Archives for category: women

Emotion and Reasons

July 31, 2016 //

This has been, so far, a very complicated weekend, emotionally. That’s neither good news, nor bad, it’s just damned peculiar and quite unexpected, although each time some challenge is met and passes by I find myself thinking “how could it not be so, all things considered?” It’s quite uncomfortable nonetheless. Some of the difficulties that have come up [for me] have been catalyzed by my traveling partner’s presence, which is just… so not okay with me. Other difficult moments have been dropped on my experience by OPD (Other People’s Drama), which could be avoidable, when I see it coming. In all cases, it’s been incredibly precious to have my traveling partner here for support, encouragement, and love. Even the difficult bits that were more to do with him than not are significantly eased by his presence, although I am not easily able to appreciate it fully in some emotional moments. I’m glad he’s here.

Sharing the journey can help me navigate obstacles more easily.

It’s clear, after a couple days dealing with me, that I’ve “hit a bad patch of road” on this journey, and my partner is my lover, my friend, my ally, my buddy, my confidante… but one thing he is not? He’s not my therapist. He suggests, and I agree, that it’s a good time to make an appointment with my therapist to discuss some of life’s recent… “inclement weather”.

Yesterday, quite unexpectedly, a Facebook friend (and long-time historical associate, someone who once resided in my home briefly), unloaded a quantity of emotional poison in the comment(s) on a post. The post was an innocuous seeming political post – I’ve been working on taking a more positive approach, instead of locking step with alarmist negative campaigning and media frenzy – and I wasn’t actually expecting anything from it (no likes, comments, views); I seriously expected it would be disregarded in the storm of shock-value headlines being shared, and angry rants about what isn’t okay today. Instead, someone I have long considered quite dear to me – a friend – just went off on me in an angry verbal outburst that crossed over to multiple threads, took many comments to write, and was just… It was the verbal equivalent of assault, and I definitely felt attacked. Viciously. Over a positive Facebook post supporting a presidential candidate. Ugly stuff – the sort of things that end up making the news because women deal with so much of it on the internet. I haven’t had to wade through much of that kind of thing – this time it came from someone I thought a friend. I was immediately overcome with horror, sadness, panic, fear; my PTSD flared up hardcore. It happened on the way to the farmer’s market. It could have gone very badly indeed. It wasn’t pleasant as it was.

My path is mine to choose.

I did my best not to panic. I read enough to recognize, appreciate, and deal with the practical matters; I deleted the comments, first (don’t leave spoiled poison on food prep surfaces). Threats, crazed hateful accusations, intimidation… this is not the sort of stuff that ought be left lying around Facebook where people could be hurt by it. I blocked this person who had once been dear to me; it isn’t in my best interests to excuse, tolerate, or justify someone’s ill treatment of me, or to permit it to continue. I was still in shock, shaken and frightened. PTSD is a bad-ass, and doesn’t back down easily. I finished my shopping with little enthusiasm, and headed for the safety of home. On the way, I logged into each social media account I have, of all types, and blocked the person who attacked me. Mistreatment is a very good reason to end a friendship.

I got home and sought space and isolation, seeking emotional safety. My traveling partner and another friend were hanging out, and when I attempted to excuse myself, asked me gently to share, instead, and be supported. I did. I didn’t expect much; men don’t deal with some of this sort of thing as much, or in the same way, or as often on the internet – their haters use different language, or maybe it reaches them differently, or… no, hell, that just sounds sexist. The simplest truth, I felt wounded and alone, and I didn’t expect anyone would really understand, and that I’d be told to ‘get over it’ and ‘move on’, and told to minimize the impact, or calm myself without regard to my actual experience. I was so wrong! My partner and my friend listened, looking angry and appalled, using words as first aid to help me past the worst of it. I cried. I let my hurts be soothed. It was very human, humane, kind, compassionate, loving – the sort of thing one expects from friends.

