gigi

today i was given a gift. 

i was given a baggie with folded up letters in it. old letters. 19 year old letters. letters from my friend gigi who this blog is named after. letters and poems from my best friend who died when we were 18. 

getting these letters and reading them was like getting a piece of her back. 

i forgot how sardonic and sarcastic she was. i forgot how passion about social justice she was. i forgot how funny she was. i forgot the mundane things we talked about like English projects and hockey games. 

i wanted to share with you a couple of her poems. because i want to share a piece of her with you. here are her poems: 

So what?

Just because your heart is pumping doesn’t mean you’re living,

Just because you’ve made a lot of money doesn’t mean you’re successful,

Just because you give to charity doesn’t mean you’re generous,

Just because you’ve got a degree doesn’t mean you’re intelligent,

Just because you have everything you’ve ever wanted doesn’t mean you’re happy,

Just because someone says you’re better than mean doesn’t mean I should respect you,

Don’t try to buy me with your wallet, money hass no lasting value.

Don’t try to buy me with your superficial flattery, I can see right through it anyway.

Don’t try to make me jealous of your riches, I’m rich, I just dion’t have any money.

Don’t try to make me look uneducatied, there are some things you’’ll never learn in school.

Don’t try to tell me I can’t change the world, jjust watch and learn.

By Gigi

Friday may 13, 1994

The train moves forward

Travelling towards my dreams

I am left behind

When small

Tense, hunched over

Paper and pressing

Hard and carefully

To make words

Letters precise and deep

Within the page

Grammar corrected and

Stressed constantly

Unrelenting, ruthless

And then

Letters perfected

Personal style perfected

(big letters and circles over the “i”s)

Grammer perfected and enforced

And then

Rejection

            Messy scrawls written hurriedly

            Punctuation forgotten or ignored

            Incorrect grammar, rules scorned,

            Mocked; too rigid for

            Real expression

And then

For always

By Gigi

November 7, 1995

this is the last thing she ever wrote. she wrote it on the subway on the way to the party where she died:

Sunday, December 31, 1995

365 days in the year

5 hours left now

Somewhere in the world

It’s already

Next year

But not yet

Here

1996

The year of my graduation

I hope

And then?

New years eve

Is always a night

Of contemplation

Wondering

About accomplishments

Failures

Dreams

And unwanted realities

Life has too many variables

Or not enough

And what will 1996 bring?

What will tomorrow bring?

Tonight?

Is there merit in trying to guess

Or second guess?

And what are we counting down to?

Another ten seconds of our

Life go by

As we look to the next year,

Which will come if we

Watch the parties on T.V. or not.

A funny thing about those

Televised countdowns,

One station tells you

5 seconds left,

The other tells you 7.

Does it even matter?

i want to leave you with this poem about the light inside of us and how we can change the world. that's all she wanted to do; change the world. and change it she did. she changed me. she changed everyone she touched. and her light shines on inside those who loved her. be kind to yourself, and let your light shine ...

Personal light

Each of us has our own little light inside

And after we die various things can happen to that light:

Some lights fade away into the darkness and nobody notices or cares about the loss of their light

Some lights shine brightly, but nobody wants or needs their light and some

Even despise the suffering the light brings

Other lights shine with a loving glow that encompasses all

Anyone who has ever felt the warmth of these beams keep a little glimmer of

Them with them wherever they go

These lights remain brilliant and everlasting

Every person chooses which light will shine within themselves and the type

Of light that will shine after them

(you can) light up the world (forever)

By Gigi

Saturday June 11, 1994

Inspiration

i want to inspire people. i want this blog to be inspiring ... the most amazing thing anyone has ever said to me was that they were able to come out because i did first. that i made it okay, and safe. 

instead of trying too hard to be an inspiration, i thought that i would share with you some of the things that inspire me ...

i spend way too much time worrying about the mean people in my life and what i have done wrong to bring on the meanness. the truth is, it has nothing to do with me. their wounds, their darkness, their struggles bring out a mean and nasty way of treating people that is both beyond my control, and entirely not my fault. 

no one lives in a vacuum with one challenge. no one exists as on identity. our identities are multifaceted, as are our struggles. 

sharing your darkness with others is terrifying and liberating. my biggest fear is that people will leave me if they knew who i truly am. and i have learned over the last year that the people who stay are my true friends. the people who know my darkness, face it, and accept it, are the people who will be here for me for many, many years to come. 

wow. that one gets me every time. enough is in "relationship to what you already have." as a person who is always worried about not having enough and not getting enough, this always stops me in my tracks. i have enough love, enough food, enough support, enough friendship, enough greatness. and yet, i always feel like i will lose it all, so i gather it as close to me as i can get it. i worry about never eating chocolate again, so i feel like i can't get enough of it and i eat too much. i worry about my friends leaving me, so i gather them under my wings and sometimes hold them too tightly. and i reach out constantly to nosy nora, afraid that the connection to her, and the support from her will cease to exist. 

