Cocooned vs. Metamorphosis

today i read on someone's blog, "If nothing changed there'd be no butterflies"

 ... and i want to know ... what's wrong with caterpillars? 

monarch caterpillars have always been my favourite. they're plump and colourful and they have little legs that tickle when they crawl on you. they can easily curl up into a ball. and they eat milkweed which makes them poisonous to birds - their stripes protect them from being eaten. 

they spend their days crawling around the milkweed, eating. 

and eventually spin themselves into a cocoon. 

i've been a caterpillar for so long that i don't want to ever come out of my cocoon. i can't see the future and i don't know what kind of butterfly i'm going to be. 

and it scares me. 

i want to stay safe and wrapped up and protected in my cocoon forever. 

i could hide away from the world, from pain, from hurt, from sadness. 

i could blend into the colours of the trees, the only thing giving me away would be the gold "stitches" along the top of my cocoon ...

                      * * * * * * *

my dad used to let us collect monarch caterpillars at the end of august. 

we would keep them in a terrarium with lots of milkweed. and within a week or so of their captivity, they would spin their bright green cocoons. 

we would watch the chrysalis for days. gold threading along the top, and hanging from the lid of the terrarium. and then one day they would change from green to black and then to clear and then the majestic monarchs would work their way out. 

at first, their wings would be wet. so we would carefully lift them out, letting their legs cling to our fingers.  

we would set them down in the backyard. and they would open their wings to let them dry in the sun. and once the wings were dry, they would flap them and fly away. 

until next august when we would hunt through the milkweed and start the process all over again. 

and as beautiful and incredible as this process is ... the metamorphosis leaves those monarch caterpillars completely vulnerable and helpless. 

when my brother was 3, he had his very own caterpillar in a jar. holes in the lid for air, and lovely milkweed for food. the plump little creature spun a green and gold chrysalis attached to the lid. 

our babysitter's son was at our house and my brother wanted to show him his pet. so the exuberant and over-eager visitor opened the lid, looked into the jar, and slammed the lid down on the table saying "where? i don't see anything!?" 

that morphing creature wasn't the only thing that got squashed that day. my brother crumpled in on himself. i've never seen him cry so much. i've never seen him so hurt. it was as if all of his hopes and dreams were being held in that green cocoon waiting to fly away into the sun and everything got squished and killed by someone else's careless actions. 

i feel like a caterpillar in a chrysalis: not safe and snug, cocooned and protected. i feel vulnerable and unsafe and easily squishable. 

but the thing about change is that it is going to happen whether we want to or not, and whether we like it or not. 

AG said to me today, "i guess the best thing about butterflies is they don't have to choose it. it comes naturally. amazingly enough."

wise words to ponder today, as i am cocooned in my duvet wanting to stay here on the couch forever. 

xoxo

...

(images from google images https://www.google.ca/search?q=monarch+butterflies&rlz=1C1SNNT_enCA410CA411&espv=210&es_sm=93&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=2bjaUvbbBOGh2gXqtoGwBQ&ved=0CAkQ_AUoAQ&biw=1366&bih=666) 

showing up ...

Vulnerability is about showing up and being seen. It's tough to do that when we're terrified about what people might see or think. - Brene Brown

sometimes showing up is the most i can do. and i find that really hard to accept.

i have been an over-achiever for as long as i can remember. committees, organizations, clubs, volunteer positions, and more than one job at a time is how i have always lived my life. 

high school involved showing up at 7:30 am to program the announcements into the electric sign in the cafeteria followed by an 8:00 am meeting of whatever club was on that day. then classes. then a lunch time rehearsal. then more classes. then an afternoon rehearsal for something else. and i also had regular babysitting gigs, and class performances. 

and every May i would have a freak out melt-down and think that there was no way i could possibly complete everything that needed to be completed, and then i would cry and my teacher, MD, would basically tell me to pull myself together and do it. and i would do it. because it wasn't impossible. at all. i just needed to get the crying freaking out meltdown out of my system. 

in grade 13, after my best friend died, i wasn't thinking clearly. i applied to universities and was accepted. but wasn't planning to go. i was going to take a year off. likely because i was depressed and grieving and feeling alone and lost. when i found out that i was accepted into the university that i had wanted to go to since i was 9 years old and went on a tour there ... i called MD and told her that i got accepted but wasn't going. and i cried. (MD, if you're reading this, you probably don't remember any of this. but you absolutely influenced the course of my life on that day. thank you. thank you beyond words) ... MD said, "of course you want to go and you are going." 

