day, while sitting IN the doctor's office talking about how you bombed it, and need to stick to the plan, all you can think about is chicken biscuits?!?! Okay, what could I have instead? I need something right now to hold me over until I eat breakfast. I'm SO hungry! Something on the list. On the list. On the list. Something healthy. Something small.........."
And almost without hesitation, as if I had come full circle in my demise, shame, desperation, and regained hope, the first and only thing that came to my mind was pulling into the nearest drive-thru and asking......"Could I get two almonds with a side of water?"
Haha
Still practicing :)
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Jazz Me
I don't consider it coincidental at all when random awesomeness happens in my day. I was practically on the verge of tears today. Nothing seemed to be going right, and my day was full of awnry, angry callers who just wanted to argue and rant. Back to back calls of nothing but people screaming at me. There's only so much of that a person can take. I was trying to go to my happy place, but there wasn't enough time. I had just set foot on the beach when the phone would ring. I was contemplating pill usage, faking a sudden illness, or even pulling the fire alarm. Sure. Anything to stop the endless cycle of madness that was happening on the phones at work today. (I'm just kidding about the fire alarm.........'cause that's illegal.)
I had reached the "power hour" of my shift. One more hour to go before I could relieve my headache and head home. At this point I had resigned to having customer's bent on yelling at me. I almost felt this next call going that direction. It started out on what should have been a simple call, but seconds turned to minutes and I got stuck helping someone who had experienced identity theft from the "bastard Indonesians" (his words, not mine) apparently one too many times, to take my simple account resolution as an answer to his problem. I could feel this headed in the wrong direction. So before it went too far down that road, I put my big girl panties on and just dealt it. I was going to be on this call for way more than the 5 minutes it actually required for me to fix his account.
What should have been five minutes turned into forty. He ended up being very pleased with the outcome, but that wasn't the cool part. After we got on the right track and a happier note, and while he was supposed to be diligently working on account resolution, he decided to strike up a conversation about life in the states. It was the middle of the day in Sydney, but nearing the end of the night here. He started asking me about Phoenix and whether we had lakes nearby to escape the heat. Yes and no. Lakes yes, but not any like I was used to. I grew up in Michigan. I was used to lakes everywhere, and a giant one that was so big it was like an ocean...but with fresh water.
The conversation continued, and by this point I had given up on this call being anything but endless. Why not just stretch this out for the remaining hour? This could be my last call!! :) Since I had given up on it being short, I figured I might as well enjoy it. He said something about how I got to head home after the call, and asked what one does when they get home at such a late hour. I told him I do what everyone does when they get home from work. I eat dinner, and relax for a while and then go to bed. Lately, I've been listening to jazz and doing some reading at night before bed. "You like jazz?"
The next 20 minutes were spent discussing my time living outside Philadelphia, the home of jazz. I told him that Philadelphia has several jazz radio stations, and he asked me which ones, so he could listen online. It had been so long since I had heard them myself, that I had to do a quick internet search. WJJZ...I remembered that one. Kind of a mix of newer stuff, but generally, at home I listen to the earlier stuff - the classics. Ella, Benny, Duke, Dean, Frank, Billie, etc, etc, etc.
He proceeds to tell me about his eclectic music collection, and the stack of vinyls he was sitting next to. He's a sound guy...and a music buff. He's like me. He's got an eclectic music collection from everything from hard rock to jazz, but his favorite is jazz. He gives me some albums I need to listen to, and I tell him about WJJZ. I tell him about singing in the jazz class, and about jazz in Philadelphia. It reminds me of Ortlieb's Jazzhaus.
I swear that place was used in the Prohibition Era. Long and narrow, with a tiny stage in the middle. And to get in, you had to go down a flight of stairs from the street, and there seemed to be no sign for the place, whatsoever. If I hadn't mapped it on the GPS I wouldn't have known where to find it. I almost felt like I needed to knock on that steel door, and have a special password to get in. No special password needed, but a reservation was handy. There were so few tables, it was hard to get in. The music was classic. A simple band - a piano, string bass, sax, trumpet, drums and a singer. And they played all the good stuff. The bassist in the band also played for our swing singers' group.
