faith and works and other thoughts

listening to a podcast (in sight, episode 5) I had a discovery about myself.

Helen has this to say about perfectionism in adults who were parentified and raised by a narcissist. as a child, when we are criticized, it can form a toxic form of perfectionism. "As long as I don't do anything to invoke their ire, I am safe." this perfectionism became my protection, and I worked tirelessly from early ages to maintain that status. as I became a teenager, it became more difficult. I went to great lengths to do what I wanted - smoke, drink, drugs, boys, risky behavior - I once jumped on the back of a stranger's bullet bike at 12:30 am after dancing at the palace all night and let him drive me home - while also curating a careful image that none in my FOO would be able to see through. I had a few cracks, but mostly they were covered over with careful wording and fast thinking on my part.

The pressure of those early misbehaviors to stay perfect ended when I got married, but the image curation still remained, only it became a protection of my FOC. I acted as a door to my family to block any criticism of them, or even hint of criticism. because I knew that criticism would come, I didn't allow mixing to happen. I would then do acts - works - that in my mind added up to "good Becky." as long as I kept doing the things that maintained my image, I felt I could "store up blessings" that later would balance the scale in my favor when I finally fucked up (which I knew I would, and therapy brought those events to fruition) to keep my FOO from rejecting me.

Back to the podcast - when criticism comes to me as as an adult with the context of being a parentified enmeshed person in my FOO, my curation of toxic perfectionism forces me to see their criticism of my behavior as a rejection of my whole self. "if you comment and criticize that I talked to c, it means to me that you don't like ME - you reject me and all the "works" I've done to pad the scale for the time when just such a situation happens.

It's a toxic form of doings that will show that "I am good" and I'm "earning blessings" that will offset the scale later.

It's not bad that I've done the good things I have. My bigger intentions have been good - to create relationships with those I love in my FOO, and I was blessed by those interactions. But I cannot expect total acceptance when I cross others' boundaries. there is a dance that one must do, and total perfectionism cannot be maintained, and should never even have been the goal. But because I had a perfectionistic mother, I also worked to be perfect and I was bound to fail. I set myself up to fail; so did my mom (by both setting herself and me up to fail) and I failed to understand that others in my FOO may have had other reactions and did other works that I am not aware of and are not my business to guess at or blanket apply my logic to theirs.

I cannot ever preemptively do enough for others to outweigh/offset/negate the pain I cause them. There is no storehouse of events for me to draw on in a moment of hurt that I can hold up and say - look, all THIS trumps THAT. There is no math that allows me to claim exemption and avoid looking at the pain others have felt because of me. Which also means that if others hurt me, I don't have to minimize that pain because of what I deem their "scorecard" is stacked against me - everything kind that has been done by them which my inner critic notes as a tickmark so that I feel disempowered to say when something hurts me but I don't have the right to feel hurt, nor to speak the words that say ouch.

What I learn from this - rejection of a behavior isn't rejection of my self. There is no "good person" narrative for me to fall back on if and when others share their experiences with me regarding painful things I do or have done to them. 

One of the most damaging phrases is "you could have just XXX." This phrase is an opportunity for miscommunication on both sides of the phrase, both the one saying it and the one receiving it. Circling back to state how a person could have acted puts the already hurting person who did XX into a defensive mode. When S said - you could have just moved on and let it go - I got defensive because I didn't like her reframing how my reaction to the FB post "could" have been. She doesn't know what pain it caused me. I still think she was crossing boundaries by saying anything to me bc the situation didn't involve her at all, but she was the one who policed it. but I do understand that she would protect her family. But she chose her tactic - call out the behavior and provide a solution that would work for HER  - which put  me on the defensive.

If a person asks for feedback, the phrase can be helpful, but without consent and using this phrase in the confrontation stage of communication will fail, it seems. 

My FOO doesn't have a jesus for us all to appeal to. Mom might have been that, but she was the one who trained me to behave how I did, so she's part of the problem while also being viewed as the savior. 

When shit hits the fan, as it has over the past 18 months, I found that there is no magical court set up for me in the pattern of the final judgement. I thought the following could be relied on.

• Desires of my heart - which I felt were obvious enough - "I'm a good person who...." 
• Works - actions I did in the real world for others - also "I'm a good person who..."
• I "stored" them up, doing everything I could to add as many pluses as possible in the good column of the magical volume entitiled "IS Becky a good person" 
• I had a sense of "faith" in the protection that the pluses would void a future minus
• in in the moment of "transgression", the score of the two columns can be tallied, betting on my perception that the pluses weigh more than minuses, and that there are far more pluses in my favor - because CLEARLY XXX mean that I'm good, don't you remember that? 
• I count on "grace" to step in, to help me explain the minus
• remind others of the past to further balance the scale toward myself ("haven't I..." "don't I" "What about when...")
• I can claim the pluses outweigh the minuses
• I have a space to exist where I feel blameless, washed in some redemptive power outside myself
• I feel justified to say that the other who was hurt is just being "too sensitive." I can talk about this to others who will help me scapegoat the one who was offended, helping to assure me I don't deserve to be treated thus, to be forced to see my role someone else's pain

My treasure trove failed. The past can't and won't override my "offence." My pain doesn't weigh more than others, and my kindness doesn't relieve me from responsibility. But I also can't use my own calculus of points I give others in their "good" columns when they are kind to me against myself to feel unworthy to call out pain others cause me.

I have to accept that my actions will hurt others. I have to accept that I will be hurt by others. I cannot expect my works to circumvent those situations, either by me not feeling worthy to feel hurt over something, nor cancelling the idea that someone else can't be hurt by me. The family dialogue around claiming one person or another is "such a victim" is a family habit of shaming those who point out the disfunction and then we scapegoat that person. The indirect communication, the constant use of subtext to interpret and then attempt to correct offenders and keep family members in line.

My perfectionism tells me that even as I add those pluses to my tally, they won't be enough. I know I'm in debt before I even start, but I want to fall back on them so badly. I so badly want those works to mean I'm lovable. I'm unwilling to admit my pain bc I feel unworthy. but I need to realize that my pluses only mean something to ME. no one else knows my intentions behind the things I do. it won't mean the same when I hold it up later to say, "SEE? Look here and remember. I'm good!" I'm begging them to allow me to have a sense that I'm good, rather than believing it myself, and realizing as much as I can make people happy, I can also hurt. It goes both ways.