NOTE: MD has become an important person in my life and it feels important for me to say that. she has been influential in many situations. and she matters to me very, very much. thank you for everything. for listening, for being there, for being part of my life for the last 23 years ... can you believe it has been 23 years!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! much, much love to you.  

it was that simple. 

of course i wanted to go. i had been wanting to go there for 10 years. i had fallen in love with the campus at age 9. i had fallen in love with the women's centre. the idea that there WAS a women's centre. that feminism was part of the campus. it amazed me (at age 9).

so off i went. 

and i immersed myself in busy-ness. i held 3 part-time jobs, i volunteered at 3 different agencies, i took full-time classes, i became part of the women's community in the town. 

i was rarely home. i was always busy being a DO-ER of things. 

and this continued into my adult life until slowly i started to let go of obligations and turn more and more inward and insular. 

my life now consists of waking up (because i have to), going to work, going to choir practice (because i feel obligated most of the time - although singing heals me), spending time with SC (the love of my life), and sleeping. and then i wake up again. because i have to. 

showing up is the most i can do. 

i show up and i do what is minimal and at the moment, that is my best. 

i want to be more and i want to do more. i want to volunteer, and i want to be on committees, and i want to take a course, and i want to write a book, and i want to be in a show, and i want to go to museums, and to art galleries, and to travel, and to go out for dinners at restaurants i have never tried, and to spend time with friends, and to have coffee dates, and to be what someone referred to as "lively" ...

... and right now i can't do anything except show up. and be here. that's the most i can do. 

and if you are doing your best by just showing up, i hear you. i know. i understand. and it is enough. showing up for your life is enough right now. because it wont be this way for ever. even if it feels like it will be forever. it wont. at least, that's what they tell me. 

xoxo


...

vulnerability and putting yourself out there ...

“To share your weakness is to make yourself vulnerable; to make yourself vulnerable is to show your strength.” ― Criss Jami 

i am not sure what is more difficult; owning your story, or sharing your story. 

or perhaps they are intertwined. 

i have been "putting myself out there" lately - embracing my vulnerability. and it isn't easy. and yet, each time i share a piece of myself, it's like i have given away a piece for someone else to hold. 

"putting yourself out there" can come in many forms. it can be by telling a friend your secrets. by writing a letter. by starting a blog. 

“Vulnerability is the only authentic state. Being vulnerable means being open, for wounding, but also for pleasure. Being open to the wounds of life means also being open to the bounty and beauty. Don’t mask or deny your vulnerability: it is your greatest asset. Be vulnerable: quake and shake in your boots with it. the new goodness that is coming to you, in the form of people, situations, and things can only come to you when you are vulnerable, i.e. open.” ― Stephen Russell, Barefoot Doctor's Guide to the Tao: A Spiritual Handbook for the Urban Warrior

i'm going to tell you a story. 

a story about putting myself out there, being vulnerable, failing (not falling), and picking myself back up. as the incredible Brene Brown wrote: "vulnerability is not knowing victory or defeat, it's understanding the necessity of both; it's engaging. it's being all in."

last night i went to an audition. normally, i wouldn't be nervous. i am a singer. i put myself out there quite often. i love to sing. i love to perform. singing is my happy place. i also studied singing; i learned how to sight read a piece of music and sing it. i had tests in sight singing. so showing up to sight sing a piece of music in front of 2 people that i know fairly well wouldn't normally be concerning, or nerve wracking, or upsetting, or cause for worry. 

however, in the space that i am in these days, concentrating was challenging. being "all in" was challenging. because my vulnerability was bigger than me. 

there i was, in a room, with a piece of music in my hand, staring at notes on the page and having no freaking idea what the notes were. 

that was disconcerting and discombobulating. i just couldn't distinguish the damn notes. it didn't help that it bounced between flats and naturals and had some really awesome intervals. 

following that mess, i was given a line of music to read. in C major. i don't know if it was because my brain was still in the key of the other song, or if it was my depressed mood, but i sang that entire line of music in a minor key. 

crazy. 

embarrassing. 

humiliating. 

and what do you do when you humiliate yourself like that? 

what are your options? 

never audition for anything again? 
never put yourself out there? 
never be vulnerable? w
hat good would that do for me? 
what kind of life would i have if that were my solution? 

making myself hard and hiding away for the rest of my life is NOT a solution.  

