Share My World, Just Not My Heart

“Only once in your life, I truly believe, you find someone who can completely turn your world around. You tell them things that you’ve never shared with another soul and they absorb everything you say and actually want to hear more. You share hopes for the future, dreams that will never come true, goals that were never achieved and the many disappointments life has thrown at you. When something wonderful happens, you can’t wait to tell them about it, knowing they will share in your excitement. They are not embarrassed to cry with you when you are hurting or laugh with you when you make a fool of yourself. Never do they hurt your feelings or make you feel like you are not good enough, but rather they build you up and show you the things about yourself that make you special and even beautiful. There is never any pressure, jealousy or competition but only a quiet calmness when they are around. You can be yourself and not worry about what they will think of you because they love you for who you are. The things that seem insignificant to most people such as a note, song or walk become invaluable treasures kept safe in your heart to cherish forever. Memories of your childhood come back and are so clear and vivid it’s like being young again. Colours seem brighter and more brilliant. Laughter seems part of daily life where before it was infrequent or didn’t exist at all. A phone call or two during the day helps to get you through a long day’s work and always brings a smile to your face. In their presence, there’s no need for continuous conversation, but you find you’re quite content in just having them nearby. Things that never interested you before become fascinating because you know they are important to this person who is so special to you. You think of this person on every occasion and in everything you do. Simple things bring them to mind like a pale blue sky, gentle wind or even a storm cloud on the horizon. You open your heart knowing that there’s a chance it may be broken one day and in opening your heart, you experience a love and joy that you never dreamed possible. You find that being vulnerable is the only way to allow your heart to feel true pleasure that’s so real it scares you. You find strength in knowing you have a true friend and possibly a soul mate who will remain loyal to the end. Life seems completely different, exciting and worthwhile. Your only hope and security is in knowing that they are a part of your life.” ~Bob Marley~

Most normal people I know want this. The entire package. The whole she-bang. I had this once. After I was separated from the Dreaded Ex. It was pretty damn wonderful. And then it wasn't...

I know I said I wouldn't post about this subject again, but something that someone that means something to me said to me recently triggered this thought that has been percolating in my brain and made me think about how I was seeing relationships. Everything I see as far as relationships go is black and white. No gray, no permutations about anything. No pixelated colors. And everything is made up of pixelated colors. TONS of varying shades, nuances of color. Not just black, white and gray...but every color imaginable. All hues and tones. What do I mean? Let me tell you a story.

My maternal grandparents were in an arranged marriage. My Gran was 17 and my Poppa was 21 (I think) when they wed. They weren't madly in love. They didn't have romantic designs on one another. My Gran didn't want to marry Poppa. She was actually in love with another...the man she was originally supposed to marry. Yet, my grandparents had ten children together. They built a life together. They worked hard and raised their family together. And love was built. Respect was fostered and grew over time. Trust was created. And these two that were pushed together for whatever reasons, grew to love one another. Truly. How do I know this? I saw evidence of their love with my own eyes when they were visiting my family in Seattle when I was a teenager. My Granny and Poppa were older, I can't remember exactly how old. But it was right before my Gran got diagnosed with cancer about twenty years ago.

My Poppa and Granny hadn't ever been to Washington together. My Gran had come down all by herself before, but my Poppa had always stayed in Alaska. Until this trip. Over half-way into their vacation, we were on a ferry crossing Puget Sound. It was a lovely, sunny summer day, and there was a slight breeze over the water. In addition to the occasional blast from boats passing in the Sound, the cry of seagulls and the wind were the only noises outside. We were out on the observation deck, looking out over the expanse of slate blue water as we glided through the waves at a brisk chop. My siblings and I were pointing at things and watching the other boats or the skyline over the water when I turned to look at my grandparents. They were walking together. 

Poppa was wearing one of his many plaid shirts, and a dark pair of slacks and tennis shoes. His silver shot hair was always cropped short, close to his head. His body was bent and gnarled from many years of backbreaking work, so he had this sort of ambling gait-sometimes limping when his knees or hips gave him trouble. My Gran was always a petite woman. She reminded me of a little bird. Delicate. Tiny. Beautiful. Gran was always a beautiful woman. Even in her age, and through this beginning stage of her sickness that we weren't aware of. She had her slightly-graying, black hair pulled back in hair combs to the side of her head and the long strands woven in a plait down the center of her back. Her clothes were starting to hang on her. The loose fitting button down shirt and slacks made her look even younger, like an old girl trying on her mothers or older sisters clothes.

At any rate, I just happened to catch seeing my grandparents at a time that they didn't know any of us were watching them. Silently, they walked together. All the years of adversity behind them, they were at their leisure having the very first vacation together of their lives. They walked slowly away from us, in comfortable silence, as only those who know one another well can. Just before I happened to turn my head away, I caught movement. My Poppa gently took my Gran's hand in his. They clasped their hands together, and I saw my Poppa give my Gran a small squeeze before they walked hand in hand together.

It was one of the most intimate scenes of my life. I had to look away. It wasn't the wind that made my eyes glassy and tear up, it was seeing pure love. The kind you don't read about in story books. The kind that has survived the death of a child together, heartbreaking loss together, backbreaking work, and every conceivable challenge together. It was intimate because my grandparents weren't affectionate with one another. It was as if I had taken a peek into a realm I never knew existed. They truly loved one another. It shouldn't be a surprise to most people that love exists between two people that spent the majority of their lives together, but I was a little shocked. It is a memory I cherish.