there is no point in getting into loud screaming matches. i spent much of my childhood being yelled at. and i have learned that it is the words you use to stand up for yourself and to speak your truth, not the volume of your voice. 

a process. a big, long, complicated, messy process. healing takes time. do you remember the rice krispies commercial where the mom is in the kitchen reading a book and the kids and dad call from the other room "are they ready yet?" and the says "these things take time!"? and then she splashes herself with flour and makes it look like she worked really hard ... it reminds me of healing and changing. "these things take time" and these things are hard work, but only as hard as we make them. softening yourself to the changes and the healing will allow them to happen. giving yourself time, and being compassionate with yourself will allow them to happen. even though you need to be patient. 

sometimes i just need to vent. period. 

see previous post here on how we treat ourselves. 

we are all in this life thing together, as nosy nora likes to tell me. she also says we all need each other. i have tried for a very long time to do it all by myself - to live i mean. but the reality is that my friends have ignited in me many hopes, dreams, loves, desires, longings, and passion. and i am grateful to all of them. 

i spend way to much time wanting what i don't have, planning how to get it, and working towards that goal. what i need to do is to look at what i already have, enjoy that, and LIVE. 

permission to feel good ... wow. i don't know about you, but i spend so much time worrying about the feelings of other people that i rarely pay attention to my needs or my feelings. and when i do pay attention, it is to all the negative feelings and the hardships of my life. permission to feel good. permission to admit that there are many wonderful aspects of my life. i like that idea ... putting into practice is another story. 

i have been letting go of people and things in my life that do not give me what i deserve. and i have been asking for what i deserve from the people who i don't want to let go. and it is really, really HARD, and really, really IMPORTANT. if you aren't already doing it ... start now ... RIGHT NOW!

waiting to be rich, waiting to be thin, waiting to get promoted, waiting to have kids, waiting to buy a house, waiting for the next thing. waiting for you life to begin. guess what? first, your life began a very long time ago when you were born. and second, waiting isn't living. you have a life, here and now. you have a life worth living because you are worthy as you are. think about it. try it. try living the life you have right now. 

as always ... 

be kind to yourself ...

xoxo

...

when singing, there is only music ...

"If i cannot fly, let me sing." 

- Stephen Sondheim

singing. music. guitar. piano. singing solo. singing in a choir. singing in an ensemble. 

music has been part of my life for as long as i can remember. 

sitting at the campfire, singing silly songs. singing in circle time at school. joining the school choir. taking music lessons. learning recorder, violin, flute, drums, piano, and eventually my voice. 

music plays a role in my life in so many situations. 

first, there is the choir that i sing in. 

When you sing with a group of people, you learn how to subsume yourself into a group consciousness because a capella singing is all about the immersion of the self into the community. That's one of the great feelings - to stop being me for a little while and to become us. That way lies empathy, the great social virtue.

- Brian Eno

singing in the choir, whether it is a capella or accompanied, is a means of connection on an inexplicable level. blending your voices in harmony, having one message that touches people emotionally and/or spiritually. singing with a group is like communicating as a group; a mutual understanding of something greater than ourselves. AT said she sings in a choir because "it's a source of feeling connected, of sharing a love and working together for a common purpose. it's a safe place. where i feel secure. both in who i am and my ability to make a meaningful contribution to the group."

singing in a group is also a way to come together and focus on something outside of ourselves and our lives. AG said "i like the sense of teamwork. i like making music with other people. it requires dedication and focus. takes me out of my head, for 2 hours i focus only on the music, not work or life stress."

for me, going to choir every week is my church. we come together as a community. we have routines. we stand up and sit down a bunch of times. we sing together. we listen to a "sermon" by the director. we break bread together. and then we stand together and sing our private song and go our separate ways until the following week. 

Brene Brown wrote: 

"Laughter, song, and dance are so woven into the fabric of our everyday life that we can forget how much we value the people who can make us laugh [...] laughter, song, and dance create emotional and spiritual connection; they remind us of the one thing that truly matters when we are searching for comfort, celebration, inspiration, or healing: we are not alone."

singing with other people confirms, affirms, and reaffirms that i am not alone. that i am part of a community. that no matter how alone i feel; no matter how lonely i am: i belong.

then there are the songs that touch me and move me through life. songs that i turn to when i need to be cheered up. songs that remind me of my first love, or the love of my life. songs that i listen to when i am sad. lonely sad songs that i can sing along to. at the moment, i am OBSESSED with karen carpenter. i am listening to her music on repeat. all the time. when i want to be cheered up, i listen to Jambalya on repeat ... for hours ... it is my happy place at the moment. and i sing along at the top of my longs. Click here to listen. Rainy Days and Mondays Get me Down is one of the ones i am listening to through this depression. Click here for a listen. 