I need to stop equating criticism of my behavior to total rejection of me as a person. When I do that, I add insult to injury and make myself out to the be ultimate victim in the situation, rather than realizing that I am human, I mess up, I will hurt others and need to be aware of that. In doing that, I become a barrier to any  healing that might happen. Taking responsibility is hard. Speaking up when hurt is hard. but I believe I can learn to do both.

notes/quotes from podcast

adult child - this happened - parent take responsibility/account/ownership. defenses go up. x happened, parent: reaction matters. don't minimize, "xx had it worse"). child of narc - neurotic perfectionism. if i'm not perfect, it means i'm the worse person in the whole wide world, can apply to our parenting. child - I don't like it. we see it as a rejection of whole self instead of the situation, can reject the child. allow room for imperfection - it's acceptable. when they say - I don't like that, it doesn't mean I don't like you. it's not you that they are rejecting. but affect of having a narc parent is we learn the learned behaviors to create safety. getting to a place where self acceptance mistakes as anything other than a mistake. when they see their mistakes as an absolute confirmation of everything they've been told that they are vs being told you are allowed mistakes, you are only human, it's going to happen, but podcasters say - we will say I'm sorry. 

reflect on our impact - what impact did I have

compassion for our mistakes vs eating ourselves up for our misdeeds, taking responsibility.

podcaster - my friend is laughing with me about my mistakes. if i was unhealed, I might take it and be shamed or embarrassed 

boundary setting could be seen as anger and rejection when those items were used as punishment from earlier relationships. emotional control could be implied when boundaries are set. walls vs boundary

abuses create walls. is there a door? (helen) boundaries are rigidly flexible and walls are inflexible. see my edges then I can see where their edges are and I hold on to me. blurred edges are confusing - fault assigning 

Third Quarter Covid 19

It's the 9th month of Covid 19. Seems like it's time to make a few lists!

World Events

1. JOE BIDEN defeated Trump. A few times, actually. There have been a few recounts in a few states that just keep yielding more votes for Biden. Can't wait for Trump to leave in 50 days. 
2. I wore every bracelet I own for good energy for Biden on election day. We spent election night at soccer practice, watching the returns for Trump looking like he would do it again. We left soccer and drove home in silence, the weight of the idea of 4 more years under the inanity nearly overwhelming me. We got home and the TV returns were more promising. I watched the states all turn towards Biden as the week went on - Arizona, Georgia, and Pennsylvania. The red mirage faded! Then Saturday morning that the Pennsylvania lead got statistically unbeatable - they called it for Biden as we watched MSNBC. It was a wonderful, joyous moment! 
   
   
   
   
   
   
3. The US elected a woman for Vice President.
4. We also continue to have no strategy for the Covid pandemic, no assistance from the government to feed or help house those who have lost their income because of Covid, nor a plan to keep us all safe until the vaccines come later this month.
5. There are 2 vaccines that will arrive this month.

Halloween and Thanksgiving recap

1. Other than decorating for Halloween, there wasn't any celebration of it this year.
2. We spent the late afternoon/early evening at soccer practice (we were preparing to go to Las Vegas for a tournament that eventually got cancelled). We didn't have any trick or treaters, which was sad. We spent the evening watching TV.
3. The day after Halloween we put up our trees. They got decorated a week later. The decor was a bit schizophrenic until after Thanksgiving when all the decorations changed from Halloween/Harvest/Christmas to all Christmas.
4. I've decorated 4 trees. I keep buying mini ones at Target, along with ornaments that make me feel joyous. There's a tiny one I put upstairs with mom's fairy decorations and some cute stuffed animal ones I got at Target.
   
   
   
5. Thanksgiving was quiet. Vonnay visited for a few minutes on Wednesday. I made rolls and 3 pies (lemon meringue, pecan, and pumpkin) on Thanksgiving Eve
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
6. I messaged with a few friends in the morning. I was feeling a bit sorry for myself and then our wonderful next door neighbors brought over a little pumpkin cake and a center piece. Their generosity pulled me out of my gloom and I had a great day!
7. Shane and I ran a 5k around the neighborhood/Lodestone Park
8. We ate around 4:30. Thomas claimed the rolls were like candy. We all tried the yams. I tried the fruit salad. Boys refused to eat the beans. I enjoyed Vonnay's cranberry relish.
9. We ate pie around 8, still so stuffed we could hardly stand it
10. 
11. Reminisced a bit about last year, when we ate together at the buffet in Las Vegas. That was a treasured memory, funny as that sounds. I was glad to not do the drive, but I wanted to travel again this year, especially with how weird everything is with my family

Therapy updates (these are mostly vague intentionally)

1. Had some eye opening appointments, one about bullies in my life. 
2. I'm trying to find the grey spaces in my life. Some of the characters in the black are ones that I want to move to the grey space, where I can take what they do less personally and just wish them well
3. I did the thing I never thought I would. It was as ugly as I worried it would be. Still figuring out what to do in the aftermath, but it's a relief in almost all the ways, but weighs on me/fucks with my head a lot still.
4. Had the appointment about the salt, and the cliff that can't hurt me with its shadow. Salt has savor and in small doses makes life sweeter
5. I'm trying to remember to walk in line with my people in the rich dark vibrant tropical landscape with the volcano in the distance

Books I've been reading/listening to

1. Magic Lessons - Alice Hoffman - Loved it so much
2. 19th Wife - was ok. It was fun to read with Cindy and Rebecca
3. Harry Potter #1
4. Disloyal
5. Melania and Me
6. Caste
7. Cassandra Speaks

Things we've done in pandemic quarter 3

1. 2 Trips to Desolation trail to snow hike with all of us and the dog. I love these little hikes, even though there hasn't been much snow.
   
2. Dinner with Eugenia and Fred
3. Soccer practices at Real Academy
4. State cup tournament in North Salt Lake - Ben had some great goals
5. Library opened for in-person visits
6. Fabric store visits were mostly for Halloween fabric. I finished the mini quilts for Janna, Cindy, Rebecca, and Camie. I got most of the Halloween panel quilt put together. A few masks. Want to make some tree skirts for the mini trees. 
7. Thomas grew a beard for No Shave November, and finished his Math 1050 class!
   
   
   
8. Ben started making chicken during his almost-all-of-November online school experience.
9. I got my laptop and 2nd screen for WFH. So much more efficient! 
   
10. Spent a day in the office - so strange to be there. I left my little acorn tops from 2019 for the end of the pandemic/return to work.
    
11. Got to order Skirt Sports stuff again! 
12. Bucket got her cyst cut off. She looks so much better!

Places we've been eating

1. Zao (one will open soon in Jordan Landing)
2. Noodles and Company
   
3. Rumbi (on Thursday nights with Ben driving)
4. JCWs in Herriman - I'm a sucker for their turkey avocado
5. Costa Vida - the delicious chili verde returned in October/November
6. Buffalo Wild Wings a few times
7. Jersey Mikes

Workout stuff

1. Need to do more Yoga
2. Speed/intervals on Sundays on the big treadmills are my favorite, followed by a cooldown 10 minute run and some strength by the mirrors
   
3. 
   Ran a few times on Grizzly Way in the leaves.
4. Remembered how much I love watching Willow get a bite of snow when it's snowy and we are running together
5. Am really enjoying the Peloton app. it's been my companion since almost day 1 of the pandemic

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.