Even at that age, I knew I wanted that someday. That love that grows through anything. The love that is slow, steady and strong. Unexpected love. Today, I look at myself and know that I won't have THAT. Ever. I refuse on moral grounds. Besides, I have realized that I choose men who are unavailable in some way. Emotionally, geographically or physically. I don't know if I will ever get past that. I don't know that I have it in me. And I definitely don't want to love any of them. Not willingly. I keep them close enough to enjoy and push away when it gets too real, past the point when someone stops being fixated what he sees on the outside of my body and starts seeing the mess I have going on inside. Because I'm a mess. Fucked up beyond all reason.

Am I cynical? Definitely. Wouldn't YOU be if you had my experiences? Terrified of ever allowing anyone to see me so vulnerable that they could destroy my world? Absolutely. Hesitant of giving someone my heart with the hopes they won't abuse or crush it? Definitely.

What made me think about all this again? Someone I trust has reminded me that relationships aren't cut and dried or black and white like I see them. There isn't a tried and true recipe for relationships that will allow each one of us to have the twittering birds and sweet flowers. Sometimes relationships aren't like that.

I may not believe in romantic love for me, but I do believe that you can share things with someone that are so intense, so important and life-changing that you can get close as possible. Expand emotion. Push limits of what feels safe to you, knowing they'll be there to catch you when you fall. Communicate fully so that you may understand one another's wants and needs completely. Share in experiences that you don't feel comfortable sharing with anyone else.

I'm at least willing to do that. But, with someone I feel safe with. Someone I know that isn't going to be there all the time, because I don't want to rely on anyone. Someone that can't have me in his every day life, because if he's in mine I might actually miss him. Someone whose role is clearly defined, because I don't like surprises. Someone who is unattainable, because if I could have him, what would I do with him?

Sometimes two broken people can be together and somehow, their brokenness isn't as terrible. They might find pieces of themselves that fit one another well. Sometimes they fit one another perfectly...

So, rather than think of the fairy tale that isn't realistic, I think I'll be able to see the things that matter in relationships. To go along with the other things in my life that I want to experience truly authentically.

Honesty. Respect. Trust. Admiration. Solicitousness. Compassion. Caring. Seeing the other involved in the relationship with all these things. And making the most of the time in the company of said person. Settling? No. Rethinking what I believe about relationships? Yes.

Seeing Me Through My Child's Eyes...

“And when he died, I suddenly realized I wasn’t crying for him at all, but for the things he did. I cried because he would never do them again, he would never carve another piece of wood or help us raise doves and pigeons in the backyard or play the violin the way he did, or tell us jokes the way he did. He was part of us and when he died, all the actions stopped dead and there was no one to do them the way he did. He was individual. He was an important man. I’ve never gotten over his death. Often I think what wonderful carvings never came to birth because he died. How many jokes are missing from the world, and how many homing pigeons untouched by his hands? He shaped the world. He did things to the world. The world was bankrupted of ten million fine actions the night he passed on.” ~Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451~

Occasionally, my children and I have such sublime moments of clarity in how we see each other that it's awe-inspiring. I had such a night tonight.

So, most that know me and my family know that I have a short person in each level in the hierarchy of pre-collegiate educational institutions. I have a teenager in his last semester of high school, a 'tween (soon to be a teen) in her first year of middle school and the shortest person who is in elementary school. They are my tribe, they are whom I do everything for. I give my life to making sure they are taken care of, protected and to feel secure in the knowledge that they are the centers of my world.

The shortest person and I are still the presidents and founders of each other's mutual admiration society. We are the loves of each other's lives, the alpha and the omega, each other's biggest fans. The 'tween and I are at the cusp of occasionally despising one another for brief moments of time with much eye rolling and exasperation on both parts. It goes along with the territory. All that trying boundaries and everything during hormonally charged explosions much like solar flares. The teenager and I...well, let's just say the teenager and I have had more conflict than the Middle East in approximately the past 8 years of his evolution into a human being from puberty to now. He and I tend to be the most alike...thus the constant conflict. He drives me crazy at times!

You see, my mother has this theory...that for a brief number of years from right around the start of puberty until about 19, all persons who are transforming from child to adult, are not human. It's such an apt description of us in adolescence. Anyone that has survived puberty, the teenage years and "early adult-hood" with their children knows what I'm talking about. It's a time when you begin to truly understand why some animals eat their young, and others abandon their young to fend for themselves.

At any rate, having the teenager and tween has made me appreciate having the buffer of the shortest person to remind me that once upon a time, these two "halflings" were cute and loveable. Not that I don't adore all my short people. I really do. Sometimes I just don't like the evolving ones very much.

But, the teenager has become much more human in the past year. So much so that he has made me tear up occasionally when he makes a very astute and heart-warming revelation known to me. It makes me realize that somewhere along the lines of this chaotic "parental experiment" I ventured into almost two decades ago, I might have actually done something right.

Our conversation this evening started with us catching up on his life, his new love, and a myriad of everyday things. We talked about a book I was reading, and how I was going to give it to him to read after I was done with it because he would love it because it was like the science fiction he loved that wasn't so fictitious anymore. We talked about recent changes in government and my recent decision to leave my employer so I could support my family better. I told him how I was a bit nervous about it, but that everyone seemed to have faith I would do a great job-working for me. He told me not to worry about it, because I am such an amazing therapist that I would have no problem succeeding. I asked him how he was so sure about this.

