Archives for posts with tag: mental-health
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Responsibility, Fault, and Blame

January 3, 2025 //
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I’m sipping my coffee and thinking about words this morning. My coffee is seriously pretty damned dreadful, and the words I’m thinking over can be vexingly easy to misuse.

People are pecular, and inclined to misattribute what is going on within themselves (or externally) to some cause or another without even a casual fact-check. Humans being human; we are prone to assign “blame”. We think we know the how or why of a circumstance and we decide who or what is at fault based on our “knowledge”. Sometimes we think the fault is our own, and possibly accept responsibility for some event or circumstance, maybe even seeking to make amends for some thing we think we’ve done. Other times, it’s someone else deciding who or what they think is at fault for some situation or event, and they put the responsibility with that individual or group or entity, assign blame, perhaps demand accountability or redress of perceived wrongs. It’s strange stuff, most particularly because it’s often quite subjective, not well-researched, even thoroughly fallacious (or just fucking wrong). We human beings make a rather ridiculous number of assumptions, are exceedingly “gifted” at flawed reasoning, and confirmation bias, as well as offensively fond of maintaining a self-righteous grip on some dumbass notion without regard to any sort of fact-checking. We like being “right”, and we’re often willing to believe we are in spite of mountains of readily available evidence to the contrary. Fucking dumb. Humans being human.

I keep sipping my dreadful coffee. “Why do I do this to myself?”, I wonder, vaguely amused. I could totally go back to the break area and make a better cup of coffee. Instead I continute to sit with my coffee and my thoughts.

When I was much younger, I was often willing to expend a lot of energy arguing against stupidity (or lies). I rarely do now. It’s not that I’m not amused/offended/discouraged by apparent idiocy – totally am – I just… don’t feel I have the time to waste on that, these days. I have a life to live, and it is finite and mortal. I’d rather let wrong-headed bullshit go, and just move on (and potentially simply reduce contact with people perpetually inclined toward lies, stupidity, or negativity). I’d rather just not hang out with someone who is fond of conspiratorial bullshit than argue the point. I’d rather just smile and maintain a comfortable distance or an agreeable presence in the face of someone insisting on being wrong about something for which there is definitely evidence for a different opinion, than fuss over minutiae that may not truly matter for enjoying a moment together as people. It’s not that I don’t enjoy “being right” as much as the next person… I don’t enjoy expending energy fighting for it. If you think differently than I do, but don’t violate my personhood along the way (or anyone else’s), why do I care? You’re free to be wrong. Generally speaking, this seems a win, to me – being accepting, being tolerant, being okay with uncertainty or even being wrong. Only…

…I’m reading “On Tyranny“, and the author makes several very solid cases for specific circumstances in which being accepting or “agreeable” is not a good thing. Something to think about, and I sit with my coffee this morning thinking about words, thinking about ethics, and thinking about the potential risk in being too accepting or too tolerant, under a variety of circumstances. Definitely worth thinking about.

…Although, keeping it real? This doesn’t feel like a world where we’re all at tremendous risk from being “too tolerant” most of the time…

Sometimes there’s real personal risk involved in tolerantily accepting blame (or inaccuracy, errors, or lies) rather than arguing a point. Tolerance is virtuous – unless it is tolerance of actual evil. Real damage can be done. Words have meaning, how we use them matters. The world is complicated, and there’s surely room for many thinkers and many opinions, but there is only one actual reality, one world we all live in, one set of provable, demonstrable, documentable, actual facts – and a lot of people willing to undermine that reality to bolster a narrative that they prefer (whether for power or for profit). Real people can really get hurt. I could become one of those. So could you.