My traveling partner is right, though; in the space of such a short time, to hear from exes, to deal with internet haters and trolls, to ride out life’s storms in a dingy is a lot of work, and I could likely use a bit more help. I “need an oar” with which to row; it’s time to make an appointment with my therapist. My emotional experience, at least lately, is sufficiently volatile to evoke a question about hormones from my partner at one point; it’s an easy answer to “what the fuck?”, before menopause. There’s no shame in needing medical help, and having both a TBI and PTSD I am well aware that mental health care is “medical” in nature… so it’s off to the appropriate doctor I go. 🙂

It’s been quite wonderful to share the weekend with my traveling partner. To need him emotionally in some dark moment and actually have him right here is powerful. To want his company, and enjoy it without crossing town, is a treat. The pleasant moments have been by far the most plentiful. I try not to deal with myself overly harshly that I am so human, having made that remarkably clear this weekend with my difficulty managing my emotional life skillfully. I pause to really appreciate my traveling partner’s insight, and new awareness that I’ve been treating myself poorly on a couple points – it isn’t necessary, nor an accurate reflection of “what it is”. Attachment issues again? Oh yeah. So human. 🙂

Today starts well – most days do, actually, regardless what direction they go from there. I haven’t had enough sleep, and the sleep I got was restless and disturbed. I’ll probably crash early tonight, sometime after my traveling partner departs. Maybe not. I thought I was both tired and sleepy last night when I went to bed; I laid awake well past midnight, and woke at 4 am. I managed a nap until not-quite-six. The morning is cool and overcast. My head aches. I’ve no idea where the day will take me…but I know I am my own cartographer, having my own experience. I know I am not alone. 🙂

Tags be kind, be love, be positive, be the change, being and becoming, breathe, don't feed the trolls, don't like it? Don't do it!, don't read the comments, don't take anything personally, don't take the bait, don't troll me bro!, emotions are not criminal acts, feel the feelings do what's right, I am my own cartographer, it isn't about me, listening deeply, love and lovers, meditation, mindfulness matters, my home my rules my way, OPD free zone, perspective, ptsd, taking care of me, TBI, The Art of Being, The Big 5, walking my own path, what matters most?, Wheaton's Law

Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, grief, Healthy Living, Hormone Hell, Love, Menopause, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Oooh, Shiny!

July 30, 2016 //

Yesterday was lovely, end to end, in spite of the short, restless, night before. It was a pleasant day of healing self-care, relaxation, and mindful attention to the woman in the mirror…

…[It was pleasant] after having a deeply intimate discussion with my traveling partner during which I revealed to myself (and him) that I’ve been quietly struggling with feeling beat down and dismal, fighting off feelings of being irrelevant, “expired”, no longer useful in the world…because I’ve tended (all my life that I recall) to define myself (in the context of relationships) based on my sexuality and sexual availability (and skill), and my ability to reliably bring in an adequate steady income. Sex and money. I’d convinced myself at some distant point that what I bring to a relationship that has any real value is sex and money, just those. I literally don’t have a good understanding of what else I may offer a partner that has “real value”. No wonder I lost my shit the other night, feeling criticized in some implied way over the housekeeping, my weight/fitness, or my current state of non-employment (outside the home); I felt worthless. Yikes. I have some things to think about, and I definitely need to ease up on the woman in the mirror. She’s doing her best, and it is enough.

A walking meditation on a sparkling summer morning.

I spent the day after that feeling rather tender toward myself. I have the sense that I treat myself generally well, day-to-day, these days and it came as a surprise that I’d snuck in such a hurtful bit of messaging, playing more or less continuously on repeat in the background of my consciousness. I was feeling unwanted – but not saying so. I was feeling “out of date” and “superseded” and worthless – and wasn’t even giving myself the courtesy of hearing it, murmured so quietly, so deeply within. Acknowledging these feelings came with a measure of awkward sad embarrassment, because I was holding on to the assumption that I “know better” now, and would not choose such a thing willfully with my eyes open… only… I did. It was buried in the fine print on the choices day-to-day made to ease the social tension that sometimes develops around my rather intense emotional life; if I choose to disregard my emotional life in order to be polite, to be practical, to be “grown up”, and then fail to follow-up with myself later to make room for my feelings and deal with my needs and hurts, I am going to pay for it, and so will everyone dealing with me when it finally goes down. I do not always make the wiser choice. I’m very human.

It’s the weekend, and it won’t be quite so hot today if the forecast is accurate. (Remember terrible inaccurate weather forecasts? Is that still a thing at all?) Today is a good day to treat the woman in the mirror well… It’s going to take some practice. 🙂

Tags be love, be the change, I am my own cartographer, listen deeply, love and lovers, meditation, mindfulness matters, practice the practices, ptsd, taking care of me, TBI, there are verbs involved, what is 'enough'?

Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, grief, Love, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Sticks and Stones

July 25, 2016 //

The morning begins gently. I am calm and content, and well-rested after a relaxed weekend.

Coffee and a sunrise.