It was a bit of nostalgia. Another jazz lover. There aren't many of us, but we're around. I feel like only the cool people like jazz (that's not really true...I guess). It's a special kind of love in music, and it's not for everyone. You can't tap your foot to it, sometimes you can't even dance to it (rhythmically, at least). You just have to sway, and enjoy it. It's a soul thing. And that is why I love it, and why I get so happy when I find other people who love it...because they're usually true music lovers like myself.
I spent all this time on this call just to fix a simple problem, but I feel like it did more for my spirit than anything else. A bright spot in my day. A trip down memory lane, and a stop at appreciation station...thankful for all the music lovers around the world connected by groovy tunes...and phone cables.
Cheers, mate.
Cheers, mate.
:)
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
Oh My Stars!
If you know me at all, you know I love (as in really love) the night sky. It's tied with the beach for the place that I feel most centered and calm. Far better yet would be laying on the beach, spending a night under the stars. That would be complete heaven. But I would settle for a night in the middle of nowhere, away from buildings, telephone poles, or even roads, so I could see the moon and stars light up the night sky in a all its artistic perfection.
Tonight, after I got out of work, I stepped outside and breathed in the best, crisp Fall air. Earlier in the day I had seen the moon rising from my 3rd floor cubicle, even as the sun was still bright. I knew it was going to be a bright moon. I just had a feeling.
Midnight came, and I got out of the well-lit parking lot as soon as possible and headed home. The air was finally cold. The time since the last cold spell was here felt like twenty years ago. Surely we were due for fall weather, as it is now the beginning of November, but it had waited until now to finally show up. My Old Navy hoodie I had grabbed earlier in the day, seemed sufficiently warm while the sun was still shining. Now, it was hardly keeping up with the chill. Every breath I took was making my lungs contract, and sending cool air coursing through my insides. It was refreshing.
The sky seemed to match the air. I love crisp Fall nights. My gaze always goes to the sky on nights like this. I feel like if the air is that crisp, the sky must be crystal clear. And it was tonight. I stepped out of my car when I got home, only to be met with a sky plastered with tiny white dots, eery clouds, and a giant bright moon. It was perfect.
The stars were so clear and bright, even Vincent van Gogh would have wanted to repaint them. There were thousands of them, probably millions if my eyes had adjusted enough to see them, and I had been far enough away from city lights. The clouds were eery-looking, almost as if they were part of a Tim Burton illustration, a sort of dark pink color. The closer to the moon they got the more white they were, yet with the same outlining color, just to keep their creep-factor. And the moon - it was practically a spotlight. The shape of sunny side up egg. Not half, and not quite whole, but rounded enough on the top that it was almost pulling off being a circle.
My old friend the moon. I couldn't help but stare, standing there in the middle of my apartment complex parking lot, just taking it all in, those eery clouds, the millions of stars, and the big bright moon, and breathing in the crisp, clean, Fall air. The moon seems better in air like this, and accompanied by this many stars.
I took a long walk with the dog around the complex so she could enjoy it too. She was more occupied with the grass, which had a wonderful dewy aroma, and only made the night more perfect to my senses. That Old Navy hoodie was no longer sufficient at keeping me warm, and all those deep breaths of crisp, cool air had now filled my lungs and my body with a chill that wasn't leaving.
The only thing that would have made this night better was if it had happened in the middle of nowhere (or on a beach), and if it included the heat of a fire on my face. And possibly s'mores. :)
In the meantime, my knees were reminding me that I was nowhere close to a fire, so I walked back home, crawled under a blanket, turned on some Michael Buble, and wrote about my old friends, the moon and stars. I'll be back to visit them again tomorrow night. Sure as anything, they will look just enough different, it will give me something new to dream or write about.
Sunday, November 2, 2014
The Great Face-cation Awakening
I could feel it coming for several months. Friend after friend had been taking these "face-cations", as they called them, and telling me how great it was to get off social media, spending time in real life fostering their real relationships. It's not that Facebook isn't real. I actually love it. I have friends all over the country, and the world, and social media is the easiest way to keep in touch with them. I get to read statuses, see pictures, and even comment on things. I get to read interesting articles, laugh at funny pictures, and have my mind challenged about things I might not have seen if it hadn't been passed around on Facebook.
