thoughts on therapy, feeling feelings

 Last week I went back to therapy for the first time since I wrote my post about my first #metoo experience. It was an interesting appointment, mostly because at first I started with saying how much the prior appointment had helped and that I was less angry, and then minutes later I was finding I'm still angry. That's ok, just a surprise.

EMDR is an interesting experience. I went in to the appointment intending to EMDR what I call my "falling off the cliff" experiences which were in 2015 around my first panic attack and 2018 when I totally lost my shit while my mom was sick and in the hospital/rest home/assisted living for 10 months of the year. As I was driving, I decided my starting point would be the night in 2015 when she had her back fused. I learned a lot in starting there with the EMDR, and I was surprised at what it taught me.

When my mom was wheeled out from her surgery, I only caught a glimpse of her. I was very on edge but I was telling myself it was ok, I wasn't angry I was there, that I could "handle" it, that everything was great! What I saw was not an easily recognizable view of my mother. Her face was enormous - she had been lying face down for 12 hours. I thought she looked dead. Her surgery began a 5 month long journey of seeing her in great pain, of watching her refuse to get out of bed and walk, of learning to do all the things she used to do in places she didn't want to be. I was on edge the entire time, and I was very hard on myself when I would visit, leaving her most of the time feeling worse than when I arrived, mentally berating myself for not doing enough on the drive home, which went on for months. The only emotion I would allow myself to feel was anger at her situation, heartache that she was not happy with anything I did, and guilt that I wasn't doing enough. 

When she went home to my sister's house, it didn't improve much in our relationship. There was the additional guilt about all my sister was doing for her that I wasn't doing. I don't want to go into that time much, but I wasn't any easier on myself.

After my mom went home was when I had my first panic attack.

I ignored all sorts of things at that time that contributed to my anxiety. My startle response was through the roof, meaning if I had to push on my brakes unexpectedly while driving, my body would respond in an electric shock that went all through my body. I was meditating, but I expected it to take away all the unpleasant feelings I was having like some sort of miracle cure-all. I hadn't yet admitted to myself let alone anyone else that I'd had sexual assault/abuse (I even saw a therapist that summer, which was a horrible failure. The therapist was a bad fit and I thought I could leave all sexual things out the story; I went once and gave up.) I was pretending that because my mom went home (even though I didn't like it) that everything that had happened that year was "over" and I was "just fine" with it all.

The second time I fell off the cliff was in February/March/April of 2018. My mom had been in the hospital since December 8th of 2017. I had a massive panic attack on Valentines of that year and I never really came back from it. I low grade panicked through March with one late night ER visit to boot, a whole lot of visits to a pulminologist for the breathlessness I was experiencing, going on a steroid inhaler that burned my throat and esphogas from the top while GERD was burning up from the bottom. April found me a mess, freaking out at body cues that were harmless but felt massive, a panic attack the night before Easter which pushed to me stop all inhaler and start an antidepressant that eventually helped to calm everything down. But the emotional effects of 2015 and 2018, the bewilderment at my body no longer feeling safe or understandable - those feelings stayed with me until last week when I EMDRed that moment of my mom coming out of her surgery.

It went back to 1984 and my grandpa's stroke, death 6 weeks later, Christmas 2 days after he died, funeral (my first ever death experience and first funeral experience and speaking experience (I wrote a poem that I couldn't get through and needed a sibling to come up half way through to help me finish) I learned a lot about emotion during that time and I now believe it was when I started to stuff my feelings down. It was also not just a loss of my grandpa (who, honestly, I didn't really know well and only had limited interaction with. I spent a lot more time with my grandma, and it was her loss that really defined that time, because she was never the same after his death.) I lost both of them in one swoop.

I've sat through 9 months of therapy. I've had some sniffly appointments, I've left and cried a bit. I've talked about one-off sexual assualt, grooming behaviors, sustained mental abuse from gymnastics, the death of both of my parents, sustained sexual aggravation, and other hard things. But I ugly cried in this visit for the very first time.

Another big boulder has been forced free. The energy behind it keeps surprising me. I've thought for days about the things that happened in my life that I stuffed feelings down in. I wasn't allowed to grieve or feel anything hard.

The only safe outlet I had was in story. Books were my safe haven. I could feel all the feels and learn about others emotion and how they handled it. I could see how a character could struggle and find redemption in pages, even if I never had any in real life.

Thank the universe for books. Stories. Movies and podcasts. Memoirs. Gandalf and Harry and Dumbledore. Harriet from Skating Shoes, Gloria from No Flying in the House, Benny from Circle of Friends, all the girls in All of a Kind Family, Posy in Dancing Shoes (or was it Ballet Shoes?), terrible Cathy from Flowers in the Attic, and especially Leah, Ada, and Rachel from Poisonwood Bible.

I'm going to end with the plea - do your work. It's messy and it breaks your heart but you can survive. And you can understand why things are and why they have happened. This piece right here - knowing this truth about when I learned to really stuff my feelings down and disassociate from them - helps me with processing again my panic attack on the freeway. It helps me think about the deaths of my parents. It reveals the many events in my life that I didn't really grieve or feel or question because there was no space for feelings. It shows me why I was so secretive in my pursuits as a teenager, and why I never told my mom anything about my marriage or life.

Mid-fall 2018: an update post

Whew, 2018 has been something.

A few things to get off with right off the bat.