I sip my coffee grateful for this quiet moment of solitude. Right here, right now, there’s just me, this moment, and this dreadful cup of coffee. It’s on okay moment. I’m okay with the bad coffee; it’s real. It’s authentically crappy, and it is what it is. There’s nothing to argue about, and nothing to fear in being honest about it. No particular harm in it. Nothing controversial about a bad cup of coffee – unless perhaps I’m ready to go down the ethical rabbit hole of “should we be drinking coffee at all, considering the terrible exploitation of coffee growers?”. I sigh quietly. Shit is complicated when we “zoom out” and take in a bigger picture.

Reality is what it is. Reality doesn’t care what I believe (or what you believe), or whatever bullshit notions I may be inclined to cling to. Facts don’t lie – but it’s damnably easy to be wrong about whatever conclusions are drawn from them. Another sigh. Another sip of dreadful coffee. My thoughts don’t change anything this morning, and it’s time to begin again.

…Maybe a cup of tea, instead?

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, Anxiety, breathe, Fiction, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Logic & Reason, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, The Art of Being, The Big 5, War and News of War, Words

Well That Was Weird

December 20, 2024 //
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Mid-morning. I pause work for a break. I refresh my coffee (by pouring cold brew over the ice left from my iced espresso this morning). I breathe, exhale, relax… and re-set. Strange busy morning. I woke early, waited through a moment of intense vertigo. Breathed through some intense early morning back pain. Got my shit together and left for work – and my walk. I kept my walk short and careful in the pre-dawn darkness; the vertigo always spooks me a little bit, and I felt insecure out on the trail away from help if I fell. I headed on in to the office… which was… locked. Weird. Not just, you know, locked in the usual way requiring me to use an app to validate my access and unlock the door for me, nope, it was properly locked with the physical deadbolt. Super weird. I couldn’t get in.

I sat down on the hallway floor by the door, switched to the work profile on my smart phone and alerted my team that I was not able to get into the office, and therefore also not able to log into my computer (I’d left my laptop set up overnight, a rare – and in this instance unfortunate – luxury). Shit. Well, no super early calls, and I could access the team chat and my email from my device. All good. I messaged the co-work space management about the locked door, and hoped that some other early bird with access to the side door might happen along (it has a numerical keypad, for which I don’t personally have a code – never needed one). No such luck; the last Friday before a mid-week Giftmas holiday? Lots of folks are working shorter hours, coming in later, leaving earlier, enjoying the season.

Eventually I lucked out; the co-work space owner responded to me on Slack. She tried to unlock the door remotely, but of course, that deadbolt was the problem. New cleaning crew, apprently. lol We had a laugh, before she gave me a code to access the side door. I headed to my desk and logged in for my next call – on time. Nice. Since then, the day has felt rushed but routine, and I’m fine. No meltdown. No particular stress over it. No harm done. I, too, am enjoying things a little easier, and didn’t really need to be in so early. I lost my “slack time” for reading the news, or writing for a moment, but quickly caught up on the work details, until this later moment – when I often fail myself during the day by not taking a break. So, I’m taking the break I know I need. 😀

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a good day in spite of the oddball moments and unexpected circumstances. I’m fine. It’s a cloudy gray morning. Tomorrow is the Solstice. Today is Friday. It’s all fine. I’m okay for all identifiable definitions of “okay” in this moment right here, now, and it’s enough.

I sip my coffee and get ready to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, breathe, Frustration, gratitude, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Practices, The Art of Being

12 Years Ago, I Found Out

December 17, 2024 //
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I’m sipping my coffee in the quiet of the office, quite early. It was raining too hard to walk in the darkness. Honestly, it was raining too hard to walk. I would not have enjoyed it, and enjoying it is at least part of my intention, each morning, each walk. So I made the drive in to the office, early. I took time to meditate. I made coffee. I had some oatmeal. I walked the halls of the building, a bit, just to stretch my legs and be in motion. I feel stiff. It’s the arthritis, most likely. My head aches. Probably my neck. My tinnitus is loud. It is what it is, eh? A very human, very mortal, experience, and I guess I’m okay with it. There are not presently “other alternatives” from which I’d care to choose something else. I’ve got this, it’s okay, and it’s enough.

