Archives for category: women
Fearless Flowers

Fearless Flowers

Today feels strange. Mindfulness feels difficult. My heart wants to run away from home. I don’t mean to hurt inside. I don’t mean to ‘be bad’ or be broken or be less than I could be or to hurt unexpectedly over something good…but sometimes I do. Today, I am feeling incredibly grateful for the new trend toward providing ‘trigger’ warnings. I see more bloggers doing it, more documentaries that have them, more popping up here and there all the time. It’s a huge value add for survivors of trauma who still struggle with their pain in their ‘now’. I’d love to see more trigger warnings, because it can provoke hours or days (or weeks) of pain and emotional turmoil to be taken by surprise by a triggering event, or sound, or phrase, or experience…and if you are fortunate to have the emotional resilience that you just don’t understand what I’m talking about, please take a moment to appreciate that.  Me personally, I have several triggers that are pretty close to ‘everyday things’ – difficult to avoid, harder than hell to explain to someone else when it comes up. Some examples? Sure, why not – some of my triggers include the sound of footsteps on a hardwood floor outside a closed door, the sound of a loud aggressive knocking at the door, being awakened from sleep by a question, the sound of a woman screaming or crying, the sound of yelling from another house during the wee hours of the night, being prevented by another person from leaving a room, a hand being raised suddenly seen out of the corner of my eye, being asked to take off my glasses, excited unleashed dogs, being mocked when I am angry, seeing images of domestic violence, seeing images of torture… those are just the obvious things that occur to me without taking time to consider the question. There are more. I imagine it must be very tough to live with me.

People keep writing about rape. It keeps hurting me. Every time I read another article it re-awakens old pain, throws me off balance, leaves me vulnerable to a level of emotional volatility that carries a loss of dignity I can’t adequately describe, and pollutes my experience with fear. Fear sucks. Little girls are born fearless. The world, society, our cultures, our religions, and some very bad people take turns teaching them fear, by hurting them, by demeaning them, by continuing to infantilize them well into adulthood, by robbing them of free will, by reducing them as beings to physical bodies and demanding a standard of perfection that isn’t achievable, and by sending a pretty steady message that rape is their own fault.  By the time I was ‘an adult’ I wasn’t even sure any more what ‘consent’ meant for me, since it didn’t seem to me that saying yes or no was actually up to me at all, much of the time.  I definitely got the explicit message that nice girls don’t get raped, that choosing to be sexually active means anyone can have some, and that if I think I got raped I must have chosen the wrong clothes – and by the way, how can I put that man’s future at risk with such an allegation? That’s just not ok. Hell, I get angry thinking about it, and feel like I should apologize for that. It gets ugly in here, sometimes.

I keep dragging my feet on doing the paperwork for my MST claim… ‘MST’. What a relief! Conveniently I don’t have to say I was raped in the military! I can fall back on a politely sterile abbreviation that doesn’t force other people to think about my rape! I think I may be angry about that…but I don’t want to think about it, either.  I don’t want to think about any of it, and can’t figure out how to write about it without thinking about it…and certainly don’t want to acknowledge that mindfulness – which I am practicing and committed to – is the opposite of ‘not thinking about it’.  I don’t want any of this to be part of my experience, or part of who I am – I didn’t choose it, and I’m angry as hell every time I try to think about it, and that anger never seems to dissipate.  So…I’m looking at making reservations somewhere close to home, to hole up alone with my pain and my rage to write about rape.  I don’t know how else to approach it candidly, openly, accurately and with vulnerability, and not risk laying waste to the emotions and hearts of everyone dear to me while I do.

I need to be alone with my rape history.  That’s a hell of a thing.  The enormity of what is stolen from us when we are raped is hard to share.

Soon I’ll go to lunch with one of my partners, and this will fade into the background again, to be considered further later. Like it or not, even in the background, these experiences are part of who I am as a whole being.  I will keep practicing mindfulness, and perhaps someday the meaning and value of these things that hurt so much will be more clear, and maybe I will even move on from the pain and the rage.  I sort of have to, don’t I? It isn’t as if I can really talk about it.

