The Love-lens

Most people, when they think of addicts, think of things like alcohol, drugs, even gambling or sex. But really, someone can be addicted to anything: fitness workouts, a super-clean house, adrenaline (extreme sports for example), TV shows, ... and the list goes on and on. I was thinking about this earlier today and wondered if anyone had considered an addiction that is quite common in humans: the obsession with tragedy, closely related to the need to gossip about or find out about the sordid little details of someone's life (specifically about their tragedies). 

Some folks, I find, like nothing better than to get their own dander up by seeking out horrific things and then passing them along. Somehow this seems to give them the moral high ground to be the first one to alert their friends to these things. A tragic car accident, a shooting, an earthquake, a fire - these are all juicy fodder for discussion, especially if they have photos to go with it. 

I've never seen the attraction in it. To me, there is enough bad in the world without sussing out every last little detail and glorifying it by speculating on what was involved (was there alcohol or drugs involved in the car crash, for example) and further traumatizing the victims or their families. 

Photo by Marek from Pexels

What I and many others prefer to do is to focus instead on the good. It's a shift of perspective, putting on a different lens, so to speak. It's changing from the gloom-and-doom focus to one of hope and love. Shifting to a love-lens allows people to see the humanity of someone else, allows them to look at what is right rather than what is wrong, and shifts the response to bad things from "Isn't that awful? / They must be horrible people" to "What can I do to help?" (Yes, that's a link there in bold - it goes to a video that you can watch in another tab or window.)

The love-lens allows me to focus on showing compassion instead of judging, offering acceptance instead of prejudice, and being kind instead of impatient or cross with people. 

The simple thought process of the love-lens means that when I get delayed in traffic because of someone hesitating at the traffic light, instead of giving in to the temptation to be annoyed or angry, I think of all the distractions in their life, or that maybe they need that delay because it might save them from having an accident a few miles away. A love-lens looks at the old man wandering on the street, staggering, as someone who may be experiencing a reaction to medication, rather than automatically labelling him a drunk and moving away from him. It sees the child misbehaving in a store as a kid who has been overstimulated and is tired of being around too many people, rather than a bratty kid whose parent cannot control him.  It sees the parent as being in an embarrassing situation and needing a helping hand rather than a disappointed glare.

Do you see what I mean? Cultivating that love-lens takes time - but the more you use it, the easier it is to use the next time, and the next. I'm not saying I use it all the time (although I would like to!) but whenever I do, it has helped me treat people with respect, be more patient with people's mistakes, and generally put myself in others' shoes before I make snap judgments.

If you haven't already done so, click the link I put in bold, above, and watch the video. It says things in a much better way than I could. 

The present

In my last post on this blog, written in May of this year, I was talking about waiting for the next phase of my degree, my practicum. I spoke of it as a destination and of the plaintive cry of someone on a journey asking if we were there yet. 

But as it turned out, the practicum was not a destination, but only the beginning of another journey - one that took a sudden turn I wasn't (but should have been) expecting: basically, my practicum supervisor fired me. The sense of failure was very real, and I began to question everything about the last ten years of my life: my recovery from codependency, my personal growth, my relationships with my extended family members, my desire to become a therapist, my self-image as a kind and compassionate person, and my suitability for a helping profession. It was quite wrenching - traumatic - overwhelming.

In addition, the shock of that experience tipped me over the edge emotionally and after the initial days and days of crying, it's like the water that overflowed the dam just froze in place. Nothing penetrated. Nothing affected me. I could not feel sad, or happy, or angry, or worried. Sleep was fitful and gave me no real rest; motivation went out the window. I started to isolate myself from things, lost interest in the things I loved to do (music, word games, etc.) and just buried myself in escapist behaviors: binge-watching shows I had seen so many times I could recite the dialogue, mostly.

So I sought professional help. I asked my doctor about it and he put me on an antidepressant and referred me to a psychologist. I have my first appointment with her next month. And although I didn't want to do it, I forced myself to do certain things for myself: read something inspirational every day, brush my teeth every day, eat regular meals, and find something to do that got me out of the house once in a while. 