I sip my coffee thinking about a note on my calendar I spotted this morning. It reminds me that 12 years ago tomorrow was the day I found out the details of my (most serious) TBI. A head injury in the 1970s that wiped most of my memory, and set back my cognitive and intellectual (and emotional) progress considerably, but which my parents sort of… “kept from me”. I don’t remember the injury itself (hell, I don’t remember most of my life from before that injury, either, mostly just a strange assortment of third person stories told to me by other family members is what I’ve got in the place where my own memory should be, and damned few of those). I do remember having to go to speech therapy. I remember suddenly needing glasses, and being profoundly light sensitive and having a lot of headaches. I remember getting terrible grades in school, when I’d always had good grades “before”.

I found out about my adolescent TBI 12 years ago, because I was in such despair that as I approached 50 taking my own life seemed a rational “solution”, but I’d made myself a promise to give therapy one more try (it was the last item on my to-do list), and I was trying to get into a PTSD clinical trial for a new treatment. In considering my application for that trial, they turned up the microfiche records of an emergency room visit and hospital admission for my (serious) head injury. It was… news to me. The new information simultaneously explained a lot, and also brought a ton of new questions with it. Pieces fell into place – which was useful – but I suddenly also felt like I “didn’t know myself”, and that the entire context of my adolescence and early adult life was completely different than I’d understood it to be. My whole sense of “who I am” felt changed.

…The information did nothing to reduce my feeling of despair, and may have actually deepened it. It also very nearly cost me my relationship with my Traveling Partner; we were neither of us certain that I was even truly competent to be in the relationship we shared at all, with this information available to us. I was so close to giving up…

A short time later, I started this blog. A short time after that, I found a new therapist, and started a new healing journey with a completely different understanding of where I stood as I began it.

The note on my calendar asks me to consider it, and some questions – a note from past me to me here, now.

  1. Is the knowledge still important to me?
  2. What does it mean to me now?
  3. What does the knowledge add to, or take from, my every day experience?
  4. How do I make use of this knowledge in a productive way, today?
  5. Does knowing this about myself improve how I treat myself, or other people?

Deep. Worthy of reflection. I sip my coffee and consider the questions, as I consider that past moment when I found out. The tone of compassionate regret in the voice of the woman on the phone advising me I could not be accepted into their clinical trial for a PTSD treatment because of my history of head trauma. My feeling of surprise, of curiosity, of sorrow, of deepening despair. The call to my mother later to ask about it, and that painful moment when she hung up on me rather than discuss it. The hurt. None of that feels particularly difficult or visceral now, but it was so hard to live those moments 12 years ago. Now it’s just… information. Part of the background. Historical data. A step on a path.

This particular head injury wasn’t the only head trauma I sustained (it’s tempting to say something flippant about domestic violence being a kick in the head, but it’s not actually funny, at all), but it was new information 12 years ago, and it did lead me to consider things differently, and to learn more about what the potential consequences of such things really could be. It pushed me to consider different kinds of therapy, for problems other than PTSD. It let me put other injuries and traumatic events into a bigger picture that was more complete. It let me get therapy and rehabilitative support that I’d never been offered (or able to accept) before – and never known to ask for, or seek out. I wasn’t sure it would help to try to rehabilitate a head injury that was decades old…

(tl;dr – it totally did, a lot)

…It’s a strange path that we each walk, is it not? A journey with no map, no clear destination, sometimes a poor understanding of the starting point as we begin is… a very strange thing, indeed. The journey is the destination. I feel grateful for the many chances I’ve had (and taken) to begin again. I’m grateful for every sunrise I see, and every sunset I’m fortunate to enjoy at the end of a day. There’s no knowing how much time we get in this mortal life. I’m glad I didn’t end mine prematurely; it’s been a worthy journey so far. I hope to go much further. There’s so much left to do, to see, and to feel. So many more beginnings to undertake, and practices to practice, and also… I’ve got this list of shit to do, and the holidays ahead. lol It’s time. Again. Time to begin again. Time to walk my path. Time to practice the practices that have helped me along the way for the past 12 years.