He told me he read a quote by Ray Bradbury the other day that was perfect for my situation.

I stood there, in his doorway, listening to him explain the quote as he remembered it. He said that when he read the quote, he immediately thought of me. 

He said, that when people die it's not the person you miss but what they do, and that's a big part of who they are...because it's the things that people do that they love that we remember when they're gone. He said everything I do, I work hard to do my best and people remember that. I make an impression. I am passionate about my work with almost a religious zeal. He said I was important. 

The teenager went onto say that when he wakes up and his first thought isn't about his work, because...let's face it, there isn't a whole lot to be excited about working in an entry level food service job. The teenager has been taking on more responsibility. He got his first job this past summer. He now understands a few things about the value of an honest wage for honest work, the difficulties adults sometimes have in not being appreciated for what it is we really do and why I strive so hard to do what I do to become a success in my own right. He knows that my work isn't just about making money for me. He knows that my work is my passion, something I believe in, am really great at and am very enthusiastic about.

He sees me day in and day out, waking up and KNOWING that my purpose that day is to do the greatest work I possibly can, and that every single person I touch will remember me because I put my whole heart, my whole being INTO my work. I made a noise of agreement and said people tend to tell me that their greatest complaint is that they can't find someone else who does quite what I do the way I do it.

The teenager said that the reason that my clients will never find another person who can do what I do because I have passion beyond the necessary for my work. He said that my clients, partners, employers, co-workers, friends and family can truly see that I really love what I do. And that's what makes me remarkable above and beyond any skill or knowledge that I have. He said that passion is what he wants to be able to find in his own life's work...whatever that is. Passion like I have for my career.

The teenager actually said he admired me. He also said that not enough people appreciate my dedication, my ability to see connections in how I treat injuries, pain and biomechanical issues. He knows I go above and beyond what anyone would expect in my treatment of my clients. THAT is what he said makes me great. He also said he didn't think I valued myself enough. No one valued me enough for the person I was, for the therapist I was, or for the woman I was.

I stood there, gripping my arms close to my chest, and not saying a thing. I was humbled beyond speech.

When a parent begins to feel that their child is this alien life form, sometimes it's hard to accept that they have become human again...with more compassion and respect than they began with. When your child becomes alien, at times you feel that you will never get the child you so loved back...

I looked into the eyes of this man, this once boy-child who loved me so much at one point (when he was 5) he wanted to grow up to marry me. I looked into his warm eyes and knew that my first love was still there. My little boy who loved his Momma so very, very much. But he saw me through the eyes of a man I had raised. 

It was there in that very second I realized that we have survived his growing up. He has made me a very proud mother. Not because he thinks so highly of me. But because he has evolved to think beyond himself, that he sees his own strengths and failings. And he can empathize with me, see the work that I do, what others do and recognize the value of sacrifice. That he sees the value in other human beings. Their true value. Their spirit. Their heart. Their dedication. Their passion. And that he wants it for himself. 

That he understands me.

I sit here crying in my room, not lamenting the loss of my little boy, but joyful that the world will get to know this remarkable young man. This man that I had a part in helping to become. Great. Loving. Compassionate. Intelligent. Creative. A real human being. 

I hope that we all might look at ourselves through our children's eyes. So that we may understand great love. They see us for who we are. They are the ones who really show us that we shape the world. That everyone around us is touched by our hands, and our hearts. They become who we show them we are, what we value. And sometimes, we don't realize who we are until we can see how those that we fight so hard for, work tirelessly for, and love with no condition placed on them, show us they see all that. And appreciate it.

We are important. We are valued. We cannot give up our passions. We are shaping the world. Decision by decision. Sacrifice by sacrifice. Our children become who they are by seeing us through their eyes. For good or bad. Better or worse. We are part of...everything. The world would never be what it is without us.

Makes one question, what part are you giving to the world?

Chasing Shadows

" “Succeeding,” whatever that might mean to you, is hard, and the need to do so constantly renews itself (success is like a mountain that keeps growing ahead of you as you hike it), and there’s the very real danger that “succeeding” will take up your whole life, while the big questions go untended."

 ~George Saunders~

There was a time when success to me meant making gobs of money. And I did make gobs of money at several points in my life. It was no problem for me to buy what I wanted, do what I wanted and go where I wanted. I didn't realize at the time that money doesn't always last and it doesn't mean as much as the things that have no price. Let's face it, given the choice between working your ass off and barely scraping by, or working steadily and not having to worry about whether or not you are going to make rent next month, I'd take the former over the latter any day.

However, success for me now has no monetary value, no magic number that would make me "comfortable", or no new tax bracket to fit into. Success for me now means something entirely different. 

Success for me now means the freedom to choose what I want to do for a living, the freedom to raise my children by actually being there for them instead of having someone else care for them day in and day out, and to have the security to take time off if I need to. Success for me means that I live life on my terms, doing the things I love with the people who mean the world to me. Success is having to answer only to myself in my performance, my schedule and determining not only who and how long I work for someone, but determining my worth as well.

We all want to achieve success in some measure. For each of us it means attaining or achieving a favorable or desired outcome in something that you do. My desired outcome is to achieve more quality of life. Economy of motion in all my actions. Expedient results. Authenticity in my relationships-both personal and professional. Satisfaction in a job well done. Maintaining a schedule that allows for work that is concentrated in pockets of time during my children's school days, and as little time away from them as possible. A favorable outcome would mean that I would have actual free time...down time...time off. Not having to work every single day of every week. 