I’m in love. Have I mentioned that? It’s true.  Strangely, it hasn’t been a long-term state of affairs for me, but very little has. I’ve been in love for a couple of years, and I have partners who are beyond worthy of that affection.  Funny it has been such a short time in my life.  Consider this rose:

IMAG0341

Nozomi, (Onodera, Japan, 1968)

Not a great picture of her, but it’s early in the spring and there isn’t much going on with roses just yet.  This is Nozomi, a pale pink bud that opens white on a rambling, low ground-cover miniature type bush. She’s quite lovely in bloom, covered with pink buds, then white single blooms of 5 petals. She is also one of my longest ‘relationships’. lol. No kidding – I’ve had this rose since 1993. I purchased her as a young rooted cutting from Ralph Moore‘s Sequoia Nursery in Visalia, California at a very different time and place in my life. 20 years. I have no relationships with lovers, partners, or spouses with that kind of longevity, so far. I have very few friends who have been part of my experience for that long, and even family members with whom I am close have experienced vast stretches of lifetime without hearing from me at all.  Connecting is sometimes difficult for me, and I suspect I have not done justice to the efforts of those who have tried to love me…but somehow I have managed to drag this rose through 7 moves, 2, states, 4 career changes, 3 long-term relationships, 3 in-ground locations, 5 different pots, 3 balcony gardens, a community garden and 20 years…there’s a lesson or a metaphor there, I’m just sure of it. lol.

Yesterday was a festival of pain until quite late in the evening.  This morning feels like a different world.  I watched the spring closely as I walked in to the office this morning. I listened to birds singing. I smelled the fragrances of early blossoms opening along well manicured, landscaped walkways. I contemplated the impermanence of things, the passage of time, and what has remained of all the things that have been and wondered why so much of what I have clung to for so long has been all those things that hurt the most, instead of so many wonderful things that seem, instead, so fleeting.  I thought about spaces and moments I have loved most deeply, both for the relationships, and for the settings.  Some of my happiest moments have been in shared conversation with people dear to me, or interesting strangers. Connections. Words.

At home, I am creating a space for sharing conversations, and folding into it the understanding that being in a serene space often opens our hearts to being more vulnerable in our relationships, more candid in our conversations.  There are roses, and a ton of flowers, and a small bistro table and chairs for two, and every day I bring my loving heart to this space to consider what is next. I am eager to be there, sitting with a friend or lover, sharing a latte and a moment of quiet conversation, building my history out of happier building blocks; mindful, serene, and compassionate.

A quiet spot for conversation

A quiet spot for conversation

I’m more than a little embarrassed to realize that ‘the way I feel’ in the garden, that ‘different something’ that I’ve noticed all along…is mindfulness. Damn. How did I not understand to take it out of the garden and into my life? Well, no reason to be annoyed with myself about it now, it’s beyond me to alter what already exists in my history.  I am, however, eager to feel spring warm to summer and find myself with an iced coffee on the table, and next to me someone I love, sharing thoughts, and words, and continuing our history together.

As I said, I’m in love – and this morning, in my now, that feeling entirely includes how I feel about myself, my own heart, my own experience. I am an imperfect fragile vessel, and you will find my loving heart in the spring garden.

In the spring garden

In the spring garden

I woke in pain after a restless night, and too little sleep; my arthritis feeling like someone carelessly shoved gravel between my vertebrae, the pain a column reaching into my head and manifesting as an horrific headache. I took my time waking up, feeling groggy and dissatisfied, armed with grim resolve not to allow the pain to ruin my moment, my day, or my experience of life. I feel discontent. I feel angry – with myself? With my pain? With the content of my dreams? I don’t know. Hurting ‘mindfully’ isn’t my favorite experience, frankly.  It hurts. lol.

“Where does discontent start? You are warm enough, but you shiver. You are fed, yet hunger gnaws you. You have been loved, but your yearning wanders in new fields. And to prod all these there’s time, the Bastard Time.”  John Steinbeck

I feel discontented. That feeling didn’t dissipate with my walk to work. I found myself distracted from the moment and wanting very much to suppress the feeling, wish it away, indulge in fantastical daydreams of ‘better things’ – anything at all to avoid acknowledging the feeling of being discontented.  My nerves feel raw, and I’m angry with myself for having this emotion, today.  Am I struggling with this because I am in pain? I have experiences that tell me the lack of sleep and the physical discomfort do have the potential to result in a general feeling of being discontented and disconnected from intimate relationships. Hormonal changes sometimes do it, too.  It is one of my least favorite experiences.  I’m also aware I am tired, and cross, and likely to be facing the world less rationally than would be ideal.