Thoughts on trauma, with a story

I'm risking a bunch by writing this post. Trauma warning - child sexual assault

When I was 7, I broke my elbow. I had been to my mom's work that day, and I grabbed a tiny plastic bag with the emblem of her employer. My mom and I went together to a nearby park, and I begged to stay at the playground while she went across the street for some lunch. Not long after she left, I decided to go across the monkey bars with the bag on my hand. I made it 2 rungs - once the hand that had the bag on it gripped the bar, I immediately fell on the sand, breaking my left elbow pretty badly. At the hospital, the doctor on call set my arm and we went on our way. He ended up being a great orthopedic doctor and surgeon and so we stuck with him for a few years after my break.

A few months or years after I broke the arm, I had something going on with my back. I don't remember it being a big deal, just that my mom made me an appointment and we went to see the doctor who fixed my arm. By this time we knew him well. I later broke my other elbow, and he treated that as well (but I'm not sure where that fits into this timeline). The doctor was a big jovial person. He had thinning red hair and talked fast and jokingly. My mom and he got along well.

So I went in to see if anything was wrong with my back. And that required an xray. I left my mom with a male tech and went into the xray room. I had to get up on the table. I still had my underwear on, but I'm not sure about a shirt. I just know that the tech had me take my underwear down, which was appropriate for the xray, and seemed normal (I had had more xrays by this time in my life than I could count. My clubfoot surgery the prior year had fixed a problem I'd been born with and so many xrays were taken of my foot. Plus add in the broken elbow from the year or two before and - xrays were old hat to me.) Once my underwear were down though, he touched me inappropriately and then asked if it "felt good." I said no and he stopped. But I was frozen on the table, waiting for the xray, and so I had to hold still in the same position as when he had touched me for the xray. My body memorized that feeling of frozen, of holding my body so still so I could have the back xray done, and that tension became something that I still find myself doing even today when my body encounters stress.

There were two parts to the event in the room that couldn't have been longer than 7 minutes. There was the part when he touched me and the part when he xrayed my back. They may as well be two different days or appointments for how disconnected they are.

I put my clothes back on and walked back in the room where my mom and the jovial world class surgeon were. I didn't have any space to tell her, so I never did.

 The first time I said out loud that this had happened was in about 1994 when I told my best friend Cindy. And then I never told another person until the 2016 election when the Access Hollywood tape came out and the whole world was talking about sexual assault. At that time, I created a generic Twitter profile and wrote that this had happened to me, along with 2 other incidents. That gave me the courage to tell my husband later in the day about my "Me Too" experiences.

I'm going to therapy currently in my life. My therapist is wonderful and is using EMDR techniques to help me get to a better version of myself. I have been telling her about this experience for a while, but a few appointments ago we got to an amazing level of memory with this event. I realized how mad I was that the doctor was already in the room when I got back from the xray. I realized how I felt crowded out and there wasn't space for me, even though it was MY appointment. I don't know if I had the level of trust with my mom at that point in my life that I would have told if the room had been empty of the doctor's presence, but maybe I would have. 

What I do know is that thanks to that appointment, I have now dislodged the block in my energy that this event caused, but like a boulder that crumbles and allows long held back waters to flow. The energy that was held in my body, the frozenness that I felt after the assault (I couldn't have called it that then, but I will now) was released.

Bodies have memories stored in them. I've known that a long time. But now I've processed that memory and the energy is clearing through.

Trauma can be healed. For me, I've realized that I can say I am healed/healing when I can put a beginning, middle, and end to the story. I didn't know that 3 weeks ago. But I do now. Another "me too" event has also been given a beginning, middle, and end as well. It is a relief.

My thoughts right now are saying many things to me, mostly - you shouldn't put this here. No one needs to read this, keep it to yourself. It's not "that bad" what happened to you, after all person A had X happen to her. It happened so long ago, it doesn't matter. Don't be dramatic.

But those are the things that kept me from telling.

Fuck that (sorry, that's two posts in a row using the F word.)

Tell your story. Tell your husband or wife or therapist or your sister or your mom or all of the above. If you want to, put your story on your blog or write it in a 100 long tweet thread, or buy a journal and write it all out.

Don't make excuses that your story doesn't matter.

Find some way to put a beginning, a middle, and an end to it.

If you can't, that's ok.

Just do your work. DO YOUR WORK. When the time is right. Be brave and take the step. The money won't matter. It will take time. But your fucking life matters and you deserve to own your stories.

I am so grateful to be right here. I have an endgame for therapy and I know what I want that Becky to look like. But I like the person that Becky is right now, too. She is all I have, and I'll stay with her.

Re-entry: What I bring verses what I take away

“Hello! Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me…is there anyone at home?” Pink Floyd – Comfortably Numb

It’s been a very long time since I’ve blogged. I don’t feel bad about that, other than I wish I’d been able to document the past year better. Although I write a little every day on a calendar journal I have, I don’t always capture the whole picture, be it little things that are too many words to write longhand, or the normal things (for right now) that I think will always be the same so why mention, or big things that just are too much to capture at night when I’m tired and I just want a few minutes more to spend in a book.

In July, we went to Hawaii. I’ve been wanting to do a big trip this summer to commemorate our family before it “changes” and we landed there. I don’t know what else to say about that, other than it was wonderful, horrible, frustrating, gorgeous, memorable, busy, heartbreaking, and spiritual all at once.

I had thought we would go to Europe this summer. All I wanted last year was to take my family to London. I was pissed I couldn’t do that, not actively angry, but just mad at life that it wasn’t possible. Then late in June a friend from elementary school shared pics from her Hawaiian vacation and I knew I needed to go there. Her photo shoot of her family on the beach, of zip lining on the north shore, of ringing a bell at a Buddhist temple called to me so strongly. So I brazenly copied her and yet had my very own Hawaiian vacation.

What drew me most was a place called Byodo-In Temple. It’s a replica of a 900 year Buddhist temple in Kyoto, Japan. It’s also a place that many Buddhists have chosen for their cremains. When were there, my family got to enter the space where the cremains are held and it was one of the most impactful events I’ve ever had. It was powerful there. It was spiritual in a way I don’t want to define with words. I felt the peace there and I realized how in trying to find balance, I’m actually experiencing unbalance.

After we walked through the sanctuary, we wandered the grounds and I kept thinking the same thing – My Qi is off. I don’t even know really what Qi is, I just knew that in stopping attendance to the Mormon church over the past 10 months, I’ve lost my spiritual practice. While I have every intention of meditating (my current connection to quiet and spirit) I rarely meditate. I think – I should do that. But I also say that about reading more, sewing, making dinner every night, reaching out to family, doing yoga. You name it, I’m actively saying I should do it and then staying busy so I don’t have to.