In April, after much discussion and sleepless nights and a whole lot of other stuff, I went on an antidepressant, went off my inhaled steroid, and started treating for reflux. It was a whole lot of stuff to get through with the stoppings and startings and all that. For a while I thought my body and mind would never feel familiar again. I'm glad to say that it's gotten better. About being medicated...

• I felt the medication hit my brain the first time. Whoosh. 
• I ended up changing from one formula to another because the first didn't let me sleep. I love my doctor for being willing to change things up for me on desperate April day, 5 days after I started the first medication.
• Many many things and beliefs and shit I carried around have fallen by the wayside. Good and bad.
• I can no longer keep things to myself. Probably a good thing. After starting medication, words and conversations fell out of me that had been aching to come out for years. I cleared a lot of air that badly needed clearing.
• I'm finally in a space where I'm not constantly 2 parsecs away from full panic. Panic left me in degrees, which was fascinating to both experience and observe.
• I'm constantly comparing "before" to "after."

It was one of the hardest decisions, and it wasn't easy or fun for months. But things are better. I've grown up in ways I didn't know I could. I am thankful every day for the chemical reaction in my brain that results from a pill I take every night.

Now THAT's out of the way, let's talk about 2018.

1. Went on the best California trip we've ever taken. We went back to San Diego and our home away from home. I savored every moment of running, playing, eating, drinking, strolling, laughing, observing, and being. Not constantly spinning on how something could be different or better (as I did "before") allowed for every moment to count, perfect or not.
2. Sat in the sun for many, many soccer games. My tan has never been so good.
3. Celebrated 43. I spent my birthday on a hike with a friend, then went to dinner with my family wearing a new dress that I never would have dared wear "before." Shane got me a new Fitbit and enjoyed every moment of the day. We celebrated with cupcakes from the grocery store that were amazing.
4. Read a few books. The 1,000th Floor, Eleanor Oliphant is Perfectly Fine, The Monsters of Templeton, Britt-Marie was Here, the Daughter of Smoke and Bone trilogy (when I needed familiar, comfort reading because I couldn't face any serious shock or need for my empathy; I was worried for a while that I wouldn't ever enjoy story again. So glad I came out of that!), Night of Cake and Puppets, Weird Things Customers say in Bookstores, Still Me. 
5. Sewed. I made a friend in my neighborhood who has become my sewing wise woman. I fell in love with a black and white fabric line that I ended up using in 3 different projects, and I designed all of them myself.
6. Ranted about politics. I'm so tired of trump. I'm so tired of our broken government.
7. Walked. I hurt my back in June inexplicably, so I haven't ran much this summer. Or really since April, if I'm honest. But I've learned to love walking. Each Sunday I spent out walking on the Mountain View Corridor, watching the thistles bloom and die off, giving way for the sunflowers that make me so happy. I also started walking with friends on my days off. It's easier to reach out to others now, after. 
8. Walked with Shane. Oftentimes, we did nothing but argue about current family events. but lately, we've been in this sweet spot of peace, well, except for politics. Being medicated allows me to listen without being flooded by cortisol. We can actually have difficult conversations now that mostly work, mostly because I'm medicated and I've learned to listen and speak my words.
9. Felt more like myself than I have in 20 years.
10. Wore tank tops and running skirts almost every day. But for sure on my days off. I haven't shown my shoulders in years, because, well, because. And then I realized that there was a whole subset of clothes that there was no reason I couldn't be wearing and so I got some. And then my work started allowing sleeveless tops and so I really could buy new clothes. I was so uncomfortable the first time I showed my shoulders at work. It was liberating though. And I bought a lot of cute running skirts that make me happy every time I put them on.
11. Discovered the deliciousness that is PSL. Why did I wait so long? I mean, probably because of all the mochas I usually drink, but mmmm. There's something to that pumpkin spice fad.
12. Moved my mom into an assisted living center. 
13. Learned to make Dresden plates as well as hexies (sewing lingo for different kinds of flowers. Love!)
14. Started PT for my back.
15. Admitted that I'm #metoo to a number of people. As a result of the trauma that was the Kavanaugh hearings, I realized that I'm not happy living in a patriarchal society. I celebrated my own day (the Saturday of conference, the day that in both arenas of which I'm a voting member I realized the patriarchy gets its way and doesn't really value my dissenting voice) that I called F*** the Patriarchy day and got a tattoo, the tattoo that I've always wanted: a combination of the daisy chain around the ankle with the flower modeled after my beloved marble flower from the Roman Forum.
16. Found every stray photo around my house and put them in albums. 
17. Started learning Canon in D.
18. Discovered the Rachel Maddow podcast, as well as Trevor Noah. 
19. Hung out with my kids. We ate at Buffalo Wild Wings, La Luna, Zupas, Costa Vida, and Salsa Leedos quite a bit all together. Thomas worked at the rec center all summer, and Ben played a lot of soccer. 
20. Saw Florence + The Machine with Amy. Sooooo good. Soooooo much fun.
21. Got a new mattress - heaven.

If you've made it this far in the post, thanks for sticking with me. 7 months between posts results in a lot of catching up and documenting random things. 

41, A year in review, of sorts

Subtitle and spoiler alert: there is nothing to figure out.

A year ago *today!*, I decided I’d had enough of living how I’d lived for the past year and I determined that I would Turn Over A New Leaf. I’d Power Through Anxiety. I would Stop Living In Fear. I had Figured It Out.