“It’s the hard things that break; soft things don’t break. It was an epiphany I had today and I just wonder why it took me so very, very long to see it! You can waste so many years of your life trying to become something hard in order not to break; but it’s the soft things that can’t break! The hard things are the ones that shatter into a million pieces!” ― C. JoyBell C.

hard things shatter when they break. what a great lesson! 

being soft doesn't mean being a jellyfish, or being something that can be stepped on or squished. being soft means being bendable, changeable, malleable ...  being vulnerable means being soft enough that when you fuck up at an audition, it doesn't break you - no matter how humiliated you feel. being vulnerable means being soft enough that when your world feels like it is crumbling down around you, you wont break.

and at the same time ... change is FUCKING HARD AND SOMETIMES IT HURTS!!! Nosy Nora shared a quote with me today.  

 "The nature of understanding is that alone we can come to understand only what we already understand. To risk testing our organizing principles in dialogue with a text or a person makes possible a new meaning."- Donna Orange

sometimes changing isn't something that you can do on your own. sometimes you need a second opinion, another voice besides the (often critical) voice inside your head. sometimes you need a guide, a mentor, and someone to keep you on the path you need to (or want to, or are meant to) be on.

being vulnerable, and putting myself out there has been the most exciting, terrifying, liberating, and painful journey of my life thus far. sometimes i think that i am so very brave to be letting myself be seen. 

“Courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen.” ― Brené Brown

sometimes i think that i am bat shit crazy for sharing this much of myself and of my story. 

what i have found, especially through readers who have been emailing me, is that sharing my story allows me to connect with people in a way that i never thought possible. 

i continue to be amazed as i discover that MY stories, MY emotions, MY vulnerability are imbued with the commonalities of my readers. by that i mean that i get emails from people who can relate to my stories, who have similar experiences, who UNDERSTAND. 

“It makes me sad that so many people feel they're only allowed to show their best face, while their humanity and vulnerabilities are forbidden and hidden. How else do we connect, but by commonality, by mutual understanding and truth in life's experiences? Whether it makes you smile or cringe, a truth spoken is a healing thing.” ― Jennifer DeLucy

and that makes me feel so much less alone. 

putting myself out there, writing this blog, going to an audition, telling my doctor the truth ... none of those things make me a hero. because as Brene Brown wrote, a hero is someone who puts their life on the line. and that isn't what i am doing. i am putting my life OUT there. but i am not putting it on the line. i am simply demonstrating courage; the courage to say that i am vulnerable and human and that i need help to navigate this journey ... the courage to say that i can't do it all alone. 

“Heroics is often about putting our life on the line. Ordinary courage is about putting our vulnerability on the line. In today's world, that's pretty extraordinary.” ― Brené Brown

xoxo

...

Word Vomit

Today is a fresh start with no mistakes in it. (sort of quoting anne shirley, my hero) or as Nosy Nora once said, mis takes ... today is a new day with no mis takes in it. 

today is the first day of waking up and not passing the bookshelf filled with diet and weight loss books on my way to the shower. 

i can't lie ... i slept through my alarm today. i was supposed to go to the gym. i didn't sleep well, which made it difficult to get up. and i woke up with a stabbing pain in my shoulder blade. the pain sucks. the pain is familiar. the pain wont stop. 

i know perfectly well that if i make my way to the bathroom that i can make the pain STOP by making myself throw up. and i also know that i DO NOT want to do that anymore. that is a cycle that i want to break. 

Nosy Nora had suggested that perhaps word vomit is better than actual vomit. so this is my attempt at word vomit. 

word vomit is much more challenging that real vomit. in case you didn't know. 

not dieting is scary. not dieting is unfamiliar territory. not weighing myself and judging myself for every morsel of food that i put into my mouth is ... nerve-wracking because it is so foreign to me. 

i am scared to unleash myself on the world because there isn't enough food in the world to fill the empty sad dark spaces inside of me. and i am worried that if i leave the safety of my couch, i will begin to devour everything that i see. 

i also had to admit something embarrassing to a colleague this morning. math has never been my strong point. mostly because i copied my friend's answers for 3 years and never had to write a test. 

i have been "helping" my colleague's students study for their math test. here i was, being so very helpful and supportive and kind ... and teaching the concept entirely wrong. so this morning i had to tell my colleague that there was a reason why every single answer was wrong. and it wasn't the fault of the kids. although they could have spoken up and told me that my formula was incorrect. but students are taught to trust teachers. 