The death of my mom hit me upside the head in a way I didn’t ever know it would. It’s not about the realities of grief but more about the absolute feeling of aloneness, of orphanness. I know I’m not alone – but the loss of both parents untethers you from more things than your childhood home and whose in-laws you eat Thanksgiving with. There’s no longer a singular person – or pair of persons – who have to love you. There are only so many mementos you can stuff your house with, only so many rings you can wear on your fingers, blankets to drape over couches and rocking chairs, Barbie dolls to stuff in bins for future grandchildren hands to play with until you realize:

Nothing has value. Except relationships.

At first I wanted all the things. I brought them home and put them in places, some temporary, some permanent. I sobbed the day I brought home my grandma’s end table and lamps. Sobbed hard in my closet on a freshly washed afagan my mom had made. Because the only damn reason that table and those lamps would be in my house is if my mom was dead, and my dad was dead, which means my grandma and grandpa are dead too. Their deadness however long doesn’t matter because the lamps are in my damn house now. They are all gone and one day someone else will get them and I’ll be dead too.

See, nothing has value. It stays, and the owner goes. My relationship to those lamps – and their owners – means more than the lamps. And that doesn’t translate, no matter how long they are in my house, no matter who gets them after me.

As I walked in the sanctuary at Byodo-In, all I could think about was managing the barrage of spiritual feelings coming at me. My family could listen intently to the docent and notice the mementos behind the glass next to the cremains. Shane and the boys saw the Bud Light can behind the glass, I only tell the story of it being there and imagine it. But what I experienced was the potently charged air, the crowdedness of the empty hall and sanctuary, the close feeling. It didn’t scare me, it brought out feeling in a rush of tears. I remember the smell of the incense and the ringing of the singing bowl, my family all being there barefoot and sweaty in front of an altar.

When my mom died, I talked at her funeral about what we bring. “How do we show up in our lives, and our loved ones lives.” I followed that feeling throughout the clearing, cleaning, and selling of my mom’s house. I went to Hawaii to connect with her in a way I didn’t know I needed to. There was something left of her visit there from 1985 that still was there for me to pick up in 2019. Maybe it was in the sand at Waimea Beach. Maybe she’d left it somewhere on Kam Highway going to the North Shore. Maybe I didn’t find it at all, but drove past it and just smelled it on the wind. Suellen Was Here.

Now post-Hawaii, my talk has changed to “What do I take away?” Do I keep being hard on myself? Do I just keep doing what I’ve always done? Hiding my feelings. Pretending things don’t hurt. Waiting for the permission to live the life I want to live. What do I take away from knowing my qi is off? Do I blame my weight gain on it and eat some more potato chips? Yes, I do, some days. Others I really do meditate and then I feel like I have a gold star for effort and I’m “back on track.” I’m in a hurry to get *there* where I’ve learned all the things and am better for it, instead of patiently (and impatiently) making stabs at it, trying to figure out what works.

Introducing Spring, DBD, Holly, and the rest of the characters in my head

One of my favorite podcasts is 10% Happier with Dan Harris. I've listened to most of the podcasts; ok, maybe lately I've been behind because I can't stop listening to political podcasts (I'm looking at you, Rachel Maddow.)

The podcast today had Dan talking about an idea that I've liked for a while but not spent much time doing or paying attention to. When Dan gets distracted while meditating, he sometimes slips into common personality aspects that he's given real-life names to. The idea is that when we realize our brain is thinking the thoughts common to that character, we catch ourselves and come back to the present by naming them.

Anyway, based on Dan's advice, I'm going to devote this blog post to the different characters who often spend time in my mental ramblings. I'm going to attempt to name them, but I won't promise the names will stick. Maybe just identifying them will help me in some way to get myself out of the stories I often cast myself in.

Disclaimer 1: I promise, these are not evidence of any multiple personality disorder.
Disclaimer 2: These personalities might show a bit of my vulnerabilities, gulp.

• Spring. Spring comes around when I'm feeling particularly mother-earth-goddess-yoga-slash-meditation-instructor-y. She wants to be one with the earth and think that she can rise above all the problems if she just remembers that All! Things! Are! Impermanent! She narrates when I'm very, very content, or trying to Just Be With The Universe. Sometimes she's natural, sometimes she's forced. She's not a super common visitor, but she's always wanting to get her .02 cents in. Or just her sunshiny outlook, because Money Doesn't Matter to Spring so she doesn't have .02 cents.
• DBD. DBD is when I'm working something out with certain family members in my head. She is always undefended from other people's points, and she never wins. She pleads her case, citing examples of what she's done since birth that makes her not guilty of being a terrible person. DBD used to be really loud, and she would very often show up while driving. I can spend a lot of time lost in DBD's thoughts. I've made a lot effort to tell her to shut the efff up. But she's always there, waiting. DBD knows she is guilty of Everything.
• Writer McWriterson. This is the person who shows up mostly when I'm working something out in my life or mind, who thinks Everything She Has to Say is going to be important to society. She comes out most of the time when I'm walking in the tunnel beneath State Street on my way back from McDonalds. She can ALWAYS come up with the most profound blog posts, and they are really well written and flow and make the exact point that is important in my head. 
• Writer's Cousin, Photo McPhotoson, who takes the perfect photo. 
• Sister K. She is the Becky that both loves and resents religion. She's around a lot lately.
• Holly Hobby Lobby. She's the one who buys 2 or 3 extra fat quarters at the fabric store, and then also gets 3 more books that weren't on hold at the library 20 minutes later. She gives me grand visions of finishing my housework so I can sew followed by reading followed by deadheading the lilies outside followed by a nice walk or run followed by 20 minutes of meditation on the porch in the sun followed by making banana bread for the neighbor followed by listening to that awesome podcast while also singing loudly to all of the songs from my favorite bands followed by re-reading the Harry Potter series. And then, vacuuming takes forever because I keep taking breaks to look at my phone and I need another coffee before I sit down to sew, so....I never get my sewing machine out. and the rest of it was never happening to begin with.

I'm thinking six people to identify at first shot is pretty good. I'll try to notice when they stop by. Hopefully I can say hello, give them a lemon drop, and send them on their way.

Who is taking up space in your head?

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. 

On Expectations

On the July 4th while Amy, Kayci, and I were running down University Avenue in Provo, I commented on the Provo City Library. When I was young - probably kindergarten or so - I had a dream about it, when it was the abandonded BYU Academy. I remember being in the building, and there was a bridge that I crossed and went down some stairs. It's mostly just a snippet, but I rarely pass it now without thinking of the dream. In my mind, the inside looks like what I imagined through years of dream and memory and story.