I woke still feeling a bit puzzled and hurt by words hurled at me (figuratively speaking) in a message yesterday, words heavy with pain and anger, directed at me by someone who has said they love me. I can’t honestly say “said by someone who loves me” because that kind of verbal violence tends to suggest pretty plainly that they do not feel that emotion. It does at least give me room for doubt. Attacks of the sort in which someone unexpectedly insults my creative work seemingly at random in an unrelated conversation feel very personal. It’s sometimes challenging to avoid taking such words personally – they are delivered as though they are quite personal indeed. It’s the sort of thing that also signals, in my own experience, that the attacking party feels very helpless in the conversation (or in life); they have begun lashing out at any available target that seems vulnerable, even human beings dear to them.

Be love. It’s a choice. Love is a verb.

I don’t tolerate personal attacks well. (I avoid making them, too.) I don’t find them necessary, generally, and if I feel moved to behave that way, myself, I know that the conversation is no longer productive, and has moved entirely out of the realm of reason, into the realm of emotion. Those are ‘no win’ discussions’ by definition – because it isn’t really possible to ‘argue with’ someone’s emotions – we are entitled to feel our feelings. Still, understanding what a human experience it is to be so moved that insulting someone, making hurtful personal remarks, or attempting to undermine their sense of self seems to be the thing to do, doesn’t make it acceptable behavior. Rational arguments don’t work against feelings, either. Most people ‘believe’ their emotions.

How we share our narrative is only part of who we are.

Some time ago… more than a year, maybe two – a friend insulted my creative work and intellect simultaneously in an online discussion that had, up to that point, been an interesting and reasoned discussion. (Significantly, I no longer recall what the topic of the discussion was, because the deliberate insult by a friend was far more emotionally important than the conversation in which it occurred.) She angrily directed me to “go back to painting vaginas” and advising me it’s all I’m good at. Now, aside from having painted only one such graphic picture in an artistic life spanning many decades (limiting the factual accuracy of her statement), it was clearly a hurtful remark intended as such, with the apparent goal of shutting me down in the discussion. Wow. How mean. I don’t generally do ‘mean’. Not deliberately. I gave some moments of thought to the friendship, and to the character of this ‘friend’, and with some sadness accepted that her idea of how she can treat friends, and my idea of how my friends might treat me were very different. In the 21st century, the solution is a simple click of a button labeled ‘friend’; I unfriended her and moved on without regret. I don’t place a positive value on treating people badly, and don’t need “friends” who are deliberately unkind with the intention of causing hurt.

“Gypsy Dancer” watercolor on paper, 1996

Yesterday, a very dear family member – someone whose love and affection got me through some very dark times – straight up insulted my writing, my character, and my emotional and mental health. Wow. I was taken by surprise by the emotional sucker punch in response to something I said that was kind and supportive (aware of her humanity), and also vulnerable and honest. I would have been surprised had anyone at all said something so directly unpleasant, that it came from someone dear to me, who had often shared how dear I am to her in the past was very painful. My thoughts returned to it a number of times yesterday. I woke thinking about it today – and realized again how very like a poison these sorts of verbal hurts are. I remind myself that her pain is not my pain. That her anger is not my wound. She’s having her own experience. We each are.

Our pain creates a fog within our hearts, obscuring our view of love.

Our pain creates a fog within our hearts, obscuring our view of life and love.

There’s no particular need – or requirement – that I take the words another human being fires in my direction as any more personal than anything else they might say or do, at all. It’s not ‘about’ me. (Most things aren’t.) In both cases, the hurtful words were delivered in reaction to my boundary setting – in both cases, boundary setting that may have felt new to the relationship. Change isn’t always welcome, and frankly neither is boundary-setting. In both cases, hurtful words seem reason enough to consider ending the association entirely; I am struck by how routinely I tolerate hurtful words from men without considering ending the relationship. That’s something that warrants further attention. It’s significant, but out of context it is also meaningless, only hinting at further chaos and damage.

Stick with the basics – it’s a great place to start.

This morning, I breathe and let it all go. The hurtful words showered down on me by others, when it happens, are of no more importance, really, than a passing rain shower. Those are not my emotions. Those words are not about me. It is something of a self-care miss, if I take the bait and get all wound up in hurting over hurtful words – the better choice, the kinder choice, being to let that moment of pain go by in favor of recognizing what a fucked up mess worthy of compassion that other human being is… although, if they are mean, perhaps I am not the one to stay around to provide them compassion, directly. We are each having our own experience, to be sure – and I don’t have to endure someone else treating me badly as part of mine. 🙂 The greater challenge is taking care of me without also lashing out at that other human being who has hurt me, maintaining a strong sense of self, firmly on my own path, uninjured and undismayed, and remaining gracious, understanding – and unrepentant about taking care of me. Did I mention there are verbs involved?

