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.
Thursday, March 14, 2019
Naked Fear
I was sitting in the waiting room with my Ochsner robe on, flipping through a magazine. It was drafty in there and I was wishing I had worn my wool-lined Uggs and boot socks to combat the chill...at least on the bottom half of my body. The small thought that perhaps I would get bad news quickly flitted through my head then was quickly dismissed. Nothing like that happens to me, I thought to myself. My body and I are too tight...it wouldn't betray me.
The Radiologist squeezed the cold gel on my chest and started the invasion. Right breast was quick and easy. Left breast...he took longer. Much longer. The mood in the room went from light and chatty to unnervingly quiet. He and the nurse fussed over me as they cleaned the gel off and helped me back into my robe. He sat somberly in his chair and began the explanation of his findings. He found a mass. It was concerning. The words biopsy and cancer hung in the air. I stopped breathing at some point and fought back tears. Surely this would not be the moment my life drastically changed. Surely not in this tiny room with these strangers halfway dressed after being groped would the course of my life screech to a halt. Surely...
I begged silently for their words to stop so I could escape to my car and release the sobs I was stifling. The doctor gently shook my hand and left in silence. The nurse told me to take a deep breath and directed me to the changing room. Finally, I found myself in my car and the pending sobs collapsed as threatened.
When I was able to squeak out a "hello," I began calling my family. Their words were expected and comforting:
"We don't know anything yet."
"This is standard procedure."
"It's a very treatable kind of cancer if they caught it early."
And my favorite, by my brother-in-law.... "Don't go to crazy-town, Rebekah."
I am two years past the due date for my mammogram. I hate making time to go to the doctor. I'm super healthy, so it seems like a waste of time...so I thought. But when I had my annual last week, my doctor urged me to go see if there was a spot for a mammogram open that day. Within minutes, I was waiting, topless, to get my breasts squeezed uncomfortably into a machine. I was disgruntled and irritated at the seeming waste of time. Even when I got the call stating there were abnormalities and an ultrasound was needed, I scoffed. We'll see if I actually make this appointment, I thought to myself. There is nothing wrong with me.
For two weeks, my family and close friends held their breath. They called often. They texted more. I walked through the following weeks with an intense amount of anxiety. Food was not appealing. I learned to go to sleep and wake with a huge pressure sitting on my chest. I learned to manage living as a mom and business owner with almost paralyzing stress.
I am thankful the anxiety ended with good news. The lump was benign. Not everyone is this lucky.
I did not escape that experience unscathed. It altered the course of my life. It changed the chemistry in my brain as my body struggled to stay balanced. It changed my relationships...it deepened some and gave me permission to release others. It forced me to be exposed and vulnerable ... to be human.
I said one night to my dear friend during the height of my anxiety that if this experience has done anything for me, it has pushed me to live fearlessly. Well, even more fearlessly. (I'm not exactly the girl that hides from experiences out of fear.)
But what does scare me is continuing to evolve as a woman independent of a man. My fear is that I will scare off any possibility of companionship by being fiercely autonomous. As a result, I have hesitated in my growth. I have tiptoed towards it with caution. I have considered the consequences of my actions through the lens of companionship instead of my own evolution.
Having that word "cancer" uttered by a stranger in relation to my body was enough to release me from this tether. I will no longer pause in my procession towards greatness. Life is too short to be shackled. It's too precious to be stifled. And should I find myself once again in a drafty room with a robe on to cover my nakedness from sterile strangers, I will be able to rest in the knowledge that I lived fearlessly.
The Radiologist squeezed the cold gel on my chest and started the invasion. Right breast was quick and easy. Left breast...he took longer. Much longer. The mood in the room went from light and chatty to unnervingly quiet. He and the nurse fussed over me as they cleaned the gel off and helped me back into my robe. He sat somberly in his chair and began the explanation of his findings. He found a mass. It was concerning. The words biopsy and cancer hung in the air. I stopped breathing at some point and fought back tears. Surely this would not be the moment my life drastically changed. Surely not in this tiny room with these strangers halfway dressed after being groped would the course of my life screech to a halt. Surely...
I begged silently for their words to stop so I could escape to my car and release the sobs I was stifling. The doctor gently shook my hand and left in silence. The nurse told me to take a deep breath and directed me to the changing room. Finally, I found myself in my car and the pending sobs collapsed as threatened.
When I was able to squeak out a "hello," I began calling my family. Their words were expected and comforting:
"We don't know anything yet."
"This is standard procedure."
"It's a very treatable kind of cancer if they caught it early."
And my favorite, by my brother-in-law.... "Don't go to crazy-town, Rebekah."
I am two years past the due date for my mammogram. I hate making time to go to the doctor. I'm super healthy, so it seems like a waste of time...so I thought. But when I had my annual last week, my doctor urged me to go see if there was a spot for a mammogram open that day. Within minutes, I was waiting, topless, to get my breasts squeezed uncomfortably into a machine. I was disgruntled and irritated at the seeming waste of time. Even when I got the call stating there were abnormalities and an ultrasound was needed, I scoffed. We'll see if I actually make this appointment, I thought to myself. There is nothing wrong with me.
For two weeks, my family and close friends held their breath. They called often. They texted more. I walked through the following weeks with an intense amount of anxiety. Food was not appealing. I learned to go to sleep and wake with a huge pressure sitting on my chest. I learned to manage living as a mom and business owner with almost paralyzing stress.
I am thankful the anxiety ended with good news. The lump was benign. Not everyone is this lucky.
I did not escape that experience unscathed. It altered the course of my life. It changed the chemistry in my brain as my body struggled to stay balanced. It changed my relationships...it deepened some and gave me permission to release others. It forced me to be exposed and vulnerable ... to be human.
I said one night to my dear friend during the height of my anxiety that if this experience has done anything for me, it has pushed me to live fearlessly. Well, even more fearlessly. (I'm not exactly the girl that hides from experiences out of fear.)
But what does scare me is continuing to evolve as a woman independent of a man. My fear is that I will scare off any possibility of companionship by being fiercely autonomous. As a result, I have hesitated in my growth. I have tiptoed towards it with caution. I have considered the consequences of my actions through the lens of companionship instead of my own evolution.
Having that word "cancer" uttered by a stranger in relation to my body was enough to release me from this tether. I will no longer pause in my procession towards greatness. Life is too short to be shackled. It's too precious to be stifled. And should I find myself once again in a drafty room with a robe on to cover my nakedness from sterile strangers, I will be able to rest in the knowledge that I lived fearlessly.
Tuesday, February 5, 2019
A Star Is Born
I went to see A Star is Born.
Heavy Sigh.
The premise of the movie is two people who immediately have a deep connection. Their romance is fast and furious, full of emotion and passion, angst and tears. Lots and lots of tears.
As I watched it, with a man I've been dating beside me, I found myself incredibly uncomfortable. I felt like I was supposed to buy into the idea that love looks like that. I felt like I was suddenly daft and ignorant to how relationships work and what love is. I felt exactly like the movie wanted me to feel....caught up in the fairy tale and folded into the story line...lost in their beauty and discontent with my own.
I left the theater thinking that I had missed the boat on great love because none of my relationships looked like that.
We walked out silently while I tried to hold it together. My mind was full of my own failures at romance and the fear that it will never happen again for me. I was deconstructing all my relationships and all the reasons we shouldn't have dated. Mostly, it was because we couldn't sing, he doesn't make me cry, and he would never write me a love song.
Firm eye roll.
I carried these emotions with me into the next day. And the next day, which was the dreaded court date over custody of my boys. I sat in that office while my lawyer made my case, across from my ex-husband, and felt overwhelmed with failure and fear. The result was not in my favor. I gathered up my large file of why their dad should get less time with them, picked up what dignity I had left, and exited the building where my life had just changed. Again.
I spent the entire day crying. Hard, ugly crying. I had to wear sunglasses to pick my boys up so they, and the rest of the world, wouldn't see my pain.
My friends and family called, but I couldn't hear the disappointment in their voice. I couldn't hear their "I told you so" tone (that was most likely just in my imagination). I couldn't hear any encouragement or positivity. Nothing was going to be received. I avoided the phone calls. The one thing I was able to do was Marco Polo (video app) one of my besties who lets me video journal my life. I talked unhinged. By the end of the day, my eyes were swollen and painful.
Through my unfiltered blubberings to my bestie, many things became apparent.
1. I had bought into the lie that my life was harder than other people's.
2. I was ill equipped to handle the difficulty.
3. I would never find great love like Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper. (Insert a sarcastic, but gravely serious, chuckle.)
4. I would never love and be loved again.
The beauty in surrounding yourself with people who know and love you...and are themselves incredible people, is that their truths combat your lies.
When I was ready to receive it, my dear friend spoke truth over me.
1. My life is not unique in that it is filled with difficulty. Join the freakin' club, sister.
2. The same God who parted the Red Sea, who tore down the walls of Jericho and who raised Jesus from the dead is the One who is with you. Nothing is too difficult for Him.
3. I found great love like Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper, despite the fact that neither one of us could sing. He was also an alcoholic and it also ended. (As it should have...but huge, freakin' sigh.)
4. I may not find love again...but my life is full despite not having someone to share it with. And for the first time in a long while I'm fine alone. (Not happy alone...not content alone ... but fine.)
We're all just broken people trying to find our place in the world. Our place may or may not be in a romantic relationship. And it certainly doesn't include Bradley Cooper (another huge, freakin' sigh). But this star, like Lady Gaga, was born out of brokenness.
Heavy Sigh.
As I watched it, with a man I've been dating beside me, I found myself incredibly uncomfortable. I felt like I was supposed to buy into the idea that love looks like that. I felt like I was suddenly daft and ignorant to how relationships work and what love is. I felt exactly like the movie wanted me to feel....caught up in the fairy tale and folded into the story line...lost in their beauty and discontent with my own.
I left the theater thinking that I had missed the boat on great love because none of my relationships looked like that.
