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It’s That Time

January 6, 2015 //
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As arbitrary as our measurements of time can seem to me…it’s still time. It, like most things, passes. This experience of mortal life, of growth, of change, of aging isn’t a static thing, however much I want to find balance synonymous with ‘stability’. Change is. Time passes. I am a mortal creature (at least, as far as I know).

What lies beyond now?

What lies beyond now?

Yesterday was hard. I managed the work day without anyone but my closest coworker being aware that I spent much of the day weeping quietly for no apparent reason I could ever pin down, besides the simple sorrow of aging, the passage of time, and the frailty of what is dearest to us in our experience. Change is.  Heading home, I contemplated withdrawing to my own space and taking a quiet night of contemplation, and most probably additional weeping. I couldn’t bear the thought of inflicting what I could not fathom – or control – on those dearest to me. I got a lucky break – my traveling partner ‘gets it’ more often than most people around me do, and had put on The Voice for evening entertainment. How is that helpful? We don’t really watch much television, as a family, so it remains a very engaging ‘treat’, and the show he chose to share is one with a great many emotional moments in it; great camouflage for weeping. He simultaneously freed me to cry comfortably in the warmth of companionship without also having to feel I was imposing my emotions on others…and spared my dignity; there was no need for questions about my tears, and we could just let time pass in contentment and warmth. He could enjoy me without having to take the dive off the deep end with me. Easy. I like easy. It astonishes me how meaningful and relevant love songs, or moody ballads, can be when one is already weeping.

After a quiet evening, I crashed hard. Well, sort of. I fell asleep, deeply and immediately, and woke regularly to a half-waking surreal state that was not dreaming, and not waking, and not afraid – just floating in the sea of my consciousness, waiting for sleep to return. I woke ahead of the alarm, feeling a bit panicked for no particular reason; it receded with some minutes of meditation, and conscious breathing. I needed the rest, badly. This morning – no tears. What I do still have is this weird state of almost continuous back-to-back hot flashes that I’ve been having for about 3 days now, a handful of health and emotional concerns that I am fretting over…and an appointment tomorrow for a biopsy. That’s pretty scary. At 52, it’s just that time. I can pretend I don’t have this knot in my stomach when I think about it…but I don’t find that very effective. Instead, I take another breath, and a moment to appreciate love, and presence, and now, and the many people who matter to me, and to whom I matter, as well. Still anxious, but somehow, anxious in context doesn’t feel so scary.

What remains, for the moment, is figuring out whether I want my traveling partner to go with me. Is it weak that I might want someone strong to hold my hand? Am I less a feminist to want my partner by my side for such an intimate procedure? Is it fair to inflict these powerful emotions on someone else? What does ‘taking care of me’ really require? Are these questions I can answer fearlessly, honestly, and without shame?

Today is a good day to enjoy life, and let the sweet moments count as much as the every day doubts. Today is a good day to change the world.

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Healthy Living, Hormone Hell, Menopause, Metaphors, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, women

Counting Change

January 5, 2015 //
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I’ve started this one twice three four times now. I had a difficult night, and I haven’t been successful, yet, at putting it behind me. I must have awakened weeping a million times, once I fell into a restless troubled sleep, and the night lasted just about forever until I woke, about 5 minutes before the alarm would have gone off. Tears streamed down my face when I rose, and as I selected my clothes for the day, and while I stood in the shower. I don’t know that there is much to say ‘about’ it. I’m feeling the weight of years, and changes, and the slow, inconvenient process of aging in the context of relationships with much younger people.

Winter. It's a metaphor.

Winter. It’s a metaphor.

