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Quiet Mornings

July 2, 2015 //
0

I feel sure of quiet mornings. I don’t know why. I do know that serious disruption of a morning that starts well puts me at high risk of a crappy day; I don’t recover easily from having a quiet morning blown with OPD, emotional baggage, residual angst from unremembered nightmares, or anger. It has been awhile since I missed out on the simple joy of a quiet morning – and quiet mornings may be reason enough [for me] to live alone.

What is more representative of a quiet morning than my cup of coffee?

What is more representative of a quiet morning than my cup of coffee?

I’m not “a morning person”. I say that because it is true. It doesn’t show at all, here, alone on a quiet morning. I am content, and enjoying my coffee. A soft smile lingers on my face; it arrived while I showered, resulting from the innocent sensuous pleasure of water over skin. I feel good, and calm, and generally wrapped in a sense of well-being. How did I get here? Is that a question that needs an answer? There are choices and verbs involved. Some of them matter more than others. Emotional self-sufficiency – building it, and enjoying it – is an important piece of my puzzle, and I continue to work on it with the attention of a craftsman, and the commitment that results from a passion for living well. I am not yet sufficiently skilled, or strong enough, to be so sure of myself and my choices when I live with someone I care for deeply, and reaching that place is one of my challenges – not necessarily to then live in shared domesticity, but rather simply because it is a healthy goal that gives me more options.

One very important choice I have made along the way is to refuse to wallow in regret over small things. There are a lot of little things I enjoy greatly that I am choosing to do without day-to-day, in order to take care of me with greater skill over a longer time. I miss morning coffee with my traveling partner…I don’t miss arguments over small things, or emotional storms, that sometimes resulted because I just wasn’t yet quite awake enough to make sense, or to communicate easily, or needed a few more minutes for me. I could allow myself to focus on the regret and the loss, and sit idly by while resentment and hurt builds over time…I could take it very personally and blame him, her, them, the world, circumstances… oh the sorrow and the tears! It would get ugly fast, and then… where would my quiet mornings be? I might wake every day feeling only the losses. That sounds like a very poor quality experience. I didn’t understand, years ago, how much of my experience – and my emotions themselves – is chosen by me.  It isn’t forced on me. There are verbs involved. It matters not one bit if I refuse to recognize my choices, or the power of my will (or my won’t) – they remain steadfastly what they are. The outcome is generally quite predictable if I allow myself a moment of clarity to consider circumstances calmly, with awareness, compassion, and non-judgement. Meditation has been a tool with great value for me where perspective, awareness, compassion, and non-judgement are concerned; just ‘thinking about’ things takes me very different places than meditation does.

Begin at the beginning, it's a very good starting point.

Begin at the beginning, it’s a very good starting point.

I’m not saying that I ignore things that hurt me – emotional or physical – doing so tends to cause damage, and the wounds fester over time. Still, considering quiet mornings, why does acknowledging an experience I miss require me to raise hell with my traveling partner over it? What does my sense of loss actually  have to do with him, at all? My emotions are my own. Considering how much of my experience – and my emotions – are chosen, how does the hurt-angry-blame game even factor into it? Where is the utility? If drama and emotional weapons of mass distraction seem appropriate (or irresistible) in some moment, I will find that I have failed in some obvious and elementary way to clearly and effectively communicate some element of my values, my needs, or failed to share my expectations explicitly – or have callously forgotten that he has his own. That’s some bullshit right there, and it can be relatively easily managed, in the sense that there are choices to be made, that can be made – and it’s not that damned difficult from the practical perspective of making one better choice after another. (It does require practice, and your results may vary.) One of those choices [for me] is investing in the small victories, versus wallowing in the small losses; I enjoy quiet solitary mornings, smiling over my coffee, without regret, doubt, or insecurity – because quiet mornings please me so much, and nurture the best bits of who I am so well.

It's hard to go wrong with good basics...