It’s been so very worth it.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, grief, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being, Turning 50, turning 60, women

You (Maybe) Suck At Taking Breaks

December 9, 2024 //
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Maybe. I do. It’s pretty common that people struggle to take healthy breaks. I definitely suck at taking healthy breaks. I often push myself too hard for too long and then just… refuse to do anything for… awhile. This does not tend to be ideally efficient or productive, nor is it the best use of my time and energy. So… I’m taking a break. Right now. I’ve gotten a couple hours of focused work done. I’ve run an errand, then gotten back to the focused work. I’ve got quite a list of things to do, and that I could be doing…I’ve also got a headache, and my posture needs a break, and… well… so do I.

I got up from my desk, stretched without doing anything else besides stretching and feeling my body move, and feeling my muscles begin to relax. I shifted gears from working to being. I went to the kitchen and made myself a cup of tea. (Although I generally prefer coffee, I’ve had quite enough already today.) I stood looking out the window while my tea steeped until the point of preferred “tea-ness”, and walked back to my desk. Not to resume work, not quite yet. I took a moment to just breathe, smell the delicous fragrance of my tea (Smith’s No. 14 Black Lavender). I take a sip – perfect drinking temperature. It’s hot, but not too hot, and the porcelain mug is warm in my hand. Feels like comfort in a cup. I sigh to myself and relax. I needed this.

…Maybe you need a break, too…?

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m amused by the many articles I’ve read recently seeking to decry work-from-home and promote “RTO” agendas. I suppose there are people who are less productive working from home. There is certainly some percentage of employed people who prefer to work in an office environment among other people also working. There’s a certain sort of management type that definitely values in-office work, if only to more easily observe downstream employees working. My experience, however, as both an employed person, and also as someone who spent many years in a workforce management role actually monitoring humans working, is that whether I wanted it to be true or not, generally speaking, most people working from home work longer hours, with greater focus, and get more done in the time during which they are working. That it has additional value for people on the human side is a bit of a bonus. Funny that there are businesses trying to force folks back into the office. I find myself wondering who that is really for. Who really benefits from that? Probably not the working employees, themselves, or they’d already be doing it because they want to – and no one is stopping them from doing so. I think about that for a minute or two…

…Then realize those thoughts are, themselves, a form of working, and I’m specifically trying to take a break here!! LOL

(I suck at taking breaks.)

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sip my tea. I stand up and move around my office, looking at paintings, small objects, things to do with art, and I think about that instead. I enjoy my tea.

…Then I begin again. Working.

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Categories art and the artist, autumn, breathe, Free Will, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Practices, The Art of Being

I Woke Weeping

November 23, 2024 //
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This morning I slept in. It was lovely and restful. I mostly slept through the night, which is rare. My dreams, though, were vivid and sometimes disturbing. I woke in pain, and as soon as I sat up tears began to fall. I was still too disoriented from deep sleep to be certain of any sort of cause, maybe there wasn’t one. Maybe pain is enough reason to weep, sometimes. The gulls call to each other outside the window as they fly by. Yesterday’s storms have passed. It’s a new day – another stormy looking day with heavy gray clouds on the horizon.

Dawn of a new day. I remind myself to stay on the path.