Over the past few days there have been highs and lows, the everyday, the sublime – in short, a very human experience. Why is this one, today, so hard? Why do I feel like ‘giving up’, right now? What is it, exactly, that I would give up on? I guess I should admit that it’s a pretty everyday, mundane sort of complicated human experience that is probably pretty commonplace – however alone I feel right now – and bitching about it (or crying) doesn’t actually help. It’s “The Sex Thing”, you see. Yeah – pretty personal stuff. Hard to write about, for me, with comfort and clarity…too many of my eggs are in this basket, metaphorically speaking; it’s caused me difficulties for a long long time. I love sex, and generally want more of it than any relationship provides. My sense of self is pretty entwined with my sexuality, too, which complicates some things, at this point in my life. My body – and mind – are going through some changes with this whole menopause thing, and sensations and emotions feel different, my body responds differently to touch, my chemistry has changed/is changing. I’d love to say ‘only the parts of my experience that are affected by my reproductive hormones are being affected by these changes’ – but typing the words immediately becomes comedy in my head. I’m a female human primate – what part of my experience isn’t affected by my reproductive hormones in some way? I don’t suppose I’m making things any easier to be in therapy for issues that developed around sexual trauma, domestic violence, and identity, while I am wrapping things up as a reproductively viable adult, either. The challenges and frustrations just keep piling up, until… I spend an eternal night weeping in my sleep, and wake feeling…

I feel like my heart is breaking.

There's often something beyond the obvious.

There’s often something beyond the obvious.

So. I woke early, and without difficulty, which is a nice enough start to the return to work for the new year. 2015. My traveling partner was sweet to me this morning, making me a tasty latte while I was in the shower. Detail by detail, I pick up the threads of my work routine. I’ve no enthusiasm for it, this morning. It seems likely to be a day I spend in the ladies’ room between meetings, splashing cold water on my face, and hoping to drag myself through it all with some measure of grace, and acceptance. On top of tears, I hurt. I’m not surprised – crying in ones sleep must be quite stressful, which would likely result in tense muscles, weird sleeping postures, and this wicked headache I woke with. I still manage to take care of me; medications taken on time, drinking plenty of water, choosing a morning yoga sequence with calming postures, and meditating. The water will matter in the most obvious ways, and it is the thing I would be most likely to overlook, so remembering to drink more water is a win, on a difficult Monday morning.

The first work day of the new year, and I’m feeling irritable and self-involved. I’m also committed to sorting it out and finding my way to a better place. Even in the midst of tears on a moody Monday morning, I recognize life’s joy and pleasure is within reach – if only I can raise my hand to reach for it. There’s will involved. Choices. Verbs. A commitment to change and to action is needed, and it’s not always easy.

I don’t do ‘resolutions’ to celebrate the new year…but I have goals, intentions, commitments – like anyone might. It’s a season of change, and hopefully of growth, too. In 2015, I am pointing will, choices, and action in the direction of being simply the most genuine person I have within me, while also learning to be the most kind, compassionate, reasonable, considerate, loving, and good-natured genuine person I have the ability to be…and since change is, and I am embracing it, it’s my hope that as the year progresses I can be more of those things over time. Which one of those qualities is most important to me? Being genuine. The rest will come with time – because the people in my life really matter to me, and I would treat them well. I will listen more, talk less, and make an active effort to make my default setting to take an agreeable tone in negotiations, and to live well, and pleasantly. From my perspective within myself, I don’t do ‘mean’, and I don’t do ‘bitchy’… but I know that isn’t necessarily the experience everyone has with me. I am hoping to reach a point as a being when I am a woman of whom others might say, themselves, in a firm way with conviction, “Oh, she doesn’t do mean, and she doesn’t do bitchy.”  That’s not intended to communicate that the opinions of others matter to me more than my own evaluation of self, not even a little bit, but how we treat others isn’t actually defined by our intent, or what we meant to do/say – it is 100% and entirely about how what we do/say is received by others. That was hard to come to terms with, initially, but it has been an important understanding to have.  (If you find yourself constantly suggesting, or commenting, that people should ‘grow a thicker skin’, or somehow be less sensitive, you may want to check yourself – could be you aren’t the person you’d like most to be.) I put a lot of thought and words around this one, because I value being treated well, and I want to treat others well, too – because it feels good to be treated well, and kindness, compassion, and taking a minute to let the other guy get a word in are basically free. They have great ROI.