Photo by Tirachard Kumtanom from Pexels

And - of late - I have been pondering the idea of staying in the moment, and not thinking about the past or the future. Like yesterday morning. I had eaten my breakfast and was finishing my coffee when I saw a box of Turtles (TM) on the table. I decided that I would like to eat one. Just one. Slowly. And as I bit into it, there was a part of me that said, "Hey. You'll be late for work. This is ridiculous. You're wasting time here. You have to get your makeup on and pack up your stuff to go." And from somewhere inside of me came another voice, one that said, "No. Just enjoy this moment. This is self-care. Taste the taste, really focus on it." And I did. When I was done, that part of me said, "Now, see? THAT is being in the moment. Nothing more simple than that." And I realized that I had rushed through so much of my life trying to get to the destination or the next big thing, and missed out so much on the "in-between" stuff of everyday life: the journey of thousands of moments.

It is a new learning experience for me, this 'savoring the moment' notion. It is this moment right now that I have: the now. Who was it that said, "Yesterday is history; tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift - that is why it is called the present"? 

In that same vein, I received another unexpected present this morning, before we even opened our gifts. Our little family was having breakfast together, talking about a movie we had watched together recently, "The Greatest Showman" (which I highly recommend, by the way!), and we were saying how all the little threads of P.T. Barnum's life, which seemed so random and unrelated to each other, the glad and the sad and the mad, weaved themselves together in his life to show him his purpose and help him fulfill his dream. And that's when it hit me. All of those things in my life - glad, sad, and mad - also had purpose and were being woven together in me in the present. 

That was the gift I had been given, and even though it was not yet complete, I caught a glimpse - a freeze-frame, if you will - of becoming who I am meant to be.  In the moment, in the now, in the present, weaving the past threads together, the dark and the bright and the gray and the colored threads that seem so purposeless by themselves seemed, for one brief moment, to coalesce. 

And in that moment, I felt something. For the first time in weeks, I felt something! An emotion, a state of being, a ... whatever you want to call it. The closest I can come to describing it is by calling it hope. But it was not the wishing-for kind of hope. It was more an assurance that I am where I am supposed to be, even if it is hard. That right now is a gift: the Present. That it is okay to be where I am. And my throat tightened, and my nose stung, and tears welled up and spilled over onto my face. 

And I lifted my face upward and whispered, "Thank You." 

Not yet ...

"Are we therrre yet?" This is the plaintive, whiny cry that Western parents have come to dread; it is the stuff of comedy sketches, sitcoms, and throw-away lines in kids' movies. I poke fun at it to cope with how annoying it is, but truth be told, often I succumb to the same lack of patience, that same intolerance of waiting. 

Waiting has never been my strong suit; I have mentioned it before. It seems that my whole life has been one long wait, interrupted with periods of frantic activity when things fall into place, followed by still more waiting for things to fall into place again. The waiting seems eternal.  And yet, looking back after things have fallen into place, I ask myself where the time went. I heard an expression today that reminded me of this - it had to do with parenthood: The nights are so long, but the years are so short.  I think the concept applies to all of life. The waiting is long, but life is so short.  

Lately, my waiting has taken the form of going through a Masters degree program in counseling. Sometimes, it feels like I have been in this waiting mode forever. Wait for the textbook to get here. Wait for my marks for Assignment Three. Wait for registration to open for the next term. Wait and wait and wait. And wait. Yet, sometime around the middle of last term, it struck me that I had less time ahead of me in my program of study than I had behind me. Realizing that caught me by surprise. So did the dominoes falling into place when I finally contacted the agency where I will be doing my practicum in a few short months (starting September 2018). The waiting felt like forever, but the interviews only took a couple of weeks to set up, and in one short, noon visit with them, they offered me an internship there. Just like that. 

And then the days got long again. Such a long stretch between that and the actual practicum that not even taking another course in between is enough to make it hurry up and get here. So there is a definite part of me that is whining, "Are we therrre yet?" 

Beautiful fall (September) leaves - pic
is from Pixabay.com

And of course the answer comes. Not yet.

Not yet. It's coming, but we're not quite there ... not yet. 

The days seem so long.

Only another week before I start getting my paperwork together (copy of my undergrad degree, certificates I've passed, criminal record check, etc.). Only another month before I can start looking for an apartment (I'm doing my practicum out of province). A little over two months and I'll be moving into that apartment. And in a year, I will be finished my practicum and starting to get my qualifying hours to be a licensed counselling therapist. WOW.

I keep telling myself these little things with the hopes that they will appease that impatient inner child. They do quiet the whining. But so far, the effects are temporary. And soon there will be another plaintive, "Are we therrre yet?"  And my adult self will say, "Not yet." And before long, I will add the word "Soon."