It’s hard to go wrong with good basics…

This morning, I quickly backed out of Facebook after briefly checking it… my feed is filled with fear, hate, intolerance, doubt – did I mention fear and hate? Oh, and the anger. I don’t need it. Change is scary for people, and between marriage being legal, people who don’t want to see an antique flag with racist overtones flying over centers of government, and people in Oregon being allowed to smoke pot, there is a portion of the world just freaking right the fuck out over the terrible decline in society – I’d like to laugh, but frightened, cornered animals act aggressively, and there are few things more dangerous than feral humans acting out their aggressive impulses righteously in the name of their god, or ideology. That shit is damned scary. They are, however, human – we can’t just put them down, forcibly medicate them for their own good, or exile them for the good of society. When I have the energy for it, I do make a point of blocking all such relayed hate in my feed – regardless why it was shared, regardless which friend of mine that I know and care for may have shared it, I block the source (it’s easy to click ‘don’t show me stuff from ___’). Doing so certainly improves my feed over time, and I can’t be stopped from making the choice not to participate in hate. I even hope, in some small way, that perhaps I am ‘breaking the chain’ just by stopping more of it from reaching me; people who post hate often post hate regularly, people who post intolerance often post intolerance regularly, people who engage in trolling are often… trolls. Block. Experience improved.

A helpful practice, indeed.

A helpful practice, indeed.

Choice is a powerful tool. Making choices deliberately, with thought, with strategy, with commitment to my own values, unapologetically, frees my choices from the web of coincidence and happenstance; then the outcome is mine to enjoy, to be accountable for, to celebrate – and to change. I like that kind of power…the power to be. In circumstances where events are inflicted on me by others, I still have that power to choose, that power to be – because I can choose my reaction and choose to continue to live my own values. Viktor Frankl wrote a very important, rather depressing although enlightening book on the subject.

It’s a lovely quiet morning. Today is a good day to enjoy being and becoming, and to enjoy my power to choose – how vast and unlimited is that power?! Today is a good day to change the world.

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

What’s the Word I’m Looking For?

July 1, 2015 //
0

I am sipping my coffee, listening to the demands of crows beyond the open patio door. The aquarium, behind me here, trickles softly; I almost don’t hear it moment-to-moment, I am so used to the sound of it. The sound of distant traffic is a hushed murmur still farther beyond, and not a disruption of the still morning – although when I am most stressed out the sounds of humanity are more than I can bear, even at a distance. I sift through ideas, and notions, musing contentedly about this-n-that, unconcerned about the passage of time and the still blank page. There is no point hurrying life, really, is there? Eventually the passage of minutes will take me to the edge of some moment that requires action, but that is not now.

“Now” is for hot coffee, birdsong, and words if I find them.

I have lived alone for a bit more than a month. Thinking about the date reminds me that I must pay the rent on my way to work…and that marijuana became legal in Oregon today. I’m not sure which is more directly relevant to me, today; I will spend the day at work, and certainly neither cannabis nor rent factor in that experience. It’ll be nice to come home to a home, though – so rent is clearly important. I’ll be coming home to cannabis as well, inasmuch as it remains the only medication that eases many of my PTSD symptoms, especially if I am in crisis. I don’t write much about it. I’m not sure I know how. I do know it works, and as of today being a consumer of cannabis is just a little bit less stressful in Oregon.

Worth paying for. The sticky note on the inside of my front door this morning says 'don't forget the rent!'

Worth paying for. The sticky note on the inside of my front door this morning says ‘don’t forget the rent!’

This morning I continue to experience a feeling that has been lingering in the background for a couple of days now; I feel a bit ‘over loaded’… or something. Maybe a bit distracted…by something…or something. I’m not sure quite what the feeling is, but I notice that what eases it most is solitude, and stillness. I get the solitude fairly easily by canceling plans and choosing to be alone. The stillness seems a tad more problematic, lately. The world throws distractions at me almost continuously, and I am again facing mindfulness as a beginner – perhaps I always must? No stereo this morning, or yesterday – I love music and dance, but those are not stillness. The last couple evenings I have struggled to choose wisely, often finding myself flipping on a video that I then do not actually watch, instead restlessly doing other things, and half listening to it. Sometimes I sit down to read, and manage a page or two before sleep finds me…or distraction pushes the book beyond reach and I pursue some other activity, but without real focus. I take steps to paint, and find myself hanging paintings instead, or only sketching rather distractedly.