Learning to live more mindfully, and learning to ‘take care of me’ and treat myself well and with compassion seems to necessitate learning to express needs and boundaries explicitly…but learning to do those things at all isn’t quite the same as learning to do them well – I need more practice, frankly.  For now, I often find myself struggling with that – how do I express what feels to me like a profound and obvious sort of need to someone in a way that doesn’t result in an experience wherein they feel defensive, ‘blamed’, or simply don’t understand what I’m getting at? How do I put the focus on the need I am attempting to communicate, and succeed in simply communicating the need without demands, implied obligations, or creating conflict? How do I assert boundaries without hurting feelings? Always with the freakin’ questions, right? 🙂  There’s another piece to learn, too, and it is more difficult – learning to being accepting when a clearly stated need may not be met (or even received well), or a boundary not being respected.  Getting the communication right matters.  The lessons never stop in this particular school; becoming a student of life and love has both benefits and burdens. lol.

There was a time in my life – most of it, actually – when I met nearly all my emotional needs through sexual contact. It’s only been the last couple years that I’ve really been developing a different understanding of my needs where things like intimacy are concerned (meaning intimacy as distinct and separate from sex).  I very much want to experience more touch in my every day existence…not sex (ok, more is nice, but it isn’t what I’m talking about, just now).   I specifically mean ‘touch’: hugs, kisses, hand holding, flirty caresses, comforting embraces, sitting closely…every day contact. (I suspect almost everyone these days feels that way, with so much of our emotional connectivity being digital.)  Today is not the day to make decisions about personal challenges, clearly, I’m tired and I hurt way to much to rely on my decision-making where change is concerned. Still, I find myself wondering if putting sex on a back burner completely for a while would make it easier to figure out intimacy…I can’t help shaking my head and almost-laughing at the thought… me, considering putting sex aside for a while? Me? Huh.  I’m not very skilled at intimacy; it requires a level of willingness to be vulnerable, emotionally fearless, and open to the unknown in a relationship that can be pretty intense. I’m only barely learning some basics there, so far.  I’d like to be better at it.  I’d like to be one of those people who easily connects with others, easily experiences compassion for themselves and other people, is kind, and experiences warmth and affection in their relationships as the largest part of their experience. I will keep studying, practicing, learning, and even maintaining a willingness to consider new approaches – I wonder where I will be in 5 years?

Well, I’ll say one thing for mindfulness…I’m not overwhelmed with angsty brooding, aggression, frustration, or a feeling of worthlessness.  I’d like ‘more/better’ out of myself, but I am learning every day, and making small improvements in my experience.  I am managing, at this point, to feel mostly pretty hopeful (in spite of the arthritis and the headache) and willing to keep learning, studying, practicing, living, and loving.  And, thanks, Dave.

Did you miss me? Ran out of internet while I was gone? Printed word long forgotten in the wake of local political scandals, fear-mongering news-media, and the impending zombie apocalypse? It is possible, perhaps, that someone out there in the wide world rolled out of bed, flipped on their technological connections to the world, and felt bereft of this fleeting handful of words we share between us so regularly… I might have doubted it, but for two things that were delightful reminders that we do indeed make our presence felt in the world, however small our piece of that puzzle happens to be; an email, and a conversation.

Saturday, as I rode the train home from a visit to a lovely big local farmer’s market, I had a casual meeting with a young man who, as it turned out, reads my blog. That was a little odd, and very serendipitous – what a privilege and an honor to see and connect with someone unknown who reads my words, and gets his own value from them…a stranger on a train…a moment of connection. I felt so open to the world, to my experience, to all the potential that exists for each of us as we move through the connected spaces in our lives.  It was profound and moving. [And hey, please thank your Mom for me for sharing my blog with you – and good luck with life and tough choices!]

