Archives for posts with tag: emotional self sufficiency

Here it is another Friday, another weekend approaching, and I am eagerly looking forward to evening plans both tonight and tomorrow. The merriment of evenings spent in good company is delightful, and a worthy way to spend time. It’s also important that I don’t neglect the woman in the mirror; she and I will be hanging out, pretty much 24/7, and she has needs that must be met, regardless what fun is on the agenda for the weekend.

I sometimes get wrapped up in life’s fun, and find myself inclined to stray from the work of keeping the ‘fun machinery’ in good working order. I enjoy reading, writing, painting, gardening…on hot days long hikes are less appealing…as is breaking a sweat, generally, at all. lol. Here’s the thing, though, and no excuses – if I don’t get the exercise I need, my health is not as well-cared for as it might be – and I just get less done. Then I start gaining weight, too. There’s a balance to be struck, and that balance requires some verbs. [Okay, a lot of verbs!] It is so tempting, after a long work day, to put my feet up with a book, or my sketchbook, or take a seat here at my desk…and…relax…every day. Lacking exercise, that’s going to be hard on my chair pretty quickly, followed by hard on my poor feet, my wardrobe, and my bank account.

Bees are a common metaphor for busy-ness, commitment to purpose, or work ethic... I sometimes find  one of the challenging verbs is the one involved in grabbing a verb in the first place. :-)

Bees are a common metaphor for busy-ness, commitment to purpose, or work ethic… I sometimes find one of the challenging verbs is the one involved in grabbing a verb in the first place. 🙂

Why am I on about this, this morning? I gained a handful of pounds over the past few weeks of very hot summer weather, is all, and I’m irked with myself. 🙂 The past couple days I’ve been making a point of walking farther in the mornings, and doing yoga after work before I do anything else. There’s a system of thinking involved; and I took a moment to observe that allowing myself a bit too much slack regarding getting the exercise I need seems to coincide with a slightly less firm commitment to housework tasks I don’t personally favor (although I like the outcome), and a willingness to let things slide more than I am really comfortable with – even for a day or two. I am learning to ‘manage my injury’ differently over time, and I am learning to… ‘parent myself’? I guess that’s a good way to consider it. I am finding it easier to be less self-indulgent without treating myself poorly, or hurting my own feelings…and I am learning how urgently important it is, living alone, to be just a bit strict with certain practices that relate specifically to the things that must be done, and gently preserve some of the things I love doing, as more appropriately waiting until self-care tasks are handled. Setting priorities with myself, and limits, and taking myself to task without self-deprecation, or emotional abuse, is challenging – but it is the life lesson before me now.

A 'coffee flower' - each as unique as any other flower. I enjoy their brief existence, blossoming as I make my coffee, gone in an instant.

A ‘coffee flower’ – each as unique as any other flower. I enjoy their brief existence, blossoming as I make my coffee, gone in an instant.

 

I smile at the woman in the mirror between scrubbing the bath tub and making my coffee. “Welcome to adulthood.” I say it aloud, and with a smile – yes, yes, there are dishes to do every day, vacuuming, and a bed to make (because it is my preference), trash to take out, laundry to do…letting any of that pile up is quite precisely not my idea of ‘living beautifully’.

"Natural area" - unkempt beauty has a place...that place is not the kitchen, bath or living room. :-)

“Natural area” – unkempt beauty has a place…that place is not the kitchen, bath or living room. 🙂

 

Nagging myself with my ‘To Do List’ lost its effectiveness at some point recently. Why isn’t important; sometimes I learn to tune out something that matters. I move my daily task list any time it begins to fail me. It was once on paper. Later, it was a Word document, in outline form – that worked for a long time, because when I sat down to write, or catch up with the world, it was staring me in the face. Some time later, that also stopped working – so I moved it to an Excel file until that also stopped working. At one point in life I used sticky notes, but eventually stopped reading them. More recently I began using the Tasks feature on my Google calendar, that’s been quite exceptionally useful for a good long time…but… guess what? It’s time to move on, because my wily brain has become skilled at comfortably removing it from view to ‘get back to it later’, without ever actually following up. Mostly, everything that needs doing still gets done in a timely fashion – because I am committed to living beautifully and treating myself well. Still, the Tasks feature is no longer keeping me focused and engaged…so…now what?