For some people, you might wonder...how in the world is it possible to have to work every day of every week? Well, for a woman like me it means that I try to live my life completely self-sufficient of any assistance. I pay my way. I work my ass off to make sure I can care for my children. When my husband and I got divorced, I made a promise to myself that I would depend on no one ever again. Not in any meaningful way. Not for financial security. Not for emotional security. Not for anything.

It's funny. I couldn't get assistance even if I tried anyway. That's the part of life that is ironic. Those of us on the cusp that work harder to feed our families get penalized for working harder by the government or agencies that are there to "help". That's why there are so many of us who are just one paycheck away from homelessness. One paycheck away from hunger. One paycheck away from poverty. We constantly are hustling to make sure we don't get sick, hurt or jobless. For some of us, that means we take any job we can. When we can't take a job that provides basic securities like insurance, retirement funds and the ability to make deposits into savings, it means we are constantly gambling with our safety nets. We have none. 

So, I work every day. Every day of every week. And do so with enthusiasm. Why? If you look in the faces of my children, you see the belief they have in me. That I will take care of them. Support them.

Protect them.

Sometimes, I don't even feel like I can protect myself, let alone three people who believe in my abilities as a parent and a working adult. I look at my children and wonder if their belief in me is deserved. I wonder if they are believing in a lie.

As I told my mother the other day on the phone. There are so many people who believe in my abilities that I feel like I can't give up because I'll let so many people down. Sometimes that is the only thing that is keeping me going. When I look in my pocketbook and realize how little I have to keep me afloat.

School supplies. School clothes and shoes. Rent. Gas. Bills.

Food.

Food.

Food.

I wonder how much longer I will have the will to keep going. Keep moving. Keep hustling.

Yes, success is something that we all chase. For different reasons. For some it's to gain entrance into a golden life. For others, it's just to be able not to worry about having the means to feed our children. 

Success. It's hard. It's like a shadow you chase. It is always around you, but it's not always tangible. When the weather rolls in...and the storm clouds hide the sun, you lose the shadow of success you're chasing. You get drenched. Cold. Lose momentum. But the sun always comes out, right? And you can chase your shadows again.

I plan on becoming like Peter Pan. Maybe someone can sew the shadow of success on my feet so we won't be separated. So I can stand on success. Even on rainy days.

Yes, succeeding is hard. But giving up will be infinitely harder in the long run. It may take me my whole life to achieve it. But chasing the kind of success I long for...to make my life and my children's life better. To attain quality of life. To become more self-sufficient. To never have to depend on another soul for security. It's worth it. Even if the cost is I don't get a chance to answer the big questions. Because life...it's the ultimate big question. And my life is all about my children. So in a sense, I've already achieved my success. I just need to work on the security portion.

Paths, Cheshire Cats and movie montages

“A path is only a path, and there is no affront, to oneself or to others, in dropping it if that is what your heart tells you . . . Look at every path closely and deliberately. Try it as many times as you think necessary. Then ask yourself alone, one question . . . Does this path have a heart? If it does, the path is good; if it doesn't it is of no use.”

~Carlos Castaneda~

Ugh. Most people would be so shocked if they realized how much I wanted to give up on any dreams or aspirations I may have for myself or my family. And how frequently I want that these days. It's not like I'm so depressed that I'm having suicidial ideation or anything, but I'm discouraged beyond belief.

I WISH I could drop what my heart tells me. I'd be out of my place of employment so fast that I'd leave a vapor trail. It's not a good place for me. It's sucking the life out of me, stressing me out and disappointing me. I have been looking for a way out for months...

What do I want to replace it with? Working for myself. Spending more time with my children. Jump out of airplanes. Garden. Read. Work out. Sleep. Have time for dating. Have sex. Bake pies. Write. You know, the good stuff we're not supposed to be taking for granted in life.

It's days like today where I look at my dreams, aspirations and goals and am like...I'll never get this. Why? Because I feel like with every positive step forward I make, I get pushed two places back! I have lost interest in life! In the things that make me happy, in the things I enjoy. In striving to achieve success.  You work so hard, so long...and you'll understand what I mean.

Single moms and dads everywhere understand how I feel. If you're not in the top few percent of those earners in the United States, chances are you understand struggle. Missed or late child support payments. Clothes and shoes that constantly need to be replaced. Glasses. Orthodontia. FOOD! That's a huge expense. Gas. Rent/mortgage. Insurance. School supplies. Childcare. Argh!

I wish it were all just a dream. I'd wake up to find that this struggle filled life isn't really mine, but I'm really a princess. Married to my perfect prince with 2.5 children and a dog and I never have to lift a manicured finger to do anything in my life! 

But my life is more like how Jimmy Stewart felt in It's A Wonderful Life at the very end. He ended up being grateful for everything he had. I am too, but I'm so sick of the struggle. I know me not being around would affect the lives of many, but some days I just want to disappear. Like the Cheshire Cat does...the last thing you see is a smile.

Until then, I've got a client to get to.