Soon there will be a full schedule. Soon there won't be enough hours in the day (even more than it is right now, which is hard to imagine). Soon, I will be dividing my time between practicum, school assignments, working to pay the bills, and somehow finding time to do all the things I rely on others for now: shopping, cleaning, cooking (okay well I do like to cook), washing dishes, tidying, laundry, and driving myself places instead of being driven. 

But not yet. Not yet. Not... yet. Hmmm. Wait a sec.  What about NOW?

Now is the time in which I am living. Now is when I can breathe, focus on the next task (however small or possibly unpleasant), and still make time for looking after my needs for sleep, nutrition, and other kinds of self-care. Today I helped spread mulch with my family to ease their load a bit, a rather rare thing for me, but I needed a break from studying and they were outside. So out I went. It was only 20 minutes, but it was a "now" thing. Not a wishing-it-could-be-September thing. Not a can't-wait-til-I-can-get-my-apartment thing. Not a oh-my-goodness-where-am-I-going-to-live thing. It was a NOW thing. 

NOW is when I can water my plants, do my assignments, help people at work, look after myself, teach my daughter more about how to prepare and cook things (expanding her knowledge about the basics of food preparation, for example) and enjoy every second I get to spend with her and with my husband. I can pet our cats - NOW. I can fold the laundry - NOW. I can do so many little things NOW. 

And if I focus on the now, there won't be enough time for me to ask if I'm there yet. Before I know it, "soon" will BE "now" - and in hardly any time at all, the years will have been so short. 

And I will wonder where they went.

Just Breathe

It started up again a couple of weeks ago. I hadn't felt like this since ... well, since every day was a stress of not knowing where my youngest daughter was, if she was okay, whether she'd ever find a home, and if I would ever see her alive again. My body hurt. Specifically, my stomach muscles hurt. And they were rock hard ... and not in a good way. They were hard in that clench tight, don't let go EVER, gotta hold it all together way.

And a couple of weeks ago, I felt that same pain. I hadn't even known that the stress had been building; it kind of crept up on me. I thought I had a hernia or something. And then I felt it ... my hand went to my stomach and I felt that same, hard ball of stress. Anxiety. Fear. What the - - where did THAT come from?

What was it? why was I stressing? Nothing huge was wrong - yet my body didn't know it. And as a result... OW. 

So as I engaged in some deep breathing to relax those muscles, I started reviewing all the possible causes - and what I realized was that it wasn't just any one thing, like it was before. It was a combination of lot of little tiny things. 

My health - getting better but a lot of changes in that this year: precancerous cells in my uterus, removal of same, recovery from the surgery, slow to bounce back because of diabetes. And plantar fasciitis from too much time on my feet a few months ago. Again, slow to recover due to diabetes.
My family - my husband turning a milestone number this year and me not far behind. Him getting closer to an August 2018 surgery to repair a torn bicep. Daughter slowly getting back on her feet from her injury five years ago - and taking the beginning steps of going back to school. (Not all stress is bad stress.)
My work - end of one kind of duties and start (or restart) of others. Uncertainty whether it will change yet again.
My extended family - mom with dementia, brother with major health issues, plus a number of toxic people trying to take over the situation.
My school - getting closer and closer to graduation, more behind me than in front of me. Uncertainty as to where I will do my practicum, and whether my job will give me the time off with pay to do that.  Deadline for practicum approval is now within 6 months. 

Hmm, quite a list. I found myself tensing up just typing it onto the screen. And that's not including other things that are too personal to write about.  Okay so there is a lot of stress, from a lot of things - some of them bigger than others. So how do I deal? 

Yeah, I can hear the advice - not something I wouldn't say to anyone going through it themselves - but this is different. This is ME. What's going to work for ME? 

I let my mind wander. What helps me in the everyday? What is something that I can latch onto, an easy memory trick to remind me to let go, to accept what I can't change, to change what I can and know which is which? 

Photo "Girl With Daisy" by
Claire Bloomfield at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Then I remember this little painted sign that the sister of a co-worker made for her out of a little rectangle of lumber. Painted black with white script lettering on it, she keeps it on her shelf. And she sits right across from me. 

The sign says "Just Breathe." (It looks a lot like the sign on the bottom of this pic.)

When I take notice of it, I can check in with myself and realize that I have resorted to shallow, quick breaths, the kind you take when you are expending a lot of effort while in state of anxiety or fear. 