I am frustrated in a small way by my lack of focus, but I don’t view it as any sort of personal failure or character flaw; more likely my broken brain is working on something I can’t quite get at directly, and the overwork in the background of my thinking fractures my conscious direction and intent. The stillness is needful, getting to it requires verbs, and more verbs after that – particularly some verbs that give every appearance of lacking actual action. Meditation. More meditation after I meditate, and perhaps, some more meditation after that. No, I’m not kidding, but I’m also not certain that I quite have the well-developed adult will and discipline to do this simple thing that I need for and from myself. I am a child. I am a beginner. I am unrealized potential. The choice is in front of me and there are most definitely verbs involved. There will be more practice. Everyday practice, every day.

I am not feeling critical of myself, and I am not disappointed with my choices thus far. I am keeping a lovely home for myself, and I have been enjoying cooking for one – and in some cases taking on some rather more complicated recipes that I might have, had I been concerned about the needs or expectations of others. It’s been fun playing house with myself. I tend my beautiful garden, and eat healthy food. I practice good practices and keep good company. I am enjoying my experience – but on another level I have been sort of ‘taking it easy’. There is more ‘work’ to be done sorting out the chaos and damage, and I have been, in a very real sense, taking a break from all that to settle in here, and get a feel for living solo. My recent level of distractibility – and willingness to be distracted – has been an emotional vacation of sorts. This morning I recognize it so clearly, and with the good-natured tolerance of any parent, I am ready to look into the face of the child within and remind her there is work to be done. There will be no shortage of healthy meals, good rest, excellent self-care, and fun – but there is a purpose to choosing this lifestyle that goes beyond contentment, and it is time to get back to work.

"The Shelf" - everything I need for being and becoming.

“The Shelf” – everything I need for being and becoming.

I suspect that my sudden urgent desire to organize the books on my book shelves was fueled, in part, by my recognition that it is time to get back to the demanding work at hand of healing, and nurturing this broken brain, and this fractured soul. The shelf nearest me while I write holds all the most critical [to me] reference material on which I rely for information regarding my brain injury, mindfulness practices, cognition, language, and relationship building (with self and others). No book ‘makes the shelf’ unless it proves itself worthy – otherwise, there is plenty of room on other shelves along the wall. My kindle also has ‘the shelf’; a collection of similarly prized and limited tomes, some of which are duplicated in real books in my library, others which I could not so easily afford to own in any format besides digital. (Some of the science books are quite expensive.) I am ready. I am capable. The trick, of course, is that there is only ever ‘now’ during which I can work on me, effectively. 🙂

The sweet fruit of commitment, will, and action await me.

The sweet fruit of commitment, will, and action await me.

It is a lovely summer. I have everything I truly need (and more). I am safe in my home and free to pursue any endeavor I care to. I have ‘now’, and I have all the words in the world. I have any measure of stillness I am capable of embracing, and sustaining. Today is a very good day to get back to work on this amazing project I call ‘me’.

 

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Categories art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, gardening, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Menopause, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

The Dishes in the Sink

June 27, 2015 //
1

This morning I slept in. This morning I slept in so hard I missed a couple phone calls from my traveling partner. I woke hours later than usual, although I had gone to bed at a fairly normal adult hour sometime shortly after 10 pm, even taking that into account, I slept in far later than usual and managed a bit more than 9 hours of sleep. I woke with a stuffy head, a bit dizzy, and too groggy for the speed and dexterity I seemed to expect to have. I slowed myself down, answered the phone and enjoyed the sound of my traveling partner’s voice first thing in the morning – a lovely treat –  and afterward turned on the stereo, and eased my stiffness with some yoga.