I told Amy and Kayci my dream and how I've always wanted to go in, and Kayci told me that I should visit, that the library is really cool and she loved visiting there when she lived in Provo. I didn't expect to ever go in, but on Saturday, Shane and I had some time to kill in Provo and so we visited. I was really excited to see it finally.

It was nothing how I imagined. I had hoped I could look out of the western-facing windows onto University Avenue. I wanted it to feel like an old building and have eccentric quirks that usually come along with old buildings. In other words, I was hoping that it would feel just a little how it did in my dream.

I heard a quote yesterday while getting ready for my Sunday School lesson that said, "Expectations are disappointments waiting to happen." It's so true. I didn't enjoy the gorgeous tile on the stairs and third floor. I didn't explore the tiny art gallery off of the main hall. I wasn't interested in crossing into the new section on the east side of the building to see the main part of the library, nor the what I imagine is an amazing children's collection on the west. I just wanted to see something impossible.  I wasn't seeing what I wanted to see, so everything it was - and wasn't - was lost to me.

For so long after my anxiety started 2 years ago, I wanted to just be able to drive to work without being scared. I would spend all morning with a pit in my stomach, fearing what I thought was inevitable. If I could have magicked the fear out of me, I would have. Every day that I drove on the freeway I followed a pattern that became a self-fulfilling prophesy. Whenever I would have a good drive to work, I didn't trust it because I didn't know if I could do it again the next day. When I would have a bad drive, I let it ruin my whole day, because my expectations were that if I didn't have a perfect drive to work without anxiety, everything was lost.. My overarching expectation was really that I could go back to being who I was before I freaked out, and that driving was going to all of a sudden become not a problem, and I could move on and never look back.

But life doesn't let you go back. There is also no around or over or under or even across. There is only through. Once I started accepting my fear, instead of avoiding it and then punishing myself for it later, my relationship to it changed. When I finally had some space in my head and my heart, I found a way through. I stopped expecting to be afraid, I stopped fighting my fear, and instead just said hello to it when it happened. I stopped believing every stupid, irrational thought that sent my heart racing. Challenging those thoughts, not believing them, was one of the bravest things I've ever had to do.

Life doesn't really meet our expectations. But that doesn't mean it isn't great, or that we can't hope for things. Acceptance is counter intuitive. But once I got brave enough for it, it's changed so much in me.

I'm sad I visited the building. Not because I lost the imagined interior, or my dream. But I lost the hope that that place existed. And I lost the ability to see the library for the beauty that it really truly is. Maybe one day I'll go back. I'll go back so I can see the tile, and look out the northern windows. I'll go and smell the books and think about the old Provo Library that my grandma used to take me to. I'll recognize that some things will break my heart no matter what, and that's ok, especially if I remember that I still have choices, that nothing stays the same, that most things aren't permanent.

Summer 2017, so far

It's almost the Ides of July, so I thought I'd post a review of summer.

1. Memorial Day weekend, we went to Park City and stayed for the night. It was really fun and relaxing.We found the best breakfast spot - I can't wait to eat there again.
2. On a whim, I went to a Dead & Company concert in June. It was so much fun! I got there late and spent a lot of time finding my brother-in-law and nephew, but even so, it was a great time. I didn't ever imagine myself seeing any of the remnants of The Grateful Dead again - the last time I saw them was in June 1995, just a few months before Jerry Garcia died. But it was an enjoyable reminder of my youthful days. Hippies haven't changed much in 22 years, which is both surprising and comforting. I knew I could show up and even if I didn't find my people, I was still pretty much with my people.
3. My BFF Rebecca, came to Utah also in June. We spent a lovely morning whiling away the hours in her hotel room. I got to meet her daughter, who was just delightful, and adorable - she took a nap on my chest, which was a little bit like heaven. I haven't seen Rebecca since 2013, so it was a sweet reunion with (most of) her little family.
4. Our other BFFs also came to Utah in June. We spent 2 days visiting with them at their rental house in Salt Lake. We spent a lot of time laughing and going to the store and Starbucks and visiting with them and so many other people who love them. It was so nice to be able to drive across the valley to see them. The kids swam in the pool and played soccer in the front yard and Thomas took a 5 hour nap on the couch and none of us could have been happier.
5. Thomas has been going to cross country practice again this summer. It's fun to see him improving so much - the coach told me last summer it takes a year to make a distance runner, and I totally can see that now. He's also practicing driving so he can get his licence next month. They grow up too fast. He went to his first concert last Friday with friends, and he had so much fun. I love watching him start to have grown up experiences.
6. Ben tried out for and made the same soccer team that he did last year. We love the coach and the players. They did a tournament last week and it was fun to see him playing again, even if it was 150 degrees in the shade. (I might be exaggerating a little.)
7. I started riding my bike more and doing the stair climber at the gym. Every now and then, I remember I can't just run to stay in shape.
8. I went on a lovely hike with a friend the Friday before my birthday. I love hiking and want to do more of it.
9. I did the Provo Freedom Festival 10K with my sister Amy and oldest niece Kayci. It was so fun running with these women I love. We've never all done a race together, and we almost ran out of time before my niece moves again. So grateful that the stars aligned and we made it work.
10. After the race, I had a lovely breakfast with my mom. It was fun to just sit with her one on one and visit. 
11. I'm realizing that as my kids get older and start going this way and that with their friends, Shane and I have more time to just be together. We had 2 days in the space of a week where we were on our own. I love that we are still friends and enjoy each other's company.
12. For the first time in our lives, we were on the groom's side for a wedding! My nephew Zac got married at the end of June. It was an adorable wedding. I loved being with my family all together.
13. My car has been in the shop most of the summer due to transmission problems. I've been driving loaner Subaru Imrezas, and I'm getting a bit spoiled by them, with their fancy back-up cams and digital radio screens.

We still have a mini-vacation planned, and a few more soccer tournaments. I hope to do more hiking and spend more time with family.

How's your summer?

Tools in my backpack

Remember in January when I wrote that I never wanted to write about anxiety on my blog again? I still hold to that, in that I don’t want to have post after post chronicling my day to day successes and missteps with anxiety. But in a different way, I want to still write about it if only to help me remember when times get tough again, and to maybe somewhere, somehow help someone else.

Last Friday, I spent all morning trying to write a post about podcasts. But all of the words that I had were about anxiety, not podcasts. After multiple attempts at writing, I thought I figured out what was missing. For months, I’ve been thinking about drawing a…map of sorts about my anxiety, but I couldn’t think of a way that it would work. I decided that I needed my map for the podcast post, and so I dove in to making the map. And then I had a super exciting creative breakthrough. My quandary was still how to illustrate the nuclear bomb that was my meltdown with what lead up to it and what came out of it. All the vaporous clouds and squiggly lines that were in my head didn’t make a very interesting or satisfying depiction of what I wanted to put on paper.