We walked out silently while I tried to hold it together. My mind was full of my own failures at romance and the fear that it will never happen again for me. I was deconstructing all my relationships and all the reasons we shouldn't have dated. Mostly, it was because we couldn't sing, he doesn't make me cry, and he would never write me a love song.
Firm eye roll.
I carried these emotions with me into the next day. And the next day, which was the dreaded court date over custody of my boys. I sat in that office while my lawyer made my case, across from my ex-husband, and felt overwhelmed with failure and fear. The result was not in my favor. I gathered up my large file of why their dad should get less time with them, picked up what dignity I had left, and exited the building where my life had just changed. Again.
I spent the entire day crying. Hard, ugly crying. I had to wear sunglasses to pick my boys up so they, and the rest of the world, wouldn't see my pain.
My friends and family called, but I couldn't hear the disappointment in their voice. I couldn't hear their "I told you so" tone (that was most likely just in my imagination). I couldn't hear any encouragement or positivity. Nothing was going to be received. I avoided the phone calls. The one thing I was able to do was Marco Polo (video app) one of my besties who lets me video journal my life. I talked unhinged. By the end of the day, my eyes were swollen and painful.
Through my unfiltered blubberings to my bestie, many things became apparent.
1. I had bought into the lie that my life was harder than other people's.
2. I was ill equipped to handle the difficulty.
3. I would never find great love like Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper. (Insert a sarcastic, but gravely serious, chuckle.)
4. I would never love and be loved again.
The beauty in surrounding yourself with people who know and love you...and are themselves incredible people, is that their truths combat your lies.
When I was ready to receive it, my dear friend spoke truth over me.
1. My life is not unique in that it is filled with difficulty. Join the freakin' club, sister.
2. The same God who parted the Red Sea, who tore down the walls of Jericho and who raised Jesus from the dead is the One who is with you. Nothing is too difficult for Him.
3. I found great love like Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper, despite the fact that neither one of us could sing. He was also an alcoholic and it also ended. (As it should have...but huge, freakin' sigh.)
4. I may not find love again...but my life is full despite not having someone to share it with. And for the first time in a long while I'm fine alone. (Not happy alone...not content alone ... but fine.)
We're all just broken people trying to find our place in the world. Our place may or may not be in a romantic relationship. And it certainly doesn't include Bradley Cooper (another huge, freakin' sigh). But this star, like Lady Gaga, was born out of brokenness.
Thursday, January 24, 2019
Eat Up, Girl
I was stress eating last night, which is far better than stress drinking because you wake up without a hangover though you hate yourself a little more than if you had been drinking. I ate Blue Bell, then I finished off a King Cake I had from the football party. It was satisfyingly delicious and appeased my need for emotional eating. I follow the Keto diet mostly, but I do have moments of cheating. Sometimes these moments stretch into days. But who's counting.
Every time I eat something I shouldn't, this chorus of voices starts singing loudly that I am weak. I stuff their mouths with a sandwich and continue consuming my erroneous food choice.
The beauty about being mentally healthy...perhaps as mentally healthy as I will ever be ... is that I no longer allow the thought that I failed in my consumption of large amounts of calories to travel to my self-esteem where it used to make itself at home. And fix another damn sandwich. This time, the failure extends only so far as my stomach...that is protruding a little further than it should. And homegirl moves on. Because I burn at least 1500 calories a day cleaning houses for a living and I can afford to cheat a little.
I am smugly satisfied at the changes in my perception of myself and the world. I love myself more. I can recognize when others aren't loving me and am able to move the heck on. I respect myself more and can recognize disrespect in others...and move the heck on. I tolerate much less. I allow few opinions to seep into my psyche. I am focused and driven. I accept that I will have bad days...and move the heck on. (I would really like to say "move the the f#$% on", but I'm a Southern woman and that is not appropriate vocabulary. But it is secretly one of my favorite words...forgive me, tiny baby Jesus.)
My dad said to me when I was having a wallow-kind-of-day and in a state of upset while on the phone with him, "honey, let's just move on." I was a little miffed at his words. I felt like a ten minute griping session was not even close to satisfying my need to gripe. But I accepted his lament and moved the heck (or f!**) on. Later that night, my son was having a total meltdown about not getting a toy at the toy store in the mall. I found myself repeating my dad's words when I felt he had cried enough tears over the subject, though I said it not as nicely as my dad, "baby, you got to move on!" (I may have said it shrilly and with much exasperation. Homegirl is not as smugly satisfied about her patience with her children.) My son did not obey as well as his mother did when told this by a parent, for the record. I do act like an obedient adult on occasion and do as I'm told. But that is more than likely restricted only to instructions by my father.
What is perhaps the most amazing thing about growth is that the healthier you become, the closer you become to the person you were CREATED to be. God is amazing like that. He is the epitome of goodness. He is the epitome of mental health. He knows that we are better people, more able to love and accept love, when we are the fullness of who we were meant to be. He knows because He designed us that way. He is not a champion of weakness or self-hate. He is the defender of weakness and the abolisher of self-hate. He is the protector of all things good. He is the author of self-love and mental health. None of this is new to Him. None of this is surprising to Him. Humans have always hated themselves. Humans have always left on the table what they should have been consuming in large portions... self-love. That is the one thing that won't make your stomach protrude or leave you hating yourself a little the next morning. So eat up, girl.
Every time I eat something I shouldn't, this chorus of voices starts singing loudly that I am weak. I stuff their mouths with a sandwich and continue consuming my erroneous food choice.
The beauty about being mentally healthy...perhaps as mentally healthy as I will ever be ... is that I no longer allow the thought that I failed in my consumption of large amounts of calories to travel to my self-esteem where it used to make itself at home. And fix another damn sandwich. This time, the failure extends only so far as my stomach...that is protruding a little further than it should. And homegirl moves on. Because I burn at least 1500 calories a day cleaning houses for a living and I can afford to cheat a little.
I am smugly satisfied at the changes in my perception of myself and the world. I love myself more. I can recognize when others aren't loving me and am able to move the heck on. I respect myself more and can recognize disrespect in others...and move the heck on. I tolerate much less. I allow few opinions to seep into my psyche. I am focused and driven. I accept that I will have bad days...and move the heck on. (I would really like to say "move the the f#$% on", but I'm a Southern woman and that is not appropriate vocabulary. But it is secretly one of my favorite words...forgive me, tiny baby Jesus.)
My dad said to me when I was having a wallow-kind-of-day and in a state of upset while on the phone with him, "honey, let's just move on." I was a little miffed at his words. I felt like a ten minute griping session was not even close to satisfying my need to gripe. But I accepted his lament and moved the heck (or f!**) on. Later that night, my son was having a total meltdown about not getting a toy at the toy store in the mall. I found myself repeating my dad's words when I felt he had cried enough tears over the subject, though I said it not as nicely as my dad, "baby, you got to move on!" (I may have said it shrilly and with much exasperation. Homegirl is not as smugly satisfied about her patience with her children.) My son did not obey as well as his mother did when told this by a parent, for the record. I do act like an obedient adult on occasion and do as I'm told. But that is more than likely restricted only to instructions by my father.
What is perhaps the most amazing thing about growth is that the healthier you become, the closer you become to the person you were CREATED to be. God is amazing like that. He is the epitome of goodness. He is the epitome of mental health. He knows that we are better people, more able to love and accept love, when we are the fullness of who we were meant to be. He knows because He designed us that way. He is not a champion of weakness or self-hate. He is the defender of weakness and the abolisher of self-hate. He is the protector of all things good. He is the author of self-love and mental health. None of this is new to Him. None of this is surprising to Him. Humans have always hated themselves. Humans have always left on the table what they should have been consuming in large portions... self-love. That is the one thing that won't make your stomach protrude or leave you hating yourself a little the next morning. So eat up, girl.
Wednesday, January 23, 2019
Slightly Bitter, Single Woman
Insert sarcastic chuckle.
I was having a particularly lonely day and this is the app where single people go when they are lonely. It is hopeful with its yellow colors and cheerful bee allusions. It seduces you into believing this is where you will find your hive...and become a Queen.
Its yellow mirage is sneaky.
My favorite profiles go something like this:
"You can find me in the gym or on my boat. Love traveling, snowboarding, fishing, running, biking, and reading. I have my s**t together and you should too. No drama. Am very fit and healthy. If you do not have your sh#t together, swipe left."
Swiping left = move on, Linda
What exactly does "I have my sh#t together" mean? You own a house? A car? You're gainfully employed? You invest? You vote? Go to church? Have lots of friends? Have a great credit score? You wear chinos and dress appropriately at all times? You go to the gym daily? You floss daily? Have a money clip? Wear slippers around the house because you don't want to bring in dirt from the outside? You properly groom yourself?
Fill a sister in.
In this post-divorce/40ish dating world, the bar is high. It requires you to have hobbies, a rocking body, an above average IQ, a large bank account, a high credit score, an oversized house, an even temper, be eternally tan, nails always done, clothes always ironed, independent without the slightest need for a man, know how to fish, be ready to camp on a moment's notice, have time to invest in someone whose ego is supremely inflated, properly conduct yourself via text and Snapchat, be anxious to receive and send nude pictures, have little expectation for any kind of intentional dating, and be OK with "Netflix and chill"on a Friday night... AKA..."I'm not spending any money on getting to know you because I will not tolerate anything that requires me to put in any effort." It's a world of filters and fronts where narcissism runs rampant.
Their bar is high, but yours better not be.
Hi, my name is Rebekah and I'm a slightly bitter, single woman.
OK, maybe more than slightly. I might have crossed that line and arrived fully with everything but a toe on the other side. My pinky toe. The most insignificant part of my body is still hanging on, determined to gain super human strength to maneuver my body back to the yellow, hopeful side.
(On a side note, I must give a shout out to the men that I KNOW do not fit in this category. Keep fighting the good fight, fellas.)