As if one can just decide that. (Well, they can.) As a high-achieving sort of person, I could will myself through any struggle. Push through, determination, rah rah rah!, and all of that. It was cute, and a good goal. It was me, setting out to run a figurative marathon that I was not trained for, at a full sprint, wearing spikey shoes and cotton clothes and needing to go to the bathroom.

Cute, as I said.

So the thing with life and milestones and stuff that we want/need to overcome is that we think we can do this. Our sheer willpower will help power us through the things we don’t like, the ways that we suffer. But, a year ago, I still had so many things going against me. Resistance to reality being one of them, thus the cotton clothes I was wearing. I thought that just by not wanting something to be the way it was, it could somehow be magically better. My spikey shoes were my constant self-battering, my internal dialogue of criticism and negative though patterns and feeling unsafe with myself, because, well, I was unsafe with myself. I set out in spikey shoes because were a symbol source of pride and of immense pain. There was no safety or compassion or understanding or forgiveness for that person. She evoked my ire simply by failing to drive to work one day. And I was going to fix it all as soon as possible, so I set out in a sprint, because I had to Win. Needing to go to the bathroom symbolizes just how unprepared I was to go, carrying uncomfortable truths with me that I couldn’t let go even though they begged to be released from me.

“But Becky, here you are again, saying you know so much more than before, and NOW you’re going to be so much better?!” I hear you, dear reader, and see the irony.

But the thing is, there isn’t a race or anything to figure out. That’s the huge irony and wonderfulness of it all. It’s just my life. It’s changed and I often hate the changes that have happened more than anything, but I also love them too. “Who knows, what is good and what is bad?” It’s all bad and good. It brings us to our now, and whatever the reality of that now is.

I’d like to acknowledge some of the things/people/books/whatever that has brought me to my current now.

Shane, who read a marriage book with me and then went on to find a source of peace for us that is as surprising as it is effective. He found us a common language, a gift that can never stop blessing us. Who has been patient with me even when I’m kinda crazy in an effort to make all of this work. I told him things this year that I’ve never told anyone.

Podcasts (and the personalities in the podcasts) 

•  Secular Buddhism
• 10% Happier
•  Happier with Gretchen Rubin
• Waking Up with Sam Harris

Books

• The Places that Scare You – Pema Chodron
• 10% Happier – Dan Harris
• When Things Fall Apart – Pema Chodron
• Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction (MBSR) handbook/guide – Jon Kabat-Zinn
• Wild – Cheryl Strayed

Playing the piano, which is finally something I can say that I do. I love it dearly. I love when my left wrist aches from playing chords. I love when I can learn a single song in a night. I love that I can’t think when I play the piano and so it is a source of pure delight and enjoyment.

Meditation: podcasts, learning about emotions, learning how to meditate from Pema Chrodron’s audiobook How to Meditate and finding out what meditation can and cannot do for a person. Knowing that it won’t solve all of my problems and not asking it to. Knowing that it gives me space to react. Feeling it bleed into parts of my life that need calm. Feeling so damn grateful for this bit of craziness. When I compare the feeling in my body and soul today to where it was 2 years ago today – I don’t know how that person made it through a day, she was so wound up and hard on herself.

My time spent in Young Women, and now being released. It’s strange, but since I’ve been released I have a sense that things are easier, that a force that has been unrelentingly pushing against me has left. It’s surprising and I don’t really know what it means, but that’s ok. I loved the girls and women I served with.

Friends and family: watching my kids get older and wiser, texting and hiking and running and everything with Amy, seeing and texting and playing the piano and all the things I do with Melanie, my piano teacher Nicole, my high school friends and our long-running group text, God for letting me tell Him I was angry and for helping me find answers in places that are strange but are a blessing, for letting me see the path ahead sometimes.

And now I get to be 42. But I’ll admit, 41 wasn’t too bad.

Thoughts about thoughts

A very clear memory from my childhood is of doing the dishes. Once my oldest sister got married, I was assigned to a night of dishes, just like my other sisters. I can remember being bewildered at first, and it didn’t really improve from there. 

My mom didn’t skimp when it came to meal time. She used as many pots and pans as needed to create a main dish, one or more side dishes, and a vegetable. We all sat at the table together, which had been set with plates and silverware in their proper placement, a butter dish, filled glasses, and salt and pepper. We served our meal from the table as well, which meant serving dishes and hot pads and anything else that was necessary.

After a meal like this, doing the dishes meant doing everything – clearing the table, rinsing the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher, putting away the leftovers, washing the pans, cleaning counters, and sweeping the floor. And most of the time, it was really just up to whomever was doing the dishes to get it clean. My parents or sisters (or me, when it wasn’t my turn!) didn’t take pity on you and pitch in. It was just you and a very dirty kitchen for the next 45 minutes to an hour.

What I remember from this chore isn’t really the amount of work involved, even though it was a lot. What I remember is standing at the kitchen sink, angrily washing pan after pan, and ruminating on how unfair it was that I was left to do them. I thought about what jerks everyone was for not helping me, I railed against my mom for how many pans she used, I would internally complain at the latest way one sister or another had been mean to me, or I would think about how I was the best dishes-doer in the family and that no one appreciated it.

I’m sure that all kids have these exact thoughts when doing a chore (in fact, Ben said just as much to me this morning when I asked him to clean out the dishwasher!), so I realize I’m not really unique in this. The important thing about this memory is remembering how loud my thoughts felt, and how those thoughts made me feel such anger towards my family, and yet: I never spoke those words to anyone. Oh, I might complain here or there, but I had real, honestly painful feelings or thoughts that I would ruminate over but never felt safe saying them.