I’m no longer weeping; my tears dried some moments ago. I feel calm. Resolute. Capable. Also wary. Cautious. Concerned. Uncertain. I also feel emotionally ‘cracked open’ and raw – being kind to myself today will be important; I can’t count on the world to be kind to me in my stead, and there’s much to do, and limited time for coaching others how to care for me – I’ve got to be prepared and able to do that for myself.

Walking a winter path.

Walking a winter path.

Today is a good day to get back to work – on me. Today is a good day to be kind to myself, and to the world. Today is a good day to make choices to be the best person I can, and to grow from the moments when I’m not so awesome, and improve on my personal best, each day. Today is a good day to notice that change is.

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Categories Hormone Hell, Menopause, Metaphors, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, The Big 5, winter, women

Home for the Holidays

December 23, 2014 //
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It’s the holiday break from work, and I’ve got a couple of weeks at the end of the year to get some needed down time, celebrate the holidays, and invest my time in my own needs and agenda for a few precious days. Time to share with loved ones. Time to meditate. Time to explore the world within – or the world beyond these walls and windows. Time for me. Time for love. It’s a great idea…isn’t it?

Being home for the holidays holds so much promise, so much potential…so much risk. Yep. Risk, too. Risk of drama, risk of disappointment, risk of ‘failure’…and all of that self-selected and self-imposed. It’s easy to get attached to a particular idea, a particular dream of holiday magic, and find myself disappointed, not in the moment, but overall – having invested too much in a pretty daydream, and failing to enjoy the precious moment that is.  I sometimes also get hung up on what was, and what wasn’t; that’s just the chaos and damage, leaking through to now.

I sing holiday carols – I love most of them, the heartfelt yearning, the love, the wonder, the sentiment. I sing along with them and feel.  There are a few that always make me weep; I am grieving, in some cases, feelings I don’t have for myself, or crying because what is real can sometimes hurt so much. One of my favorite emotional holiday carols is “I’ll Be Home for Christmas“, an old WWII era carol. The homesick sorrow of soldiers on the battlefield, missing their loved ones and the safety of a holiday at home…it’s not why I cry. I cry when I hear/sing that carol because I don’t have that home to go back to; it’s an empty promise. It’s spelled out in the song, too… “I’ll be home for Christmas…if only in my dreams…” Yes. I will also be home for Christmas, every year, no matter what…if only in my dreams. What do you feel when you think of ‘home’? Where is that place for you? Is it a geographical location, or the companionship of a specific other person? Is it a place, or a place in your heart?

I do have a very clear idea of what these holidays feel like, and I’ve been ‘home for the holidays’ on a level that amounted to ‘proof of concept’ more than once. It remains an experience of rare heart and beauty, and great sentiment. The price of admission is feeling the feelings, and being with others who share them. It’s called ‘the magic of Christmas’ because the experience of it is not a given, and it is an experience worth cherishing, nurturing, and savoring.

This morning is an ordinary enough Tuesday morning, I guess. I was wakened earlier than I wanted to be awake by the sounds of doors, voices, laundry… I looked at the clock, stunned to see all that going on at such an early hour, on a day I expected the house to be rather quiet. Morning appointments trump sleeping in.  This morning I find myself recognizing that this particular desire to ‘sleep until I wake’ isn’t so easily fulfilled, the logistics are complicated, and require a shared commitment that is lacking, and the frustration and disappointment of failing to find my way to the quality of sleep and rest I am seeking is becoming its own thing. Time to let it go, I guess; it’s not worth being irritated about not achieving it. “Enough sleep” will have to be enough.