Sunday a simple email from a cherished friend; a playful inquiry and a loving reminder that there really are people out there, reading my words, hearing me, and preserving our connection through this space.  I felt, for a moment, a tad neglectful of friends and loved ones, and let that go quickly; it was a wonderful weekend of connecting with people and experiencing moments.  It was a weekend rich with love, Love, fun, humor, and a very good slow roast of beef, and I can’t find fault with myself for enjoying that with my whole heart. 😀

Now, Monday arrived rather gently, and I woke slowly to a later alarm and enjoyed a solitary coffee as the dawn broke. I took time to meditate, and it seemed only moments had passed when the rest of the household woke, too, and we shared a few minutes of smiles and harmony before I headed to work. Even the walk in seemed gilded with love itself, and the birds enjoyed it with me, sharing their songs of morning, losing my attention only now and then – I am sometimes distracted by the sparkle of frosty dew on blades of grass.

I am finding today to be a very good day indeed.

Welcome to Spring!

Spring Flowers

Spring Flowers

The rain fell more aggressively this morning than I expected from the gentle patter on the skylights before dawn.  I enjoyed the life lesson as I walked to work; a lesson about raincoats, freewill, and adulthood.   It was delivered wrapped in a memory, a delightful enough gift, on a spring morning.

I walked in the rain, frustratedly fussing with the hood of my raincoat, and irritably noting with some amusement that somehow the designer had failed to understand that a hood might be more effective if it were to stay up over my head when a breeze comes up.  Each time I tugged it back up, something nagged my consciousness until a wee crystal clear memory of actual childhood reached my awareness – to my great delight (I don’t have many).  I recalled a rainy morning, leaving home – specifically the glass vestibule of an apartment building – to walk to the bus stop to go to school.  My hood fell down, I pulled it up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Then the clear recollection of my thought in the moment; a sort of ‘When I’m a grown up, I will not wear a hood at all!’ kind of thought.  I grinned to myself at the recollection of petulant childhood frustration with a world that seemed then to seriously favor ‘grown ups’.  Being ‘a grown up’ myself now, more or less, I understand that the reality of it has often failed to live up to my childhood expectations…and I walked on considering that.

When I was younger than adult, I lived with a fantasy that someday, when I was ‘a grown up’, I would live my life based on my own will alone. I would choose my apartment, my job, my friends, my life style – I would live entirely based on my own values, my own desires, and my free will to choose.  It sounded beyond exciting – it also sounded like the only possible outcome.  Adulthood and I did reach some sort of wary meeting place, at about 18 years for me, and my ‘menu’ of choices seemed immediately to be unexpectedly limited by my resources, my opportunities, choices I had already made, and a whole assortment of ‘have to’ ‘supposed to’ and ‘need to’ things that I didn’t anticipate being obstacles.  The whole mess was frustrating and vaguely disappointing.  This morning, though, it flooded back to me with the Spring rain – the promise inherent in becoming adult, the potential in the very real opportunities of choice, itself, and of free will.  I laughed out loud, and let the breeze blow back my hood. I grinned into the dawn through rain spattered glasses, and my stride relaxed and became natural and free; and I gave myself the further gift – and respect – of choosing to live up to my own values and pleasures, and disregarded the rain, the hood, and any sense of propriety or decorum regarding ‘keeping my clothes nice’.  My walk to work stopped being an internal list of reminders about work, life,  or concern about damp socks, damp hair, or rain drops tickling the back of my neck, and became the pure joy of experiencing a beautiful, rainy, spring morning – and here I am.  For the moment, whole and happy and content to be human, content to be female, and content to be ‘a grown up’, all of which seems quite simple and natural having remembered that now that I’m an adult, I do get to live my life based on my own values, on my own choices, and that those choices are only limited by the limits I acknowledge and accept for myself.  A nice reminder – some internal spring cleaning, of a sort, and a welcome re-assessment of small frustrations in life.

So, here I am on a Wednesday, on the Vernal Equinox; damp socks, damp hair, and for the time being an unbeatably buoyant feeling of contentment with this fragile vessel, and it’s precious contents.

Welcome to Spring, indeed.