But somewhere in the last five years, since I first started my Facebook page, it started becoming an hourly routine to check in on my news feed, or write back to people commenting on my posts. And those creepy, stalker-ish Facebook ads, and the lack of privacy was starting to get to me. I started feeling overwhelmed. But I loved keeping in touch with my friends, and I loved to write and blog, and Facebook was a great way to share those things. How else was I to disseminate information that easily?
I guess you could call it a kind of addiction. It starts feeding your insecurities, doesn't it? It did for me. Instead of seeking my affirmation in God, or spending time learning new things, or pursuing my hobbies, I was spending time responding to others, responding on the comings and goings of my life. Anyone can look good on Facebook. If you're good at certain things, you look even better. It's like a showcase of work for all your friends to see, like a portfolio of your best self.
One of the things I noticed most, was I was using Facebook to communicate with everyone. If I wanted to say hi to someone, I Facebook messaged them. If I wanted to invite someone to my house, or to something I was planning, I sent a Facebook invite. I didn't call them on the phone and say hi, or ask if they wanted to come over. I Facebooked it...all of it. I tagged people I wanted to see certain things. I posted pictures I wanted people to look at. I posted, re-posted, and shared anything and everything, for myself and for others. My Pinterest search for avocado ranch dressing even showed up on Facebook. Instead of sending pictures to my friends via email, I posted them on Facebook and tagged them. Facebook ruled my life, and I was starting to feel like it was all...fake.
Who am I, and who are these other people in my life? Am I a profile picture, a status update? Is the validation of my ideas, or my writings the sum of how many likes and shares I get on Facebook, or how many people comment? Are the friends in my life made more important by how much they respond to me on Facebook, or if they accept my Facebook invite or not? If I wasn't on Facebook would they still care? Would I hear from them if there was no Facebook connecting us?
I guess I'm about to find out.
I have struggled with depression and anxiety for several years, triggered by an accident I was in 10 years ago. It's something I wish my life was rid of, and for the most part, it is manageable. These questions about me and my friends started coming up, and I was finding myself going back to that insecure state...the place where nothing good comes from, and you end up doubting and hating yourself, and hating everyone else too.
My path had led me here. It was a progression, really. A progression of self. I would say to myself that I would rather have a small group of close friends, than a bunch of people who were just interested in liking my profile pictures on Facebook. But was that really the case? Did I honestly believe what I was preaching, or did I really care more than I thought, about those 700-ish friends I had accumulated on Facebook, and what their opinion of me was? The truth was a hard pill to swallow. I really did care what they thought. I cared too much. And that left me dealing with the ugly truth that my insecurities were stronger than I had let myself believe, and it was time to make some changes.
I started reevaluating the people I had in my life, and what kind of influence I let them have. I used the circle method of evaluation. The closest circle to me being the people I trusted implicitly. In looking at this group, I had too many people in there! I had given privileges to people simply because of their blood relationship to me, or the years I had known them, not the value of our relationship. The next group now had some new people from the previous ring, but were holding the people I trust, but not implicitly. They were close friends, but not the "inner circle". The last group was the fringe group, or acquaintances. I have a lot of these.
It's really no one's fault where they land in these circles. Some move around, but for the most part people are who they are. They either like you or they don't. You either trust them or you don't. When it looked like I was going to be a substitute parent again, I summoned my closest friends to pray for me and the situation. Those people right there. They are trusted. They are few, but they are strong and close to me. I trust them to keep my private issues private, and to challenge my thinking if needed. I trust them to come to me and call me on the carpet if I'm totally screwing up, but I also trust them to love me without fail. That is a strong connection, and one I don't take lightly.
I'm a Cancer, so my friendships and relationships are extremely important to me. I am also fiercely loyal...and stubborn. If you lose a Cancer's trust, chances are you won't get it back. Burn them, and they're pretty much lost to you. They take relationships seriously. I take relationships seriously. So moving my friends from the closest circle to the next one down tore at my heart and made me feel guilty. Guilty for what? Protecting myself at the cost of someone else. Or so it seems it's costing them. In reality, it's not. If I have to set a boundary around them, they're probably using me in some way, which I guess in some way is costing them. But the cost is really mine. And I was feeling spent.