Persistence pays off. Incremental change over time requires...time (and practice). We can begin again. And again.

Persistence pays off. Incremental change over time requires…time (and practice). We can begin again. And again.

I’ve begun putting an event on my calendar scheduling myself to “Live Beautifully”, on days when I have a need for reminders. It’s specific and time limited. In the event details I simply list some handful of specific tasks that do need to be done, that very day, to hold up my end of my commitment to living a beautiful life. Living alone, it’s all on me – the person I let down if I don’t follow through is me, too. I have reached a place in my life where taking care of my own needs is far more than a personal commitment, a necessity, or a responsibility… There’s more to it than that. I often feel as if I am ‘crafting my experience’ in a willful and deliberate way, with real consideration, and aware that how I treat myself actually matters to me. I am responsible for a lot the details of how my experience feels to me. Simple things from understanding that if I like the way carpet feels on bare feet that I must embrace the requirement to maintain that experience by vacuuming, and keeping the place ‘picked up’, to reminding myself to take care of that last dish, from that last beverage, before I go to bed – if I want to enjoy the experience of waking up to a completely tidy kitchen in the morning. Details. Exploring what I enjoy most about the experience of living my life puts more of the responsibility of doing the things to make the most of my experience in my own hands; knowing what I need and how to provide it for myself makes me utterly responsible for doing so. The verbs are inescapable.

Each mighty oak begins small and grows.

Even a mighty oak once needed room to grow.

So, this morning, I sip my coffee and think of the evenings to come – and how I will plan my time for the weekend, so that my goals and needs are also attended to. My calendar is open, my time commitment to living beautifully being planned around my social evenings…welcome to adulthood, indeed. Don’t forget to start the dishwasher. 🙂

I woke ahead of the alarm, and almost immediately my thoughts turned in a dark direction, filling with negativity, doubt, imagined hurts – all in the seconds after waking, before my broken brain really has a chance to boot up and fight the demons in the darkness. With a sigh I flip on the light – and reach for the alarm clock. No way to I want to hear it go off – my internal alarm bells were already clanging away.

I took my morning medication and went straight for the music – “Bitch Don’t Kill My Vibe” for openers, first thing, and loud enough to hear in the shower. In this case, the ‘bitch’ in question is the woman in the mirror – and I sing along, right to her face, all through my shower and getting dressed for the day. Seriously? Acknowledging the power of my own freedom to choose, and the potential it has to color my experience, means on a morning when my own brain attempts a sneak attack – it’s totally okay to call me on my bullshit, myself. By the time my coffee is ready, I expect to be past the difficult waking moment, without using up the emotional reserves necessary to deep dive the chaos and damage; it’s enough to recognize that I have more than my share, and understand that it can make for some challenges now and then. (At least, that’s definitely enough at 4:30 am on a work morning, before I am even completely awake!)

By the time my coffee is ready – I’ve recovered my now-utterly-routine peaceful leisurely morning. I celebrate with my favorite bounce back anthem. Dancing from the kitchen with my coffee, singing along as I cross the room with a wink and a smile at the woman in the mirror – that crazy bitch knows I am not taking her bullshit today! lol [Reminder: there are no literal voices in my head, and I am just this one person right here – but I do find it handy to face the woman in the mirror on terms that allow me to communicate more easily with myself across the chasm of this injury and the vast piles of chaos and damage left behind from other experiences with other people.]

It’s a morning for music, I guess. I am moved.  Listening to “Love Sex Magic” when it comes up in the playlist, I grin and feel the residual heat and fervor of my love for my traveling partner…and on some other level, my pure delight and animal enthusiasm for healthy adult play, generally. Few things chase the demons back into the darkness like a really good playlist. 🙂

Aside from the complicated moments immediately after waking, it’s a lovely morning. My coffee is tasty, smooth, hot – and I managed it without spilling boiling water on the counter when I moistened the filter, or getting dust from ground coffee all over the floor – I often do both. It’s okay; I’m learning not to take my own humanity personally, or treat small such ‘mistakes’ as any reflection on my worth as a human being, a partner, a lover, artist, writer, or woman – hell, it’s not even “about” having a brain injury. Every human, everywhere, has moments of clumsiness, makes mistakes, causes a mess by mistake, or falls short of their own vision of who they can be on some occasion. Perfect? It’s not a thing in real life. I’m over that. I haven’t lost anything but some needless heartache to let go of emotionally brutalizing myself over ever action or outcome that could be viewed as a mistake – and with good reason, frankly; too many of them turn out to be, if not utterly necessary in some unanticipated fashion, just not a big deal at all, and definitely unworthy of the drama, turmoil, and hurt. I figure, over time, continuing to treat myself well in this fashion will also result in having the reaction, itself, come up far less often. That tends to be how incremental change over time works out.