in any case, i messaged LC today and told her what had happened. it was so shameful. and she was so ridiculously understanding and supportive. the kids get to rewrite the test, using the correct formula. and now i know the formula (thanks KM for clearing that up for me). thank you LC, for being a kind and supportive friend. i value our friendship.

i think that's what this stabbing pain is about. i think it is fear and embarrassment. i have been afraid for a very long time. afraid of getting lost. afraid of the bad guys. afraid of not being good enough. afraid of being judged. afraid of everything ...

only for the first time in my life, it isn't fear of the world, it is fear of myself ... because as Nosy Nora once said, i have more power that i think ...

xoxo

... 

FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEDOMMMMMMMMMMMMM

tonight i am processing my session with Nosy Nora. (my therapist. see post from January 12, 2014 to learn more about that)

*** NOTE: i will not, i repeat NOT be coming home and blogging about my therapy sessions on a regular basis. at least, not about the details. therapy is incredibly personal and vulnerable and intimate. it also isn't transferable through conversations or writing. this is an extremely unique situation. and i wont be sharing the specifics about what took place within the office.

today i brought a bag with me. a bag of weight loss and diet books. books that represent every failed attempt to CONTROL my eating. books that represent how the more i try to CONTROL the more powerless i feel. the more people try to help me, the more i feel controlled by someone else. 

it was a big bag of books. honestly. so many years of trying different diets and failing. 

why? 

because diets don't work. they just don't. we live in a world where food and emotion are inexorably tied together. and the idea that you can just CONTROL the amount of food you eat .... well that's just plain silly! 

if diets worked ... if diets truly were effective ... then we wouldn't have a multibillion dollar diet industry. if diets worked, then the diet industry would be out of business! 

i have been reading every word written by Geneen Roth.  and I highly recommend her life-changing books.

 (click here for her website and her books) i mention her because the ideas i am talking about come from her. 

i will never diet again. ever. 

many people weren't initially fans of this new plan of mine. but they aren't in this body. and they aren't in my head. and my head and my body are both a mess ... so it is time to try something totally different ...

imagine, if you will, all the rules that have been placed on me because of PCOS (click here for PCOS info on an empowering website) and because of fertility (see blog posts from the last few years). 

no sugar, no white flour, no rice, no juice, and only 2 fruits a day. 

now imagine that it's christmas and i am given some chocolate. and i'm given permission (from myself) to eat the christmas chocolate. 

one piece. 

Ya right. 

forbidden glorious chocolate. so I eat the one piece. and then another. and then another. and as the euphoria of the sweet melting chocolate hits, i am overcome by the fact that i can't eat chocolate. that it isn't allowed. so i eat every goddamn piece of chocolate that i was given. and then i seek out more. and i eat and eat and eat that chocolate because i won't be able to eat it again the next day because it is forbidden and because i am on a diet. 

then I bask in the temporary sugar high from eating all that chocolate .... for a few glorious moments life is just right ... 

then it hits me what i have done. i have eaten chocolate. i have consumed sugar. i have broken all the rules. i have fucked up. now I'll always be fat. i'll never be thin. and worst of all, i'll NEVER get pregnant. 

and why? 

because i ate chocolate. 

then the pain begins ... a stabbing in my shoulder blade ... and it slowly spreads to my rib cage ... then it feels like there is a vice grip crushing me. and the crushing gets tighter and tighter ... and there is nothing left to do except to make myself throw up. 

yes, blog audience, and dear friends, i make myself throw up. a lot. regularly. especially when i start to panic that i have fucked up my entire life by eating chocolate (or chips, or fries, or cake, or candy, or pizza)

.........

rewind ...

... let's imagine a different christmas. same me. same scenario. i have been given chocolate as a gift. only in THIS scenario there are no rules. there are compassionate and intuitive guidelines. specifically, eat what i want, WHATEVER my body WANTS, when i am hungry and then stop eating when i am satisfied. 

hang on, stop right there. TIME OUT!!!

trust myself? trust my body? you have GOT to be kidding me!!! 