And then came my breakthrough. A comic strip!  I loved the idea of a comic strip because I could use all the pictures and words that I wanted. It didn’t have to be one concise depiction. It allowed me to tell the story that I wanted to tell using bits of words and, mostly importantly, memories of moments that are already like a comic strip in my head. And while I’m a stick-figure person with no natural art talent, I could still get across exactly what I wanted to. I mean, it’s not as if I will ever share it with the wide world. I just needed it for me. I eagerly grabbed my markers and sketchbook and dove in.

The journey I’ve been on in the past year has been interesting. I got a lot of answers at the end of 2016, but the answers weren’t enough. I had made resolutions, such as:

·         Getting comfortable with being uncomfortable

·         Dropping the story line that constantly ran through my head

·         Not looking for the magic solution to my emotional states

Which are all great things to realize and want for oneself. However, I kept realizing in January and February that I had what equated to backpack (I’m going with backpack instead of purse, because, well, if you know me in real life, you know that purses aren’t my thing. But I’m currently carrying a backpack around, so it works!) with nothing in it that mattered. No wallet or keys or gum or hand lotion or chapstick or notebook or pen or half-read novel, all the things that make a backpack a helpful item.

One of the most important pictures in my comic strip is of my empty backpack. After the initial creative rush that I had on Friday morning (which was essentially an hour and a half of filling up 3 pages of my sketchbook with little boxes of words and stick pictures and one airplane that looked more like a UFO) I spent time on Saturday coloring in some of the pictures and finally working on the items I’ve discovered help me that go in my backpack. Because I can say finally, that I can spend whole days now in which I’m not terrified of remote but terrible things happening to me. I don’t have the electricity flashes that used travel through my body on a regular basis, resulting in my heart beating extra fast and my breath being hard to find. The vague underlying fear that I couldn’t put a finger on but made me withdrawn and stuck in my head and unhappy to the worst degree.

I will say it did not happen overnight. And just like a hammer can’t stand in for all of the other tools in a tool bag, there hasn’t been one figurative tool that could have gotten me here by itself (not for lack of trying - I looked high and low for that one magical tool for almost two years!) But I finally have multiple tools that can all work together to make it so that I can now get on the freeway without fear. And on the days that I do have fear, I can handle that fear. I didn’t think that would ever be possible.

I want to do a series of posts on my tools. Now that I’ve explained where they come from, I won’t feel like I have to go back to the beginning each time. I can now finish the podcasts post, write a post about playing the piano, and another about a book my husband and I read together, because I don’t have to start with anxiety. Which means that maybe it will stop being a major theme in my life.

I’m looking forward to those posts. Mostly because of the pleasure and healing that those things have brought to me. I couldn’t have gotten to them earlier – I had go through the hell of 2015 and 2016 to have them be so meaningful.

If you have tools that have built up your backpack, I’d love for you to share. I don’t think a person can have too many tools. And if you are searching for tools, come back and maybe some of mine can help you.

Currently: Late January edition

Wearing: Copper Hills high cross country shirt, jeans, wool socks. (I can't think of a day in at least 2 months when I haven't worn wool socks. They complete me.)

Drinking: water, after dumping out a half-empty Coke.

In my belly: Apollo Burger. I'm slightly obsessed with it lately, but tonight wasn't as good as usual, so maybe we need a break. Like the break we are currently taking from Cafe Rio, after a 2 month binge. (Who knew the tacos were so good? I've spent years eating the salads without knowing the tacos are where it's at.)

Watching: Steelers vs Patriots. Things aren't looking so good in the 2nd half.

Enjoying: having a family room light again. The light part of the ceiling fan went out in December and so we sat in the dark for over a month. We finally got one yesterday. Let there be light!

Reading: nothing interesting. I bought a book last week - Midnight Witch - but it's not calling out to me yet after 2 chapters (too many details about houses and furnishings and the characters all have titles and such. I don't need all the fluff, just give me story, and good characters, dammit!) I just finished After You and A Man Called Ove, both of which were really enjoyable.

Just finished: The Crown, on Netlix, which is about Queen Elizabeth et all in the 1950s. It was sooo good. Highly recommend.

Waiting: for the next This is Us. This is my favorite new show. We also watch Timeless, but that is pretty unrealistic and the plot is all over the place. But, I can't remember having more than weekly show to enjoy in a long time; for years, we only had Modern Family.

Trying: to spend a lot less time on my phone.  I can get lost in checking and rechecking the same things. I love it when people I love and am close to post, but it seems like they don't often (not that I do much, either!) so spending time doing other things. Or trying to.

Trying: hot power yoga. I went for the first time last Thursday. I didn't love the teacher. I didn't think the studio was very friendly. I didn't love how slippery my mat got. And there was a 6 foot 5 hipster who breathed and sighed so much during the class he nearly drove me to distraction (Millennial hipster yogis may be the most annoying demographic in the world.)  But I felt really good aftewards; I drove home in a peaceful thoughtless stupor, which was nice (no really, it really was nice.) I also liked that I went sort of on a whim with a person at work who I don't know well at all.

Loving: that Shane and I went to dinner this week for our anniversary. It's strange to be able to just leave and go to dinner together, no babysitters to obtain or arrangements to make other than food and/or friends for the kids. We ate at Carino's which is Italian food. Or, American Italian food, I should say, since none of the food in Italy was ever as adulterated as the Italian here. But I'm probably snobbish about Italian now.

Running: on the treadmill. I haven't been outside since before Christmas. It's been ok, but it will be nice to get outside sometime soon.

Considering: getting a goldendoodle. Gasp. I've never wanted a dog; in fact, we have often congratulated ourselves at how much we don't want or need a dog. But the universe is sending us messages that one is in our future. Amy tells me I don't have to be a victim to the universe, but this will probably happen in a few months. I know. I KNOW.

Disbelieving: everything that is happening in current events with the person who is in the White House. It's unbelievable.

Planning: on walking over to the start of the Women's March tomorrow. I'm starting to pay more attention to what is happening, who the players are, and what my role can be in this world. I've stayed on the sidelines for too long, hoping that others would ensure that the world was ok. Not anymore.

Blessing: the beautiful snow. I want to go snowshoeing so very much! It's not been fun to drive in, but I love that we are having good storms this winter, which not only helps our drought, but keeps our air cleaner. Just say no to inversions!

What is current in your world?

Snow Traveling: how not to do it

In October of 1985, my gymnastics group traveled to California to compete. My mom drove me and Amy, along with our older sister Suzette and a couple of other gymnasts. This was back in the day when people rolled their eyes at seat belts, so while you think we may have taken a giant Chevy Suburban or van, you'd be completely wrong. In fact, we took my mom's giant brown Cadillac car that she'd inherited from my grandpa.