I went to Trader Joe's yesterday and came home with two very inexpensive bottles of wine and a bouquet of lavender roses. If there was ever a day that called for an indulgent flowers purchase, it was yesterday. I was emotionally exhausted from legal stresses and needed a pick me up. I spent $16 on the whole lot and left feeling like an Independent Woman BADASS. It was money well spent.
Being hopeful as a single woman in her 40s is a dangerous business. I have found the best approach to maintain your Independent Woman Badass status is Trader Joe's, wine, and flowers. And erasing all yellow, hopeful apps that seduce you into believing you will find your hive and be a Queen.
Saturday, December 29, 2018
Vulnerability and Records
"You cannot selectively numb emotion. When we numb the dark emotion, when we numb vulnerability and fear, we by default, numb joy." -- Brene Brown
I recently had conflict with my baby daddy and his woman. I was so frustrated and angry, I cried...the ugly kind of crying. I had a complete meltdown while driving on River Road. I'm sure my ugly crying got some curious looks. Homegirl did not care. I had some crying to do and my car has always been there for me in these times of need. So stare on, friends. I was talking to my close friend in the midst of my ugly crying episode. She unpacked the pain of what I was feeling with me. And after lots of blubbering and snot, I found that underneath the anger and frustration was the familiar feelings of dismissal and insignificance.I'm not sure when I started playing that record to myself, but somewhere along the way it began. And we became good friends. It was my most favorite record to play.
I felt dismissed every time I had an event and no one showed up for me. I felt dismissed every time I cried and no one validated my tears. I felt dismissed every time I got angry and had no one to be angry with me. I felt dismissed when I tried to communicate with my husbands and got nothing but blank stares and occasionally laughter at my tears. I felt dismissed when I tried to connect with my step daughter and was met with anger and silence. I tried to change the story with behaviors. I became a boss to multiple employees so someone had to listen to me. I became an avid runner, running ten miles a day at times, though I hated every mile after mile 3. My behaviors were all intended to numb me the hell out. There are multiple ways in which to numb. All equally effective. Alcohol, sex, medications, drugs, exercise, staying extremely busy...pick your poison and welcome to the Land of NUMB.
Over the past few months, I have been intentionally interrupting behaviors that cause me to numb out. It has not been fun, friends. Ugly crying has ensued. Years of pain finally caught up with me. Pain can outrun the fastest runner. It eventually catches your ass. And after it caught me, we wrestled. And I learned the vast importance of knowing the truth about who I am.
Homegirl won that wrestling match.
The truth is that I am worthy. My worth does not depend on anyone's validation but the One who created me. I am loved. I am not alone. I have an infinite capacity for joy because my Creator is Himself joy. I have the infinite capacity for gratitude because He Himself is gratitude. I have the infinite capacity to love others even when they don't reciprocate because He Himself is unreciprocated love. That's His jam.
I have the infinite capacity to be completely vulnerable because the net beneath me is solid. And catching me is something He will never tire of.
Vulnerability is not a fun practice. It demands honesty. It demands courage. It demands your whole self, exposed, raw, open to any and all manner of torment. It leaves you wide open to the elements. But it also opens up the chambers of your heart to experience raw, unadulterated joy.
I was wholly vulnerable with my friend in the midst of my breakdown. She met me where I was. She accepted me for who I was. She provided me with a safe place for my vulnerability. She was able to look at me with complete love and acceptance even when I was ugly crying, complete with snot and tears and red splotches. Without that raw vulnerability that she met so beautifully with love and acceptance, I would not have been able to identify the NEED I was seeking.
I NEEDED to be heard. I NEEDED my opinion on the subject to be considered. I NEEDED to speak for my boys as their mother. I NEEDED their dad and his girlfriend to ask me for advice. I NEEDED them to tell me I was worthy enough to be heard because I was a great mother.
Pause for dramatic effect. Homegirl needed two people who quite possibly hate her more than anyone on the planet to validate her.
Now that I'm in this space of living life without my behaviors that numb me, vulnerability is the gig. Without my friend who was on the phone with me and who allowed me to wallow in vulnerability, I would not have been able to understand why I had such an intense reaction. (Side Note: I hope you have a friend like this...if not, I may be able to put my friend on retainer for you. She's pretty great at embracing ugly crying homegirls.) I would not have been able to identify that I was feeling dismissed and unheard. I would not have been able to see this most favorite record that had been playing all my life. I would not have been able to identify a false belief that I had about myself and replace it with Truth.
I may have numbed myself for years from feeling fear and pain, but this numbing of the hard emotions also numbed the joy that could have been. And I'm done missing out on joy.
So vulnerability it is. In all its scariness and ominousness. Without it I would not have been able to uncover the lies and replace them with truth. And finally take the needle off the damn record.
The Price of Invulnerability by Brene Brown
Tuesday, December 25, 2018
Not your Typical Rebekah
It's Christmas Day and I woke up alone. I laid in bed for five minutes and contemplated what I would do with this day usually spent with family and loved ones. I tried to muster up sadness over the situation, but all my emotions could return to me were feelings of gratitude and peace in the solitude.
This is the first Christmas my parents do not live near me. This is the first Christmas I'm settled in a new home. This is the first Christmas I have Sadie. This is the first Christmas I am a fully present mother.
And this is the first Christmas after my divorce that I feel whole in my singleness.
My boys and I did our Christmas with Santa's arrival on Christmas Eve because it is their dad's year to have them on Christmas morning. We could not have had a better day. We played all the games they got from Santa. We ate dips, sweets, and all things junk. We went on multiple walks. We went to the park with Sadie. We watched Christmas movies. We painted with their new paint sets. My phone was never close by. My presence was focused on them. We had invites to do other things, but we were having too much fun as our little family to venture out and see others. We were content in our threesome.
When they left that afternoon, I had plans to drink too much and watch Netflix because I was certain I would be sad. Instead, I cleaned my house top to bottom and went to bed sober at 10 p.m. after reading. I kept waiting for the sadness to hit me...but nothing, Jesus. It never arrived.
One of my friends said to me in response to me telling him I was alone on Christmas that the man I was currently dating would not let me be alone for Christmas. I chewed on that for a bit, then decided he was wrong. I didn't know my current romantic interest well enough to spend Christmas with him. I didn't want to spend Christmas with him. I wanted to be with someone who knew me well and loved me...not someone I was getting to know romantically.
Pause for dramatic effect because this is NOT a typical Rebekah response.
Typically, Rebekah would be upset that the man I was currently spending time with had not made plans with me for Christmas after discovering I was alone. The typical Rebekah would be waiting by her phone for an invitation. The typical Rebekah would have found reason to feel shunned and rejected. The Typical Rebekah would have drank too much and cried herself to sleep because her life is meaningless without a man.
Thank God I'm not the Typical Rebekah any longer.
I did not get him a present and hoped to God he didn't buy me one. I did not wait for an invitation because I didn't want one. I didn't feel slighted or rejected. I had too much to do to waste emotion. I had two little boys who wanted their momma for Christmas. That's all. And this momma was not going to be pulled in a direction that was not towards her kids. This momma knows better than to seek happiness in a man. This momma knows that happiness is achieved only within.
I have been walking through a new dating relationship with a friend and am appalled at myself for the advice I'm giving her. It's the advice I got from healthy and happily single women. I didn't understand how they could be so strong when they delivered such sound advice. I didn't understand how they had no emotion over the potential of being alone. It felt like they had discovered the shut off valve for vulnerability and weakness and desperation. I wanted badly to have also found it, but it always alluded me.
Change sneaks up on you. It comes in small decisions. You don't realize it's happened until you are surprised by the emotional response you have to a stimulus. Our emotions do not lie. They are the genuine core of who we are. We can fool ourselves in all manner of foolishness, but we will never fool our emotions.
And my emotions about spending Christmas alone are simply gratitude and peace. Thank you, Jesus, for change.
This is the first Christmas my parents do not live near me. This is the first Christmas I'm settled in a new home. This is the first Christmas I have Sadie. This is the first Christmas I am a fully present mother.
And this is the first Christmas after my divorce that I feel whole in my singleness.
My boys and I did our Christmas with Santa's arrival on Christmas Eve because it is their dad's year to have them on Christmas morning. We could not have had a better day. We played all the games they got from Santa. We ate dips, sweets, and all things junk. We went on multiple walks. We went to the park with Sadie. We watched Christmas movies. We painted with their new paint sets. My phone was never close by. My presence was focused on them. We had invites to do other things, but we were having too much fun as our little family to venture out and see others. We were content in our threesome.When they left that afternoon, I had plans to drink too much and watch Netflix because I was certain I would be sad. Instead, I cleaned my house top to bottom and went to bed sober at 10 p.m. after reading. I kept waiting for the sadness to hit me...but nothing, Jesus. It never arrived.
One of my friends said to me in response to me telling him I was alone on Christmas that the man I was currently dating would not let me be alone for Christmas. I chewed on that for a bit, then decided he was wrong. I didn't know my current romantic interest well enough to spend Christmas with him. I didn't want to spend Christmas with him. I wanted to be with someone who knew me well and loved me...not someone I was getting to know romantically.
Pause for dramatic effect because this is NOT a typical Rebekah response.
Typically, Rebekah would be upset that the man I was currently spending time with had not made plans with me for Christmas after discovering I was alone. The typical Rebekah would be waiting by her phone for an invitation. The typical Rebekah would have found reason to feel shunned and rejected. The Typical Rebekah would have drank too much and cried herself to sleep because her life is meaningless without a man.
Thank God I'm not the Typical Rebekah any longer.
I did not get him a present and hoped to God he didn't buy me one. I did not wait for an invitation because I didn't want one. I didn't feel slighted or rejected. I had too much to do to waste emotion. I had two little boys who wanted their momma for Christmas. That's all. And this momma was not going to be pulled in a direction that was not towards her kids. This momma knows better than to seek happiness in a man. This momma knows that happiness is achieved only within.
