Archives for category: Menopause

I feel rather like I am approaching a mostly-closed door, and ought to open it with care, in case someone unseen is unaware, and vulnerable, on the other side. I would avoid sneaking up on you so early in the morning. 🙂

Morning...

Morning…

Things are ‘new’ and ‘different’… house guests gone, dawn coming a very different time, a new laptop in front of me, and a number of other small changes each gently altering each other’s relevance to me. Life is rich, busy, complex – often more stressful than necessary, sometimes so much so that more bigger change seems imminent or needful. I breath, and relax, and observe, and hope not to overreact.

The world seems just filled with mean people… I think some people may have found me among them at other points in time, although more accurately a loving friend suggested that rather than ‘mean’ i was ‘callous’, and that maybe that’s worse. I think the difference between ‘callous’ and ‘mean’ is critical… it seems to be a matter of will, and intent. Meanness is, from my perspective, a willful attack that is deliberate, and not necessarily ‘righteous’ – mean people often know they are being mean, and the aim is to hurt, or inflict pain at the expense of that person, sometimes for the amusement of others. Callousness often seems associated with a certain ‘sense of righteousness’ in that a callous person generally doesn’t understand that their approach is hurting another – or may not understand that the hurt is relevant at all. 😦  I suspect that both meanness and callousness are incredibly difficult to dissuade someone from taking on, for different reasons. Both are quite ugly characteristics, and neither leave room for compassion.

Mean, though… well, how is it even justified? Mean people don’t actually care that they are hurting someone – they are making a point, having some fun, entertaining someone else, or ‘seeing what happens if’. Ugly. I don’t like it, and I don’t choose to foster it in myself or accept it in my lovers.  I don’t like callous, but I understand it more, and I am willing to educate, discuss, coach, share, build rapport, learn, grow together…because it seems worthwhile. So…for me, they are different.

Meaning is what we make it – literally.  Our thoughts are our own, and language functions by agreement – but that means learning to collaborate in conversation and sharing definitions of terms, and both listening and hearing – they are not the same. We are not only having our own experience… we are communicating with each other in language that is only partially shared. Complicated.

It’s a lovely morning… and somehow I am feeling quite calm and extraordinarily balanced.

A good morning for "Sheer Bliss"

A good morning for “Sheer Bliss”

 

Sometimes a sunny day is enough.

Sometimes a sunny day is enough.

Days go by…saying so makes me think of the song by that name, but it isn’t relevant.   Time spent with family, time spent on love, time…spent.  I’m nearly there, myself. I’m tired.  I very much want to take real time to write. Really write; to think, and muse, and contemplate, to reflect, analyze, wonder…to communicate and to understand.  The time is not now, but just in case you are missing me… I’m not gone, I’m just doing ‘now‘ right now, and there is too  much of that to write about it.

So, perhaps sooner than later, I will sit down at a new, faster laptop, in a quiet place, with a tranquil heart, and I will write about life, and love, and men of 20, and fathers and sons.   Until then… living, loving… and hey, yeah, painting – I finally painted the first canvases in our home together.  3 new pieces – one as yet unfinished.  I am even spending time on painting – by far one of the most worthwhile ways to spend my time. 😀

"Summer Flowers" 16" x 20" acrylic on canvas with glow. 2013

“Summer Flowers” 16″ x 20″ acrylic on canvas with glow. 2013

 

I

The morning was lovely; calm, centered, friendly conversation between lovers, practical and affectionate, supportive and tender. My day starts very well, today. It feels wonderful, and comfortable.

As I walk to work I find myself thinking of what is comfortable, and what is not; recognizing as I walk that some of the most uncomfortable things are on our path to growth. This is not an original thought. It has been pointed out to me by teachers of great wisdom, as well as by very wise teachers, and the most humble of friends, too. Struggle is part of our human experience, as are change, and ideally, growth. I’m thinking about these things because yesterday sucked on a level of sucking that was both remarkable, and tediously, unforgivably, like an oft-watched re-run; in spite of knowing all the dialogue, and the eventual outcome, it plays out from the moment the opening theme is played, until the last name listed in the credits rolls by, and the commercial break begins, simply because I do not choose to change the channel. I could be angry with myself, this morning, because it was what it was. I am choosing differently, and hoping that the choice makes a change.

I observe as I walk that my jeans, are very comfortable – and worn. They drag the ground a bit, and the hems have frayed completely away at my heels. They are spattered here and there with paint, and worn in places from specific work, or play. They no longer fit, having become too large as I close in on my weight and fitness goals. My shirt, too, is soft and comfortable, worn and broken-in, as favorite things so often are. It is also too big now. I feel relaxed in my clothes – they barely embrace me, due to the loose fit and I feel somehow very free. I continue to contemplate what is comfortable, and as I muse about my comfortable clothes that do not fit, tears begin to fall while I walk, and I am thinking about other things that no longer fit, however comfortable they may be; out of date coping mechanisms, long-since toppled poor assumptions, defense strategies to protect me from attacks that don’t happen in this life (or this partnership), a personal narrative based on what is ‘acceptable’ rather than ‘what is’, misplaced commitment to values I didn’t actually choose, or no longer share…other things, too, but these are obvious and I’m still not finished with my coffee. My tears fall as I walk, and I consider how much there is that ‘doesn’t fit anymore’ and what to do about that…recognizing that what will fit nicely in the future may not be very comfortable initially. I think of a favorite pair of combat boots from some lifetime before this one. I trudged along uncomfortably for many days, and uncountable miles, before those boots felt comfortable…I wonder if growing up feels that way, too? Will I ever be ‘a proper grown up’? Will my broken brain allow that, or will there always be bits and pieces that don’t quite fit, and things that don’t quite work?