I’m in pain, again today. I’m in enough pain that Rx pain relief doesn’t do much to relieve the pain, just dulls it somewhat and renders it manageable. I’m in enough pain to be uncomfortable to be around, for people sensitive to that sort of thing; it’s just too obvious that I am uncomfortable. I’m in enough pain to struggle to manage my mood, and my temper. Yoga doesn’t take away the pain, but it does make movement easier, and a bit less uncomfortable moment to moment. Everyday pain has become so every day at this point it is now a challenge to remember a time when I didn’t hurt like this, although wisdom and intellect tell me that such a point of view is flawed and inaccurate. I have hurt like this, in winter, for years now. It always sucks just this much.

home for the holidays...

home for the holidays…

Home for the holidays – the adult version; I know what I want, I know that it is ‘real’, and I know I can’t have it. What I can have is still a wonderful holiday, still worthy, still filled with joy; there are verbs involved, and a certain level of adult acceptance – and self-acceptance – are required, and perhaps ‘some assembly’. We can’t always get what we want… Today is a good day to celebrate the holidays that are, with the people who are here.

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, Turning 50, winter, Words

Time, Space, and Distance

December 21, 2014 //
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Learned helplessness sucks. It’s a common enough byproduct of surviving certain sorts of trauma. The frustration that can surge to the forefront of my experience due to complications of struggling with learned helplessness is akin to the nuclear blast of emotional weaponry; sudden, unreasonably forceful, and laying waste to the pleasant now that might have been. When I am simply doing my best to manage, day-to-day, and doing so with some measure of success, other things that need to be attended to may fall by the wayside; I can only do so much, moment to moment. My will falls short in the struggling, you see. I give up. Learned helplessness is a very real thing.

I wrote some days ago about my environment degrading, and that being a sign of ongoing stress, and a need to take care of me, more skillfully. I spent yesterday restoring order to the chaos of my environment. It feels very nice to handle that bit of business, and my surroundings are orderly, clean, tidy, and quite to my taste, generally. What I need is at hand. What I don’t need, has been put away. The effort to restore order in my environment results in renewed enthusiasm to keep it so, as well as ‘clearing my head’ for a whole host of other things that would benefit from being handled sooner than later.

I woke later than usual this morning, and took my medication later as a result. I am now taking care of me – and my loved ones – by taking sufficient time solo for my medication to kick in, and to wake up, and find my voice before I impose myself on their experience. Yes, that level of consideration matters to me; some women don’t leave the house before they ‘put their face on’, I avoid interacting with people before my brain has entirely come back online, and my level of pain is as addressed by medication as it will be, for the day. Taking the time I need really matters to me, and failing to do so changes my experience in a reliably unpleasant way.

The only snowflake I'm likely to see this holiday season.

Let it snow…

I recently got an email from an ex. A large measure of my PTSD is related to relationship trauma, and domestic violence, and I don’t have a comfortable experience of exes reaching out from the past, generally. I felt very anxious reading the email, and feel anxious considering it after the fact, too. This ex, this time, reached out to inquire – 4 years after the break up – whether I have any of her antique holiday ornaments. I was filled with complicated emotions that began with irritation and anger; when we divided our property I had specifically asked what holiday ornaments she wanted and was firmly and specifically told that the holidays would no longer have any meaning, and that she wanted no part of them. The anger became mixed with some measure of humor, and bewilderment; we’d never owned any antique ornaments together, at all. She had a few small handmade figurines, made by her Mother, and those were so clearly hers that taking them with me wasn’t even something I considered. I had a small number of handcrafted ornaments my own Mother made, and had given to me. The rest of our ornaments were common enough glass ornaments, some traditional sorts that I purchased my first holiday alone after I left my first husband, few of which actually remain, and some interestingly non-traditional sorts that continue to delight and amuse me with their whimsy. Still, I carefully checked the tree, decked out for the holidays, to see if ornaments dear to her had remained with me. I didn’t find any, and my journal entries of the time indicate that I had taken pains to carefully box the ornaments that were peculiarly ‘hers’ and left them behind for her when I moved out. I replied kindly that I didn’t have the ornaments she was looking for, and reminded her that we hadn’t had any antiques that I could recall. I made an effort not to read subtext into her reply, and have since tried to let it go. You can see the effort to do so has been only marginally successful; I feel angry that she even asked, and helpless to act on that in a way that is appropriate, effective, and needful. My logical brain tells me that I already have – so let it go, already. My heart says ‘this was so not cool!!’ and wants to do/say more. That was probably the point in the first place, making it even more wise to just let it drop without another word.