(go read Roth's books or her blog or her website and all will become clear ... and in the meanwhile ...)

imagine me sitting there with a pile of chocolate in my stocking. and it's christmas. so i eat a piece of chocolate. and i am satisfied. and i put the rest away. why? because i have permission to listen to my body. because the chocolate will still be there later if i want it. because I AM IN CHARGE OF WHAT I EAT AND NO ONE ELSE HAS THE RIGHT TO TELL ME WHAT I CAN OR CAN'T EAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

so back to Nosy Nora and the giant bag of diet books ...

... today i brought in those books and she joined me in tearing them to pieces. 

i thought that it would feel different. i thought that DESTROYING those books and what they represent for me would feel freeing and be a relief and it wasn't ... Nosy Nora suggested that perhaps that feeling would come later. 

so SC and i decided to go out for dinner (thanks for the gift card ARD, love you!!)  and you know what? i ordered what i wanted, 

and i only ate the amount that i wanted.

and then, if you please, we ordered dessert. which i also didn't feel the need to finish. 

when we got home, SC and i went to the recycling bin and i threw out those ripped to shreds books ...

and then i looked at the bag, in the bin, with the rest of the useless thrown-out TRASH GARBAGE DISGUSTING UNNECESSARY SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THAT was when the relief came. THAT was when i felt free. (okay, okay, Nosy Nora, so you were right. again.)

sometimes in order to make change in our lives, we need a grand gesture: something to visually or physically represent what is going on emotionally. 

i needed to DESTROY the representations of my lack of control - not my lack of self-control, but my feeling of not being ALLOWED to make my own choices. because i WANT to be healthy, i WANT to feel good in my body, and goddammit, i WANT to get pregnant. 

but none of those things are going to happen if i am not the one running the show. 

I AM AN ADULT. I AM CAPABLE OF MAKING DECISIONS FOR MY LIFE. AND I AM CAPABLE OF MAKING GOOD DECISIONS FOR MY LIFE. AND IF I WANT TO EAT A FUCKING PIECE OF CAKE, I AM GOING TO EAT A FUCKING PIECE OF CAKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ok ... rant is over ...

... in case you're curious, tomorrow's lunch is a giant salad made with organic veggies, chicken, and apple. NOT because i feel like i am supposed to, but because as delicious as the french fries were tonight, my body is TELLING me that i would like to eat veggies. and i can LISTEN to my body because the next time my body says it wants french fries, i can make the choice about whether or not i want to eat them. 

THAT is what it feels like to be free. 

THAT is what it feels like to breathe. 

THIS is what it feels like to be free. 

THIS is what it feels like to breathe. 

FINALLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

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

.....

Treating myself with compassion

tonight i ate half a pizza in one sitting in a very short time span. that was a lot of pizza. 

why did i eat so much pizza? 

i have come to learn that we are all made up of many parts of ourselves. the adult me is often not the one in charge. tonight, it was my 3 year old self who decided to eat the pizza.

last night i saw a photo in an old book. it was a photo of me at my 3rd birthday party. 

look at my eyes. look how scared I am. 

that day, i faced trauma and ran from it, only to be shamed by my parents and told to go back and face it again. i wasn't asked why i ran away. i wasn't asked why i was so scared. no one hugged me, or comforted me, or took the time to find out why i would hide in my room crying at my own birthday party. instead, i was scolded and forced to return to the scene of the trauma. 

no one listened to that 3 year old little girl. no one believed her. 

she learned that day that she didn't matter. that she wasn't worthy or deserving of care. that she wasn't worth listening to. so she found ways to numb her pain.

and tonight she reacted to the trauma by making the adult me eat half a pizza. 

which then brought on a shame storm. (Brene Brown) 

i began listing all the things that i hate about myself. 

the list is long and possibly endless. and i wont bore you with the details. suffice it to say, it was an incredibly long list of every little detail that i hate about myself which only led to more shame. 

and letting yourself be swallowed by a shame storm only begets more shame.

a very wise woman, who is also a very dear friend, AG, said "your little part is severely hurting ... you can believe her. i can believe her. i DO believe her. So are you going to continue to slap her in the face with it? ... resolve to treat her better." 

this is my attempt at treating her with compassion instead of the rejection that she received that day. 

i am choosing to share this piece of my story ... i am choosing to give her a voice. she wants to say that she was scared. she wants to say that she was hurt. she wants to say that she was just as important as the guests at the party who she was told were the reason she had to get her ass back down the stairs. she wants to say that someone needed to ask her what scared her to the core. why she would hide and repeatedly kick the dresser at her own birthday party. someone needed to notice that her fear was REAL.

giving her a voice makes her feel heard. making her feel heard helps me to forgive myself for eating half a pizza. giving her a voice gives ME a voice. makes ME feel heard. 

and it is my way of showing myself compassion. 

xoxo

...

owning my story

it has been a long time. a very, very long time. 

many things have happened. 

so many that i don't know where to begin. 

i have been reading a lot lately .... no ... i have been reading a LOT lately. mostly 3 authors: Geneen Roth, Brene Brown, and Allie Brosh. All incredible women with awesome things to say. 