Reminding myself to Just Breathe helps to untie the knots in my upper abdomen and realize that there are some things I just cannot control, nor should I try. They just are what they are. And if I take them one moment at a time, they're not that huge. They just are.

Tonight, as I take time to recharge, I think I will be thinking about that little sign. And I will do what it says.

Forever

Today is her birthday.
As if she'd ever let me - or anyone - forget.
She would have been 25.
But she's 21. Forever.

Forever young ... full of zest and zing
  and a hundred or two other things
  both maddening and endearing,
I remember the bad and good ... together.

Laughter - long and loud - left us in tears
  gasping for breath in spite of our fears,
  and echoes in my heart through the years
as hearty and raucous as ever.

Sometimes ... with a bang, the screen door closes
  and with a puff of wind and the faint scent of roses
  she rushes in, and yesterday composes
a sweet song as fleeting as a wisp of smoke.

Those moments, swift and elusive to capture
  dance around the black heart of disaster
  and call me instead to all of the rapture
she now enjoys - and oh, such unexpected joy!

See you later, my belle - Arielle - 
  I'll hold the torch, and keep it burning well
  until someday I hear the soundless bell 
and join you in Forever.

                              - - Judy Gillis
                                   (c) July 16, 2017

 

I ... am ... enough

I was reading in Brené Brown's book, Daring Greatly, today during a few moments of self-care time, when I realized that it had been a long time since I had made time for structured self-care! Lately, I have been so frantic about doing what I do (wife, mother, employee, boss, daughter, sister and student) and doing it well in all areas, (what does it matter that I only get three to five hours of sleep a night? right?) that I didn't realize I was once more heading down the path toward co-dependency, or as I have been calling it, "doormat-itis." Or being "Champion of the Underdog."

I had been focusing way too much on what folks expected of me and on the standards others had placed upon me (which I was trying to live up to) that I had lost sight of who I was. Again. WOW that's a slippery slope!! I realized this as I was in the process of unfriending someone on Facebook who had given me yet one more standard or expectation to live up to, one which I do not agree with, and who then proceeded to attack me about some choices I had made, which this person didn't agree with. The person had listened to other people's version of things, and convinced themselves that I was in error and just needed to see the "truth" ... but... and just as I trailed off there, I caught myself spiraling down into the abyss of self-protection, crusading, and other self-defeating thinking. I was taking on too much, and I was taking things in my loved ones' circumstances way too personally because I was the white knight, the defender, the rescuer, the protective "Mama bear" who would defend her own. It was killing me.

Photo "Young Lady Holding Umbrella" by
imagerymajestic at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

 As I was pondering this while reading Ms. Brown's book, I came across this statement and it rocked me back on my heels! 

"We have to believe we are enough in order to say, 'Enough!' " (pp. 144-145). 

 My umbrella of self-care, my affirmations from when I was in therapy, my learning to let go, ... I had forgotten it all - and this "enough!" statement brought me back to those hard-learned lessons and made me remember three very important things: (1) I am worthy of love and belonging (as Brené Brown says), (2) helping someone is a great and noble cause, but when it comes at the expense of my own mental health, I have invested too much of myself, and (3) when I catch myself slipping back into those old patterns, it is time to remember where and what my boundaries are, and to live within them.  This reminds me that others have boundaries as well, and (as hard as it is for me to accept) other people don't have to like me or agree with everything I do in order for me to like myself. I had done all I could do in this circumstance I mentioned, and whether someone agreed with my actions or my beliefs or my choices was irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was that I was following my conscience and that I have remained true to myself. The rest is of no consequence. 

Am I going to apologize? Am I going to re-friend this person? No. I didn't do anything against my conscience, and others' opinions of my choices are not my concern. I don't need to surround myself with people who can find nothing better to do than criticize someone else over something that is none of their business. That puts them (in their minds) in a position of superiority over me, and then I try to assert my superiority, and so on and so forth. I am not playing those games anymore. Will this person ever change their mind? Probably not. But again, that is not my concern. They are going to think what they are going to think, and nothing I say or do will change that. 

I need to be courageous about this lifestyle of letting go, because all of my life, I was hammered into thinking that what other people thought of me mattered, and I became a chameleon and by the end of it, I didn't even know who I was anymore. I have been slipping back into that mind-set. I am going to stop now. I am done with being afraid. I am tired of putting on the junkyard dog mask to hide that fear.  