My arthritis is hurting a lot this week. Dancing helps – hurts, but it does help, and the easiest way to overcome the inertia of pain is to find movement irresistible – that’s dance, right there, isn’t it?  Turning on the music this morning was a good call for my body, as well as my heart and mind. My playlist is mostly dance tracks, hip hop, crunk, and couple of other favorites that ‘don’t really belong here’ (Santana, Billy Idol, Skrillex) … only… this is my playlist, and they do ‘belong’. How much easier would so much of life be with practices that made the practicing itself irresistible? There’s often a real thrill or moment of gratification associated with experiences in life that present the greatest risks of negative outcome… sex… money… rage… That’s more than a little bit inconvenient for a woman with a dis-inhibiting brain injury, trust me. I’m glad I can yield to the urge to dance without concern for adverse consequences. 🙂

A summer day, a journey that continues.

A summer day, a journey that continues.

The point this morning, as much as anything, is that I am often in my own way more than anything else is. Injuries do happen. Pain is part of the human experience. The constant struggling is a choice. Learning to make my choices differently is a process. Today is a good day to practice the practices that are working best for me. It’s a good day to remind the woman in the mirror I won’t be taking her shit, either; we need each other, but I won’t be allowing her chaos and damage to call the shots, when I can avoid it with other choices. Today is a good day to enjoy the journey.

This morning my arthritis pain is…well, it is. But it isn’t as much so as yesterday, and the improvement is the foundation on which my smile is built, this morning. My coffee is hot and tasty, and the morning is chilly – this seems a pleasant combination, and tends to reinforce the smile. On my way to make coffee, I spotted my rather shy clown pleco (Panaqolus maccus) scooting out of view and I grin from ear to ear to have seen him at all. He has his favorite hiding spots and generally only ‘comes out’ when he’s pretty sure no one is watching.

The only picture I've gotten of my clown pleco since I moved.

The only picture I’ve gotten of my clown pleco since I moved.

So far, a basically pleasant morning, filled with small things to smile about, and some arthritis pain. I start to think ‘not bad for a Monday’ and catch myself rolling my eyes rather dismissively; there’s nothing ‘wrong with’ Mondays – and setting those expectations, even in a back-handed way, is no way to treat myself, particularly on an actual Monday. I find my thoughts wandering to ‘how did we find our way to a place where Mondays are given such a poor reputation?’ We can get pretty worked up about how shitty Monday’s might be (or tend to be, or seem to tend to be, or are rumored to seem to tend to be), but in practice, are Mondays actually any worse than any other days? Maybe Mondays are worse for people coming off a weekend bender and having to drag themselves through an ugly commute into the office to commit acts of servitude in corporate purgatory…but even that…I feel kinda bad for poor Monday having to listen to people talk shit on her all the time. Pretty good that she’s not a person.

This particular Monday seems to be starting well, at least for me. I am not reading the news – even the articles linked by friends on Facebook get no attention from me this morning. They’ll be there on Tuesday, no doubt. I am enjoying my coffee, my yoga, my meditation, my writing. I am enjoying an email from a dear friend. I am enjoying a pedicure, and a foot rub – oh sure, I know as well as anyone else that a foot rub I give myself doesn’t feel ‘as good’ as a foot rub given to me by someone else…but living alone doesn’t mean I simply go without everything that feels good. lol. That would suck, wouldn’t it? (I assure you, a foot rub I give myself still feels pretty damned good.) I woke a little ahead of the alarm this morning, and feeling well-rested, I got up. There’s more time in my morning, and on a Monday I suppose I could go to work early…but damn, what does the job ever do for me that I didn’t straight up earn in the first place? Nothing. I do verbs of a variety of sorts, for a variety of purposes and persons, all the time, and certainly I am worthy of investing in my own needs and pleasure on a Monday morning; the job will still be there at the usual time. I choose to put my time and my effort where it will be most appreciated this morning – in myself, and meeting my own needs.