Which is really

I didn’t feel safe telling my mom my feelings. I couldn’t tell my sister I was angry with her. I didn’t have words to express any negative emotion. I didn’t have confidence that it would matter to them or that it would get solved. I taught myself to think about my feelings instead of feeling them. I taught myself to bottle up my words, which caused resentments to build that could have otherwise been worked out without much trouble.

Rumination became my way to “solve” my problems. Ironically, tasks that occupied my hands like dishes or cleaning freed my mind to wander in all the places that it wanted to. A slight from a friend was irresistible thinking fodder; all of the words wanted to use to defend myself could be thought over and perfected; their words could be imagined, although often, ironically making the point that really showed me how it was my fault, just so I could justify myself again. I would replay situations over and over, wishing for a different outcome, playing all the roles of myself, the other, and the morality judge (an internal moderator who was never on my side because they could always point right at the element of guilt that I was really at fault.) It was automatic and I never made any attempt to corral it or think it irrational, untrue, or undeserved.

This approach to life would have been great if I could have locked myself in a cabin where I never interacted with another human being. This inability to let someone know that they had hurt me was later extended to friends and boyfriends and coworkers and pretty much anyone with whom I eventually had conflict. And I never saw any reason to change it.

It served another purpose to work out my anxieties. I say “work out,” which is completely inaccurate. If I couldn’t find something that I had done wrong, I would find loved ones to worry over, replaying their situations and thinking up better solutions that would make them happier or safer or whatever-er. Often these worries came with an extra dose of internal guilt at my own feeling of failure in not being a better (insert relationship here) to this person, because obviously, I could save them, but was too selfish and caught up in my own life to do so. (I told you a few paragraphs ago – it’s messed up.)

It was the perfect forum where everyone was fair game, and no one, including myself, got off too easily. 

Enter midlife crisis. Enter an internal dialogue that already turns to over-examining each detail of painful events and thoughts. Enter panicked event that eroded my faith in my physical well-being and ability to be safe in both my thoughts and my body.

It was bound to turn on me eventually.

To be continued. And sorry for the swears.

Right now gratitude - day 4

Hello again, dear blogosphere. I haven't blogged 4 days in a row in...well, a long time. I'm really enjoying writing these posts because I don't feel any pressure to make them anything they aren't. Being grateful sometimes seems like it has to be a grandiose gesture. I like making it simple.

I keep talking about Gretchen Rubin and her Happier podcast because it has so many great tips and tricks to know yourself better. I listen to them on my way to work and since I'm late to the party (her podcast started in April 2015), I have a lot of episodes at my disposal. I think it's possible to listen to 2 or 3 just during my driving time. Which sometimes can dilute the power of the episodes - I hear a great idea, and then move to the next episode and hear another great idea and I forget about the first. But nevertheless, I love her advice and humor and content every time I listen.

One of my favorite ideas came in the August 26, 2015 episode (go ahead and listen - I'll be here when you get back.) But before I talk about the episode, a story. When my mom invited me and my sisters to go to Italy, it was a life decision that wasn't easily made. It was really, really hard for me to chose to go there. The whole idea of leaving for 10 days felt so overwhelming and foreign to me. It was a choice that I almost didn't make because of the sheer anxiety of it all. It felt like another person's life to chose to go to Italy. I felt guilty about leaving my family. I felt guilty about spending the money on myself. I was this close to not going. But I got brave and went, and had an amazing experience. It wasn't easy all of the time to be in Italy - remember my Mary story? I was an anxious mess on some of the days I was there. And I used to feel that since I was so anxious while I was there, it meant that I had failed.

During the episode, Rubin talks about choosing the bigger life. She says that when you are conflicted about making a decision, choose the thing that opens up your world and brings you a bigger life. I think about my choice to go to Italy, and for me, it was choosing the bigger life. I feel like since I've turned 40, I've taken many more opportunities to live the bigger life. When I take a day and go on a hike with my sister, I'm choosing the bigger life. When I ask my husband on a date and tell him a few things that I've never told anyone about myself, and  I squirm in every way possible because I'm uncomfortable about those things being out in the world and therefore out of my control, I'm choosing the bigger life. When I see an interesting seminar on using yoga for anxiety the day before the seminar and I sign up (like I did yesterday!), I'm choosing the bigger life. It's not easy. Sometimes it's uncomfortable.

And I know that there are ways that I'm still staying safe in my little life because I just haven't expanded enough to be able to incorporate everything. But I'm trying and pushing my boundaries and working on being authentic to myself more and more, and I'm grateful for the growth that it brings me. I'm trying to see these attempts at authenticity as attempts, not successes or failures. And I look back at my Italy experience and realize that part of what made it so hard was that I was choosing the bigger life. I'll always be glad I did.

How do you choose the bigger life? Is this a concept that resonates with you?


And, since I've posted a link to the Mary post, I'm going to post this photo. I wrote to San Petronio a few months after I got back and they were kind enough to send me a photo of the Mary statue. Isn't she so beautiful?

Weakest link

Last week, I discovered 2 new-to-me podcasts. One was Malcolm Gladwell’s Revisionist History, where he takes an event that happened in the past and goes over it with a new angle, and Happier with Gretchen Rubin, where she talks about, amazingly enough, things you can do to be happier.

I’m happy to say that both podcasts have been very enjoyable and instrumental in me being happier, and in my seeing things from my own past with new eyes.