Things were great on our trip for the first few hours. For some reason I can't recall, instead of driving straight down the I-15 corridor to LA, we took a detour through Delta, UT, and drove through through Nevada via the sexy towns of Ely and Tonopah in order to end up in Bakersfield, CA. This was all fine and good until we stopped for dinner at a casino in Tonopah. After we ate with the other people we were caravaning with, we somehow got separated from them as we left the casino. (It might have had something to do with the fact that one of the girls traveling with us took the cash sitting on a table in the casino, meant for a tip. She had no. idea. that it was a tip, and that she shouldn't pick it up and take it with her. My mom explained to her that people don't do that, and made her take it back to the waitress.)

I can clearly remember driving out out of the casino parking lot and my mom asking us if we saw any of the other drivers or cars. It was dark by this time, and it had started to snow. The rest of the party had left us. Undaunted, my mother soldiered on into the evening and eventual night with her carload of girls as she climbed into the Sierra Nevada. But after a few hours, the snow kept getting worse and she worried about going over the
mountain passes alone.

Finally, we stopped at a diner in the mountains. My mom went in and talked to the owner of the diner and the truckers who sat at the counter drinking coffee. They advised to stay put for the night. Not knowing what else to do, she paraded us all inside and told us to lay down on the benches and sleep. I'm pretty sure she sat at that counter all night, talking with this or that trucker, keeping us all safe.

The rest of the trip was uneventful in comparison. It's something that I will always remember, and after this weekend when I drove with Shane and my boys to a soccer tournament in Mesquite, NV, it's been on my mind. You see, we left for Mesquite at 11 on Thursday, knowing that Utah had had quite a storm the night before, but sure that we would be out of most of of it after we left Northern Utah. How wrong we were.

I think we left in the exact pocket that would ensure we had weather the entire way. The first leg of a southern trip for us usually has us stopping in Fillmore, UT, which is about 120 miles from home. Instead of the normal 2 hours, it took us close to 3.5. We ate lunch there and came out to 6 inches of new snow covering everything. We even had to wait 10 minutes to get on the freeway, as a trailer hauling steers had jackknifed at the bottom of the off ramp, while a long bed semi sat in in the middle of the on ramp.

I kept thinking it would get better, as we drove 30-50 miles an hour, but oh how wrong I was. You see, it was 17 degrees and snowing about as hard an fast as is possible. I'm not sure what did it, but the combination of freezing temperatures, blowing snow, hours on the road, and our defroster running at high for hours made our windshield wiper blades freeze over. We found ourselves going 15 miles an hour with a tiny inch of clearing for Shane to see out of, and a tiny clearing for me to see out of. I felt like I was driving as much as Shane as we just tried to follow the tail lights of the car in front of us as we crawled towards Cedar City, UT. There weren't any lanes, just snow and deeper snow where it hadn't been packed down. We stopped twice to clear our blades of ice and snow, which effectively ruined them.There is no way we would have made it if we hadn't have been going so slow.

We finally got into Cedar and bought new windshield wiper blades. By then it was after 6pm. After we got the blades, we went across the street to a delicious diner. The red booths were exactly like the booths that me and my sisters and friends had slept on so many years ago, so I told my kids the story. I realized again that at least when things don't go as planned, they at least make a memory and (hopefully, eventually!) a good story.

I wish that things magically got better once we got back into the car, fed and watered and newly bladed, but they didn't. It took us nearly 4 hours to go the 90 miles between Cedar City and Mesquite. At least one of those hours was spent at a dead stop. It didn't help to see the freeway on the other side also at a deadstop, multiple car crashes and pileups and even a jackknifed semi adorning the freeway going north. Once we got to St George, where the roads were finally, miraculously clear, even if they were wet, we were so gunshy that we traveled the Virgin River Gorge extra cautiously. And I've never been so relieved to be at a small town casino hotel in my life as I was when we finally arrived at 11pm.

It took us 12.5 hours to go 330 miles. I'm pretty sure my kids made a pretty interesting, if not fun, memory. They didn't get to sleep on the benches, but they will remember the snow and the hours in the car, me scraping the windshield with a plastic tray from out of my car console (because I didn't own a windshield scraper, wft!?), rolling down their windows to keep from melting from the heat as we tried to defrost the snow and holding their hands out the window in the freezing snow, the icy hills that we crawled down at 5 miles an hour. It was an adventure that we can all tell, especially now that we are home and safe and warm.

The 1970s green puffy coat

One of my surprises this year for Christmas was a new coat. Although I never would have asked for such a coat, I admit that I love it. It's a down-filled pink coat with a (swoon!) inside pocket. I'm a sucker for inside pockets that keep me from losing my keys. (which is another story that I really should, and will, blog about.)

A few days ago as Shane and I were driving around, I told him how much I liked my coat. And then I started thinking about how popular the nylon, down-filled coats these days and I remembered another coat, that was very similar but that I didn't love quite as much.

Sometime in the end of the 70s or early 80s, my parents got matching green nylon down-filled coats. I'm sure at the time, they were all the rage. But, when I entered the 4th grade and started noticing more, I realized how much I hated my mom's green coat. Not enough that I would ever say anything, but oh. When she would wear it, I cringed just a little. When my parents wore them together: gah, I can't even. Which is super strange, because my mom has really good style, and so why she endured wearing an ugly green (seriously, it was the color of 1970s kitchen appliances!) coat for the better part of a decade, I can't imagine.

I can totally remember my relief when she retired the puffy green coat. Its replacement, a pale pink wool number that tied and went to her mid-thigh, couldn't have been more welcome.

Which brings me to the thought I had as I traversed the tunnel today with my beverage: I can't be the only child on earth who hated something her parents wore. Which means my own children have probably hated something that I continue to wear, year after year, out of love or necessity. Maybe it's the Gap wool coat with the giant pockets and wooden buttons I've been sashaying about in for 7 or so years. Or maybe it was the $20 Old Navy puffy mcpufferton coat I had for a season (it was awful. And when I wore it with a long cardigan - well. I shouldn't have.) Hopefully it isn't my black Nike jacket, which serves not only as the perfect year-round jacket for any occasion, but also feels a bit like my security blanket.

I'm afraid to ask them.

What did your parents wear that you cringed a bit over? Please assure me I'm not the only one.

I remember...

(in response to an Instagram #8minutememoir prompt by andeecandy. I've been watching prompts for months but finally decided today to take the bait. Set a timer for 8 minutes and write as much as you can with the prompt in those minutes and see where it takes you.)