Coffee time! Oh…hey…who  left dishes in the sink over night? Oh. Right. Me. I feel real irritation on the edge of anger surge through me, requiring a moment to breathe, and slow things down again.

Damn it.

Damn it.

I have some baggage around dirty dishes, associated with domestic violence at a point in life when my injury was relatively recent. Dirty dishes in the sink resurrect all sorts of chaos and damage for me, beginning with irritation and resentment, and moving through a spectrum of negative emotions. There was an emotional moment, hands clenching the edge of the sink, body trembling – I just want to make my coffee, now, but the dishes commanded my full attention; the dishwasher is full of clean dishes, and having forgotten to unload it right after work, and also putting off the dishes after dinner was made – promising myself to handle it ‘soon’ which became ‘after __’, which then became ‘before bed’, then didn’t happen at all. I’m irked at myself. I dislike disorder on a pretty powerful level – the disorder in my kitchen screams at me about the potential for disorder in the rest of my experience, and in my thinking.

I take a deep breath. I give myself a moment to recognize that nothing in the sink is actually an impediment to making coffee and enjoying it. Hell – it’s not even a lot of dishes, and they were rinsed before being placed in the sink. I am over-reacting. Still, my own perspective on the dishes is that taking care of me means an orderly tidy clean kitchen – for me. Because I said. (No other reason is really necessary – although honestly, a dirty kitchen is a health hazard.) I treated myself poorly by not making a point of taking care of the dishes last night. It’s necessary to recognize and accept both the circumstances and my feelings in order to take better care of me going forward – and to make amends and let it go. Yes, of course making amends is relevant even when I disappoint myself. I will face lingering irritation every time I look in the kitchen – and it may even stall my enjoyment of other parts of my day – until I make things right with me. It’s not about domestic servitude, obligation, the expectations of others, or rules – I really dislike dishes being left in the sink, and most particularly overnight. Why is not relevant to the moment.

This is not really even about dishes, specifically. I bring it up because it illuminates a particular point about self-care. How so? Well… in shared domestic experience dishes can quickly become major drama – because like a lot of small details, how people treat each other really matters. Being considerate of each others values is a big deal. That’s so obviously true when I think about my relationships with others…but what about my relationship with myself?  This morning I find that it’s also true within my experience of myself. I am annoyed with myself for treating myself poorly. I like waking up to a very tidy kitchen, a clean bathroom, soft vacuumed carpet under my bare feet, and details well-managed for beautiful living, and I know this about me…and rather inconsiderately still let myself down last night. So…now what? I have come far enough to know that continuing to mistreat myself by moving on from something as small as leaving a couple of rinsed dishes in the sink over night to berating myself for having done so is not ‘treating myself well’. Emotional self-abuse can take up a lot of valuable time on pointless bullshit. (I’m still annoyed, though, and I’ll be doing the dishes once my coffee is finished.)

I yearn to treat myself 100% as well as I would treat my most adored lover – and to do so as well as I would strive to do in the first precious weeks of connecting and investing in love. Seriously – why wouldn’t I treat me the very best I know how? That doesn’t mean Affogatos every morning – that would be mistreatment through over-indulgence. It doesn’t mean spending my disposable income on enticing frivolities – that would be mistreatment through failure to manage my resources for long-term comfort and success. It doesn’t mean refusing to spend another dollar on groceries to be frugal, at the expense of good quality nutrition and health – that would be mistreatment through a false sense of economy. (I can hear my traveling partner laughing and saying “well, what does it mean?”, and pointing out that I am phrasing things in the negative.) One thing it definitely does mean is practicing practices that build and maintain the quality of life in which I personally thrive – with a commitment to practical tasks and habits being established that keep a good household running well, however small. It means doing the damned dishes promptly. It means running the vacuum cleaner every day. It means – for me – making the bed in the morning, adjusting the curtains for the lighting I like, and keeping my home tidy at the standard that satisfies and pleases me, unapologetically – and also without treating myself badly by berating myself when I miss the mark. I am human, and this is a human experience. Highs, lows, successes, failures – my results vary.