Post Traumatic Growth ~ Choose Positive Change

“Life moves on, whether we act as cowards or heroes. Life has no other discipline to impose, if we would but realize it, than to accept life unquestioningly. Everything we shut our eyes to, everything we run away from, everything we deny, denigrate or despise, serves to defeat us in the end. What seems nasty, painful, evil, can become a source of beauty, joy, and strength, if faced with an open mind. Every moment is a golden one for him who has the vision to recognize it as such” ~ Henry Miller ~

My daughter and I have some pretty deep conversations these days. For someone that is on the brink of her teenagehood, she's such an astute human being. I am in awe of her understanding of our situation. She watches me, mostly silently as I work ridiculous hours, sacrifice my time and personal life, and give everything I can to be successful for them...my short people...my children.

My daughter frequently makes the observation that she thinks I work too hard for what I get. It is a lesson I can give her that sometimes it takes a lot of work at the outset to be able to get what you want in the end.

I mean, really...who wants to give up their weekend to work instead of rest and relax like the rest of the known universe? I wish I could just take a weekend off and spend time doing things that I'd like to do, but work I must, so work it is. 

I fervently hope that the things my children see that I'm doing are those things that inspire them instead of frustrate them. They know I work too much. They know that having two jobs is something that I don't always appreciate. They know I get grouchy when I come home after a ten hour day working on my feet and the dishes aren't done. Or they left a mess in the living room. But necessity is not always a kind mistress. Necessity will have you do things you not only don't want to do, but don't seem plausible insofar as expending the kind of energy, time or ability that you don't think is humanly possible. Working on private clients after working a full day working at a provider's office isn't my idea of a good time. I wish I had more time to spend with my family. I wish I could enjoy some rest and relaxation with my friends. I wish I could have the luxury of enjoying myself reading an actual book instead of a textbook or researching businesses or schools. But that isn't my reality right now, nor will it be my reality for some time to come.

There is nothing good that will come out of lamenting the life I don't have. Better relationships with my family, friends and potential loved ones will come. I have to believe that. But, the idea that I hold onto is that I have worked my ass off to get to this place of normalcy, this predictable and very...boring (for lack of a better word) life where my children can have a sense of security and feel like they know what to expect. Professionally, people know what sort of therapist I am, respect my work and appreciate what I can do for them. 

I would rather this life of constant work than the helplessness I felt before. To have a life that is mine, working too hard at times, deciding what I can and can't do...rather than have a life that is plotted out for me with no hope of ever changing.

I maintain that I am severely damaged. I have survived a life that has not always been an easy or happy one. I lived with mental illness for a while (depression) after being in a hopeless marriage for far too long with no dreams or aspirations of ever being more than what I was. Which wasn't much. I was emotionally unprepared to become single. I was mentally unprepared to tackle a life that was solely my responsibility. 

How did I do it? I had to. I didn't understand anything more than: by some odd twist of fate, The Universe, my inner will, and God gave me the grace through which I could handle every single challenge that came my way. I look back at my life just two years ago, in awe and wonder that I didn't just survive through it...I thrived.

I recently heard a term that I have fallen in love with on a TedTalk by Jane McGonigal on The Game That Can Give You Ten Extra Years of Life. Post-traumatic growth.

What was the gist of what Jane said? Directly from the transcript, here is what she said: 

Some people get stronger and happier after a traumatic event...We usually hear about post-traumatic stress disorder. But scientists now know that a traumatic event doesn't doom us to suffer indefinitely. Instead, we can use it as a springboard to unleash our best qualities and lead happier lives.
Here are the top five things that people with post-traumatic growth say:

• My priorities have changed. I'm not afraid to do what makes me happy. 
• I feel closer to my friends and family.
• I understand myself better. I know who I really am now. 
• I have a new sense of meaning and purpose in my life.
• I'm better able to focus on my goals and dreams.

...It seems that somehow, a traumatic event can unlock our ability to lead a life with fewer regrets. 

The Post Traumatic Growth Research Center at UNC Charlotte's Department of Psychology defines it as:

Positive change experienced as a result of the struggle with a major life crisis or a traumatic event. Although we coined the term post-traumatic growth, the idea that human beings can be changed by their encounters with life challenges, sometimes in radically positive ways, is not new. The theme is present in ancient spiritual and religious traditions, literature, and philosophy.

They go on to say that post-traumatic growth can occur in five different areas:

• Sometimes people who must face major life crises develop a sense that new opportunities have emerged from the struggle, opening up possibilities that were not present before.
• A second area is a change in relationships with others. Some people experience closer relationships with some specific people, and they can also experience an increased sense of connection to others who suffer. 
• A third area of possible change is an increased sense of one’s own strength – “if I lived through that, I can face anything”.
• A fourth aspect of posttraumatic growth experienced by some people is a greater appreciation for life in general. 
• The fifth area involves the spiritual or religious domain. Some individuals experience a deepening of their spiritual lives, however, this deepening can also involve a significant change in one’s belief system

Cowardice is something I don't have the luxury to experience. I refuse to run away from my problems. I refuse to lower myself to blaming other people for my circumstances, or blaming someone for choices I freely made. I can apologize for my bad decisions, for hurting people I have hurt, and move on from there. I will continue to be the best mother and therapist I possibly can, given my circumstances. 