For me, singing sad songs often has a way of healing a situation. It gets the hurt out in the open into the light, out of the darkness.

Reba McEntire

then there are the songs that feel like they were written FOR you. like the artist climbed into your head and wrote the song through you. i have 3 of those. and they are my private songs. for now. 

this post has been the most difficult that i have ever written. music is such an important part of my being. someone asked me once, "why do you sing?" and my response was "because i can't not sing." 

yes, i sing in the shower. but i also sing in the kitchen, and in the car (at the top of my lungs), and in the living room, and sometimes in bed. i sing through the day. i sing with people. i sing alone. i make up songs about what i am doing. i sing songs that are stuck in my head. i sing songs that i have been listening to in the car. i sing and i sing and i sing. 

i really wanted to write about singing and music. and i had no idea that it was going to be such a challenge! i encourage you to find your music. find your song. laugh, dance, sing, play, bang on some drums (or pots and pans), and find people to do it with. 

i think that ella fitzgerald said it best:

"The only thing better than singing is more singing."

xoxo

...

stories

i want to write about stories:

the stories we tell ourselves, the stories we tell our families, the stories we we tell our friends, the stories we tell the world ...

DS mentioned something he learned about memories, and how each time we tell a memory, we change a little piece of the memory. and that the most pure memories are the ones we can't remember. 

i think it is more than that. i think that we tell our stories for so many different reasons. 

the stories we tell the world, are the stories that make us look good. we aren't going to tell the world that we are mean, and angry, and selfish. we edit our stories to make us sound like the good little people we want to be. 

the stories we tell our families are edited. we leave out the shame. 

to our friends, we tell stories that cast us in various lights; trying to balance our shame, our truth, our joy, our sadness ... 

and then there are the stories that we tell ourselves. these are the stories that our inner critic narrates inside our heads. and although we believe that all the other stories we tell are the altered stories ... it's the stories we tell ourselves that are the most distorted. 

the inner critic in my head is an on-going monologue ... more like a diatribe - a forceful and bitter attack against myself. my inner critic is mean, angry, shaming, loud, nasty, and doesn't know how to be quiet and listen. my inner critic is debilitating.

http://audacium.com/i-thought-my-inner-critic-superego-was-bigger-than-yours/

when i tell myself a story, or retell a story to myself, the inner critic takes over and analyses everything and then tells myself that i was stupid, or embarrassing, or worthless, and therefore i AM stupid, and embarrassing, and worthless. 

so what do we DO with our inner critic? how do we stop her from ranting and raving inside the very core of ourselves? Zed and i talked about the inner critic yesterday (welcome to being quoted in the blog!). Zed suggested that perhaps the inner critic needs to be killed. She thought perhaps drowned. and we agreed that drowning her with ice cream, and chocolate, and chips, and candy, and french fries, and done nothing except make me fat. 

so i decided to ask Zed about her inner critic ... who is this voice? why is it so mean? and how do you silence this voice?

my inner critic? well she isn't as loud as she used to be. growing up, i was always the 'smart one.' i never thought i had much talent in anything. my middle sister was amazing at everything. i felt like i wasn't good enough. BUT ... that all changed as i got older and i realised that looks and beauty are fleeting, and it's what counts on the inside. i had many anxieties about new situations. like, you wont get that job, you're not qualified ... blah, blah, blah ... i could go on ... the inner critic is like this pimple on your face that is massive. sometimes you can cover it with your hair or make up, and sometimes it's out there for the whole world to see and you can't do anything about it. mine is like a tiny red mark on my forehead - there, but no one really notices it. 

so the inner critic lives in all of us. the question is how to silence her. is it with therapy? is it with medication? is it with mediation? is it with hate or with love? 

Zed said that her husband sees something in her that she didn't see "for the longest time." so now when her inner critic is speaking, quietly, she smothers her with a pillow. maybe being loved fully and deeply quiets the inner critic. maybe it is love that is smothering her, and not a pillow at all. 

