I keep a daily journal of things I'm thankful for, and my running list of ten goals. Rachel Hollis said this is supposed to re-focus you and bring you closer to your goals everyday, so I obeyed and bought her $30 journal. The interesting thing about journaling daily things that you're thankful for, is that eventually seemingly negative items end up on it. I journaled the other day that I was thankful for ex-boyfriends. I have learned a lot from my failed relationships.
I googled one of them out of curiosity and landed on his memorial page. Bobby was 39 when he passed and left a wife and four kids behind. He was one of the most amazing humans I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. He loved people. Intensely. He loved them because he loved God. He was kind and thoughtful. He was comfortable in his own skin. He never felt embarrassed by who he was...and sometimes who he was was embarrassing...to me, a 23 yr. old girl who was very UN-OK in her own skin. He had this crazy red hair and a man bun. He wore pants from Thailand that were baggy and tied around his waste. He was always smiling this mischievous smile. He was gentle and forgiving with me. I was a complete disaster at that age, yet he loved me so well I felt almost whole.
As an 8 on the Enneagram, I act first when something happens. So after discovering his death I immediately called my sister, who also knew Bobby. We talked about it and I shared memories because my next response is to think. My last response is always to feel. It didn't hit me until hours later...the tears finally found their way down my cheeks.
Life happens in these small moments. It was a very small act that I conducted..googling an ex... that triggered years of memories. I thought about every boyfriend I had ever had. Those that I loved and those that I didn't. Those that were there for seasons and those that hung on through many seasons. I thought about all the things I learned from them...the good, the bad, the confirmed ugly.
When we learn to start paying attention to our body's responses to events, we learn to embrace the beauty and simplicity of life...and hopefully learn to be grateful. My tears over Bobby's death meant something. It wasn't as easy to label as grief because I hadn't known him for years. So I walked myself through the feelings...a highly uncomfortable thing for this feeling repressed feeling woman to do. And at the root of it was fear...the fear that I missed out on what could have been an incredible life.
Pause for dramatic effect. Because my life is pretty incredible.
Our brains are amazingly subtle in their messages. They have learned to protect us so well that they take cues from small fears and wreak havoc. This one small fear could have gotten out of control. It could have destroyed all that I was thankful for presently. It could have eaten away the memories of other men, the beauty of the heartaches, the impossibility of knowing. It could have taken away from me my gratitude.
And without gratitude, we are doomed to live a sub-par life.
So my girl Rach, thank you for the $30 journal. I wonder what seemingly negative thing I will find to be thankful for today.
Wednesday, April 10, 2019
Saturday, April 6, 2019
Self Care -- a Gross Transgression??
I waited for the familiar flip of my stomach, the increase in my heart rate, the reddening of my face. I anticipated it. It was an old friend whose company had long been accepted and adjusted to. He had made himself at home at my dinner table more times than I could count when this thought arose, so I had already set his place.
But this time, homeboy stood me up.
For the first time since Kindergarten when my affections fell on the cutest boy in my class, the familiar physiological cues of anxiety surrounding a boy a.k.a. man did not make an appearance.
I was confused. Surely I'm still the same little girl whose worth depends upon whether the flavor of the month likes her or not. Surely, at 42, this hasn't changed. Perhaps my body didn't get the cues right and is simply delayed in its response.
I waited five minutes and thought about the boy a.k.a. man again. Still nothing, Jesus.
It settled on me with a heaviness mixed with relief and joy. I had broken my body's response to what I used to categorize as fear. I had said enough times in the midst of my unwelcome dinner guest things to combat his presence.
"You are enough."
"You are beautiful."
"You are kind."
"You are intelligent."
"You deserve more."
"You are honest."
"You are worthy."
"You are amazing."
"You are a catch."
"Any man would be lucky to have you."
"You are funny."
"You are successful."
My brain had been programmed for so long to believe the opposite. When a thought about a man arose, my brain immediately went into protection mode. My body cleared the way for anxiety to settle in with its physical responses to my negative thoughts. They went something like this:
"You are not good enough for him."
"Of course he doesn't like you."
"You're too fat for him."
"You're not successful enough."
"You don't work out enough."
"You're not pretty enough."
"You're too much."
"You drink too much."
"You laugh too loudly."
"Your nose is too big."
"You're not clever enough."
"You're too clingy."
"You're not funny."
"He's too good for you."
and so on...
After my two week stint of anticipating news of cancer, I suppose my brain was finally done with the bullshit. It finally got the clue that my time belonged only to me and to waste it would be foolish. It finally flipped the script and joined the "We Love Rebekah" camp of positive thoughts.