This whole trip to the coast has been a strange one. I’ve spent it in tremendous pain, which I mostly ignore, once I’ve done what I can. I came for solitude, and creative work, and emotional rest, and I guess it’s mostly met most of my needs, most of the time, sort of, but in a limited, inefficient, and dissatisfying way. My Traveling Partner reaches out to me regularly, once he’s up for the day. He’s bored and lonely without me. It’s a limited sort of solitude I’m finding here, spent in the text-based company of my partner on the other end of my 21st century digital leash. I love him, and don’t want him to feel alone or abandonned, so I answer every ping I hear, often so quickly it could be called “real-time communication”. I cherish his words, and I’m frustrated by my feeling of being… whatever the opposite of “lonely” is. Crowded? Is there is a word for this feeling the lovers of solitude feel when they can’t escape the consciousnesses and communications of others? I don’t think I know the word for it. “Impinged upon” seems needlessly cumbersome. Surely there is some more elegant beautifully precise term?

Why is it so difficult for me to keep some of my time for myself, to use as I wish, without interruption or the involvement of others? Is it an unreasonable desire? Why does it so often seem that whatever I plan, try as I might, the world behaves as though my consciousness, my attention, and my availability for this or that task simply doesn’t belong to me at all? I’ve said it out loud in therapy a hundred times, “it feels like everyone wants a piece of me, and there’s nothing left over for me”. I ache with the frustration, the struggle to find some real peace, alone with my thoughts. I struggle to set clear reasonable boundaries, and reinforce and respect them, without being a jerk about it. I remind myself that I am loved. Valued. Appreciated. That my effort and presence matter that much, that I’m hard to be without. All pretty good stuff as far as it goes…but sometimes I just want to be alone for awhile. Alone with my pain. Alone with my tears. Alone with my time. Alone with myself. Present for and with myself, only. It’s fucking hard to find or make that time.

This break isn’t “a vacation”. It’s intended to be a short period of recovery from the ceaseless demands on my time, my presence, and my effort. It’s intended to be a short time spent on my own needs, caring for myself, before I work myself into the ground caring for others. Caregiving is fucking hard. This particular break hasn’t been as helpful or as restful as I had hoped it would be, and at least right now, as I sit with my coffee, it feels a bit like wasted time. Perhaps drinking coffee through tears is not the best moment to assign value to an experience, though? I hear a grim bitter chuckle – my own voice – break the stillness of morning. I’m not in a very good mood right now, although there’s nothing actually “wrong”, besides just being in pain and being cranky over how hard it is to get some needs met in life. These aren’t even new challenges. Perhaps that’s why I’m so cross? I suppose I expect that after all these years of being who I am, I’d have figured this shit out more skillfully by now? Will there come a day when I find myself alone and regretting my solitary ways? (It seems possible, but not at all likely.)

Between headaches, and arthritis pain, pings from my partner and my awareness of his loneliness in my absence, this particular coastal adventure hasn’t been much “fun” – for any values of fun. It’s barely been restful, and even that only in a physical way. Fucking hell, I’ve got to figure this shit out. I feel like my sanity depends on it…

A gift from a dear friend, a memory.

…I miss my Dear Friend. I’d share my vexation with her, and she’d share her perspective with me. She’d maybe make me laugh, or point back to something I said, myself, some time ago that still rings true even now. She’d share a cat story, or a recipe she remembers but can’t have anymore. She’d be there. I’d be here – and I’d feel heard and understood. She did as much to “raise me” as my Granny or my Mother, actually. Our friendship of almost 30 years is woven into the fabric of the woman I have become. In a sense, she’ll always be with me. I still manage to miss her. I miss her perspective and wisdom. I miss her understanding. Of all the human beings I’ve ever known, she seemed to understand my love of solitude more than any other. I miss that.

I sip my coffee and think my thoughts. The journey is the destination. The way out is through. Like a painting that hasn’t quite turned out, this particular weekend has been unsatisfying and feels incomplete. It has its own sort of beauty and worthiness, I suppose, but it feels unfinished and not quite right. Aphorisms and metaphors; I’m doing my best to care for the woman in the mirror. I feel like I’m letting her down. I sigh and watch the gulls beyond the window. I’ll finish this coffee, I guess, and begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, grief, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being, women, Words
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