I have been walking through a new dating relationship with a friend and am appalled at myself for the advice I'm giving her. It's the advice I got from healthy and happily single women. I didn't understand how they could be so strong when they delivered such sound advice. I didn't understand how they had no emotion over the potential of being alone. It felt like they had discovered the shut off valve for vulnerability and weakness and desperation. I wanted badly to have also found it, but it always alluded me.
Change sneaks up on you. It comes in small decisions. You don't realize it's happened until you are surprised by the emotional response you have to a stimulus. Our emotions do not lie. They are the genuine core of who we are. We can fool ourselves in all manner of foolishness, but we will never fool our emotions.
And my emotions about spending Christmas alone are simply gratitude and peace. Thank you, Jesus, for change.
Wednesday, December 12, 2018
Exposed Bum and Floppy Pant Leg
"The purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things." -- R.M. Rilke
Being a mom is like putting one leg in your jeans and letting the other one just flap around all day...exposing your bum and choice of undergarments in all your glory. You're almost there...but not quite. You made an attempt. A thumbs up emoji is appropriate. Or the drunk one.
My boys experienced something that was upsetting to them. Brady was holding the information close because it involved people he loved and told me it wasn't my business to know.
"I'm your mother. Everything about you is my business." I responded with emphasis.
He didn't want to tell me because he didn't want me to be angry. He's a protector and very loyal.
"What would happen if I did get angry? What does that look like to you?" I asked.
"I don't know, momma. I just don't want to you to be angry at them."
We talked through the event eventually that he was reluctant to share. And I wasn't angry. I was sad. I held his hand and told him I was sorry he had to go through that. He gave me a weak smile in the midst of his sadness.
Putting your children through a divorce is one of the hardest things to do. It requires constant affirmation that you did indeed make the right choice. It requires an extra amount of patience for yourself and for others.
It requires your pant leg and an exposed bum.
The effects are inexhaustible.
Before I was a mom, I was a step mom. I had a lot of difficulty with that role. I wanted so badly to be involved in my step-daughter's life and did so recklessly and without boundaries. I had an extremely volatile relationship with her mom because of my ignorance about the importance of boundaries. And I had a great amount of ignorance about the effects of the lack of control over what happens to the most important person in your life when you're a mom...your child.
Allowing your children to flourish in an environment that doesn't involve you is incredibly difficult. My heart still aches when I watch them walk into school, leaving me behind. Sending them to another home where they are having experiences that you don't even know about is another level of pain...it's more than an exposed bum/leg combo. It's a damn completely-nude-in-the-snow kind of vulnerability. It's unnatural and if you aren't careful, you will lose limbs to frost bite. Not to mention the unmentionables.
It means allowing them to love people you haven't gotten to vet. It means encouraging them to bond with others who are strangers to you. It means sacrificing your own selfish and suffocating love that often comes with motherhood for the sake of your children's hearts. It means staying uncomfortable.
The beauty of this unknown equation (aka my children living in a different home) is that they are experiencing things that will require them to rise out of adversity and pain. It means that I am given the incredibly difficult task of letting go and letting God. It means that my trust cannot be in people or myself if I want to stay sane ... it has to be in the God who loves my boys more than I ever could. It means that I have to learn to be ok living with an exposed bum while my pant leg flops around nonchalantly. And occasionally be butt naked in the snow.
"In Over My Head"
I have come to this place in my life
I'm full but I've not satisfied
This longing to have more of You
And I can feel it my heart is convinced
I'm thirsty my soul can't be quenched
You already know this but still
Come and do whatever You want to
I'm standing knee deep but I'm out where I've never been
And I feel You coming and I hear Your voice on the wind
Would You come and tear down the boxes that I have tried to put You in
Let love come teach me who You are again
Would You take me back to the place where my heart was only about You
And all I wanted was just to be with You
Come and do whatever You want to
And further and further my heart moves away from the shore
Whatever it looks like, whatever may come I am Yours
And further and further my heart moves away from the shore
Whatever it looks like, whatever may come I am Yours
Then You crash over me and I've lost control but I'm free
I'm going under, I'm in over my head
Then you crash over me, and that's where You want me to be
I'm going under, I'm in over my head
Whether I sink, whether I swim
It makes no difference when I'm beautifully in over my head
Whether I sink, whether I swim
It makes no difference when I'm beautifully in over my head
I'm beautifully in over my head
I'm beautifully in over my head
Friday, December 7, 2018
Naughty and Worried MOMMA
The kids and I have a "Naughty and Nice" list. For every good deed they do, their action goes on the "nice" side ... and likewise for the "naughty." I am on the list. But just on the naughty side for yelling. Big sigh.
Since Graham's accident, I have largely felt lost in motherhood. I'm not entirely sure I ever completely trusted my abilities to be a mom. I questioned my approaches. I tempered my expectations. I allowed others dictate how I raised them by involving them in a great number of decisions. I doubted myself even before the great fall in the bucket. After his accident, my confidence in that area plummeted to greater depths.
Years of trauma therapy helped me to regain my confidence. I had to imagine Jesus telling me in the moment when my baby was dead that I was loved and I was a great mother. I didn't speak it over myself in that moment...nor did anyone else. So Jesus had to do it after the fact. He healed my broken heart and I became an even stronger mother than previous to the accident.
But it is still my most insecure area. I soar with confidence and drive the week they are with their dad. I feel like I have a handle on my life and I'm actually doing a good job of juggling everything alone. Even though I miss them almost unbearably at times. And then...
Enter kids....
The Monday I have them back is glorious. I hug them tightly and can't stop staring at them. I don't want to miss a thing.
And then they misbehave like kids do or make a mess like kids do and the beautiful reunion is shattered. Insert chuckle.
I'm forced to decide on Monday whether I will react like a lunatic or like a pleasant Mary Poppins. The lunatic usually wins...but there are cameos of Mary sprinkled throughout.
By Tuesday, Mary is on stage more than the lunatic. I have regained my footing as a mom and my brain remembers how to respond to kid-related stress.
But I'm still a bit raw the week I have them...worry and stress and insecurities are more prevalent than when I don't have them. But the insecurities and worry over my kids aren't restricted to just the weeks I have them...it's an ever present companion in my life.
A guy commented the other day that his biggest pet peeve about parents is when they're on their phone while their kids play at the park. I could see his point. But I had "guilty" written all over my body and the emoji of the girl with her hand raised popped into my brain. I'm that parent.
I feel relieved when we go to a park and my kids are playing with other kids and they're contained and happily releasing inside energy that does no favors for my white couch. I feel like I get a tiny break from responsibility. I feel like my life just got made and I can breathe with untethered breath. I feel no need to play with them. I don't always get on my phone. In fact, I mostly leave it in my pocket. But I bring a book to read. Or I just sit and watch them quietly. Whatever I choose to do in that moment is a gift because my kids do not need me...for one small glimpse of our day.
I don't believe that men feel the same heaviness that mothers do. I think they compartmentalize so well that they are able to be present in the moment without the weight of parenting squarely on their shoulders. I believe they are able to function well at work 100%. I believe they do a better job of divorcing themselves from their parenting responsibilities and the burdens that come with it than women do.
Women incessantly worry. We can be in the biggest work meeting of our life, conducting the damn meeting, kicking serious butt, and our minds are still obsessing over what to make for dinner for our kids. We can be on a date and laughing ... and the parent-teacher conference we just had is playing in the background. We can be getting a massage, pedicure, manicure, exercising, eating, sleeping, showering, shopping, running errands, having drinks with friends ... and our children are with us...asking us to get them milk while we take a stab at relaxation. Insert another chuckle because moms know relaxation is a mythical creature. Like a freakin' unicorn.
My single girlfriend who is a mother and a very successful woman told me that she hated to admit it, but she would hire a man any day over a woman with kids.
We both sighed heavily at this revelation.
Good or bad, we are first and foremost mothers. I've said it before and here it is again...dating without the presence of my children is a feeble attempt to get to know me. Because they ARE me. They are my motivation behind everything I do. They fill my brain with happiness and worry simultaneously. I've dated a man on and off for over a year and he has not met my children. Our relationship will never progress because who I really am has been cut off from him. He gets only a piece of me...and that piece is sub-par to the motherhood piece. The men that have met my kids are the ones I am closest to. They understand my role as a mom. They know what they are competing against...and that they will likely lose because neither they nor I care enough to overcome this great obstacle of blending our lives. Not many have the stamina to date a mother. And mothers don't have patience for someone who doesn't care about their main priority. (Having said that, you have to stick around a while to meet my kids ... or just be my friend and abandon dating. Male friends are allowed. Boyfriends have to serve their time.)
I am appalled at the number of men on dating apps that simply leave out the fact that they have kids. A microscopic part of me gets it...it's unnatural to date as a parent. So sometimes it's easier to avoid the anarchy of parenting that is you when dating. But I do believe that men are not first and foremost dads...as mothers are first and foremost mothers. Who men are as parents are largely driven by their motivation behind their role...their role as providers. Mothers are driven by their role...we are mothers. It is our identity, largely.
Whether we are naturally this way or society has encouraged this in us is a mystery. But I tend to believe that God in His infinite wisdom gave women the innate consummation to live and breathe with her children. This is why we are better at multi-tasking, I suppose. (We have to be multi-taskers if we want to clean up vomit and do it while looking good.)
And why we are not the first choice as employees.
So though it may take me a while to adjust to immediate kid-related stress as Mary Poppins and get to add my name to the "nice" list, or the lunatic who yells on the "naughty" side...sigh..., after getting my kids back, I never have to settle into my role as a mom. I am MOMMA. Whether they are asleep in their beds at my house or not.
So if I need peace for ten minutes while my kids happily play on the playground, you're damn skippy I'm jumping on that.
And will worry incessantly about whether they will hurt themselves as I pretend to read a book.