Beginning again.

As I consider wrapping up my writing this morning, I’m aware how often in the past I’ve allowed someone else’s anger, hurtful words, or cruelty to change my mind, change my actions, even change my will. I’m sure that’s been the point of it, generally. Today is a good day to be who I am, doing the things I love, painting, writing, speaking my mind, treating the world around with me with consideration and kindness – and changing my world. “You have no power over me.” seems the worthy quote this morning. 🙂

Tags be love, don't be mean, don't take anything personally, don't take the bait, frank and direct and vulnerable and kind, kindness is a free service, listening deeply, love doesn't feel like that, mean girls, mean is a choice, mindfulness matters, OPD free zone, practicing the practices, taking care of me, The Art of Being, The Big 5, the four agreements, there are verbs involved, you only hurt the ones you love and I choose differently

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

Have an Apple

July 22, 2016 //

Yesterday is behind me now. I’m glad to see it gone. As days goes, it was a bit like Snow White’s poisoned apple, perfectly lovely and enticing on the outside… tasting of bitterness and rot. The morning was a rare delight, a storm of positive emotions, and spent awash in feelings of love, loving, and being loved. The day’s delights took a hit from unexpected (and unwanted) email from an ex, a message from another ex (similarly unwelcome), and from there just sort of dropped into an abyss of heart-break, and it just wasn’t apparent going into the evening that it would be that sort. I’m glad the day is over with.

I woke with a headache. Eyes scratchy. Heart heavy. Feeling pretty… crappy. Sad. Wrung out. Tossed aside like bad fruit, unworthy. It wasn’t my favorite wake up.

I made coffee, resigned to existing another day. The misty raining morning seemed quite appropriate. I do okay. I’ve weathered other, far more horrible storms. I’ll survive others in the future. We are born to suffering, because we choose suffering. I started the morning prepared to endure more…. Love’s funny. Well… funny/not funny. I sure wasn’t laughing yesterday evening. I’m not really laughing, now.

I made my coffee and sat down to write. My traveling partner woke earlier than usual, and with the skill I know him for, put me back on the path of love… I’ll just call it magic. Sure, there were verbs involved. 🙂

Now the morning seems… right. I feel content. Calmed. Soothed. Loved. I sip my coffee listening to the rain fall. My head still aches, but now it’s just a headache, instead of some sign of personal failure, or the hallmark of great tragedy. Yeah… this injury makes a lot of life’s details far more dramatic (intense?) than they have any reason to be.

Contentment isn’t so far out of reach; it’s about being here, now, and recognizing it when I have enough.

It’s just a day. I’m just a person. This is just one human experience. Love still matters most. I become what I practice… and I’m okay right now. 🙂

Tags be love, being and becoming, don't catastrophize it just hurts, heart-ache, how does this love thing work anyway?, keep practicing, listening deeply, love and lovers, love matters most, mindfulness matters, moments are only moments, practicing the practices, this one time

Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, grief, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Magic Doesn’t Just Happen

July 21, 2016 //

I’m sipping my morning coffee later than usual, after sleeping in a bit, unexpectedly. It’s too hot to drink. I’m okay sipping it carefully, “testing it” for future, safer, drinking. There’s no rush. The sun is up, the morning is unfolding into a new day. I feel rested… and eager. It’s Thursday! (Date Night) Magical.

Just a cup of coffee and some lens flare; we bring the whimsy, the poetry, the music. Magic moments are created by our perception, and acceptance.

Just a cup of coffee and some lens flare; I bring the whimsy, the poetry, the music. the joie de vivre.

When I first met my traveling partner, I already understood my role in making the magic of things like Thanksgiving and Christmas, and after many years, I still happily and enthusiastically throw myself into the whimsy and fun of making that magic happen. I didn’t recognize, strangely enough, how much went into the magic of love and loving, and still held onto expectations that somehow it just happens. I over-invested pretty heavily in peace-keeping endeavors any time there was any hint of conflict or difference, fearfully driven by old baggage, chaos, and damage. I was generous, hospitable, and kind (if rather cluelessly so), but those behaviors were interspersed with some frightful (sometimes symptomatic, sometimes just nastiness born of having been permitted to continue with bullshit) bad behavior. Chaos. Volatility. Tantrums. I’m a fucking adult. It had to be hard for people loving me. Hell, it was hard; I was there.