One of Malcolm Gladwell podcasts talked about soccer versus basketball, and how soccer can be viewed as a sport that the team is only as strong as its weakest player, whereas basketball is a strongest link sport that relies on the best player for its success. Gladwell applied this principle to large donations given to small universities versus giant wealthy universities (your Stanfords and Harvards) to see which would make the largest impact on both the university and the country as a whole. It was fascinating. It got me to think of my current life and the things I’m struggling with – mostly anxiety – in a light of the weakest link.

In August, I started food journaling. I know – it’s super, super sexy to journal all the food I eat! But late in the summer, I looked back and realized that I’d felt mostly shitty in the morning for months and months. It wasn’t anything that was easy to identify or point to as particularly upsetting, but most of the feelings that I tended to blame on anxiety – i.e., bad drives to work, dizzy feelings, a sense of unease, lack of emotional reserves – happened when I failed to eat early enough and/or drank caffeine on an empty stomach. Then, in August when my favorite oatmeal flavor was mysteriously and permanently gone from the shelves and I tried to eat something different for breakfast on the days I went to work, I had some really bad mornings. As I was blaming anything that felt strange on anxiety, I tried to pin two events that happened at work on it as well, but I wasn’t successful. Anxiety just wasn’t the culprit, although it didn’t hesitate in roaring into the limelight during both. So I decided to write down everything I ate, being totally honest and not worrying about the calories or judging my food choices to see if there was a link.

Eureka!

After about a week, I changed two habits – one, my years-old habit of waiting to eat breakfast until after I got to work to eating before work, and two, bringing snacks to work to have between meals. Now, it doesn’t seem like this would be a life-changing event, but it kind of was. Eating before driving to work kept me calmer in the moments that I’ve trained myself to feel anxiety on the road. Having snacks in the mid-morning and in the afternoon allowed me to eat lunch later and not be a raving b**** the moment I walked in the door after work. I even changed another habit of drinking hot chocolate first thing on an empty stomach to eating something small first – an egg or a string cheese or going whole-hog and eating all my breakfast and then topping it off with hot chocolate. Again, such a small change, but I found it made things better.

Eating (and blood sugar) is my weak link. I’m following Gladwell’s example and looking back to see patterns. I realized that so often, the times I get completely overwhelmed or freak out at my kids or husband or get angry for no reason or get emotional at a family function, I’ve usually waited too long to eat. It sounds so dumb. But if you know me or have been around me much in the past 5 or so years, you probably know what I’m talking about. I can have all the best intentions to keep my emotions under control, I can exercise to keep my stress level good, I can speak my feelings instead of thinking about them or pushing them away, I can meditate until my eyes change color – but it all, and I mean ALL, goes out the window when my blood sugar dips. I get hangry. Weak link gets me every time.

Anyone who might be reading this: I cannot tell you how much this helps. In the past year, when I’ve felt betrayed by my body at every turn, when I’ve felt my anxiety get every bit of limelight, when I’ve tried to find out why, why, why do I feel like an alien in my body – to have something that is easy to control that helps me manage is nothing short of amazing.

I know that it doesn’t solve everything. Just today while driving on the freeway where there was a ton of traffic and construction, I got anxious and had to pull off on an exit. But I dealt with it. I talked myself down and got my breathing under control and drove in a circle to get back on the freeway I’d just exited and finished my drive to work. I was kind to myself and wrote myself a note when I got to work and decided that it wasn’t a big deal and that I didn’t need to make any more of it than it was. All of the positive habits I’ve built up over the past year – remembering to breathe, being kinder to myself, taking a break if I need it, and then getting back on that horse – worked, because my weakest link wasn’t a factor. I doubt things would have gone as well if I’d been hungry. I'm so grateful and excited that I've figured this out.

Weakest links. They are important. Do you know what yours is? Do you have one? Tell me if you think this could be a good discovery for you, too.

Sunday night thoughts

One of the afternoons when we were in San Diego last month, Ben and I went to the beach at high tide. It was the first time I can ever remember being there at the exact time of high tide. We were playing out in the waves like we always did, but it was crazy. The waves were deeper and they came so much faster than we were used to. After diving into a wave, it was necessary to come up as soon as possible and get sure footing and look to see what was coming. The few times we didn't do this we were knocked off balance, or went under without meaning to. It was a lot of hard work, and I got tired really soon.

I've thought a lot about the ebb and flow of life in the past years. When I taught Sunday School a few years ago, I would talk about it with our class. I always thought that the hard times in my life were when the water was ebbing: I felt thin, I felt bereft, I felt that I was far away and that life was in slow motion. But that day on the beach when the waves came one after another and I had to be so diligent (diving, getting my feet under me, coming up, looking out for the next wave) I realized that for now, the hard time is a flow. The waves are fast and I can't always see what is coming or understand what to do with it once I see it.

Here are a couple of the waves that are coming at me.

Church these days - it's hard. I'm in a loop right now where I'm really ok with everything to do with God and Jesus, but my testimony of other things is struggling. There are things I can't say "I know" about anymore. But I'm okay with that.

I remember a few months ago I was talking with a friend who is in my ward who has gone through a lot of hard things, and now she is a lot less active than she used to be. She said one of the hardest things about being at church in her new life is how fragile people treat her, as if at the slightest word or look will cause her to leave the church forever.