The sun rises noticeably later each Monday. It is still summer, but this morning is not a hot one, and I am pleased to wear something less…sleeveless, for a change. The morning is comfortably cool. I smile, noticing the time; it’s only now the time I usually wake up, a leisurely Monday morning, indeed – with plenty of smiles.

I spent much of the weekend, in spite of pain, puttering around the apartment continuing to ‘move in’ – smaller tasks, now, but the details are part of what makes this place “home” for me. In the rush of having to move ahead of schedule (my safety is more important than financial concerns, honestly), details that I would have handled quite differently got…’managed’ hastily and without much forethought: paperwork stuffed into drawers, unrelated items packed into boxes that were not well-labeled, and on moving in some cupboards were stuffed with things that “don’t really go there”, just to reduce visual clutter enough to create a sense of order, and momentum to continue unpacking.  I love creating order from chaos. I love the sorting process of figuring out where things most ideally go for both storage and use. I love creating this space that “feels like I live here”. The small details of moving in delight me – my comfort, built on my choices. It’s lovely to have this autonomy after so many years of conversations resulting in me compromising what works for me so that someone else can have what works for them. I guess that sounds pretty selfish… for now I am okay with that. I have lived a lot of years making do in living arrangements not well-suited to the issues I have, or set up such that daily life is an impediment to therapy, or rehabilitating this injury. I’m overdue to enjoy things “my way” for a while. (First, I’ve had to figure out what that is…) 🙂

Monday? It’s a good day to spend time with the woman in the mirror. It’s a good day to take a ‘no compromise’ approach to treating myself well. It’s a good day for simple pleasures, and for bringing a smile into the office – and into the world.

I hurt this morning. I slept well, and with few interruptions. I guess I am “at an age” where I can commonly expect to wake in the night, sometimes more than once, just to pee. It’s not even annoying anymore, and I barely wake up. I know the layout here at home so well now that there is no need to turn on a light for something so routine, and I tumble back into bed still quite comfortable; the hot water here is hot straight away, so I am not awakened by cold water, or cold hands.

I started my coffee at about the same time as I started a “conversation” with my traveling partner, online. I enjoy those moments greatly, particularly when we are both in enough pain to wonder if it is worth it to pursue the plans we made earlier in the week. The connected dialogue feels intimate and real, and often satisfies most needs to feel visible, to be heard, to feel the power and strength of the connection we share… the missing pieces (touch, scent, hugs, kisses, sex) aren’t ‘everything’ – although I am admittedly quite late in life arriving at that conclusion, and definitely miss those things when we are apart.

I’m in enough pain with my arthritis this morning that yoga is the first thing on my mind – but not yet actually ‘do-able’. I am so stiff that gentle changes in posture, for now, are enough to hurt – and ease the stiffness somewhat – and it will be possibly an hour or more before doing yoga is a thing. So, I enjoy my morning coffee and a few minutes of conversation with my dear love, and start the day quite gently.

I stepped into my living room this morning and felt something new… as if I were really welcoming myself home for the very first time. I spent quite a bit of the afternoon yesterday tackling small tasks leftover from moving: sorting papers that had been stuffed into small drawers, tidying cables and cords, taking the wall-mount hardware off the back of the t.v. and reattaching the stand, placing the t.v. in its new location, rearranging some objects and making choices about precisely which paintings will hang precisely where on the long west wall now that I could see it with the t.v. in its place. I didn’t think much about the outcome when I had finished, aside from feeling content and satisfied. This morning I wasn’t thinking about those changes, or the living room, at all – and when I stepped out of the hallway (no kidding, the builder managed to wedge a hallway into this tiny apartment) into the living room, I paused, startled – it felt like a homecoming after a long time away, a combination of welcoming relief, and delight.

Enough.

Enough.

This morning I am delightfully aware of some things I really love about my home, and my life. I take time to appreciate them.