Comfort…discomfort…change…continuation… I admit to a bit of fear and confusion. I would like to have a map, a Sherpa  a firm plan that leads neatly from starting point to destination… instead I find myself quite alive, and life seems to be rather chaotic and messy, and all sorts of trial and error, and damned little certainty. So, instead, I am determined in my studies of life and love, and hoping to learn the formula for turning discomfort to comfort, and fear to wonder…finding life’s ‘comfortable jeans’ would be a nice thing…to feel ‘free’…

some metaphor about growth...

some metaphor about growth…

Yesterday is behind me, completed, filed, available for later review. Today is an entirely new experience.

Oh, I know, hugely misleading subject line, if I got your attention and you think I’m going to talk about sex. 😦  Cuz…um…I’m not. Nope. Different sort of sucking.

i suck at making my needs understood. Even when I think I have expressed myself simply, clearly – and even in the face of seeming to have understanding and affirmation from others, I regularly find myself facing a complete disconnect from what I thought I had expressed and what others later recall or seem to have taken from the conversation. There’s no point being mad at them.  My friends and partners and loved ones are pretty rational people who communicate well with others. I, on the other hand, have a lifetime of struggling to have my needs understood (sometimes by me) or to communicate them clearly… so it has to be me.  If past partners are to be understood, maybe it really ‘always’ is.

It’s not ‘self pity’ – let’s be clear. I’m disappointed. I’m sad. I’m angry – mostly with myself, because I tried so hard to get this fucking ‘taking care of me’ thing right and failed with the sort of unarguable failure that I’ll let myself ‘enjoy’ all day.   I’m still not heard, not understood. Everyone involved simply walked away with their own assumptions. My own efforts at clarifying questions or re-setting expectations, or ‘working it out’ equitably just got me a hearty helping of isolation and being disconnected. Peachy.

I feel sad and frustrated. I thought I had today set to go – a lovely day of mindfulness and domesticity in support of my own needs and the needs of my family. I wasn’t understood. Now I still have a lengthy to-do list – and no joy facing it.  I put so much into this – into communicating my own needs, in communicating what I wanted to provide to support our family… and I completely failed. I failed with real skill, considering I went into it thinking what I had to offer was desirable and advantageous to everyone else. I guess I didn’t understand their needs either. 😦

Well, just fucking delightful. When I suck – I do so with real skill, and by way of overcoming all obvious advantages – like everyone seeming to want the same thing. Bravo, me!

Shit. Happy Sunday. Now what?

It’s been a long day. I’m ending it with a backache, a headache, and quite content to see this one reach its conclusion.  It’s ending well; I don’t want to give a different impression. It’s just been a day that began well, is ending well, and in between…it wasn’t horrible, wasn’t tears or trauma, wasn’t even noteworthy in a way worth noting. It was effort well-spent, small stresses well-managed, tasks completed, begun, and otherwise dispensed with. Satisfying, overall, more or less…I’m just…done. So very done for today.

...finally...evening light.

…finally…evening light.

Funny thing, I suspect the fatigue, perhaps even the pain, stem more from what I’m not doing, than the things I am – or have been – doing today. That ‘conversation with myself’ isn’t going to go away. Taking care of me, and healing, and growing and learning to nurture myself and invest in my own experience, my own needs and giving myself the support and respect I need from myself isn’t the easiest thing I’ve ever undertaken. I’m a handful – the wreckage, the chaos and damage, the ancient pain – it all adds up. Walls built over years keep me out, too.  Introspection easily becomes a sort of mental geodesic dome of fun-house mirrors, reflecting my poor assumptions and bad programming back onto myself again and again, splintering, fracturing, breaking up a momentary understanding into confusion and incoherent half-baked wishful thinking, or worse still, fears and insecurities built on enough of what is real to mislead me into self-loathing, or frustrated rage. I’ve had to find another way.  It’s a journey, not a destination – I’m pretty sure of that, now.

There is still so very little ‘knowing’, and so many questions. I am a student…of life, of love, of truth, of what is…of what is not…of what may be…what isn’t so likely…and bit by bit my firm certainty in the world reveals itself as an illusion, a defense, a sort of camouflage to protect me from the one person I can never ever be saved from. Yep. Me. Her.  Me-at-18, me-at-20, me-at-30… me…then. Let’s not talk about then, shall we?

Mindfulness isn’t about pretending something isn’t. Healing isn’t a score card, and no amount of pretense can will me whole of heart and mind. So…I have to make room in my experience for her.  For me.  That earlier iteration of chaos and damage that is who I have been. So much chaos. So much damage.  It’s on my mind, and it is a distraction from my every day experience, this need to face myself, in a way so honest and so direct that she can not evade my questions with her answers, presses on my consciousness with such force.  So now what? I have to find the words…the time…the place…

I’m glad the day ends, and ends well. I need my strength. I am here, now, and having survived and endured her ‘then’, along with her, I know her strength well.  I don’t know the outcome…I know she won’t take a dive. I know I can’t afford to lose, or forfeit. 

Night falls and I am glad to rest.