I loved that she told me that. It helped me to realize that in my own current struggle, I don't want to be treated like I am fragile. I also don't want to act fragile in my struggle. I want to boldly admit that I don't know all that I used to know. But I want to say just as boldly that I still want God in my life and I vehemently want to believe that I'm still loved by Him and even think that he probably understands me a little and even knew that I would feel this way and struggle like this. I want to feel worthy of that love and I want to declare to the wonderful young women that I work with (and the older women too, and the boys, and well, everyone!) that they are worthy too.

I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving or wanting to leave. But I'm also not the same person I used to be. It's been hard but rewarding to go through this time. I have more empathy for others who struggle. I'm more likely to voice my doubts in a meeting than I used to be, even if I worry that my comment will make me look "less faithful" than I would have wanted to appear in the past. It's a process.


Anxiety. Remember when Harry Potter went into Gringotts Bank at the end of Deathly Hallows and how he had Griphook on his back, whispering what to do to get past the Goblin security? Well, I feel like my anxiety is like Griphook, except it's only him under the invisibility cloak. People can see me, and some people can see Griphook, but most just feel him on my back and wonder what is making my shoulders so tense and my walk so unsure and unsteady. (hmm, I started this post out with a wave analogy. I'm easily distracted!)

I go through times when I don't think about it at all, and others when it's all I ever think about. I have a lot more days that are good, which is a big relief. But some moments I feel like I will never stop over thinking every tiny body sensation, or analyzing everything I do to see if it's a connection to it. I've made some good connections lately - I've realized how much my emotions are tied to how long it's been since I've eaten, and that staying really hydrated is a must. Which are two good things to know regardless of whether I'm anxious or not. I need to take care of my body and know what it needs so that it can take care of me. I'm also trying to not be so hard on myself when I am anxious or just having a hard time. I want to get to a place where I accept that it is part of my life, a part that I didn't really want or ask for, but that I can live with.

Those are two of the biggest waves I'm paying attention too. There are others but I'm not wanting to go into much else tonight. I'm actually in a pretty damn good place even with these things. I'm liking who I am and feeling that even if I don't have all the answers, I can do this.

Are you watching the waves come in? Are you in ebb or flow when the tough times start?

Hallelujah - I'm 41!

I'm 41. Good riddance to 40.

The past year - gah, I've been a mess. I may still be, but just being past the year in which I was 40 is a giant relief. 

In the late evening last night, I went to the library. After an enjoyable 20 minutes of texting with Amy in library-desperation of finding a book, I walked out into a beautiful sunset. I sat on a bench and took a picture and I realized: it's over. I don't have to be 40 anymore. The sky and the birds and the trees and the twilight all over made me so happy and relieved. 

There haven't been many moments of sheer joy. There have been way too many filled with other emotions (that just writing about feels me with dread.) I know that an age really doesn't matter, but the 365 days that began on July 4, 2015 were all tied in to the idea of turning 40 and feeling betrayed by my body and my mind and everything about myself that I thought I knew. 

I went to bed feeling happy. I woke up feeling happy. My birthday has been really great and it all seems so simple and unexpected. I wish I could have felt on my 40th birthday what I feel today. But I was a different person then and I guess I needed to go through this past year to know what it can be like.

At 41 -

I'm more willing be authentic.

I'm more willing to say my feelings.

I'm able to understand my feelings.

I'm able to control my reactions. Maybe not perfectly every time, but I'm much less reactionary.

I'm less willing to believe everything I think.

I'm trying hard not to spend so much time in my head.

I realize that not making a choice is making a choice, so I'd rather just decide and move on.

I'm trying to not worry about what others think.

I've been thinking about the Harry Potter quote from Deathly Hallows, when Harry is asks Dumbledore "Is this real, or is it just happening in my head?" And how Dumbledore says, "Well of course it's happening in your head, but that doesn't make it any less real." (I'm paraphrasing!) It's sort of been playing out daily for me in two ways: real things seem less so, and my thoughts seem immeasurably real and giant (and, honestly: frightening!) But I'm ready to believe more in the things I can taste and see and smell and feel and that are real and stop living in the imagined future and reimagined past.

41. I'm only 1 day into it, but I'm so happy it's here.

I'd rather....

- spend the day at the beach than the zoo.

- lie to you if I think the truth will hurt you.

- change the subject or focus if I don't agree with what you are saying than have to debate my point.

- drink a Coke than a Pepsi.

- stifle a creative endeavor if I think it's not going to be perfect or as good as the ideal in my head, or as good as someone else could do it.

- have a conversation about what is really happening in your life than make small talk about the weather or what I ate for lunch.

- know your what favorite book is than your favorite shoe designer.

- apologize to you than hear you apologize to me.

- go to the library than the bookstore (but I still really like the bookstore.)

- buy lunch than make one.

- sit by myself in church.


 - read a novel than a memoir.

- wear flip flops. Always.

- wear a cute skirt than a pair of work pants.

- not tell you how I really feel, because I don't feel like my point of view will stand up in the light of yours.

- have a cat than a dog.

- hike uphill than down.

- be warm than cold.

- wear a full-zip jacket to a quarter zip or hoodie.

- have thumb holes.

- drive myself so that I can use the fastest route.

- help you than ask you to help me.

- not worry anymore what others are thinking about me.

- have the knowledge I've gained over the past year. But it would have been nice to have learned it in an easier way.

- drink a rootbeer freeze than a milkshake.

- be authentic to myself.

- spend time making memories with my loved ones.

- be there for you than let you be there for me.

- cook dinner rather than do the dishes.

- eat pancakes or waffles than eat french toast.

- run than walk.

What would you rather?

Brené Brown: an author review, of sorts.