My level of physical pain the past couple of days has been very high. I hurt enough to affect my experience moment to moment, and although the effort to be compassionate and kind to others nonetheless is entirely worth it, I also find myself struggling not to resent how clueless people around me seem to be about the fact that I am indeed in that much pain. Sometimes I just want to lay down and weep, I hurt that much. It doesn’t help, though. I sometimes want to plead with people around me “please just be patient with me, please be kind to me – I just hurt, is all!”, but it hasn’t been my experience that it makes much difference; they are having their own experience.

Time to get the day started…laundry, putting away things that were relocated out of my personal space during yesterday’s cleaning, writing holiday letters…all the makings of a fulfilling quiet day. Today is a good day to take care of me, on my own terms. Today is a good day to change how I feel in the world.

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, The Big 5, winter, women, Words

Incoming!

December 15, 2014 //
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Wow. What a shitty morning. I woke too early because other members of the household manhandle doors without giving people sleeping much thought. My first association with anyone else in the house went awry very quickly. I feel mistreated. I feel disrespected and hurt. I’m angry. The time I made to enjoy the company of someone dear to me – by choice – was treated as without value. I haven’t been awake even two hours and I’m in tears, feeling hurt, feeling pissed off, boundaries violated, explicitly stated needs utterly disregarded, and reeling from the powerful emotional punch that is having ones security threatened, emotional security that is. There was a time in my life when I did not understand that these experiences are not ‘love’ – they don’t define the wonder and joy of Love and loving – these kinds of experiences suck, and hold no pleasure, no value, no joy. I find them unpleasant, and unworthy of being called ‘love’.  Experiences like these still happen in the context of relationships I have with people I love…which doesn’t stop the experiences from sucking, actually, I think it makes them suck that much more. Love, in its wonder and joy and delight, isn’t defined by our challenges – that’s just human beings, being human. Hopefully, when I cool off, there will be a lesson to learn.

I feel sad. I feel pissed off. I feel blamed. I feel cheated of a quiet pleasant morning in the good company of someone dear to me. I feel ashamed that I let someone else’s shitty mood provoke me, too. No one needed that.

Searching for the positive, finding stickers and thorns.

Searching for the positive, finding stickers and thorns.

We’re all so very human, aren’t we? Each with our own baggage, our own experience, our own perspective…the context of our unique perspective, that is so ‘us’, can so easily find us out of step with those who matter most to us… assumptions… expectations… the narrative we accept as ‘true’ or ‘real’… the stories we tell ourselves… Right this very moment, more than anything, I would like to be laughing and sipping coffee with this fantastic guy I love… right now, I can’t stand the thought of being in the presence of his right-now experience; as much as it appears to suck from my perspective, I imagine it must feel pretty awful from within, too. Certainly, it’s not what I expect from love.

I don’t know why I’m bothering to write about this… we all have these experiences, though, don’t we? Moments of anger. Moments of hurt. Moments of frustration. Moments that suck. They are, however, just moments.

Today is a good day for perspective…I hope to find some, soon. Today is a good day to treat people well – myself, included. Today is a good day to change the world… I’d be content to change the moment. Today is a good day to remember to dress for the weather, and to remember that this too shall pass*.

*Indeed, it did pass…with some practicing of practices that work to move my heart in a more positive direction, like ‘taking in the good’ and savoring small pleasures as I walked to the light rail station, and taking on a healthy challenge that distracted my focus, in general, and also had the benefit of giving me some needed exercise – I walked to a much more distant light rail station than I usually do, and enjoyed the bracing winter air, the feel of taking on a challenge and meeting a goal. More pleasant, nurturing, words were exchanged along the way, and I took a moment to be grateful for the technology that makes it so easy to do so, without stewing in my own emotional bullshit all day long before getting to that opportunity. Kind words were shared. Encouragement and apology were offered, and accepted… the day moves on. Humans, being human. Lovers, loving. Today? Yeah, as human as I am, today is a good day.

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Categories Love, Mindfulness, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, The Big 5, women, Words
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