I've spent the majority of my life feeling like a walking carpet. I might as well have been wearing a sign that said, "Please, come take advantage of my available heart." Not really that catchy, but totally true. It was time for change. I was ready.
At least I thought so.
When one embarks on changing themselves, or setting boundaries when one has not done so before, one should be prepared for a battle. I was changing the rules. I was changing them for myself, but ultimately I was changing them for others too. I didn't ask anyone's permission, I just started making small changes.
Also, when one decides to start changing one's self, they should be prepared to make several mistakes. Changing myself was getting uncomfortable for me, and also for those around me. The old Marci wasn't going to allow people to talk to her "like that" anymore. The guilt trips, the pressure to be the one to pick up the mess, to fix the problems, to take care of everything, and then get used and have people resent her for being herself, and then feeling guilty for being herself. That was the old Marci. I didn't want to be her anymore. I was tired of being her. But everyone else in my life that I had let have these privileged positions in my life, REALLY liked her, and got used to treating her a certain way, and having her respond accordingly. And then here I went changing the rules.
Not only did I not like the old Marci, but now that these prize people didn't like the new Marci, I wasn't sure I liked her either! I was offending people. Maybe I shouldn't do this. Maybe I should just go back to the old me, the safe me...the unhappy me. She was liked enough, and she didn't rock the boat. She might not have been happy, but at least she was comfortable.
No.
God was changing me, growing thicker skin on me because of where he was taking me, and I knew it. But inevitably in this process, I was going to lose people. Given how much I value relationships, and how much I needed their approval in my life, the release of them was the worst kind of pain. But it had to be done. And not because I was forcing it. I wasn't asking anyone to leave. I was just changing me, and people were leaving on their own. I was being abandoned for becoming a better version of myself. Talk about disheartening.
And then there's Facebook. It seemed to only complicate what was already happening in my life. Now I had 700 Facebook friends in the boat I was rocking, and it was getting a little crowded, and more than a little uncomfortable. It was a mixed bag of people. Some really involved in my life and encouraging these positive changes, and others who didn't appreciate the changes, and sought to misuse, misunderstand and misinterpret everything I said or did, and throw it back in my face, as they called me every name in the book..."in love".
There's nothing loving about setting your own standards for people, and then criticizing them for not meeting them. We hold no power over another person when it comes to changing them. That's God's work. And best to leave it to him, as he knows the whole plan, and has no questionable motives towards us. People, on the other hand, have plenty them, along with expectations of every kind. It is simply impossible to keep everyone happy. And if you have the least bit of insecurity about what people think of you, social media can be a breeding ground for a special kind of anxiety.
Being prone to anxiety already, the massive changes to my life in the last several months, and the new changes I was trying to make to my self, I started to feel my old friends depression and anxiety come creeping back. I have felt this feeling before. I knew where this was headed. I feel like my insides suddenly took on de-cluttering my life like Floridians take on hurricane preparedness...simply and quickly. Facebook seemed like that $5 vase bought from Walmart. When packing one's things for evacuation, leave the vase, take the photo albums. I hope you get the reference. (Leave Facebook, take the friends!)
One of the best ways to help deal with depression and especially anxiety is to simplify your life. Too many things complicate life, and feel so overwhelming it's almost impossible to function even with simple tasks. If you can put some things on autopilot for a while, and remove unnecessary stresses, your chance of making it through the storm of d&a is more probable.
I've been off of Facebook for 2 or 3 days now. So far, I've been able to have a conversation with my best friend and one of my nieces on my lunch hour. I've put diligent effort into the novel I'm reading, I've gotten back to writing. I texted a couple of friends, had a couple of meaningful conversations, spent some time showing my cousin how to read sewing patterns while we went through the stash of patterns I have saved up, tended to my flu-ridden kiddo, and have baked another pumpkin pie, a batch of m&m cookies, and made some homemade ranch dressing.
And although my floors still need to be vacuumed, laundry still needs to be done, and I never got to finish "Pride & Prejudice" still in the DVD player, I feel like I accomplished a lot in my few days off social media. There's still more to be done, more things that require my time, but I hope by simplifying my life a little for just a few weeks, I can regain my grounding, and push ahead on all the things are part of my great big world.