  • Cool morning air currents chilling my bare toes as I sit, sipping my coffee, watching the morning sky lighten through the partially open vertical blinds on the open patio door.
  • The sparkle of sequins on the floor cushion by the window, where I often sit and meditate gazing out across the lawn, watching the birds, squirrels, and cats go about their own lives.
  • The plentiful hot water; I am ever-grateful for indoor plumbing, and the convenience of hot running water in good supply. The water pressure, and the ready hot water here at Number 27 are especially nice.
  • A big bathtub. The bath here is not ‘over-sized’ in any notable way – but it is of an era when ‘efficiency’ sized tubs for apartments weren’t a thing, and ‘water-saving’ tubs were not common. It is spacious, and deep enough to soak. It is enameled cast iron, too, instead of fiberglass, and retains warmth. After more than two years enduring a plastic ‘water-saving’ tub barely big enough for a child, and unreliable hot water, this tub seems lavish and I do love the hot water. 🙂
  • The aesthetic – this place looks like a place I would live; it is decorated with books (everywhere), art (mine, mostly), and comfort in mind. It is an easy place to relax, to find stillness, to enjoy solitude – or to hang out with friends (although for now, seating is limited). It is a drama-free zone.
  • I love that my breakables are on display, and have no concern that they may be damaged or mishandled; having them on display means I not only see them, and enjoy them aesthetically – they are near at hand for use! Hand made swizzle sticks, rare porcelain demi-tasse cups, lovely lampwork paperweights, antique sherbet dishes, and first edition books – out, and on display because this is my life, my home – and this is my way.
  • Every detail here is managed to provide as much comfort and ease in my own experience as I can make possible.
  • The counters are orderly and uncluttered. It’s a small kitchen, and space is in high demand – in spite of the luxury it represents, I choose to put things away in a fashion that leaves the counters mostly quite bare unless in use. The only appliances that remain out all the time are for making coffee: the burr grinder, the goose-neck kettle, the air-tight containers holding the coffee beans, and the filters. I love the smooth expanse of clean counters.

These are things that appeal to me. This is my own life. I don’t imagine for a moment that these things are necessary for your comfort; you are having your own experience. There are other ways. Other lives. Other choices. I’ve spent a lifetime compromising my aesthetic, and my comfort, for other people – often simply to pacify them, or make something more convenient in their experience – and done so at the expense of far more than my ‘convenience’ in some cases. I’ve managed to over-compromise to the point of doing myself real damage in some relationships, unwilling to say ‘um…go fuck your convenience, because this is actually something I need to heal, and to thrive.’ I didn’t have the words – and in some relationships, wouldn’t have been heard anyway. Some people only ever hear their own voice.

I think I am sharing this, today, not because you need the details of what pleases me, but to give perspective on what details may really matter – and how small those can be for any one of us. You too. It’s no trivial thing for me to have my breakables on display – it’s actually a very big deal, although in the simplest of sentences it seems a fairly small thing; it’s heart breaking for me when they are all boxed up and put away ‘for safe keeping’. Same with having my art hanging – in a building in which I reside, seeing bare walls causes me real emotional pain, and leaves me feeling frankly disrespected, devalued – and unloved. Having to double-down on that insult by seeing common ‘production decor’ hanging in my environment day to day instead of original art of some kind, by any actual artist, is… offensive. You are a different person, but certainly there are ‘small things’ in your own experience that don’t feel so small to you. Those matter. It’s okay that they matter. Taking care of you may mean giving those details more attention, and greater prominence, for no other reason than that they matter to you.

It’s taken awhile getting here…but, yeah, I matter enough to matter to me. Finally. It’s a nice feeling to wake up to, even when I hurt. No one knows me like I do – and no one can take care of me as well as I can, or show me greater consideration… but there are verbs involved, and intent, and will.  For far too long I allowed my ‘won’t’ to take the lead in my life.

I hurt today, rather a lot. It’s okay though; I’m at home. I have what I need, here, to take the very best care of me. Today, this is enough. 🙂

I woke this morning with some effort, and even after a (long) hot shower, yoga, meditation, and the first sip or two of an excellent cup of coffee… I still feel rather sluggish and slowed down. I have no idea why my morning is starting in slow motion – I slept well and deeply through the night, and went to bed at quite a reasonable hour.  My mood is… ‘quietly merry’ describes it best, I suppose, and I am not inclined to criticize my mood or the choice of words to describe it. Slow or not, the day is off to a lovely start.  That’s enough.