What I am going to do is follow something that a co-worker's sister made for her. She has some writing, white on black, on a little sign on her bookshelf - two little words in beautiful script writing - "Just Breathe." It reminds me to breathe deeply. And in that breath, I remind myself that I am enough. That I am worthy. That I am loved. That I am all of these things and more besides. That I need to let go of my need for approval. That I need to let go of the need to prove that I am right. That I remember to let go.  

What a relief. Maybe tonight, for the first time in weeks, I will be able to sleep through the night without nightmares or anxious thoughts waking me up. I sure hope so...

The Whole Elephant

A few times in the last school year, someone (student or professor or course designer) has made reference to the six blind men from Indostan trying to describe an elephant.  You know how the parable goes - the man who felt the ear thought the elephant was a fan, the one feeling the leg thought it was like a tree, the one feeling the trunk thought it was like a snake, the one feeling the tusk thought the elephant was like a spear, the one feeling the side thought it was a wall, and the one at the tail thought it was like a rope. Everybody was right, but nobody was.  They argued over which of them was in the right - when if they had just realized that each of them was feeling a different part and that maybe they could collaborate and construct an overall mental picture (or switch positions so all could feel what the other one did), they might understand more about what an elephant was. 

The graduate journey has been like that lately.  As my skill level grows and my confidence expands, I am getting more of a 'big picture' of what this profession is all about. It involves so much more than just sitting across a desk from someone.  It includes things like community involvement, networking, continuing education (i.e., staying current), and a continual process of self-reflection and personal growth.  The more I learn, even though it sounds odd to say, the more I find both my confidence and my humility growing. I am adopting what some post-modernist thinkers have called a "beginner's mind." That is, I have never fully arrived; there is always something to learn, and my perspective might not be someone else's but holds no more merit than theirs.

Photo "African Elephant"
courtesy of africa at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

In the same way, new developments at my job have put me in a role where I am able to step back and get a glimpse of a bigger picture than I had before.  I have been asked to fill a team leader role, which puts me into discussions that I had not previously been privy to, at a level that I knew existed, but didn't have any experience (or very little) with.  The timing of this is quite good, because I have applied to fill that role for real, and I may be invited to an interview for the position sometime in the next month.  My experience in that role will stand me in good stead in the interview, I'm sure. Again, my beginner's mind comes to the forefront: I have adopted a teachable attitude, and that helps me to accept instruction without becoming offended. At the same time, I am also able to see how my increased influence can work toward helping more people at a time than I could have in my team member role (where it was one applicant at a time).  I can still DO that (when I have time) and I enjoy it, but as a team leader, I can see the effects of what I do in a more global sense of the ripple effect that my actions have.  I see my role as of a facilitator - someone who makes it easier for people to feel valued and to do their work unhindered.  If that happens, they can do more work in less time - and the whole team is able to help more people.

All of this (present situation) comes just barely 5 months after I was diagnosed with diabetes, a diagnosis which literally saved my life.  I cannot imagine myself ever being able to even attempt all of the above if I was still feeling the way I was six months ago: bone-tired, dragging myself around, and with aches and pains from a Body Mass Index that was approaching 50 (30 is considered obese). At the moment, it's just barely over 40, and on its way down.  But even before it started going down, I discovered that taking my medication, eating more healthily, and getting my blood sugar under control took away that fatigued feeling, controlled my appetite, and gave me more energy. This was even BEFORE I started becoming a bit more active (and only because I had more energy, not because I was trying to lose weight!) The weight coming off has been a happy side-effect.  (Okay ... I must admit that fitting into smaller clothes - and having people finally notice the difference - really feels good too...) 

But getting back to my original thought: lately, living and enjoying life - more and more in the last year or so - has just begun to make a lot more sense to me. I am noticing that I accept myself and my personality much better, that I am more at ease with being myself rather than doing that 'chameleon' thing that is so counter-productive, and that people can like me just the way I am without all of that panic, pretending, and posturing. I am starting to shed that "don't hurt me" approach to life, and I'm acting as if I have a say in how my life and my future turns out. Hm! And instead of getting locked in my own little silo of how I see the world, I am beginning to see the value in trying to see things from someone else's perspective, even if only to more fully understand (and maybe adapt) my own. (I wonder if that's called 'growing up.')  

The whole elephant is coming into focus. It's not just a fan, or a spear, or a snake, or a wall, or a tree, or a rope. It's starting to look more like an elephant.  And it's beautiful.