Since Graham's accident, I have largely felt lost in motherhood. I'm not entirely sure I ever completely trusted my abilities to be a mom. I questioned my approaches. I tempered my expectations. I allowed others dictate how I raised them by involving them in a great number of decisions. I doubted myself even before the great fall in the bucket. After his accident, my confidence in that area plummeted to greater depths.
Years of trauma therapy helped me to regain my confidence. I had to imagine Jesus telling me in the moment when my baby was dead that I was loved and I was a great mother. I didn't speak it over myself in that moment...nor did anyone else. So Jesus had to do it after the fact. He healed my broken heart and I became an even stronger mother than previous to the accident.
But it is still my most insecure area. I soar with confidence and drive the week they are with their dad. I feel like I have a handle on my life and I'm actually doing a good job of juggling everything alone. Even though I miss them almost unbearably at times. And then...
Enter kids....The Monday I have them back is glorious. I hug them tightly and can't stop staring at them. I don't want to miss a thing.
And then they misbehave like kids do or make a mess like kids do and the beautiful reunion is shattered. Insert chuckle.
I'm forced to decide on Monday whether I will react like a lunatic or like a pleasant Mary Poppins. The lunatic usually wins...but there are cameos of Mary sprinkled throughout.
By Tuesday, Mary is on stage more than the lunatic. I have regained my footing as a mom and my brain remembers how to respond to kid-related stress.
But I'm still a bit raw the week I have them...worry and stress and insecurities are more prevalent than when I don't have them. But the insecurities and worry over my kids aren't restricted to just the weeks I have them...it's an ever present companion in my life.
A guy commented the other day that his biggest pet peeve about parents is when they're on their phone while their kids play at the park. I could see his point. But I had "guilty" written all over my body and the emoji of the girl with her hand raised popped into my brain. I'm that parent.
I feel relieved when we go to a park and my kids are playing with other kids and they're contained and happily releasing inside energy that does no favors for my white couch. I feel like I get a tiny break from responsibility. I feel like my life just got made and I can breathe with untethered breath. I feel no need to play with them. I don't always get on my phone. In fact, I mostly leave it in my pocket. But I bring a book to read. Or I just sit and watch them quietly. Whatever I choose to do in that moment is a gift because my kids do not need me...for one small glimpse of our day.
I don't believe that men feel the same heaviness that mothers do. I think they compartmentalize so well that they are able to be present in the moment without the weight of parenting squarely on their shoulders. I believe they are able to function well at work 100%. I believe they do a better job of divorcing themselves from their parenting responsibilities and the burdens that come with it than women do.
Women incessantly worry. We can be in the biggest work meeting of our life, conducting the damn meeting, kicking serious butt, and our minds are still obsessing over what to make for dinner for our kids. We can be on a date and laughing ... and the parent-teacher conference we just had is playing in the background. We can be getting a massage, pedicure, manicure, exercising, eating, sleeping, showering, shopping, running errands, having drinks with friends ... and our children are with us...asking us to get them milk while we take a stab at relaxation. Insert another chuckle because moms know relaxation is a mythical creature. Like a freakin' unicorn.
My single girlfriend who is a mother and a very successful woman told me that she hated to admit it, but she would hire a man any day over a woman with kids.
We both sighed heavily at this revelation.
Good or bad, we are first and foremost mothers. I've said it before and here it is again...dating without the presence of my children is a feeble attempt to get to know me. Because they ARE me. They are my motivation behind everything I do. They fill my brain with happiness and worry simultaneously. I've dated a man on and off for over a year and he has not met my children. Our relationship will never progress because who I really am has been cut off from him. He gets only a piece of me...and that piece is sub-par to the motherhood piece. The men that have met my kids are the ones I am closest to. They understand my role as a mom. They know what they are competing against...and that they will likely lose because neither they nor I care enough to overcome this great obstacle of blending our lives. Not many have the stamina to date a mother. And mothers don't have patience for someone who doesn't care about their main priority. (Having said that, you have to stick around a while to meet my kids ... or just be my friend and abandon dating. Male friends are allowed. Boyfriends have to serve their time.)
I am appalled at the number of men on dating apps that simply leave out the fact that they have kids. A microscopic part of me gets it...it's unnatural to date as a parent. So sometimes it's easier to avoid the anarchy of parenting that is you when dating. But I do believe that men are not first and foremost dads...as mothers are first and foremost mothers. Who men are as parents are largely driven by their motivation behind their role...their role as providers. Mothers are driven by their role...we are mothers. It is our identity, largely.
Whether we are naturally this way or society has encouraged this in us is a mystery. But I tend to believe that God in His infinite wisdom gave women the innate consummation to live and breathe with her children. This is why we are better at multi-tasking, I suppose. (We have to be multi-taskers if we want to clean up vomit and do it while looking good.)
And why we are not the first choice as employees.
So though it may take me a while to adjust to immediate kid-related stress as Mary Poppins and get to add my name to the "nice" list, or the lunatic who yells on the "naughty" side...sigh..., after getting my kids back, I never have to settle into my role as a mom. I am MOMMA. Whether they are asleep in their beds at my house or not.
So if I need peace for ten minutes while my kids happily play on the playground, you're damn skippy I'm jumping on that.
And will worry incessantly about whether they will hurt themselves as I pretend to read a book.
Wednesday, December 5, 2018
Move Over, Cinderella
"To say "I love you" one must know first how to say the word "I"."
-Ayn Rand, "The Fountainhead"
Then a few days later my dear friend Erin mentioned it. I didn't need anymore prompting. I was supposed to explore this.
I ordered the book recommended for discovering the Enneagram and your own type, "The Road Back to You." It came a few days before my beach trip. I was excited to dig into the book on a beach with a beverage.
And dig I did. With a tasty beverage.
I am a self-growth junkie. I can't get enough of psychology and literature and studies that will teach me more about myself. However, I shy very far away from anything that is overtly "Christian" in its context. I find it often lacks intelligence and dismisses hundreds of years of study on the subject of self simply because the authors of such discoveries were "secular". And "good Christians" aren't selfish and have no use for the secular.
Big sigh. HUGE freakin' sigh.
This book, however, was different. Though the foundation to knowing yourself is wrapped up in your Creator, the journey is a task in SELF discovery...and with or without the knowledge of God, the journey is essential.
"Without knowledge of self there is no knowledge of God." -- John Calvin
After a few failed attempts to figure out my type based on some mediocre online tests, I discovered it as I read the book. And it is indeed a road back to myself.
Ayn Rand is one of my favorite authors. I devoured her books in college. I listened to lectures on her. I read biographies on her. She made total sense to me. I also love anything justice related. Law and Order is one of my favorite shows. Movies where the bad guys get what they deserve are my favorite. Books that are direct in their story telling are what entertain me most. I don't have a lot of patience for detail and chasing white rabbits. I just want to get to it, Linda. For the love of all that is holy....talk to me. I'm aging over here.
I'm a Type 8 Wing 7 ... A Challenger/Enthusiast.
I'm a truth teller and a truth seeker. I don't do well with people who don't pull their own weight. I lack empathy at times and do NOT like to be controlled. I am not afraid of conflict. I think a debate is a great way to communicate. I'm intense and driven. I'm energetic and bossy. I am motivated by fear and anger.
All of the Type 8 traits that were trying to surface in me over the course of my life were shut down for one reason or another. I married and dated men who couldn't handle them. I had friends who didn't understand them. I took jobs that required a different set of skills. Type 8s are largely "un-feminine". Their personality is not gender appropriate as a woman in society. I was the daughter of a Southern Baptist minister. I rest my case. The list of why I didn't behave who I was created to be is endless.
I've had a difficult few days and I was talking to a good friend about feeling that I lack "togetherness". I told her I felt like I was a mess. My label of myself to her was because of poor decisions I had made regarding my business and my money. Her response was surprising. She said to not be too hard on myself because we as women were raised by Disney. We were taught to believe that a man would rescue us, so women in general were not taught to be self sufficient in many areas that men were. We were taught that our job was simply to care for others and look good doing it. Thanks, Walt. As if we didn't have enough to overcome.
Dating as a Type 8, the Challenger, has been a cluster of obvious failures. In the past, my goal in dating was simply to enjoy myself. I didn't think much about who they were as people. If I was attracted to them and we had a good time, that was sufficient. I never expected them to stimulate me intellectually. I was playing the part of a girl looking for a relationship, but I didn't really want one. My Challenger personality and my brainwashed, presumed need to star in a Disney movie were in direct opposition. The Disney-brainwashed Rebekah usually won.
I suppose I knew that I hadn't yet finished my own self discovery so dating was like gambling. If I happened to find someone I connected with, score. But it was by chance that it happened and even then it didn't hold my interest. The real love affair I was looking for was within.
I was on a date the other night and found that I was able to be forthcoming and honest with my expectations and desires. I didn't sugar coat them. I wasn't afraid how he would respond. How he responded was not my concern. I was only concerned with communicating what I wanted. I just said it frankly without emotion ... I could feel my soul sigh with relief. This is completely opposite from how I used to conduct myself. I am no longer worried about being chosen by just any man. I want to choose him AND be chosen by him. And being the "type" I am, this is no easy task. I'm not a universal taste for men. I frighten them away because they can't tame me. I recently told an ex that attempted to connect again that I was not his girl...he needed someone sweet and submissive and that ain't me, Linda. All those tears over men now seem silly and wasteful. I was just playing the part that Disney suggested I play...the part of the damsel in distress who needs a man to make her life complete and without him I was desolate and deficient.
This picture of the damsel in distress may be true for some. Some may thrive on being rescued and rescuing. But it's equivocally untrue for me. All these erroneous messages about femininity and the supposed need to rely on a man have done for me is kept me from realizing the fullness of my individual self. And that self is no romantic with a mop singing about when her true love will come. That self is happily mopping the damn floor and listening to very loud and mostly inappropriate music while planning how she will make life her bitch. (No other word is suited for that statement.)