We can be victims of our circumstances, or we can choose to be victors. I could be feeling sorry for myself, regretting the life I don't have and be depressed that my life didn't turn out the way I imagined it to be. I choose to be a victor. Always. I choose living my life on my own terms. I choose to have no regrets, only opportunities to build my life upon. I choose happiness. I choose love. I choose to help those who also suffer, as much as I can help. Whether that be just listening to them, being there to support them emotionally, or just being their friend. I can do that. I owe that to others, because what I've faced in my own life. And my firm belief in the good of people. That belief and that ability needs to be shared. Strength grows when it's shared and it perpetuates itself.

"With realization of one's own potential and self-confidence in one's ability, one can build a better world." ~Dalai Lama~

I may not understand how important just being me may be to someone else. I don't believe people understand their own personal power. But I maintain this.

I will make a difference. So can you. Grow out of your pain, grow out of your hurt, and grow out of your mindset that you have the life that you have and don't have choices in your own destiny. Cultivate your self confidence, cultivate your passion, nourish your love, and change the world around you by doing the one thing you can.

Grow.

Compass Needles and the Innocent Erotic Poet

“She was at that crucial age when a women begins to regret having stayed faithful to a husband she never really loved, when the glowing sunset colors of her beauty offer her one last, urgent choice between maternal and feminine love. At such a moment a life that seemed to have chosen its course long ago is questioned once again, for the last time the magic compass needle of the will hovers between final resignation and the hope of erotic experience.” ~Stefan Zweig~

When you're a young, married twenty-something woman, and your life stretches out before you, it doesn't dawn on you that you may become single later. That the life you chose won't be yours anymore. That the person you think you'll share the rest of your life with was the wrong person in so many ways...

I wasn't always the best wife. I admit that. But, he wasn't the best husband. That's no excuse. I had every opportunity to leave and find something better when I was much younger. I should have. I resented my husband for leaving me alone all the time, always putting me on the very back burner to simmer in my own reservations about our relationship. I didn't like him as a person. That should have been my first clue. I ended our union with absolutely no respect for him. He hurt me in ways that no husband should ever hurt a wife. The constant infidelity. The daily belittling remarks. Blaming me for his every failure and sabotaging my dawning successes. The absolute control with which he ran my life. The humiliations, some public...mostly private. The drinking. The disappearing acts. And for not supporting me in such ways a husband should. Emotionally. Mentally. 

Some of that I could say is my fault. In how I chose to behave toward him. But he also chose how to behave toward me. So, I can't take all the blame. I will say that the longer we were married the easier it became not to care. The longer we were married, it became easier to stray farther away from who I really was and lower myself to his level. I drank more. I stopped caring about my appearance. I did things I wasn't proud of. It also became easier to forget my own needs, wants or desires. Most mothers will tell you that they put their own needs last. But I got so bad that I forgot what it is I actually liked. I couldn't even make a meal without asking him if that's what HE wanted. I was constantly afraid of his displeasure. I spent my life walking on eggshells. Pathetic.

At the dawn of my 39th birthday, after approximately three years of being alone without a husband and raising three children on my own, I have found myself coming to some conclusions about myself, my own eroticism, romantic love and how the choices that I make now are not determined by my heart, but my head. I've thought long and hard about it. It's been on my mind a lot, as you can tell by my blog posts. For me, it's all about family. My short people. Love I have. Romance? Not so much. Romantic love? I give up.

I've determined that this will be the last post I make about this particular subject. 

Why? Because it's counterproductive to think about something I have no hope of actually understanding, accepting or finding for myself. I know I'll get a lot of flack for saying so, and people will encourage me not to give up hope, that I really can find it, that I've got too much love to share not to share it with someone. But I really don't want to try. I have no confidence that I will find what I need in any man. I also believe I'm far too much myself for any one to handle.

I remember during the divorce, I created a list for myself of the things I would accept and not accept in my life, and I remember creating a list of those things I would accept in a potential partner. I've found a lot of those things in different men I've become involved with, but there is always something...unavailability being the largest one. Apparently, I'm not the only one who has had bad experiences with previous partners. And I'm not the only one who has obligations to others or self, and reservations about finding a romantic and spiritual match for ourselves.

Men don't typically like strong women. That's not true. Some men really do. But I'm not just strong. I can be intimidating. Obstinate. Immovable.  As a friend of mine has carefully and lovingly described my attitude toward relationships and men, I have no gray areas. It's clearly black and white for me. That's hard for men to swallow. I have a lot of expectations, and a lot of rules since I've been a single mom. Those are hard too.

I'll never subject my children to anyone that I don't feel is the most conscientious person, one who firmly who lives by values and morals about family that I share. Someone who will respect my need to provide my children with the best upbringing I possibly can for them. Someone they can respect, count on and love as well. Someone they see that respects me. All of me. Someone that I can respect and care for.

As far as the finding an "erotic experience" I am so over that. The things that I found in myself again after the Dreaded Ex and I split, are the things that people are drawn to. The positivity, the good nature, my natural exuberance and affectionate nature. I tease, good naturedly. And as the Dreaded Ex so aptly described me in a moment of clarity, I can be walking sensuality...*chuckle* ME. Walking sensuality. It's laughable because I don't think of myself that way. But he may have had something there...

If I wanted to have an "erotic" experience...one that borders on romantic, and just have it be physical, I could. Easily. I just don't want to. I'm not built for casual, "disposable relationships". I am tired of being looked at as an object by men. Powerful. Intoxicating. Addicting. An object of obsession. Those are descriptions I've heard about myself over the past few years. Me... I'm still laughing! Bless their sweet infatuated selves...