I've always been a huge believer in a book finding you at just the right time. Usually for me, said book is fiction, with a character whose struggles mirror my own in some way, or a setting that feels so familiar it's like being home. I'm not much into non-fiction; I've enjoyed a few (Terry Tempest William's Refuge and John Krakauer's Into Thin Air come to mind, both read with my book group), but usually about a third of way through non-fiction books, especially when they deal with self-help, I tune out and lose interest.

Enter Brené Brown. I first heard about her when a friend posted her TED talk on shame and vulnerability on Facebook. Listening to that talk was so enlightening - I can still remember the little explosions going off in my brain as I identified with her wise words on shame. I always remembered how that TED talk made me feel, but I didn't take it any further.

Then a few weeks ago I had a thought in the shower (because doesn't all wisdom flow from the time you spend in the shower? I saw a meme that said a fraction of our time in the shower is spent cleaning ourselves, and the majority is spent evaluating our life. So true!) about my tendency to ruminate. Since my anxiety blew up last summer, a lot of my rumination time is spent either suppressing or magnifying my heightened emotions about driving to work. I vacillate between the two on almost a minute by minute basis on the days I go to work. Or, if it's not the drive to work, it's my feelings about a person or a situation that makes me feel vulnerable in some way. I realized that if I'm going to live with anxiety, I need to find a way to let it be in my life but not the focus of my life. And to start that journey, I need to learn to get out of my head.

One of the suggested books about rumination and worry was by Brené Brown. I can't tell you which one, because my search resulted in my reserving several of her books and audio books at the library. I started reading the first one that came available as a hold - I Thought It Was Just Me (But It Isn't). (I also picked up Rising Strong, but old habits required me to read ITIWJM, because it was written earlier, and I wouldn't want to "spoil" the series by reading the last book first!) After the Introduction, I realized that it would never do to just read the library copy - I wanted to write all over the book immediately. By page 44, I was sending pics of favorite passages to Amy, and on page 76 (which I read while on a flight to Spokane for Bloomsday - a moment I think I will remember my whole life), I had a revelation about my life and how I use shame and vulnerability against myself that forever changed me. Making a mental note to buy the book as soon as I got the chance, I got out the journal I'd brought along with me on the plane and started writing. I saw the shame that has hampered my adult life with such a clarity and the source that started its terrible trajectory in such a clear-eyed way that I knew I'd never be able to go back. I'm different, altered, changed - whatever synonym a thesaurus can come up with - I'm that.

Shame has been my go-to place for so long that I cannot remember a time when it hasn't been my companion. I don't know what happened or didn't happen to make that be my reality. Brown's distinction of how guilt and shame are different - guilt is the feeling that something you have done is bad, shame is the feeling that what you are is bad - was especially helpful, because I've never wanted to call what I feel shame - I've always blamed it on guilt. But my interior landscape has always told me that I'm fundamentally bad. And as a result, I've spent my whole life trying unsuccessfully to argue with that landscape. (Putting that sentence out there makes me feel so vulnerable - I want to delete it. But allowing myself to be vulnerable and not sell the image that "I'm perfect!" is what will help me to start to alter my landscape, which I want to do with all of my heart and soul.)

I now have my own marked up copy of ITIWJM. I just finished it this morning. I've also been reading in tandem a library copy of The Gifts of Imperfection (another one I need to buy - I might as well start my own library of Brown's books.) Reading them together helped to explain and clarify questions I had about ITIWJM - many of the ideas carry over into The Gifts, reinforcing some of the harder concepts for me to apply.

Like Brené Brown says in the book, reading just one book on shame isn't going to solve my issues with shame and vulnerability. But I'm better armed to change my landscape because of the following:

• I have knowledge of what to call the emotions I feel that cause me to want to control situations.
• I can be better prepared for the situations that lead me to anguish over others' feelings about me.
• I can better process and maybe understand the feelings that start debates in my head that tell me without mincing any words just how terrible I am and why. Maybe I can even head off these thoughts before they start.
• I can identify what my shame triggers are and which screens I use internally and externally to throw others off of the scent of my vulnerability.
• I can be more helpful to others when they are showing me their vulnerability. My go-to mode in these situation is to try to head off their pain and tell them that what they are saying isn't true because I don't want them to experience pain. A favorite quote - "can we be with her in her shame? Or do we feel the need to make it better or redirect the conversation? If we are willing to be open and present, we are willing to practice compassion." And also, "Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It's a relationship between equals." (that last quote is quoted in the book -  it was said by Pema Chödrön, an American Buddhist nun. Love, love that quote and I want to strive to use it in my life.)

If you see or talk to me in real life and I start spouting off these newfound truths, forgive me. Or maybe you can sit with me in my vulnerability and then let me sit with you. Or maybe I won't remember what I've learned and I'll try to fix you - forgive me again. If I get angry and go off on you about things that happened in the past or situations that I make me vulnerable because they show me an part of myself that I don't like - forgive me, I'm trying to change my old patters of shame screens and identities that I want to avoid. If you catch me quiet and scatter-brained because I've gotten stuck in my head again, forgive me and ask me what I'm feeling shameful about and then let me be vulnerable with you. If you respond in a way that doesn't address my vulnerability, I'll try (maybe unsuccessfully) to forgive you and realize that you are doing your best. If I give you a copy of a book to read or send you quotes I like - forgive me; just know I love you and want to share something that felt authentic in me and I sent it to you in the chance that it will feel authentic to you.