*still practicing*
But somewhere in the last five years, since I first started my Facebook page, it started becoming an hourly routine to check in on my news feed, or write back to people commenting on my posts. And those creepy, stalker-ish Facebook ads, and the lack of privacy was starting to get to me. I started feeling overwhelmed. But I loved keeping in touch with my friends, and I loved to write and blog, and Facebook was a great way to share those things. How else was I to disseminate information that easily?
I guess you could call it a kind of addiction. It starts feeding your insecurities, doesn't it? It did for me. Instead of seeking my affirmation in God, or spending time learning new things, or pursuing my hobbies, I was spending time responding to others, responding on the comings and goings of my life. Anyone can look good on Facebook. If you're good at certain things, you look even better. It's like a showcase of work for all your friends to see, like a portfolio of your best self.
One of the things I noticed most, was I was using Facebook to communicate with everyone. If I wanted to say hi to someone, I Facebook messaged them. If I wanted to invite someone to my house, or to something I was planning, I sent a Facebook invite. I didn't call them on the phone and say hi, or ask if they wanted to come over. I Facebooked it...all of it. I tagged people I wanted to see certain things. I posted pictures I wanted people to look at. I posted, re-posted, and shared anything and everything, for myself and for others. My Pinterest search for avocado ranch dressing even showed up on Facebook. Instead of sending pictures to my friends via email, I posted them on Facebook and tagged them. Facebook ruled my life, and I was starting to feel like it was all...fake.
Who am I, and who are these other people in my life? Am I a profile picture, a status update? Is the validation of my ideas, or my writings the sum of how many likes and shares I get on Facebook, or how many people comment? Are the friends in my life made more important by how much they respond to me on Facebook, or if they accept my Facebook invite or not? If I wasn't on Facebook would they still care? Would I hear from them if there was no Facebook connecting us?
I guess I'm about to find out.
I have struggled with depression and anxiety for several years, triggered by an accident I was in 10 years ago. It's something I wish my life was rid of, and for the most part, it is manageable. These questions about me and my friends started coming up, and I was finding myself going back to that insecure state...the place where nothing good comes from, and you end up doubting and hating yourself, and hating everyone else too.
My path had led me here. It was a progression, really. A progression of self. I would say to myself that I would rather have a small group of close friends, than a bunch of people who were just interested in liking my profile pictures on Facebook. But was that really the case? Did I honestly believe what I was preaching, or did I really care more than I thought, about those 700-ish friends I had accumulated on Facebook, and what their opinion of me was? The truth was a hard pill to swallow. I really did care what they thought. I cared too much. And that left me dealing with the ugly truth that my insecurities were stronger than I had let myself believe, and it was time to make some changes.
I started reevaluating the people I had in my life, and what kind of influence I let them have. I used the circle method of evaluation. The closest circle to me being the people I trusted implicitly. In looking at this group, I had too many people in there! I had given privileges to people simply because of their blood relationship to me, or the years I had known them, not the value of our relationship. The next group now had some new people from the previous ring, but were holding the people I trust, but not implicitly. They were close friends, but not the "inner circle". The last group was the fringe group, or acquaintances. I have a lot of these.
It's really no one's fault where they land in these circles. Some move around, but for the most part people are who they are. They either like you or they don't. You either trust them or you don't. When it looked like I was going to be a substitute parent again, I summoned my closest friends to pray for me and the situation. Those people right there. They are trusted. They are few, but they are strong and close to me. I trust them to keep my private issues private, and to challenge my thinking if needed. I trust them to come to me and call me on the carpet if I'm totally screwing up, but I also trust them to love me without fail. That is a strong connection, and one I don't take lightly.
I'm a Cancer, so my friendships and relationships are extremely important to me. I am also fiercely loyal...and stubborn. If you lose a Cancer's trust, chances are you won't get it back. Burn them, and they're pretty much lost to you. They take relationships seriously. I take relationships seriously. So moving my friends from the closest circle to the next one down tore at my heart and made me feel guilty. Guilty for what? Protecting myself at the cost of someone else. Or so it seems it's costing them. In reality, it's not. If I have to set a boundary around them, they're probably using me in some way, which I guess in some way is costing them. But the cost is really mine. And I was feeling spent.