Fully embracing who God has created me to be will be the challenge of my life. I won't have arrived until I'm dead and cremated. (Please don't bury me. I want to be sprinkled in the Mississippi River. With a very large party to follow complete with live music and alcohol. And dancing must commence.)
Move over, Cinderella. Your time has freakin' expired.
Friday, November 30, 2018
30 Days and a Totally Broken Habit
Today marks 30 days that I successfully broke a habit. This has been a life changing 30 days.
It started with heart break and ended with more beauty than I could have imagined. I started this journey so I would stop a habit that was keeping me from feeling the hurt I knew was there. And man, did I feel it. Buckets of tears. Anger. Lots and lots of loud Jesus music and long drives.
But somewhere along those 30 days, I moved past the pain and into peace. The peace that has been waiting for me for three, long years. When I talk about my divorce, the main theme of the conversation is acceptance. Acceptance for the stages that I had to go through to bring me here. To the endless string of dates, the abuse of alcohol, the poor eating habits, the questionable friendships, the lackluster parenting, the lack of drive, the lack of beauty, the lack of Jesus...I had to go through it all. Yes, I delayed it more than I wish I had. But I can't guarantee that a lack of delay would have given me the same, beautiful result.
I'm now the girl who considers her children when making decisions. I'm now the girl that chooses her dates carefully. I'm now the girl who thinks about what she puts in her mouth before she does it. I'm now the girl who makes time alone to read and pray and write. I'm now the girl who works out consistently, who works consistently, who takes care of her bills and her responsibilities with joy and fervor.
I have a dear friend who is fresh in the throes of separation and possible divorce. She is suffering tremendously. She is drinking her pain away. She isn't eating. She is having a hard time going to work. My heart hurts for her. But I didn't totally remember what it was like to feel like you have given up on life. My sister had to remind me. (She is my memory keeper...for better or worse.) She reminded me that I was also desperate and lost and had very little ability to function. When she reminded me, the detailed memories started coming back. And all I was able to say to my friend after that was, "it's just going to be painful...for a really long time...."
But you forget the details of your despair. And peace eventually finds you.
In the midst of the worst part of my attempt to recover after divorce, I met a man who told me that I was full of red flags. He said he was looking for someone who was further along in the divorce process.
At the time, it just seemed hurtful and judgmental. Now I completely get it. I'm not anywhere close to the girl I was. That girl did NOT have her s*&t together. That girl did NOT make well informed decisions. That girl was NOT living an intelligent life with self-discipline and drive. That girl was flying by the seat of her pants, with her hair on fire, and her soul a discombobulation of emotions and coping skills. That girl had a lot of growing to do. And he was right to pass me by.
My only serious relationship after my divorced contacted me. This man caused me so much pain. I was fresh out of my divorce and was lost and scared. And I loved him intensely. And have welcomed him back into my life every time he contacted me before. But this time I was able to kindly tell him I was grateful for what he taught me about myself, but I'm not that girl that would fall in love with someone like him anymore. Our time has passed.
I'm now in the shoes of the red flag man...regarding people with caution and logic. I'm the one turning down potential love interests.
All because my friend insisted I do a 30 day challenge to break a habit. (Bless you, Jeana.) I not only broke the hell out of that habit, but I found myself along the way. And she's pretty cool.
It started with heart break and ended with more beauty than I could have imagined. I started this journey so I would stop a habit that was keeping me from feeling the hurt I knew was there. And man, did I feel it. Buckets of tears. Anger. Lots and lots of loud Jesus music and long drives.
But somewhere along those 30 days, I moved past the pain and into peace. The peace that has been waiting for me for three, long years. When I talk about my divorce, the main theme of the conversation is acceptance. Acceptance for the stages that I had to go through to bring me here. To the endless string of dates, the abuse of alcohol, the poor eating habits, the questionable friendships, the lackluster parenting, the lack of drive, the lack of beauty, the lack of Jesus...I had to go through it all. Yes, I delayed it more than I wish I had. But I can't guarantee that a lack of delay would have given me the same, beautiful result.
I'm now the girl who considers her children when making decisions. I'm now the girl that chooses her dates carefully. I'm now the girl who thinks about what she puts in her mouth before she does it. I'm now the girl who makes time alone to read and pray and write. I'm now the girl who works out consistently, who works consistently, who takes care of her bills and her responsibilities with joy and fervor.
I have a dear friend who is fresh in the throes of separation and possible divorce. She is suffering tremendously. She is drinking her pain away. She isn't eating. She is having a hard time going to work. My heart hurts for her. But I didn't totally remember what it was like to feel like you have given up on life. My sister had to remind me. (She is my memory keeper...for better or worse.) She reminded me that I was also desperate and lost and had very little ability to function. When she reminded me, the detailed memories started coming back. And all I was able to say to my friend after that was, "it's just going to be painful...for a really long time...."
But you forget the details of your despair. And peace eventually finds you.
In the midst of the worst part of my attempt to recover after divorce, I met a man who told me that I was full of red flags. He said he was looking for someone who was further along in the divorce process.
At the time, it just seemed hurtful and judgmental. Now I completely get it. I'm not anywhere close to the girl I was. That girl did NOT have her s*&t together. That girl did NOT make well informed decisions. That girl was NOT living an intelligent life with self-discipline and drive. That girl was flying by the seat of her pants, with her hair on fire, and her soul a discombobulation of emotions and coping skills. That girl had a lot of growing to do. And he was right to pass me by.
My only serious relationship after my divorced contacted me. This man caused me so much pain. I was fresh out of my divorce and was lost and scared. And I loved him intensely. And have welcomed him back into my life every time he contacted me before. But this time I was able to kindly tell him I was grateful for what he taught me about myself, but I'm not that girl that would fall in love with someone like him anymore. Our time has passed.
I'm now in the shoes of the red flag man...regarding people with caution and logic. I'm the one turning down potential love interests.
All because my friend insisted I do a 30 day challenge to break a habit. (Bless you, Jeana.) I not only broke the hell out of that habit, but I found myself along the way. And she's pretty cool.
Thursday, November 29, 2018
Rebekah the Harsh Slave Master
My dog Sadie was the shyest one in the litter. I always go for the shy ones because they are typically easier to train and not as rambunctious. Being a puppy, however, she has a great deal of energy. Homegirl chases her own tail. She tears up everything she can get her mouth on. She digs in my laundry and puts holes in our clothes. She swings on the kid swing. She is constantly on the go.
However, since she is innately shy and unsure of herself, she is fearful of me...her Alpha Dog. If she hears my voice raise slightly, she cowers in the corner. Or pees.
This behavior drives me absolutely nuts. The cowering I can handle, though that means she is slow to come to me when I call her. But the peeing ... all over the house ... because she's scared of me ... heavy sigh.
I handled this phenomenon poorly. I yelled louder. I put her in her kennel. I put her outside. I punished her.
The behaviors got worse.
So this week after a peeing mess that I was cleaning up, I suddenly got it. Her neurosis was MY FAULT.
I called her to me, and after she peed again, she came to me with her head down.
I hugged her and petted her for a good while and just kept telling her I was sorry. It wasn't her fault...it was mine. We had a really sweet moment. (Though I immediately bathed because homegirl STUNK).
Instead of yelling, I started affirming her. I softened my tone. I petted her often and frequently. I played with her. I got on the floor with her. I even let the stinky homegirl in my bed while I read (only for 20 minutes cuz there's not much I like less than dog hair in my bed but A for effort).
Her transformation was remarkable. I can't say she doesn't ever pee when she's scared, but she pees a lot less and it has not happened inside, only outside. Her little body is still a bit hesitant when I call her to me, but she comes to me instead of cowering in the corner.
Dogs respond better with encouragement and tenderness. People respond better with encouragement and tenderness.
DUH.
It's amazing how our brains can have the knowledge yet it remains untapped because we have not had to use it in that context.
I was reading last night. This heavy book about self discovery. And I said to myself, "OK, my girl, it's time to put this book down. You've read enough to chew on for the night."
I got up and went to brush my teeth and it dawned on me. I had just called myself, "my girl."
The relief and raw joy that flooded over me was marvelous. I had finally learned to love myself. In that split second, the term of endearment, "my girl" came naturally to me. I wasn't thinking about what I was saying. It was already there.
I have heard many times that we are supposed to love ourselves before we can truly love anyone else. I don't believe this is entirely true, because loving yourself is not an easy thing to accomplish for some and that does not translate to a lack of love for others. However, loving yourself opens up a world of unbroached, intellectual emotion. It allows you to love deeper. To forgive quicker. To view people with kindness and empathy instead of judgment and pessimism. It is like the ocean. Yes, there are beautiful things to find on the shore, but if you go into the depth of the water....sheer beauty.
Sadie and I are both on the road to recovery from being beat up by yours truly. Rebekah has been one harsh slave master. She has scolded, yelled, accused, blamed, punished, chastened, lectured, spanked enough for one lifetime. I have put myself in time out for too long.
We have some untapped growth to do that can only come with encouragement and kindness.
These girls are ready to lift their heads in confidence, and rise.
However, since she is innately shy and unsure of herself, she is fearful of me...her Alpha Dog. If she hears my voice raise slightly, she cowers in the corner. Or pees.
This behavior drives me absolutely nuts. The cowering I can handle, though that means she is slow to come to me when I call her. But the peeing ... all over the house ... because she's scared of me ... heavy sigh.
I handled this phenomenon poorly. I yelled louder. I put her in her kennel. I put her outside. I punished her.The behaviors got worse.
So this week after a peeing mess that I was cleaning up, I suddenly got it. Her neurosis was MY FAULT.
I called her to me, and after she peed again, she came to me with her head down.
I hugged her and petted her for a good while and just kept telling her I was sorry. It wasn't her fault...it was mine. We had a really sweet moment. (Though I immediately bathed because homegirl STUNK).