I had successfully changed my brain.
Our responses to life are controlled by what we have taught our brain to believe. If we believe that we are worthy, our brain will look for things to reinforce that belief. If we believe the opposite, it will do the same.
But we are in control of this phenomenon. We are the ones steering our thoughts. We are the ones controlling our beliefs. We, alone, hold the power to changing ourselves.
Along with this beautiful acceptance of myself came the desire to be alone.
I'm not afraid of spending time alone. I never have been. I am usually very happily singing to very loud music and cleaning. I play the piano. I paint. I garden. I cook. I am not the girl who can't be alone. But this sense of aloneness that I now crave is different. I'm always aware of myself and the joy I find in being me. I'm alone in crowds, just me and my thoughts having interesting conversations. I'm alone when I work, though I work alongside a helper and the occasional client.
I'm the coolest person I know, so being alone now has this extra edge of beauty and mystery to it.
Growing up in a Southern Baptist environment, the theme was to die to yourself. Anything about self-love was considered mystical and sinful. I have first hand experience with this faulty thinking. (This conversation requires Chopin...please hold while I play the Chopin Pandora station to get the creative juices turned on.)
But if we are to truly love others, we must love ourselves first. We are incapable of wholly loving if we loathe who we are. I'm no expert on the Bible anymore, but I vaguely remember a verse about loving others as we love ourselves. This assumes that we do, in fact, love ourselves.
So where is the disconnect? Why did the church assume that loving yourself was sinful and evil? Why is self-care a "mystical" and "Eastern" idea to good, Baptist folk?
I clearly remember sitting in a Sunday School class as an adult when a woman began talking about how she meditates and does Yoga to help her with her anxiety. The response from the teacher was less than tasteful...it was something like "those practices are not godly because they are self-centered."
John Calvin said, "Without knowledge of self, there is no knowledge of God."
I agree heartily with this statement.
Our parents' generation has resisted loving themselves. They have resisted self-care and self-awareness. They have hidden from it, like it was a secret holocaust ready to implode. I have been scoffed at many times for doing things to take care of myself as a mother. The unspoken words were that they didn't do all of these things and were able to raise us just fine. The subtle message is that they are stronger than we are because they didn't need such frivolities.
But the truth was they were stressed out, unhappy mothers who were hanging on by a thread.
What a disservice they suffered...largely the fault of the church and its not-so-subtle message that self-care was wrong. They must have stayed in high-anxiety mode because the solutions were not only considered selfish and wrong, but considered a gross transgression against God. Their brains must have stayed stressed out. They must have been tired. They were definitely unappreciated. They must have been alone and fearful. When perhaps the solution to all their anxiety and stress and exhaustion was just a damn trip to Target by themselves with their favorite coffee.
I believe that we are so convoluted in our ideas of strength that we have shut off the tap that would otherwise freely flow God's love and care. If strength was instead wholly loving yourself, which would be proven by your acts of self-care, then the world would be a lot less stressed out and much more loving.
If I had not been on a mission to love myself, my brain would have continued on its erroneous path of self-destructive messages. These thoughts become actions. And actions have consequences.
I can say without doubt that my actions are mostly the actions of a woman who wholly loves herself. There are those moments when I eat too much ice cream or drink too much, but I'm in process, okay????? And Blue Bell and vodka was made to be enjoyed. I'm just a girl standing in front of a freezer asking it to feed me frozen, creamy goodness.
Thanks to my journey to love myself, my brain and I are now on a positive upswing (Bluebell and vodka are also present). I no longer have anxiety responses to boys not liking me. I could care less. I have more than enough love for myself...men no longer hold the key to the delightful kingdom of Rebekah.
But this time, homeboy stood me up.
I was confused. Surely I'm still the same little girl whose worth depends upon whether the flavor of the month likes her or not. Surely, at 42, this hasn't changed. Perhaps my body didn't get the cues right and is simply delayed in its response.
I waited five minutes and thought about the boy a.k.a. man again. Still nothing, Jesus.
It settled on me with a heaviness mixed with relief and joy. I had broken my body's response to what I used to categorize as fear. I had said enough times in the midst of my unwelcome dinner guest things to combat his presence.
"You are enough."
"You are beautiful."
"You are kind."
"You are intelligent."
"You deserve more."
"You are honest."
"You are worthy."
"You are amazing."
"You are a catch."
"Any man would be lucky to have you."