I remember a lot of my dreams. It's funny how prominent different people are in them, especially people who I have internal conflict or regret about.  One family member shows up in them quite frequently, which is strange, especially if I am punching her in said dream. Or random people from elementary school, especially one friend who was always competing with me as hard as I was competing with her. We were what you would call frenemies. Once we got to high school, friendship wasn't really possible anymore. I remember we had a dance class together and oh, how we competed in that class. 2 ex-gymnasts and friends, each trying to out leap the other. I'm sure it was entertaining for others to observe.

I dream a lot about gymnastics. Or my teeth. They might be falling out or loose or just too big for my mouth. Teeth dreams are a signal of anxiety, or so I've read. In my gymnastics dreams I'm rarely very able. I have a routine but I can't remember it. Or I'm at a meet and I've competed the day before, but now I can't remember how I did it and I've left my leotard in a far away locker room and I'm going to get in trouble when I leave to go find it. Or I'm trying to get the coaches to remember me, which most of the time they don't. I wish that I was able to do real gymnastics in my dreams, to feel the satisfaction of completing a perfect kip, or a cast to handstand. Or even a giant, but I couldn't do those even when I was awake. I was just too scared, and no one wanted to take the time to help me by the time I overcame my fear.

Me, circa 1987

I remember my dreams and I love to share them. Shane endures them as we drink our morning beverages together. It generally takes me a while to get to the point, because there are so many steps and scenes in the dreams that I want to give for background's sake. I'm a big believer in context and background, as is prominently evident in my writing and my speaking. Because background is everything. I have to explain where I've been, in order to show you where I'm at, or where I'm going.

(I cheated and added the last sentence.)

That was fun. It was interesting to see where I went. I had a lot of time to think about where I was going to start because I decided to eat breakfast before starting. I'd love to do these once or twice a week. I can find 8 minutes, maybe.

Thoughts on thoughts part two

I’m tired of writing posts like these. I’m ready to tell a different story – here, in my mind, in my writing, to other people. But I still have this story to tell, because every story needs an ending. And so I have this,  that if I get back to where I’ve been again, I can find my way out. 

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve walked up the escalator between the food court and my side of State Street, coke from Mcdonalds in hand, thinking about finishing this post. Thinking about how much better I’m getting at not…thinking.

It gets sorta meta. Ahem.

But that’s really what it’s come down to. In the summer time, I sort of set myself on a mission to figure out a way to “accept” my anxiety. It led me to do all sorts of things – drink lots of water, eat breakfast before work, take lots of snacks, change how I used my asthma inhaler, read books, do art projects, journal my food. All searching for the answer to why I still couldn’t get on the freeway in the morning without my heart racing. Or to finally figuring out the initial event almost a year previous. Like a key that would unlock the gate. Sigh

.

Exhausting. That’s what I discovered the most. Figuring out what causes anxiety is exhausting, and causes one to think about the anxiety on an almost obsessive level. Because I felt terror at feeling that feeling again, but nothing I did could keep me from feeling it. And coming up with scenarios to prevent it – yep, just more meta thinking.  It’s also a self-fulfilling prophesy. If you think you can’t, you can’t. Shrug.

In November, I found a website, I can’t even remember where it was. But it told me what I needed to hear – there is no answer. No key. Doesn’t matter what you eat. Or if you drink enough. I mean, those things can totally influence it. But they are correlations and not causations and where it really starts is in the story that I tell myself about the pounding heart. I can’t stop my initial reactions to certain stressors. As any anxiety book, website, professional, whoever, will tell you – it’s hard wired. Fight or flight. But the story I tell myself? That’s all me.

It sounds, well, corny and all that, but I watched this webinar about getting hooked on your thoughts right after I found the website that told me there wasn’t an answer to anxiety. Have you ever driven through Las Vegas at night time and saw the Luxor Hotel? How the top floor turns into a massive cone of light? It was sort of like that. A giant light that couldn’t be turned away went on and I looked back on my ruminating habits and and how they were making me more anxious and unhappy and how they always had and that they would keep doing so as long as I kept encouraging them.

 I went to yoga one day and the teacher started the class by telling us that we could turn out the outside world for an hour, that I was safe in the 4 corners of my pink yoga mat. I thought a lot about that during the hour. At some point I started saying this mantra: You are safe with yourself. The first time I said it, I wanted to shy away from it, because I hadn’t felt safe with myself for 1.5 years. Every time I got on the freeway by myself. Every time I felt short of breath. Every time I stood up and felt dizzy or light headed. Catastrophe was waiting. (I know, dramatic. Eye roll!)

So I’ve been telling myself a new story. That I’m safe with myself. And when I lose myself in a story that causes me stress, I try to remember to drop the story line and find myself in the moment I’m in. Not the moment that I imagine myself to be in, that probably won’t happen. I’ve started trying to believe that if something bad does happen – because shit happens – that I’ll deal with it at that time, I’ll fight like hell in whatever situation that is, because I can’t prepare myself for every scary event, and trying to is killing all the normal events that I’m actually living. 

It’s working. It isn’t foolproof, but I’m feeling so much more like myself. I feel off when big, emotional events happen, like Christmas Eve. We went snowshoeing. I was super anxious on the mountain (because we were on a hiking trail that was steep and I felt so vulnerable that my kids were there and it’s snowy and I imagined bad things happening, and then they act like the boys they are and I just panicked, hard, until I realized all I had to do was keep putting one foot in front of the other up and then down and, again, fight like hell if something bad happened.) I didn’t drink as much water as I should have, and then I had a big dose of caffeine without any food. I went home and felt like the world was just out of reach, because on top of the exhaustion and caffeination and hunger, I was also worried about a family tradition that we weren’t doing that day, one that had endured a lot of drama and reconciliation followed by more drama, only to finally fall apart this year because we just couldn’t be the ones to do it anymore. So I did what I could to address the physical part and didn’t let the emotional part get to me as much. I said out loud what was bothering me and even though it didn’t change it, it didn’t have to roll around in my head anymore, creating more stories and imagined dialogues and angry feelings directed at me from imagined others. And eventually I felt real again and so I took a long shower, ate some clam dip, looked at some goldendoodles on the internet (omg, more on this later!), and enjoyed the real Christmas Eve happening around me.

If you have 45 minutes, click on the webinar above, or here. It’s been so helpful to me. But if it’s not to you, and you are searching, my heart goes out to you, and I hope and pray you find your Luxor cone of light one day.

If you want an excellent book, read Pema Chodron’s The Places that Scare Us. She’s a Buddhist nun and the source that the guy from the webinar mentions. I haven’t done everything she recommends, but her insight is powerful.

I didn’t think this would be so long. But I’m ready to leave it all here, in this post. It’s January 1, 2017, and I want a new story. I hope you never read another anxiety post from me. Not because I never feel anxiety again, that’s unrealistic, but because I don’t need to keep searching and finding and searching again when it’s not working. If I can live more real moments, this post will have been successful.

Here’s to 2017.