Instead of yelling, I started affirming her. I softened my tone. I petted her often and frequently. I played with her. I got on the floor with her. I even let the stinky homegirl in my bed while I read (only for 20 minutes cuz there's not much I like less than dog hair in my bed but A for effort).
Her transformation was remarkable. I can't say she doesn't ever pee when she's scared, but she pees a lot less and it has not happened inside, only outside. Her little body is still a bit hesitant when I call her to me, but she comes to me instead of cowering in the corner.
Dogs respond better with encouragement and tenderness. People respond better with encouragement and tenderness.
DUH.
It's amazing how our brains can have the knowledge yet it remains untapped because we have not had to use it in that context.
I was reading last night. This heavy book about self discovery. And I said to myself, "OK, my girl, it's time to put this book down. You've read enough to chew on for the night."
I got up and went to brush my teeth and it dawned on me. I had just called myself, "my girl."
The relief and raw joy that flooded over me was marvelous. I had finally learned to love myself. In that split second, the term of endearment, "my girl" came naturally to me. I wasn't thinking about what I was saying. It was already there.
I have heard many times that we are supposed to love ourselves before we can truly love anyone else. I don't believe this is entirely true, because loving yourself is not an easy thing to accomplish for some and that does not translate to a lack of love for others. However, loving yourself opens up a world of unbroached, intellectual emotion. It allows you to love deeper. To forgive quicker. To view people with kindness and empathy instead of judgment and pessimism. It is like the ocean. Yes, there are beautiful things to find on the shore, but if you go into the depth of the water....sheer beauty.
Sadie and I are both on the road to recovery from being beat up by yours truly. Rebekah has been one harsh slave master. She has scolded, yelled, accused, blamed, punished, chastened, lectured, spanked enough for one lifetime. I have put myself in time out for too long.
We have some untapped growth to do that can only come with encouragement and kindness.
These girls are ready to lift their heads in confidence, and rise.
Wednesday, November 28, 2018
Dark Caves and Katy Perry
I was riding in the car with two of my helpers, on our way to the 6th job of the day. I was looking down at my phone reading a text from a client (shameful...texting and driving...insert disgusted face emoji) and missed that the light had just turned green. One car politely honked behind me as I was moving, then a second, and just to balance the set I honked as well. We all burst into laughter.
I wish I could translate accurately the amount of joy we had in that moment. I could not stop laughing. My workers couldn't stop laughing. For just a moment, we had reached a peak place of happy.
It made me remember when Graham was in the PICU and I was lower than I had ever been. I hid in the bathroom to cry when people came to see us. I couldn't stop crying and sometimes I just didn't want others to see. Yet in the midst of that, two of my best girlfriends came to town and forced me to go home to sleep in my own bed. We danced to Graham's now theme song "Roar" by Katy Perry, drank too much wine, laughed until our sides hurt, cried, and all fell asleep in my king sized bed.
In the midst of the darkest moment of my life, I found joy.
If we close in ourselves in our pain and misery, we miss the beauty. We miss that our kids are hugging us tightly. We miss that the candle we just lit smelled up the whole house. We miss that the ice water satisfies our thirst. We miss that we just got enough money to pay a bill on its due date. we miss that cheeseburgers are amazing (I'm on DAY 3 of this KETO CLEANSE NONSENSE and have been eating bone brother and drinking black coffee, hot tea and water ONLY...oh cheeseburger, how much I love thee...let me count the ways....). We miss that our dog is super soft after going to the groomer. We miss that turning the heater on in the morning is delightful to our cold bones. We miss that birds are super amazing in their flight patterns.
We just miss too much when we are immersed in our pain.
Beauty in the midst of pain is one of the ways our pain eventually subsides. It's like letting in sunshine in a dark cave. Eventually the sunshine will entice us enough to walk outside, leaving the dark and musty cave behind.
I can't tell you that the tears don't threaten to fall when I think about my baby in the ICU. I can't tell you that I will ever get over that pain. But I can say firmly that God made something beautiful out of that pain. Whether it's riding in the car with your workers during a long day of cleaning toilets or dancing with your friends, joy will find you. Don't miss it.
Roar by Katy Perry
https://youtu.be/CevxZvSJLk8
I wish I could translate accurately the amount of joy we had in that moment. I could not stop laughing. My workers couldn't stop laughing. For just a moment, we had reached a peak place of happy.
It made me remember when Graham was in the PICU and I was lower than I had ever been. I hid in the bathroom to cry when people came to see us. I couldn't stop crying and sometimes I just didn't want others to see. Yet in the midst of that, two of my best girlfriends came to town and forced me to go home to sleep in my own bed. We danced to Graham's now theme song "Roar" by Katy Perry, drank too much wine, laughed until our sides hurt, cried, and all fell asleep in my king sized bed.
In the midst of the darkest moment of my life, I found joy.
If we close in ourselves in our pain and misery, we miss the beauty. We miss that our kids are hugging us tightly. We miss that the candle we just lit smelled up the whole house. We miss that the ice water satisfies our thirst. We miss that we just got enough money to pay a bill on its due date. we miss that cheeseburgers are amazing (I'm on DAY 3 of this KETO CLEANSE NONSENSE and have been eating bone brother and drinking black coffee, hot tea and water ONLY...oh cheeseburger, how much I love thee...let me count the ways....). We miss that our dog is super soft after going to the groomer. We miss that turning the heater on in the morning is delightful to our cold bones. We miss that birds are super amazing in their flight patterns.
We just miss too much when we are immersed in our pain.
Beauty in the midst of pain is one of the ways our pain eventually subsides. It's like letting in sunshine in a dark cave. Eventually the sunshine will entice us enough to walk outside, leaving the dark and musty cave behind.
I can't tell you that the tears don't threaten to fall when I think about my baby in the ICU. I can't tell you that I will ever get over that pain. But I can say firmly that God made something beautiful out of that pain. Whether it's riding in the car with your workers during a long day of cleaning toilets or dancing with your friends, joy will find you. Don't miss it.
Roar by Katy Perry
https://youtu.be/CevxZvSJLk8
I used to bite my tongue and hold my breath
Scared to rock the boat and make a mess
So I sat quietly, agreed politely
I guess that I forgot I had a choice
I let you push me past the breaking point
I stood for nothing, so I fell for everything
You held me down, but I got up (hey!)
Already brushing off the dust
You hear my voice, your hear that sound
Like thunder, gonna shake the ground
You held me down, but I got up
Get ready 'cause I had enough
I see it all, I see it now
I got the eye of the tiger, a fighter
Dancing through the fire
'Cause I am a champion, and you're gonna hear me roar
Louder, louder than a lion
'Cause I am a champion, and you're gonna hear me roar!
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
You're gonna hear me roar!
Now I'm floating like a butterfly
Stinging like a bee I earned my stripes
I went from zero, to my own hero
You held me down, but I got up (hey!)
Already brushing off the dust
You hear my voice, your hear that sound
Like thunder, gonna shake the ground
You held me down, but I got up
Get ready 'cause I've had enough
I see it all, I see it now
I got the eye of the tiger, a fighter
Dancing through the fire
'Cause I am a champion, and you're gonna hear me roar
Louder, louder than a lion
'Cause I am a champion, and you're gonna hear me roar!
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
You're gonna hear me roar!
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
You're gonna hear me roar!
Roar, roar, roar, roar, roar!
I got the eye of the tiger, a fighter
Dancing through the fire
'Cause I am a champion, and you're gonna hear me roar
Louder, louder than a lion
'Cause I am a champion, and you're gonna hear me roar!
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
You're gonna hear me roar!
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
You're gonna hear me roar!
Tuesday, November 27, 2018
Laughter and Family and Stinky House Guests
There was a tremendous amount of laughter. I was surrounded by my favorite people who each laugh loudly and often. My dad is known for his laugh. My mom cries when she laughs (and sometimes her drink comes out in dribbles). My brother emulates my dad's laugh and my sister and I follow suit. My brother and sister in law keep us all laughing and are no stranger to joy themselves. There was a lot of laughing happening over this holiday. I had eaten many huge, amazingly satisfying meals. Followed with pie. Lots and lots of pie. My kids were happier than I've seen them in a while. They mirrored my sentiment.It dawned on me in the midst of the monopoly games and laughter and stream of food that this was the third Thanksgiving I had gone without a significant other. And yet I was truly happy. My boys were truly happy.
Life is interesting like that. There is no set formula for happiness or contentment. It's different for everyone. It comes in waves and settles over you without your knowledge mostly. You're just you...living your life...trying not to die or kill your kids in the process. And then you have an Ah-Ha! moment where you realize you are genuinely happy. "How and when did this occur?" you think to yourself.
The answer is subtly. It's made up of small moments of goodness. It's the result of daily habits that build your spirit. It's the result of small decisions that increase your quality of life. It's a combination of rest, activity, and thought. Lots and lots of thought.
I don't believe that people change overnight. I don't believe in immediate transformation. I believe that their lives were adjusting to the Ah-Ha! moment God knew was on its way. I believe that whether they acknowledged it or not, their brains were working hard to eliminate pessimism and ugliness. They were making small changes that led to a large change ... a moment they wouldn't forget ... a moment they attribute to their great change.
My friend and I were discussing the nuances of my struggle since my divorce. She asked why I made certain decisions and all I could tell her was I was lonely and scared. And felt defeated.
At some point that changed. At some point, I no longer felt defeated...or perhaps I felt less defeated. A little more each day. Gradually. And then my brain went to work to affirm that was true.
Our brains work hard to affirm our core beliefs. Thank goodness for the ability to change a core belief.
My core beliefs are now something like this: I am loved. I am not alone. I am worthy of goodness. I am honest and kind. I am beautiful. I am a hard worker. I can do all things thru Jesus. I am not defeated.
Yes, I still have the occasional ugly thought that likes to settle in my brain. For a time. He tells me I am not worthy of good things. He tells me I am unlovable and worthless. He tells me my life is hard because I am difficult.