I am feeling ready to stand out - unapologetically precisely who I am.

I am feeling ready to stand out – unapologetically precisely who I am.

I made my coffee, and I am taking time to enjoy it while I write. It’ll be a lovely day to catch up on a few things, and to take care of me by taking care of home and hearth – mindful service, not indentured servitude, because I can rather than because I must. Gracious delight and investment in self is a lovely approach to taking great care of this wee home I have made, and resentment is not an element of that experience. Like a child ‘playing house’, I have a clear idea of ‘home’ and what it takes to maintain that feeling – and it’s fun to do those things for myself. Even the dishes – although damn I wish I’d done them last night. 🙂

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Testing Growth, Measuring Change

June 22, 2015 //
1

I had an awesome weekend. I learned a thing or two about how far I’ve come – and how far I have yet to go. I enjoyed feeling a new relationship become more than it was, and I enjoyed feeling a cherished relationship of some years become better than it has been. My own experience of me feels improved; I am more myself, and more comfortable in my own skin.

Like a flower, blooming when conditions are right.

Like a flower, blooming when conditions are right.

Yesterday being a ‘rest day’ by choice, I didn’t hesitate to crash when fatigue caught up with me, even though it was quite early in the evening when I crawled into bed and got comfortable with my kindle (telling myself it was not likely I would sleep so early). Minutes later I was asleep. I woke later, very briefly – long enough to smile in the dark and set my kindle on the nightstand, and return to slumber. I drifted off thinking, quite contentedly, “is this what wellness feels like?”

At 2:37 am I woke abruptly, fully alert, tense, and wary. I remained very still in the darkness, senses heightened, listening…there was something strange about the silence that didn’t satisfy me. Then I heard the clunk of the patio door being tested, and found to be locked. I lay quietly for some minutes more, aware, alert, and waiting. For what? For trouble that didn’t come, thankfully. There was no emotional feeling of panic, and aside from the physical state of arousal and readiness to fight, or defend myself, all was well and remained so. Another day, in another year, I would have been unable to remain in bed or even consider further sleep. This morning was quite different. Sure, I still have PTSD. I still have symptoms: nightmares, panic attacks, occasional wildly unrealistic fears of events that are not now, extreme emotional volatility – and my startle reflex is a very real thing; none of it is everyday, now. In the sense, and to the degree, that these things are true and real in  my experience, I am clearly not entirely ‘well’…but I have come so far, so quickly!

My night’s sleep was not ruined, I did not fret in the darkness frightened for hours, weeping and trembling, running through all the what-if scenarios of terror and trauma that could potentially be, with shortness of breath, and unable to manage my emotions. Actually, it was a very different experience. I was alert to a threat that may have been quite legitimate; someone unknown to me tried my patio door in the wee hours, for an unknown reason. That the door is routinely kept locked, and was locked this morning, minimized any likelihood that getting my door open would have further value, and my unit is close to both the Manager’s unit and the street, and well-lit. My awareness of these details provided me with adequate anchor to my safe and comfortable ‘here and now’, resting quietly in the darkness, that I was able to return to sleep with relative ease, and little concern, waking rested at the usual time, without any lingering anxiety. (Hours later, this still seems remarkable to me.)

I am pleased to see the outcome of real growth evident in real-life circumstances that would once have really messed with my head, and my emotions. I take time this morning to appreciate growth and change, and the value of practicing good practices for improving emotional balance, emotional self-sufficiency, and reducing the recovery time needed to step back from a stressful moment. There were no miracles, no fast fixes, no cures, and no slight of hand; I’ve been working at this now for years. That’s what it takes – at least for me – and sometimes it seems slow going. (Note to self: It’s totally worth it.)