Brown wrote:

i have been exploring my darkness and as i dig up my innermost fears and shames, i want to begin to share them. here. in this space. sharing my story is a way to own it. and owning it allows me to be vulnerable, which will allow me to make space for joy and hope and happiness.

and it is scary. and it will take me time. 

so please be patient with me. 

i hope that my story will help someone the way that the stories i am reading have been helping me. 

xoxo


.......

strings and things and a side dish of guilt

i have learned to ask for help over the years, but it makes me uncomfortable to do it.

i didn't really understand why.

until this weekend.

this weekend i reached out for help and was met with strings and things and a side dish of guilt. a side dish that is apparently best served cold, and repeatedly, and often.

there are people in my life who offer help without even being asked ...

GT and i have worked together for 9 years now and sometimes we don't even have to finish sentences, we know what needs to be done, and we get it done. and i can ask her for help because i know that it will come with no strings attached, and i won't feel like i owe her something, or that i am beholden to her. I don't have any older siblings (not that she is THAT much older than me, in fact, our students think that I am older than HER), but over the years, GT has become more than simply a colleague to me, she is like a big sister to me; a friend, a confidant, and a sounding board for all things that i could ever need to bounce off of someone. so asking GT to help me is something comes much more easily than asking others.

this weekend, however, i sought the help of someone from who i normally would avoid making such requests. someone i am very close to. someone who thinks that he has been there for me, but has never been there for me for the things that i really needed.

i struggled with the decision to make my request.

but i decided that all i could do was put it out there and see what transpired.

at first, i was pleasantly surprised. he responded to my need generously. without comment, without judgement, without making me feel like i owed him anything. i went to bed feeling like things were going to go smoothly from now on.

and then came the first string ... and the second ... and the third ... and i know now that i will be beholden and owe him, despite knowing that what was given to me was given freely and was no less than i deserve.

and i have decided that i will lose no sleep over the strings. i will not be pulled in different directions by the strings. he can serve up as much guilt as he wants to, and i will slide it around my plate, pretending to eat it, but leaving it on the plate, just as i used to do with my broccoli (i still do that, i even did it with my dinner tonight!).

Pokey Sue says that we are bombarded with words all day every day and much of what is thrown at us is garbage. if we wouldn't eat garbage, then we shouldn't eat people's garbage words. we should take in only what is healthy and good for us - things that feed our souls, that make us better, that build us up (see, i listen to you pokey sue, sometimes ...).

that's hard to do. 

but, as i tell my students regularly; if you put bad ingredients into your soup, you will make bad soup. if you put in good ingredients, you will make good soup. 

... so i am going to ask for help from you who are reading this ... please do something for me? please go make some delicious soup, reject the garbage words, don't get caught in people's strings, and for goodness sake, if you don't want to eat the carrot with the shriveled end, then  go ahead and LEAVE IT ON THE PLATE!!!

XOXO

...

How are you?

... sharing my feelings has always come easy to me, if it means saying "I'm fine" or "I'm good" ...

... sharing what i am really feeling is a horse of a different colour. 

most of the time, when people say "how are you?" they aren't actually asking you how you feel, they are reciting the polite greeting which is to be answered with "fine thanks, how are you?" or "good, and you?" so it comes as a big surprise when someone really want to know how i am feeling, and wants to take the time to actually talk about how i am feeling.

so this blog post is dedicated to those women in my life who actually want to know the answer to the question, "how are you?" ... you know who you are.

... the idea of someone caring enough about me to want to know what's going on in my head, heart, and soul, is relatively new to me. and it has taken years to get used to. i was so used to not being heard, or being afraid to speak, or not bothering to speak. and i am only now beginning to ask myself why.

this post is short, but in this time of struggle for so many of my dear friends, i wanted to acknowledge how much it means to me that you actually want to know how i am feeling and why.

and the next time i say, "how are you?" i really and truly mean it. 

much love and patience,

xoxo


...