I can't say that my experiences haven't been good for me. It was amusing to be thought of as someone to be desired. For someone like me, who has never had any illusions about who I was and wasn't, I always thought that I was just a plain, ordinary girl. Just like everyone else, wanting to be loved and accepted. Quirks, control issues, freakiness and all.

Eroticism is something that doesn't have to be shameful.We are all erotic creatures. Like the photos I allowed myself to sit for. They were beautifully done, tasteful. Classic. Never in a million years would I have thought that I could do that. Never would I have thought that I would look at my battle scarred body and see beauty in all the imperfections, the stretch marks, the breasts that nourished three children, the softness that I've acquired by living as the most innocently erotic of all figures. The mother.

“Eroticism is first and foremost a thirst for otherness. And the supernatural is the supreme otherness. This is perhaps the most noble aim of poetry, to attach ourselves to the world around us, to turn desire into love, to embrace, finally what always evades us, what is beyond, but what is always there – the unspoken, the spirit, the soul.” ~Octavio Paz~

Ironically, the key to my own happiness has lived in myself. In my acceptance of myself. Wholly. Good and not so good. To share my joy, my love of life, my love and loyalty of family. To share the gifts I have without qualm, without condition. To share my experiences. Good and not so good. I've heard from quite a few people that the things I write about and share help people. That's nice to hear. My confusion, my epiphanies, my heartache and heartbreak. They're not unique to me. That's very comforting.

The erotic experiences I'll have will have to be on the more sensual side. The things I'll allow myself will be more of the mind and spirit; and less of the heart. What do I mean? Fall in love with life. My passions. My work. And possibly myself. 

Therein lies my true erotic nature. Embracing everything about me that makes me a sensual, spiritual being. Loving of everyone, doing what I do best-making others feel good about themselves. Entertaining the ideas and things that make me happiest. Because all I've ever hoped for was a modicum of happiness and peace with who I am. That's the thing that's evaded me my whole life. My aim is to be free. Unencumbered of guilt and shame. Removing of sin from my being. And putting no conditions on the love I have. 

The Truth About Monsters in the Closet

“How would your life be different if…You approached all relationships with authenticity and honesty? Let today be the day…You dedicate yourself to building relationships on the solid foundation of truth and authenticity.” ~Steve Maraboli~

Everyone has falsehoods in their relationships. Everyone. Anyone that says they don't is a liar. 

The small white lies about you being a better person than you really are. The white lies you tell your children about who you are as a parent. The white lies you tell the family and friends who care for you in how you REALLY feel or are doing. The lies you even tell yourself about what you have in your life and that everything is okay.

The most important relationship to have be the most authentic in your life is the one you have with yourself. Going on 39 years of trying to figure out my own relationship with myself has taken its toll on me. I'm tired of it. Tired of trying to make excuses, make exceptions. Especially for myself. Trying to justify my actions and decisions because I am afraid to let things be really seen as I feel or how things are. That stretches back to when I was a little girl. My whole life feels like it's been this way.

"Suck it up cupcake. There are people that have it a lot worse than you. You should be taking this a lot easier. You can handle it."

I hear that lovely bit of self-talk frequently in my head. Sometimes I want to just be able to feel like it's okay for me to feel like shit about who I am and the decisions I make. Let me wallow in the emotional quicksand that is my psyche, because some days I just don't want to pretend I'm fine. Everything is alright. Things will get better because it doesn't always feel that way. When is it okay to feel that way? Anyone that knows me, knows that the answer is never.

I haven't always had an authentic relationship with myself. My biggest lies to myself and to others is that I'm fine. I'm okay. I can handle this. I'm doing well on my own. That things that the people who love you don't bother you. That things you do...or don't do...for yourself are acceptable. That I feel like I wasted a good portion of my life in making bad decisions. That I'm not really such a great mother, daughter, friend or loved one. That I really like who I am. That's the one that gets me all the time...I don't always like myself.

My relationships with other people are ones that I tend to keep the most on the surface, because if I begin to start dealing with how I really feel about other people and definitely how I feel about myself, I can easily break down into this whimpering, insecure and dissatisfied hollow shadow of myself. 

People that know me, even those that know me well, don't know a lot about who I really am or what goes on inside my head or heart. 

The feelings of indecision. The feelings of helplessness. With my own situation. With theirs. The feeling that I can't help enough. The feeling that I don't know what the hell I'm doing in MY life, let alone helping them figure out theirs. It's easy to see why I tend to keep so busy. I'm overwhelmed. Exhausted-physically AND emotionally. It's easier NOT to have time to delve into what's wrong with me than face it and be caught up with answers I don't really want to have.

What kind of answers am I afraid of? 

Yes, you aren't always a good mother, daughter, friend, and you would make a terrible girlfriend/significant other/wife. Your skills and ego are over-inflated to protect how little you really are, how little you really know, how little you really feel. You allow yourself to be objectified by men and are dissatisfied that no one really "gets you" because they aren't allowed to be close enough TO you to see you're as fallible and human as everyone else is. Don't even think that you'd allow anyone to take care of you. God forbid you depend on anyone else, because everyone you depend on walks away or abandons you. No one wants you. Really. You're not worth being loved by anyone. You're loneliness is YOUR fault. You'll never be anything more than just someone people think is pretty and toys with. You're a fraud.