...And then there's love and coffee.

…And then there’s love and coffee.

My traveling partner surprised me with a visit yesterday. We’d connected over email in the early morning, and it seemed unlikely we’d be hanging out in person, based on that discussion. I wasn’t discontent, or unhappy about that, and I knew my calendar was entirely filled for the day – with nothing. Oh, sure, I did a small bit of light gardening, made my bed, and did my dishes, but I took my rest day quite seriously, and spent it mostly on enjoying my aquarium, meditation, reading, and yoga. When I got the phone call later that he would be heading my way, if I cared to enjoy his company, I was delighted and pleasantly surprised. These are emotions that complement each other nicely. He’s a very considerate partner, too, and knowing that I might have other company makes a point to verify that he is truly welcome before coming around. I have learned a lot about good manners among adults from my traveling partner.

Growth is a funny thing, though, it is as continuous as I allow it to be. In the same moment I celebrate my satisfaction with my  own growth, good qualities, I also find myself recognizing where further study will have value, and small things where I subtly miss the mark on being the woman I most want to be. An example? I struggle with telling lovers, or others I care for deeply, ‘it’s time to go’ – I have difficulty expressing ‘departure times’. I don’t mean I have difficulty saying “I’m headed out, see you next time!” – those are fairly easy for me. I am not nearly as skilled at saying, in a gentle way that conveys only love, “It’s been lovely, see you next time – do you have all your stuff?” and taking the remainder of my day back. I definitely don’t want to convey an impression of unwelcomeness (and I dread that I might)!  Worse still – I’m incredibly unskilled at recognizing I am at that point before they do!

I’m fortunate that my traveling partner is generally very accepting of my ineptitude in these areas of life – he’s familiar with the quantity of chaos and damage, and what the shards are made of – and he’s patient, encouraging, and sometimes amused, more often than he is wounded. He’s that rare lover who actually does speak up about life and love in honest simple ways “I like it this way…” “this generally feels better than that, to me…” “you may find ____ more successful in those circumstances…” and “what can I do to help you here?” I have learned more about communicating love in this man’s arms than from all the books I have ever read. This weekend, I learned that I will love with more skill when I also learn to set limits on my time with more honesty and from a place of much greater self-awareness (which is needed to be more honest. 🙂 ) Something to work on. (There always is.)

It isn't necessary to make the journey quickly, as much as it is to be present along the way.

It isn’t necessary to make the journey quickly, as much as it is to be present along the way.

It’s a good morning to reflect on what works – and recognize what doesn’t without being hard on myself. Today is a good day to celebrate growth – and continued growth; the journey is the destination. Today is a good day for love, and for fun, and for smiles between strangers. Today is a good day to change the world.

 

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Action and Reaction

June 20, 2015 //
0

Saturday is finally here. It was a longer than usual work week, with longer than usual days. I intend to set very firm boundaries about over-work, but it’s a small team, and vacation time gets covered whatever that takes. By the time I got home last night, I was exhausted, and ready for a quiet night. I managed to push myself through laundry and self-care basics, and spent the rest of the evening quietly, reading. I crashed pretty early, and slept through night – hell, I ‘slept in’ more than an hour past the time my alarm usually wakes me, and woke feeling rested, the work week finally behind me. 🙂

This morning there are a couple of light chores to take care of, and I’ll spend some time in the garden before the heat of the day. I may hang a painting that is nagging my consciousness for a place to be. Sipping my morning coffee, I wonder if it fails to satisfy because I am looking forward to having coffee with the wanderer, later this morning.

A change in perspective is generally worthwhile.

Looking forward to Saturday in good company.