I'm planning to finish The Gifts of Imperfection and move on to Rising Strong.

Have you read any of these books? Is it just me? Do I sound completely crazy-pants? I'd love to have your comments.<3 br="">

Filling in the spaces

A few months ago, I posted about my anxiety. And then I stopped blogging. Not that the two were related, but I just could never get myself to take the time to blog. 

I’m a natural born worrier. I have worried about uncontrollable situations for as long as I can remember. It wasn’t until this summer that I found that my tendency to imagine the worst was more than just an annoying habit. Anxiety has become an entity in my life that goes with me wherever I go. Even when I’m not thinking about it, it’s always right there in the back of my mind. I constantly monitor it, judging if it’s at an acceptable level or not. I find it exhausting.

I wish I could say that after getting on medication, it all went away. I can definitely say that medication helped. Holy cow, it helped and I will always be very grateful that I made the decision to seek help. The place where I was all through August and into September was terrible. By the time I finally stopped fighting the idea of medication, I was in a dark and terrifying place. I was scared to sleep. I was scared to be in confined spaces. I was scared of passing out at any given moment. I was terrified to drive, especially on the freeway. It was awful, awful, awful.

It took a while for everything to even out. I was very grateful that I had decided to run an October half marathon. Having to do long runs each week gave me something to think about and plan for – a much needed diversion. I could also remind myself on a weekly basis with my long run that if I could run 7, 8, 9, 10 miles without passing out, that I could do the same while driving in my car. It took a few weeks, but I eventually got to a place where anxiety was in the background of everything.

I’d like to insert this quote from a Nine Inch Nail’s song:

“Then a tiny little dot caught my eye. It was just about too small to see. But I watched it way too long. It was pulling me down….I was up above it. Now I’m down in it.”

Isn’t that how it is? A tiny little dot, watched for too long, that somehow becomes all you can see. To be honest, my mom’s sale of her home and move dominated my thoughts for much of December and January. I had hoped she would sell for over 10 years (I can remember the first thing I said to my mom and dad when my dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s was – are you going to sell the house?) I tried to prepare her, pack her, convince her to move for a very, very long time. When she got the offer in November it seemed like a godsend, but the timing was awful. In the mix of all the December activities, her move was a giant arrow on the calendar with a few bullseye rings around it. On Christmas, I looked around at her house and realized how much still needed to be done. Even 10 days before the move, the house wasn’t nearly ready to be moved out of. I tried to do things to alleviate what I felt was an inevitable train wreck, but I couldn’t manage it. It wasn’t my responsibility to carry out, and though I did what I could, it was hard for me to realize my place in it or allow my brain to stop worrying about it.

On Human Rights Day I decided to drive down to see my mom’s house one last time. I had tried to be ok with saying goodbye to it the previous Thursday, but then I realized that I really wanted to see it empty. I didn’t realize how emotionally fraught I was until I found myself in a full on panic attack on the freeway on the way down. I decided that freeway driving may not be the best idea, so I took the back roads the rest of the way and talked to Amy on the phone. I was so nervous to see the house. I was nervous that the new owners would be there and I wouldn’t get to be alone. I was anxious to get it over with and be back on my way home.

When I got there, I had a pretty good experience. I took a few pictures that I really wanted to get. I walked through every single room. I walked over to the neighbor’s house and hugged her, crying and telling her how grateful I was that she had helped my mom for so long. I looked at the house in different angles. It wasn’t just that it was empty. It just looked so…alone. Left behind.

After about half an hour, I set off home. Now, I’m usually a greedy girl and stop at the gas station on my way home (there is a lovely gas station there that has a drive through!) but I was trying to hurry so I just didn’t stop. I found that my earlier panic started right back up where it left off. About 20 minutes into the drive, I pulled off the freeway again and decided to give myself a break by getting a drink. It was then that I discovered to my everlasting horror that I had left my wallet back at my mom’s house. The thought of going back to get it nearly pushed me over the edge, but panic attack or not, I turned back around. It was sort of good – I ended up seeing my mom at the house for a minute, which was good. But it sucked adding an additional hour to my drive home. The lesson I learned from this was that I can drive through multiple panic attacks for hours on end and come out of it somewhat ok. I didn’t go crazy or crash my car or even do anything remotely close to those things. It’s the small victories, right?

The best part of the whole thing is that it’s finally done. My mom is moved. I feel like she was incredibly brave to have done it. It is such a relief to have her moved to a more manageable home that’s closer to me and my sisters.

The hard part has been telling my brain that it’s over. Over the many years of waiting, I’ve worn a very deep groove of worry about her and her home. Once it was over, I found that I didn’t know what to do in its absence. The after effects of the stress were almost as bad as the stress itself – maybe worse, because now it’s hard to figure out what to do about my anxiety over my anxiety. All of the feelings came rushing back that I had dealt with last summer.

I think I’m finally on the other side of it all. I’ve learned an important lesson about how I react to stress. The fact that my anxiety goes up after the stress has gone is crappy, but something I’m glad that I’ve figured out because it sort of helps explain my reaction last summer when it all began. I’m trying to not to be hard on myself at the fact that I relapsed. I’m so very glad that I’m better equipped to deal with it this time around. But the process of finding new ways to spend the mental energy I used to spend worrying about my mom’s house has been not very fun. I’d like to start filling in the spaces with more meaningful and positive thoughts instead of turning my mental energy to even more impossible-to-control things like global warming or gang violence or Donald Trump’s presidential run. I think I’m on the right track.