I've spent the majority of my life feeling like a walking carpet. I might as well have been wearing a sign that said, "Please, come take advantage of my available heart." Not really that catchy, but totally true. It was time for change. I was ready.
At least I thought so.
When one embarks on changing themselves, or setting boundaries when one has not done so before, one should be prepared for a battle. I was changing the rules. I was changing them for myself, but ultimately I was changing them for others too. I didn't ask anyone's permission, I just started making small changes.
Also, when one decides to start changing one's self, they should be prepared to make several mistakes. Changing myself was getting uncomfortable for me, and also for those around me. The old Marci wasn't going to allow people to talk to her "like that" anymore. The guilt trips, the pressure to be the one to pick up the mess, to fix the problems, to take care of everything, and then get used and have people resent her for being herself, and then feeling guilty for being herself. That was the old Marci. I didn't want to be her anymore. I was tired of being her. But everyone else in my life that I had let have these privileged positions in my life, REALLY liked her, and got used to treating her a certain way, and having her respond accordingly. And then here I went changing the rules.
Not only did I not like the old Marci, but now that these prize people didn't like the new Marci, I wasn't sure I liked her either! I was offending people. Maybe I shouldn't do this. Maybe I should just go back to the old me, the safe me...the unhappy me. She was liked enough, and she didn't rock the boat. She might not have been happy, but at least she was comfortable.
No.
God was changing me, growing thicker skin on me because of where he was taking me, and I knew it. But inevitably in this process, I was going to lose people. Given how much I value relationships, and how much I needed their approval in my life, the release of them was the worst kind of pain. But it had to be done. And not because I was forcing it. I wasn't asking anyone to leave. I was just changing me, and people were leaving on their own. I was being abandoned for becoming a better version of myself. Talk about disheartening.
And then there's Facebook. It seemed to only complicate what was already happening in my life. Now I had 700 Facebook friends in the boat I was rocking, and it was getting a little crowded, and more than a little uncomfortable. It was a mixed bag of people. Some really involved in my life and encouraging these positive changes, and others who didn't appreciate the changes, and sought to misuse, misunderstand and misinterpret everything I said or did, and throw it back in my face, as they called me every name in the book..."in love".
There's nothing loving about setting your own standards for people, and then criticizing them for not meeting them. We hold no power over another person when it comes to changing them. That's God's work. And best to leave it to him, as he knows the whole plan, and has no questionable motives towards us. People, on the other hand, have plenty them, along with expectations of every kind. It is simply impossible to keep everyone happy. And if you have the least bit of insecurity about what people think of you, social media can be a breeding ground for a special kind of anxiety.
Being prone to anxiety already, the massive changes to my life in the last several months, and the new changes I was trying to make to my self, I started to feel my old friends depression and anxiety come creeping back. I have felt this feeling before. I knew where this was headed. I feel like my insides suddenly took on de-cluttering my life like Floridians take on hurricane preparedness...simply and quickly. Facebook seemed like that $5 vase bought from Walmart. When packing one's things for evacuation, leave the vase, take the photo albums. I hope you get the reference. (Leave Facebook, take the friends!)
One of the best ways to help deal with depression and especially anxiety is to simplify your life. Too many things complicate life, and feel so overwhelming it's almost impossible to function even with simple tasks. If you can put some things on autopilot for a while, and remove unnecessary stresses, your chance of making it through the storm of d&a is more probable.
I've been off of Facebook for 2 or 3 days now. So far, I've been able to have a conversation with my best friend and one of my nieces on my lunch hour. I've put diligent effort into the novel I'm reading, I've gotten back to writing. I texted a couple of friends, had a couple of meaningful conversations, spent some time showing my cousin how to read sewing patterns while we went through the stash of patterns I have saved up, tended to my flu-ridden kiddo, and have baked another pumpkin pie, a batch of m&m cookies, and made some homemade ranch dressing.
And although my floors still need to be vacuumed, laundry still needs to be done, and I never got to finish "Pride & Prejudice" still in the DVD player, I feel like I accomplished a lot in my few days off social media. There's still more to be done, more things that require my time, but I hope by simplifying my life a little for just a few weeks, I can regain my grounding, and push ahead on all the things are part of my great big world.