AG, on the other hand, tries to listen to the inner critic. like she's a little girl who has something to say. and that she needs to be listened to, and treated with compassion, and given what she needs. and by discovering that, she can be quieted. 

i try to listen past the anger and hurt of the inner critic. but she is so loud. so persistent. and so mean. 

the stories we tell ourselves are not all lies. they are distorted versions of the truth that make us feel safe in the familiar. it is safe for me to tell myself that i am undeserving. it is safe for me to tell myself  that i am not good enough. or that i am just not enough. it is safe, because if i changed the narrative ... if i began to tell myself that i am good, or smart, or worthy, or enough ... if i began to have a voice in my head telling me that i am deserving ... well that would just be crazy! i would start to think that i deserved things. i would start to want things. i would start to ASK for things. and that would be such an enormous shift in my reality, that i don't even know what that would look like and it is terrifying. 

i am "leaning into" the terror ... how do you quiet YOUR inner critic? use the contact form on the right to tell me your story, or leave your comment for others to read. because, after all, sharing your stories is what frees us from the loneliness and the silence. 

xoxo

...

therapy and why I endorse it

i am in therapy. 

thankfully. 

it's not the first time in my life. but it's the first time that i am actually getting anything out of it. 

my previous "therapists" seemed to get something out of my being there for an hour every week, in that they got to tell me their life stories. 

the worst of all of them was Brenda. and yes i am using her real name. she deserves to have her name known. especially if someone reading this thinks, hey, i had a "therapist" named Brenda who did the same thing. 

that way you'll know YOU didn't do anything wrong: 

she did. 

Brenda the "therapist" had a cozy little office in a small Ontario town. she liked to wear peach coloured sweaters. she had lots of first nations artwork in her office and she lived on a reserve. her ex-husband was physically abusive and ...

i learned all about that. 

her 16 year old daughter was angry and rebellious and caused all sorts of problems ...

i learned all about that too. 

i'm not sure that Brenda learned much about me in the 2 years that i saw her. we did, however, get drunk together and dance the night away at the local bar. she did, however, invite me to her house to continue the party and to spend the night. 

that was the night i decided it was time to stop seeing Brenda the "therapist" who needed a great deal of therapy of her own. and i truly hope that she has found the help that she needs and that she has found peace in her life.

there were other "therapists" that i saw before and after her. but none with a story quite like hers. or had an impact like hers. 

about 16 months ago, i had enough of feeling anxious all the time. i was walking the dog and everyone i saw was a potential "bad guy" ... even the 12 year old boys who i was CONVINCED were following me. so i took a risk (a huge giant leap of faith) and fairly randomly chose someone from a website. 

Note: (i don't actually believe in the randomness of life. i believe that the universe leads us to where we need to be and the universe most certainly led me to my therapist)

her name shall herein after be known as Nosy Nora. i never disliked her. but i wasn't so sure about seeing her. i mean ...

where were all her stories about her trauma to match mine? 

why wasn't she relating to me with horror stories of her own? 

why did I have to do all the sharing? 


when was the part where we partied together? 

and over time it got easier. i started to realize that Nosy Nora actually WANTS to hear what i have to say. 

i'm sorry ... what? 

she is interested in my story. in my grief. in my joy. in my life. in me ... 

i'm sorry ... what? 

this process is about ME? 

aren't i supposed to listen to her now? shouldn't Nosy Nora be telling me about her marital issues? shouldn't i be giving HER advice about her children and their nonsense? isn't she supposed to talk about her life in high school? i was so confused.

what shocked me most was the lack of judgement. i can say crappy things and Nosy Nora makes them okay. i can tell her my darkest thoughts and she doesn't act shocked or even surprised. i can tell her the shitty things that i think and feel and somehow those are okay for her to hear. 

eventually we got to a place where i was able to share with her my immense and immeasurable grief over the death of my best friend (whom this blog is named after). at the time of her death, i was left to deal with it on my own. i wasn't comforted or even hugged. So i just pushed those feelings way deep down and grieved for 18 years without really allowing myself to fully grieve. 

Nosy Nora made it okay to cry over a death that took place 18 years earlier. she made it okay to FEEL that sorrow and anger and loss. to FEEL it and to let it go.and after 18 years, i am able to talk about it without crying. i am able to love my friend and to miss her, but without feeling the hurt and loss as fresh. 

do you have ANY idea how incredible that is? i never thought that it was possible. and i felt stupid and ashamed for feeling so sad about something that happened so very long ago. 

and now i feel at peace. 

i can't really explain the trust that was built with Nosy Nora through that experience. it's not explicable. but it is transformative. it is trust. and safety. 

and because of that experience, i have been able to open up about other experiences; things that i thought would remain buried and private forever. things that will unfold in this blog as i feel ready and able to share them. to release them from the dark corners of shame and bring them to the surface. 

but for now ... if you have been thinking about therapy ... if it has crossed your mind ... if you are against therapy because you had a Brenda in the past ... it's worth it. 

and it takes time. 

and you won't find that connection immediately. 

but it's worthwhile. 

and you are worthwhile. 

so go for it. i took the risk, and i am thankful for that each and every day. 

xoxo

.....