"You are funny."
"You are successful."
My brain had been programmed for so long to believe the opposite. When a thought about a man arose, my brain immediately went into protection mode. My body cleared the way for anxiety to settle in with its physical responses to my negative thoughts. They went something like this:
"You are not good enough for him."
"Of course he doesn't like you."
"You're too fat for him."
"You're not successful enough."
"You don't work out enough."
"You're not pretty enough."
"You're too much."
"You drink too much."
"You laugh too loudly."
"Your nose is too big."
"You're not clever enough."
"You're too clingy."
"You're not funny."
"He's too good for you."
and so on...
After my two week stint of anticipating news of cancer, I suppose my brain was finally done with the bullshit. It finally got the clue that my time belonged only to me and to waste it would be foolish. It finally flipped the script and joined the "We Love Rebekah" camp of positive thoughts.
I had successfully changed my brain.
Our responses to life are controlled by what we have taught our brain to believe. If we believe that we are worthy, our brain will look for things to reinforce that belief. If we believe the opposite, it will do the same.
But we are in control of this phenomenon. We are the ones steering our thoughts. We are the ones controlling our beliefs. We, alone, hold the power to changing ourselves.
Along with this beautiful acceptance of myself came the desire to be alone.
I'm not afraid of spending time alone. I never have been. I am usually very happily singing to very loud music and cleaning. I play the piano. I paint. I garden. I cook. I am not the girl who can't be alone. But this sense of aloneness that I now crave is different. I'm always aware of myself and the joy I find in being me. I'm alone in crowds, just me and my thoughts having interesting conversations. I'm alone when I work, though I work alongside a helper and the occasional client.
I'm the coolest person I know, so being alone now has this extra edge of beauty and mystery to it.
Growing up in a Southern Baptist environment, the theme was to die to yourself. Anything about self-love was considered mystical and sinful. I have first hand experience with this faulty thinking. (This conversation requires Chopin...please hold while I play the Chopin Pandora station to get the creative juices turned on.)
But if we are to truly love others, we must love ourselves first. We are incapable of wholly loving if we loathe who we are. I'm no expert on the Bible anymore, but I vaguely remember a verse about loving others as we love ourselves. This assumes that we do, in fact, love ourselves.
So where is the disconnect? Why did the church assume that loving yourself was sinful and evil? Why is self-care a "mystical" and "Eastern" idea to good, Baptist folk?
I clearly remember sitting in a Sunday School class as an adult when a woman began talking about how she meditates and does Yoga to help her with her anxiety. The response from the teacher was less than tasteful...it was something like "those practices are not godly because they are self-centered."
John Calvin said, "Without knowledge of self, there is no knowledge of God."
I agree heartily with this statement.
Our parents' generation has resisted loving themselves. They have resisted self-care and self-awareness. They have hidden from it, like it was a secret holocaust ready to implode. I have been scoffed at many times for doing things to take care of myself as a mother. The unspoken words were that they didn't do all of these things and were able to raise us just fine. The subtle message is that they are stronger than we are because they didn't need such frivolities.
But the truth was they were stressed out, unhappy mothers who were hanging on by a thread.
What a disservice they suffered...largely the fault of the church and its not-so-subtle message that self-care was wrong. They must have stayed in high-anxiety mode because the solutions were not only considered selfish and wrong, but considered a gross transgression against God. Their brains must have stayed stressed out. They must have been tired. They were definitely unappreciated. They must have been alone and fearful. When perhaps the solution to all their anxiety and stress and exhaustion was just a damn trip to Target by themselves with their favorite coffee.
I believe that we are so convoluted in our ideas of strength that we have shut off the tap that would otherwise freely flow God's love and care. If strength was instead wholly loving yourself, which would be proven by your acts of self-care, then the world would be a lot less stressed out and much more loving.
If I had not been on a mission to love myself, my brain would have continued on its erroneous path of self-destructive messages. These thoughts become actions. And actions have consequences.
I can say without doubt that my actions are mostly the actions of a woman who wholly loves herself. There are those moments when I eat too much ice cream or drink too much, but I'm in process, okay????? And Blue Bell and vodka was made to be enjoyed. I'm just a girl standing in front of a freezer asking it to feed me frozen, creamy goodness.
Thanks to my journey to love myself, my brain and I are now on a positive upswing (Bluebell and vodka are also present). I no longer have anxiety responses to boys not liking me. I could care less. I have more than enough love for myself...men no longer hold the key to the delightful kingdom of Rebekah.
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