My heart is a temple to the Goddess of Love.

My heart is a temple to the Goddess of Love.

My last thoughts as I faded into sleep last night were of my traveling partner. My first thoughts on waking were similarly of him, inasmuch as they were of love, generally, and I find it difficult to think about love without also thinking about my traveling partner. It is one truth of my heart that the love he and I share has tended to redefine love quite a lot for me. It’s nice to observe that while the time we spend together (as in ‘in shared space’) is quite limited these days – every precious moment is also completely wonderful. It’s lovely. When we met it was also this way, and it remained so through the first many months we lived together. Our beginning was so natural, and such a wonderful fit, that we two beings disinclined toward matrimony at all would find our way to each other – and marry. Life’s hard knocks taught us both to doubt the value of a romantic contract…and loving each other changed our minds about that, and given us practical and emotional perspective that still colors our experience in a powerfully positive way. We rely on each other utterly – even when we don’t live together. What’s even better? We can.

"Cherry Blossoms" 12" x 16" acrylic on canvas 2011

“Cherry Blossoms” 12″ x 16″ acrylic on canvas 2011

I’m not bragging – we work at love, my traveling partner and I, and for a couple of years it wasn’t easy. Historically, our ‘others’ haven’t found the same profound value in the intense way my traveling partner and I love each other, that we experience ourselves. Real, significant, adoring, heartfelt love that works can be a tad threatening for those that don’t have it, that doubt it, or that didn’t understand that the work required is not diminished by the profundity of the affection; there are verbs involved – a tremendous lot of them, and far more of them than I had understood, myself (thus those couple of challenging years – I am still building needed skills, myself, and I know for my traveling partner, my TBI presents unanticipated challenges for him, too). Conveniently, although the work is not diminished by the depth of the affection – neither is the affection itself diminished by the necessity of doing the work – Love is ever a worthy cause in which to ‘mutually pledge our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor’. Yeah…I’m pretty sure that if I am not inclined to feel that way about someone, it’s not ‘love’.

"Communion" 24" x 36" acrylic on canvas w/ceramic and glow. 2011

“Communion” 24″ x 36″ acrylic on canvas w/ceramic and glow. 2011

I woke in solitude this morning – I’m okay with that. I enjoy it. The morning is still and calm, and pleasant. There is no stress. I smile thinking about the time spent loving, lately, and how wonderful it is to feel a cherished relationship deepen and grow without struggling to also figure out my own shit, work on me, paint, write, and exist along this peculiar trajectory – having my own experience is rather effortless without the minute-to-minute sense that everything is tangled up with having to be ever vigilant about what I am saying, doing, feeling… living with the TBI and my PTSD are difficult enough without having to constantly be on the look out for opportunities to ease the impact on someone else. The choice to move into my own place is continuously reinforced as being a good one through the day-to-day ease that has resulted. It matters a great deal that love feels renewed, restored, and once again the wellspring of my creative drive and the smile on my face.

"Contemplation" 11" x 14" acrylic on canvas 2012

“Contemplation” 11″ x 14″ acrylic on canvas 2012

The unconventional choice to live alone – and apart from my spouse –  is working out pretty well; love is enhanced rather than diminished.  I knew when I was quite young (as early as 14) that living with others was problematic for me. I don’t crave continuous community, and my triggers are numerous and commonplace – but I enjoy being able to while away social hours with friends and lovers when it is comfortable, if I can easily disengage when the time comes (and be permitted full autonomy over determining when that time has come). I didn’t heed my own self-knowledge, and allowed myself to be persuaded (again and again, over many years and multiple relationships) that what I understood would be good for me wasn’t an acceptable choice. Decades later, I finally allow myself room to breathe, to grow, to be. I am realizing – and accepting – that it is okay to trust myself; who knows me better than I do? And in trusting myself, and taking care of me in the way that suits me most and meets my needs over time most effectively… I find my way ‘home’ to this place in my  heart where love resides, and I feel free.

"Lovers" 10" x 14" watercolor on paper 1992

“Lovers” 10″ x 14″ watercolor on paper 1992

Today is a good day to look my demons in the face with a smile and say “you have no power over me!” It doesn’t matter that it may not be true tomorrow – it’s true today, and that’s enough.