Today, I make magic. Small magic, but nonetheless, magic. I’ll tidy up, and make a point to do some things I know matter more to my partner than they do to me, just because they do matter to him. I’ll put extra time and care into how I feel, myself, and how I look – it is ‘date night’, after all. 🙂 I’ll make a quick trip to the store for a handful of things I just don’t keep in the house, generally, that I know he very much enjoys, so those things are here for him, and I’ll double-check for pantry and medicine cabinet items he might need, and ensure I haven’t run low. All very practical stuff. I’ve learned some excellent practices for nurturing love’s logistical needs.

I still have so much to learn about love! There’s magic in intimacy, in connection, in touch… those are trickier, and rely on verbs with real nuance, requiring greater awareness, more sensitivity… I am regularly challenged to the limits of my current understanding of love, and still eager to take another step, love more deeply, love more intently, love with more skill… and we’re not even talking about the sex piece, yet. LOL So much to learn to love truly well. There’s patience, and perspective, and listening deeply, and speaking gently, and making room for strong emotion, and surrender, and honoring the sacred ‘other’ that is my partner’s tender heart… So much to learn. I stay it’s a lot to learn less as a statement of frustration, and more like an eager student, opening an enormous text-book for the first time, and looking at the table of contents in awe. Every lesson is worthy. Every lesson builds on the lessons already learned, in anticipation of lessons to come. It’s big, “the book of love“, and I don’t expect to finish it cover to cover even in a lifetime.

Tears slide down my face – the weird happy/sad tears of profound joy experienced fully and also in the context of how fleeting joy must be, just to be joy. (Tears that actually become tears, because my TBI can be a major impediment to the sort of emotional regulation most people take for granted.) Then I laugh at myself – tears in the sunshine. I have this powerful love for this singular human being, without any real understanding why I feel the way I do, or whether it will outlast this fragile vessel, or even if the feelings I feel are ‘real’ – I mean, as real as this table top, or this sunny morning. We’re both so very human, dragging our own customized baggage all about everywhere we go, and sometimes sharing the load. Are the things that fill me up from the inside as real as the struggles that impinge on my joy from external sources? Maybe? Probably? Does it even matter? Maybe love is a placebo… would I suddenly stop loving if it were? (No. No, I wouldn’t…I’d probably use the powers of the mind to intensify the experience. lol) The tears don’t last – they’re more a moment of appreciation that became too visceral. 🙂

I sit smiling, sunshine spilling over my hands on the keyboard. I sip my coffee contentedly. It’s a lovely day – and a good one for love and loving. A good one for sex, too, sure, but that’s not the point – and as much as I want all that, too, I want to be clear (even with myself) that it isn’t ‘about’ sex. I conflated sex and love for much of a lifetime, and it’s hard to sort out all the baggage from that mess, but it’s a worthy project; the love matters most. Real love. Adult love. Romantic love. Sexual love. It’s just that the intimacy leads – not the other way round, that much I’ve learned. Without a foundation in intimacy, and an emotional connection (of some kind), sex seems (to me, at this point in life) repetitive, physical, distant, and somewhat peculiarly unsatisfying, however good the sex is technically, and suitable only for breeding. A bit annoying, really – I used to be good at sex. lol In my twenties I wasn’t even emotionally capable of actual intimacy, embarrassingly, obviously so, when I recall key moments when one lover or another with a deeper understanding attempted to get more from my heart that I knew to offer; I was still too broken for any of that.

I listen to love songs in the sunshine. I let the smile on my face become a slow groove that sends love-chills up my spine and butterflies to my tummy. I love Love. 🙂 I have a near infinite capacity for it (you probably do, too) – I’d happily love everyone good and decent and loving with all the infinite moments of love my heart has to offer… if only I knew how to connect deeply with each one, on their own terms (and mine), in an authentic and intimate way. I’ll keep practicing – there’s too little love in the world as it is. Practicing love more often is a goodness. Every moment we practice to treat those we love just a bit better than we did before really matters; from there we can learn to love the world. 🙂

Today is a good day to practice loving. There are verbs involved. Today is a good day to be love. I think I’ll grab some verbs…

Tags All of Me, all the love, are you going my way?, baby I love your way, be love, being and becoming, can I walk with you?, happy together, let's stay together, listening deeply, love and loving, love matters most, menopause isn't the end of desire, mindful loving, perspective, practice loving, practicing the practices, sharing the journey, The Art of Being, The Big 5, there are verbs involved, we become what we practice, what matters most?, when sex becomes a sacrament

Categories Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Emotion and Reasons

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Oooh, Shiny!

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Sticks and Stones

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Have an Apple

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Magic Doesn’t Just Happen

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