*still practicing*
Friday, September 19, 2014
Pantry Closet Banana Bread
I can't remember what color the cabinets were (I think they were oak), but I can tell you exactly what the floor looked like. It was this horrid green speckled linoleum-type stuff. It lasted forever, because most things did back then. The kitchen shared the same large space as the dining area, which had a big window overlooking the deck and backyard. Originally, the backyard had no fence, and led into a field, which led back to woods and train tracks, and then further back was farmland and a lake. When I was growing up, there was a fence, the same field and woods were there, and the neighbors had mowed a section of the field, which we pretended was a baseball field, and used it as such. We could always see storms rolling in out that window, or the big picture window in the front room. Nowadays, that field is gone and has been replaced by a housing development. I try not to think about it, as it makes me sad.
The kitchen was always a great room in our house, mostly because my mom is a mean cook. Nothing was ever fat free, or even reduced fat. With a family of six, we were very familiar with casseroles. Lots of casseroles. There's so much that can be made with Campbell's cream of mushroom soup. You can pretty much whip up any meal with that one little can. Our pantry was stocked with canned peaches, the freezer with blueberries, green beans and venison. We picked or killed it, then we canned and stored it. Fish fries from catches at the lake were a treat. But the thing I liked the best was the stuff that got baked in that oven. Particularly bread. I love bread. I blame it on being Dutch. We love bread...and cheese. The usuals in our house were zucchini (with zucchini from our garden), banana, cinnamon, wheat, white, and apple breads, strudels, pies, crisps, muffins, etc. Yum. And because I was mommy's little helper, I was in there all the time, kneading, rolling, latticing, pinching, watching dough rise. I learned it all, and loved it. (I loved eating it too.)
Now as an adult, I find myself trying to replicate all the things I loved, so I can share them with my friends and family. My mom passed down her banana bread recipe to me, and that is where this hugely long pre-story is landing us.
Tonight I came home at 11:30pm after work, and went where I go every night as soon as I walk in the door...the kitchen. I clean the kitchen every night. I clean dishes I haven't eaten off of, pots and pans I didn't use, counters I didn't prep on, the stove I didn't cook on. I load and unload the dishwasher, and sometimes cook myself a meal, or in tonight's case, work on making something for the family. I do this for anywhere from a half hour to an hour every night. This has become my nightly routine.
A request was made earlier in the week for more banana bread, so bananas were purchased and have been sitting on the counter ripening for the last several days. I started cleaning tonight, and got done as much as I could with the space I had, then decided the bananas were the perfect shade of brown to make the bread. They must be brown of course, not rotted brown, just brown. They have the best flavor and make the best bread. I wouldn't dare use a yellow banana in my bread. Save those for eating straight. Use the "bad ones" for the bread!
Why I forget that a blender is required for this recipe is beyond me. For some reason, in my mind, I can use the hand mixer. You cannot use the hand mixer for this recipe. It doesn't come out right. Nobody wants lumpy bananas in the bread. Ewe. Well tonight, as everyone in my household lay cozily sleeping in their beds, I had a mental debate about using the blender. My blender is really loud. Ninja blenders are great at cutting things, but unlike ninjas, they are not quiet. There might as well be a plane taking off in the kitchen. I knew running it would wake them all up, so I decided to just try the hand mixer. I mixed...and mixed...and mixed. Not happening. Lumps.
What was I going to do? I could save it for the morning, and just stick it in the fridge for now, but I didn't want to ruin the mix by putting it in there. Ahah!! Bright idea! There's an outlet in the pantry!!
My pantry is located at the end of my kitchen. It has a folding door to close it off...and it has an outlet. Perfect. I grab the blender, plug it in, scrape the contents from the bowl into the blender, walk into my closet-sized pantry, close myself in, and turn on the blender.
As I'm standing there for the 20 seconds it takes to blend my now pre-mixed egg, butter and banana concoction, I start laughing at the irony that I am, in fact, closed into my tiny pantry, with my blender on the floor, trying to keep the noise from waking everyone up. This is what my life has come to. Pantry closet banana bread.