That negative self talk is a lot like monsters in the closet you had when you were a kid. You swear they're real, they're there...but when you look, the closet is just filled with ordinary stuff. Nothing scary at all. It's not real. 

I never say these things out loud because I know I'd get my ass reamed out and handed back to me on a platter.  I never say these things because I don't want to admit I'm weak. Or that I hurt. Or I am afraid. Or that I'm vulnerable as hell. Or any myriad of reasons that people would try to discredit immediately.

"I'm so proud of you. You're strong. You're beautiful. You're an amazing person. You're a great mother. You can handle anything. You can DO anything. You have so much dedication. You're a great mother, daughter, and you'd make someone a fantastic wife. You're so smart, so compassionate, so giving, so loving, so blah-blah-blah."

It's not that I don't think people are genuine when I hear these things being said to me. It's that I don't always feel them about myself. We all know how that feels. We all experience it.



So, here's me being completely truthful about me.

I'm tired of having to live up to expectations about being strong all the time. No one can be. That's physically impossible.

I'd love for someone to take care of ME for a change. I know that's not going to happen, because my role is always care-giver, not care-taker. I am mostly okay with that. 

I am secure about my role as a mother, daughter, and family member. I'll do just about anything for my family. Even allow them to hurt my feelings, take advantage of my kindness, and to put up with just about any amount of bullshit in how I am treated, or ignored. They're my family. They're the most important things in my life. Even if I'm not the most important thing in theirs. I forgive. Constantly. I don't want to feel like I have a lot to forgive, but I'm sure I do too.

I am insecure as hell about any role where I would allow anyone outside of family get close to me. I honestly don't believe I'll ever find the person or people who may change my opinion on relationships between men and women, but I find wonderful things in the people who have been in my life and are in my life today. Each has taught me a lot. I grow. I change. My compassion for people grows with each experience. But, I know that I choose those that are unavailable in some way-distance, age, or circumstance purposefully. Sounds messed up. But it's how I know I can control my relationships. I'm actually afraid that there IS someone for me. Because I would not know how to handle it.

Yes, I've been hurt more than a few times. Who hasn't? But, I still believe in the good of people. I still believe that people have good intentions. I don't understand how people can willfully hurt another person, because it kills me to hurt another human being. 

I still wonder about why my ex was so hurtful. I actually do want him to be happy. I pray every day that he finds peace for himself and for the sake of our children. I still don't like him. I have a hard time believing I loved him, but there was a time I did. Or think I did. I feel sorry for him. 

I'm not a perfect parent. I let a lot of things slide these days, but I do my best. It's not always good enough. I know that. I worry about my children constantly. That's why I have so many damn rules for myself. Because I don't want them to be as screwed up as I am, and I definitely don't want anyone else I may bring in my life screwing them up either.

My coping mechanisms are not always healthy or what a lot of people I know would agree with or understand. That's okay. I don't expect anyone to understand why I need to do what I need to do. There are people in my life that allow me to do what I need to do, no questions asked. No expectations. I appreciate the hell out of that.

I am the keeper of many secrets. I'm a vault. People sometimes need to talk. I listen. People need to feel like they're not as fucked up as they think they are. They aren't. I'm fine with being that person to talk to. People just want the same thing the world over. To be accepted. To feel affection. To feel like someone else cares. To feel like they're not freaks. They're not. Their perception of what other people think is the thing that's messed up.

I don't like what I look like. I don't think I'm as attractive as what most people think. I am always wondering what the hell people see when they look at me.  I don't like getting older. I don't like my body.

I don't like being such a perfectionist and hard on myself, because it deters me from allowing things to be out of my control around me. If it's not perfect I don't want to do it. I love control. Too much. 

I am worried about failure. I am afraid of success. Both paralyze me. Sometimes that is really dangerous. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Sometimes with both, I end up sabotaging myself. Which is ridiculous and counter-productive. 

But mostly, I'm afraid. Afraid of myself. My strength. My power as a woman, a mother, a daughter, someone's love...I'm really afraid there IS no limit with what I'm capable of accomplishing personally or professionally.


I know being that truthful can make a lot of people uncomfortable. But sometimes we need to understand that and embrace that discomfort. We also need to speak on those things that DO make us uncomfortable.

Being able to talk about what you're really feeling allows you to bring out the emotion and gain perspective. Bringing the fears out to the light of day takes away the power that fear has.

As a mother, when you allow your child to talk about their fears, you help them face them. Monsters in closets. Bullies at school. Learning new skills they don't think they can do and guiding them to grow. Same concept more or less. You don't discredit their fear or feeling, but instead you show them that they don't have to be afraid to try something new. That they have it in them to accomplish something challenging. That the power of their fear is only as strong as they allow it to be.

Allow people to feel the way they do. Telling them how they should feel is encouraging them not to live as authentically as possible. Fear can be a propellant, it makes us move. We might make mistakes, but we're moving and learning. Sometimes we need to feel like shit to make ourselves feel better. Sometimes we need to feel unstoppable to help us to get where we need to go. And sometimes we just need someone to listen and hold our hands, with the acknowledgement that they occasionally feel like they don't know what they're doing or why they feel the way they do.

Makes one think, doesn't it? The power of just allowing ourselves to be human. No judgement. No false bravado. No encouraging stuffing of emotions. Just to talk. Be present. Who knows...maybe they'll allow you to see who they are as well. And maybe in that ability to let down the wall, the perpetual guard, you may find something that you never expected. Yourself.