But what's amazing about changing your script is you recognize those negative thoughts quickly and have the ability to shove them out the door like an unwanted house guest who has just brought his entire, stinky, un-showered, loud, obnoxious family into your peaceful, immaculate living room.
They are just out of place. And everyone knows it.
I have always been that girl that laughs a lot. I find something to laugh about in most situations. Even when it's inappropriate....like a funeral...sigh. When I'm feeling down, my favorite thing to do is google funny memes and I instantly feel better. I like laughter.
I wonder if that has attributed to my joy now. My guess is MOST DEFINITELY YES.
It may have been sneaky in its delivery. It may have taken more time than I would have liked to bring about significant change, yet here we are, Linda. Sitting in our peaceful, immaculate living room filled with laughter and working hard to keep out the stinky house guests. They need to invest in some Dove and Meyers laundry detergent. And until they have dressed and showered appropriately, they have no place in my living room.
Wednesday, November 14, 2018
Forgiveness & Dog Poop
Ephesians 4:32
Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.
We were late. The boys and I had been up since 5:00 a.m., but we were still rushing out the door for school at 7:15. A suspicious smell hit me, and my temperature rose as I realized what it was. Dog poop. I started looking around for the culprit only to find that there was a trail from the front door to my boys' bathroom. I quickly grabbed my sons and checked their shoes. The guilty one looked at me with angst and expectation...waiting for the crazy person within me to appear.
I did not disappoint him. The crazy person did indeed appear.
After we figured out the source, we were all scrambling to remedy the stink. Clothes and rugs were thrown in the wash, shoes had to be changed. The front porch had to be rinsed. We were a mess of activity.
I heard my crazy self say to them, "I'm a single momma and I need you boys to help me!!!"
Not my finest moment.
Once we were finally in the car, I took a deep breath and looked back at my precious boys. Their faces were stressed and tight. I had caused that.
I would like to say that I never, ever respond like a crazy person. And I certainly never cause my boys stress. I would like to say that I am merry and bright like freakin' Christmas 24/7. I would like to say that I handle stress and being late and poop messes like Mother Teresa.
But I would be lying. And I am many things, but liar is not amongst them.
Unfortunately, the opposite is true at times. I'm wound tight often and do not have the tolerance for anything unexpected or unpleasant. I am in my own world of efficiently functioning at my maximum capability, and find obstacles to be an incredible nuisance to this high gear I'm driving in.
Kids...a.k.a. obstacles.
The beauty of failing miserably is the opportunity I get to ask for forgiveness.
I reached back to hold their hands and said, "I'm so sorry I was such a lunatic. Can you forgive me?"
Their faces softened and quickly said, "yes, momma. It's ok."
Forgiveness changes relationships. Forgiveness softens hearts and opens up vulnerable communication. Forgiveness is the epitome of who Jesus is. Forgiveness IS Jesus.
I've often said that relationships aren't close unless there is a time when forgiveness is necessary. Opening up to someone means exposing yourself...the good, the bad, the ugly. It means letting someone in to see our hearts. It means the need to be truly yourself outweighs the need to hide. Our true selves are not always roses.
In this world of dating in your 40s, forgiveness is sparse. Our hearts have become so damaged after being broken over and over again that we are closed off and intolerant of mistakes and differences. One false move typically means you've lost the interest of the other party and there are 100 women or men behind you eager to have a chance. And one of them will play it right and get the guy/girl while you flounder in your mess of attempts at romance. And swear that you won't screw up again. You'll save that for marriage.
And we wonder why marriages don't last.
The friends and family with whom I have had conflict, thus the need to ask forgiveness, are those most precious to me. Because they trusted my heart. They knew my heart. Our relationship was too precious to them to let an unforgiving spirit divide us. So they forgave me.
If we never have to apologize, we are either daft in our knowledge of ourselves, or we are withholding large parts of our hearts.
Neither one of those is who I want to be, so as long as I have breath I will ask for forgiveness. And pray that I don't damage my boys too badly along the way. And that dog poop will stay outside where it belongs.
Tuesday, November 13, 2018
Sticky with pain
Let me pre0-empt this by saying I drained my keyboard of plexus after myh son decided to pour it directly on it. So the keys are a bit hmessed up. Big sigh.
I woke after a deep night's sleep with this thought: I deserve better.
I'm not one to believe this. I always err on the side of believing I'm a failure. Whenever unpleasant things happen to me, I take responsibility for them. I typically trust others' discernment above my own. I have a long track record of poor decisions, so trusting myself is challenging.
Believing that I deserve good things right after I open my eyes in the morning is a huge improvement.
I've been trained in trauma since Graham's accident. I know how to spot the physical triggers before they lead to decisions. I've done quite a lot of research on how the brain responds to stress. I'm no stranger to knowledge on this subject.
I learned to lean into the pain of almost losing my son. I was diligent in doing the exercises to heal that part of my brain and my heart. I did it so my boys could have a great mother again. I knew I would be less than amazing if I allowed my traumatized brain to control my life. I knew I wouldn't sleep, I knew I would live on high alert jumping at the smallest sound. I knew I would be an incapable participant in their discipline. I knew I would be suffering to keep it together, thus causing them unnecessary pain. So I dug in and was able to heal.
But what I have not leaned into is the pain of rejection. I have avoided leaning into that pain.
I have been listening to a podcast called ''Rise'' by Rachel Hollis. Her words of wisdom on the subject of rejection and fear have been rolling around in my head for weeks. But one of the best things I've learned from her is to lean into pain because that pain is trying to tell you something.
When I completely blew up any chance I had with the false alarm I thought was IT (we'll call him Dan), I could not shake the feelings of humiliation. Even as I type this, my face is getting hot and my heart is starting to beat faster. Throughout the day, I would have these subtle thoughts that reminded me I was rejected, and my body chemistry would completely change. I could be sitting in the carpool line and have a fleeting thought of my miserable failure with Dan, and the hot face would come. I would be making a snack of hummus and veggies for my boys, and the thought of Dan's rejection would flit through my brain....hot face. I would be cleaning a toilet...hot face. Singing in my car...hot face. Showering...hot face (for more reasons than I like a super hot shower).
After many attempts to make it go away, I finally decided to heed the Hollis advice and lean into it. get all sticky with the rejection...allow the humiliation to flood over me from head to toe. so I sat in the pain. I allowed my brain to work through every angle. It was an exercise I had been putting off for years. I worked through every rejection and picked it apart. I analyzed every action, every word, every feeling. I dissected the heck out of it until my entire body was hot with humiliation.
And then I napped.
just kidding. I didn't nap. I packed it up in a mental suitcase and labeled it, "lies." And put it in the corner far away from the truth. Where it belongs.
I'd like to say that my face doesn't get hot anymore, but that would be a stretch. All I can say is rejection and I are now friends. I'm not intimidated by him anymore. I'm not afraid of him anymore. I'm just accepting that he exists and has a part to play in my journey to be who god created me to be. (yes i know god should be capitalized but the keuyboard is not cooperating)_. And who god created me to be should not be stifled by whether a man likes me or not. If I allowed that to take root in my heart, I'm succumbing to being weak and fragile.
And this girl has too much living to do to allow that to happen.
I. DESERVE. BETTER.
I woke after a deep night's sleep with this thought: I deserve better.
Believing that I deserve good things right after I open my eyes in the morning is a huge improvement.
I've been trained in trauma since Graham's accident. I know how to spot the physical triggers before they lead to decisions. I've done quite a lot of research on how the brain responds to stress. I'm no stranger to knowledge on this subject.
I learned to lean into the pain of almost losing my son. I was diligent in doing the exercises to heal that part of my brain and my heart. I did it so my boys could have a great mother again. I knew I would be less than amazing if I allowed my traumatized brain to control my life. I knew I wouldn't sleep, I knew I would live on high alert jumping at the smallest sound. I knew I would be an incapable participant in their discipline. I knew I would be suffering to keep it together, thus causing them unnecessary pain. So I dug in and was able to heal.
But what I have not leaned into is the pain of rejection. I have avoided leaning into that pain.
I have been listening to a podcast called ''Rise'' by Rachel Hollis. Her words of wisdom on the subject of rejection and fear have been rolling around in my head for weeks. But one of the best things I've learned from her is to lean into pain because that pain is trying to tell you something.
When I completely blew up any chance I had with the false alarm I thought was IT (we'll call him Dan), I could not shake the feelings of humiliation. Even as I type this, my face is getting hot and my heart is starting to beat faster. Throughout the day, I would have these subtle thoughts that reminded me I was rejected, and my body chemistry would completely change. I could be sitting in the carpool line and have a fleeting thought of my miserable failure with Dan, and the hot face would come. I would be making a snack of hummus and veggies for my boys, and the thought of Dan's rejection would flit through my brain....hot face. I would be cleaning a toilet...hot face. Singing in my car...hot face. Showering...hot face (for more reasons than I like a super hot shower).
After many attempts to make it go away, I finally decided to heed the Hollis advice and lean into it. get all sticky with the rejection...allow the humiliation to flood over me from head to toe. so I sat in the pain. I allowed my brain to work through every angle. It was an exercise I had been putting off for years. I worked through every rejection and picked it apart. I analyzed every action, every word, every feeling. I dissected the heck out of it until my entire body was hot with humiliation.
And then I napped.
just kidding. I didn't nap. I packed it up in a mental suitcase and labeled it, "lies." And put it in the corner far away from the truth. Where it belongs.
I'd like to say that my face doesn't get hot anymore, but that would be a stretch. All I can say is rejection and I are now friends. I'm not intimidated by him anymore. I'm not afraid of him anymore. I'm just accepting that he exists and has a part to play in my journey to be who god created me to be. (yes i know god should be capitalized but the keuyboard is not cooperating)_. And who god created me to be should not be stifled by whether a man likes me or not. If I allowed that to take root in my heart, I'm succumbing to being weak and fragile.
And this girl has too much living to do to allow that to happen.
I. DESERVE. BETTER.
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