I finish making the bread and pop it into the oven, making use of the next hour and fifteen minutes to check up on my latest cynical rant on Facebook and respond to everyone commiserating with me about it, encouraging me to get over it, or shaking their head while reading yet another of my dramatic, snarky takes on singleness. This is also my life. While I'm doing all this, I start smelling the bread. Oh, glorious bread. It's making my mouth water. This hour and a half can't move quickly enough. My belly is grumbling. "Feed me now!"
My kitchen is now the rest of the way clean. I have finished cleaning up the messes of the day, and now have cleaned up the flour explosion that happened, and my own mess from baking. When I cook, it's obvious. I dirty a ton of dishes, and somehow every surface. Flour was on the counter opposite of the one I was working on, and stuck in a corner no less. How did it get there? Magic, I guess.
The bread is finally done, and of course it must be tested. Duh! So I carve out a piece. The ends are the best, nice and crispy on the edges, then sweet, warm, tasty goodness in the middle. This is the way all bread should be. And then butter.
The dog is now following me around, hoping I'll trip (see her in the picture above), or drop something so she can get a piece of the action, and I sit down with my plate of heaven and bite into my own blessed creation. Yum.
The whole time I'm cleaning, cooking, Facebooking, then eating (it is nearing 3am as I write this), I'm thinking about the irony of my life. The last six weeks have been somewhat of a blur. My house has expanded by one person, a teenage person no less. My personal space has shrunk (diminished, really), my bank account has followed suit, as well as my free time, and the amount of sleeping hours I used to enjoy. My grey hairs have increased, however, as well as my stress level, the amount of nerves that people sit on every day while I try not to lose it, my chore load, as well as my knowledge of current slang terms and acronyms.
As I cleaned up the kitchen for the 5th time this week, wiped off the same counters I did last night, cleaned out the crockpot for what seemed like the bajillionth time, I tried not to be angry about having to take care of the people in my house, or the house itself. I tried not to be resentful or annoyed, or selfish, in feeling like I'm the only one that cleans anything up. Does anyone see this mess? How hard is it to bring your dishes from the living room to the kitchen? Doesn't anyone feel the dirty floors? And what about that pile of clean, folded clothes that has been sitting on the couch for the last five days, that I have asked her to take care of...for the last five days, that has been annoying me...for the last five days? I came home tonight, and there it is again, that stupid pile of clothes, those dirty dishes lying around, the same messes to clean up.
I should be grateful. I should be joyful. I should be a lot of things. Sometimes it's a real struggle to be them.
I do a lot of my best thinking when I'm cleaning. I hate to say it, but cleaning is a stress reliever for me. Sure, it's tiring and I hate doing it, but I feel relieved when it's done. It's like going to the gym, for me. I go in stressed, and come out with a clear head and some direction. Tonight was no different. As I cleaned my kitchen I worked through all those emotions I was feeling in doing so. I stood there at my sink thinking about the things I had asked God for, and how he had given so many of them to me, yet I hadn't noticed, and now was ungrateful for them. How selfish.
It was a tough pill to swallow. The answers to my prayers had come to me in ways I didn't expect, in ways that maybe I didn't appreciate as such, but they came. And now I have the choice to be grateful even when I'm tired, to be thankful even when I don't feel like it, and to appreciate the life I have, even if it's not always pretty and clean and just the way I expected it would be. This is my life, after all. I get to choose my actions and reactions.
So there I was, now with a plate full of yumminess about to enter my belly, the kitchen cleaned, my best thinking complete for the night, my anger and stress turned into resolved gratefulness towards the blessings I have been given. I turned on some country on my iTunes Radio, grabbed a fork, and dug into that bread...that sweet pantry closet banana bread.
And then I wrote about it. :)
Still practicing...
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About Me
- Marci DeHaan
- It is my joy to write. All of my blogs have a special meaning to me, and allow me an outlet to express every side of myself. I like to write like I think, a scatterbrained mess of ideas and emotions that somehow spill out into totally relatable stories for others to share in. That is my life. Please enjoy my blogs and writings. They range anywhere from cynical posts about singleness, to nurturing, important posts to young women, to every kind of life moment and stories about being human. My favorite catch phrase is "still practicing", which is on almost all of my posts. Why? Because I am...still practicing at writing, at being a better, more well-rounded person, and at life in general. I hope to always be practicing. Happy reading! :)