I dither a while over my rather mediocre morning coffee wondering if I should go back and check every use of ‘traveling partner’ – should those all be capitalized? What about ‘the wanderer’? Capitalized? No? I wonder if I have been consistent – it’s the potential lack of consistency that grates on my nerves most. Do I yield to the sensation and let it drive my behavior? Do I allow myself to react to it? If I do, how far back ‘should’ I go? Any? lol I quickly move on to wondering why I am even allowing my consciousness to pick at this point – do I actually even care one way or the other? Well…maybe….if it results in not being understood…am I being understood, I wonder? I sip my coffee and wonder how I managed to make such a relatively poor cup of coffee on such a lovely morning. Then I wonder how important it actually is for each reader to clearly identify the wanderer and my traveling partner in this narrative as specific people identified thus…maybe that’s only important to me? (It isn’t likely I’d forget.) I sit here considering a trivial point of grammar (yeah, I said it), and realize that it is more important to me that the choice be mine, whatever the outcome, and since I already have that I lose interest in the internal discussion and move on.

There have been a lot of things lately where the outcome of some choice was less important to me than that the choice be my own, in the moment. Sounds a tad child-like in some fashion, and I don’t allow myself to be berated (by myself) over it; it also seems a natural enough developmental step to find myself taking on this journey. I am flexing my will a bit, perhaps, but after a lifetime of over-compromise and de-prioritizing myself and my needs, it seems appropriate to take the opportunity living alone presents to live my own life, and the outcome of my own choices, more fully. Sometimes it plays out predictably enough; perhaps I find myself wanting cookies, I bake cookies, I over-indulge on the cookies, I find myself annoyed with feeling over-full on cookies, and moody from too much sugar….all my choices, all my actions, definitely no potential for blame-laying, or being annoyed with someone else, but the actions/reactions lack the developed control and will an adult might ideally show. I continue practicing specific practices that focus on self-restraint – learning skills that limit the effect of having a disinhibiting brain injury, and do so without resulting in frustration or discontent, and rely less on habitual behavior than good decision-making. Yesterday, in the morning, I made cookies, because I wanted healthier sweets on hand. I did not over-indulge. This morning there is a container full of cookies, and they may last days, although I made batches appropriately sized for solo-living. Practicing good practices results in improved outcomes. I like that phrase better than ‘practice makes perfect’, although it is less quippy, and no doubt less effective as an aphorism or ad slogan than the old stand-by.

Sometimes the journey is an uphill climb.

Sometimes the journey is an uphill climb.

There is no room in my day-to-day experience for guilt, shame, or emotional self-flagellation over the picayune details of everyday life. My rules, my home, my way…and I take a moment over my gradually cooling mediocre morning coffee to consider how long overdue this experience is for me, and how little self-possession and consideration I’ve allowed for myself, from myself, for so many years. Better to indulge, to err, to learn, eyes wide to what my experience can teach me, and prepared with self-acceptance and rational accountability to grow and move forward. This may mean the occasional mediocre cup of coffee – but it also means fresh cookies, sleeping in, long showers, and happy laughter when I master a new yoga pose. Choices matter a lot – giving myself the freedom to enact my will through action is pretty huge, too.

I am finding my way home.

I am finding my way home.

This is a much less anxious place to be. It’s a much less angry place to be. The undercurrent of subtle continuous resentment and the sense of being imposed upon almost continuously by rules external to my own thinking and practices are dissipating. Instead, I smile a lot, and I feel content much of the time. I make my own choices – and sometimes change my mind with new information, or experience a less than ideal outcome, or find  my understanding of circumstances has changed. I don’t rush myself to get a faster decision made to avoid inconveniencing someone else. I don’t think I know how to have this experience in the context of living with others – not yet – but I have the glimmer of an idea of what that might require of me. Realistically, cohabitation may not be ‘for me’ with the issues I have – I’m even okay with that, from the vantage point of a lovely Saturday morning, content, calm and smiling over my coffee. For now, this journey is about will and action, action and reaction, and practicing the practices that help me on my way to becoming the woman I most want to be.

Today is a good day to practice The Art of Being – and there’s no doubt in my mind that that needs to be capitalized. 🙂

 

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Categories Anxiety, art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words
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