In the past week, I've had a series of conversations I never imagined would enter into my existence.
1. "Please press 1 if you want to hear Frequently Asked Questions about filing an unemployment claim."
This was not so much a conversation as a horrifying, demoralizing, depressing phone call. Technically, I'm not unemployed for another week. But I'm trying to be on my game and get all my details sorted out.
The truth is, unemployment in Colorado is pretty limited. I can't really pay rent and bills on it, unless I plan to eat, well, nothing (not an exaggeration). So, this of course means part time work in the interim. So, I need to look into what I'd like to do there: FedEx Kinkos is hiring. And I've had some thoughtful offers from two people I know, which of course makes those offers simultaneously more attractive and more complicated.
The deeper truth is, I don't want to file for unemployment. Even if it was enough money to make a go of it (and it really is NOT!), I'd rather not. Part of this is pride. But part of it is that I think there is a stigma about collecting for time on the couch. So, yeah, that's probably pride too.
2. "You have to promise you'll let me know if you need prescriptions you can't afford."
I made said promise, but if and when that time comes. I'm not sure I can do it. I know what my prescriptions cost 10 years ago without prescription coverage. I never heard words that felt truer to me than when President Obama stated that our debt crisis was synonymous with our health care failures. I never lived scarier times than my first four years of grad school without any access to health care. (correction: never scarier times than now.) I put everything on the line for my education, and that meant paying hundreds of dollars every month out of pocket for drugs that save my life every day.
Things are better for me here in Colorado than they were in New Jersey by a LOT. I'm unlikely to drop dead if I go a day or two without meds for asthma. But, if I don't have them for long periods of time I am likely to end up being hospitalized for asthma or bronchitis/pneumonia. I have permanent lung damage so I really, really need those meds. But do I need them enough to take that money from my mom knowing what she'd have to give up to do it??
3. "What's your full legal name? I need it for some paperwork regarding ___(her son)______."
Let me 'splain. A couple of years ago, a friend asked me if I would be her son's guardian if she should ever pass away. Or rather, she said something about it on Facebook and then we talked about how she knows I love him, have good values, and that he would love me. Since then, she has re-married. It seems that she and her husband are updating their wills and advanced directives in light of their fairly new wedded bliss. So, her son's father would still have shared custody, and of course, if she departed and her husband was still here, he would share custody with the father. But in the event that both she and her husband pass, I would be the other half of her son's guardianship and share with his father.
So, the conversation went like this. "__(ex husband and father)__ doesn't get him?"
"He would get his legal amount of time but not 100%."
"I get it. I would be his 'mom' side. I'm honored!"
"Yep. If __(new husband)____ and I go at the same time."
"Promise - if that day comes I'll raise him to be smart and caring, sweet and strong. And to love himself and be grateful for all you two did and gave him! But let's hope that doesn't happen. He and I would miss you too much."
I am honored. It's amazing to me that even in my precarious current situation my friend thinks I am the best choice. It's unlikely that this will ever come to pass, but it's a stunning vote of confidence.
I want kids so, so much and it feels like someone saying, "I know you can do it. " I will take any positive reinforcement I can get.
4. "There is a guest room just crying out for you."
This was a conversation with my two amazing friends about the guest room in their house they often refer to as "Christie's room."
I have had several of these types of conversations. My mom would be happy to have me in her basement. And my Uncle jumped right up and said,"I'd be happy to put your things in a truck and move you back here." and my cousin and aunt are itching to have me in Seattle.
But here's the thing - as much as I badly need to dump the rent on this place (I would never have rented a place this large just for me. It was chosen, in large part, to house the office I no longer need to run.) moving into someone's basement/guest room/etc. is a difficult prospect for me. Of course there is pride. I have been working for TWO DECADES. And I have been taking care of myself for half of my life, literally. It would be hard for me to give that up, of course it would be hard.
But, the bigger problem is that my life is here. Most of my strong contacts are here. And there isn't enough money for me to job hunt AND move. There's enough for one or the other, and either will still have to be on a severe budget. So, if I job hunt and fail, then I won't have any money to move, and vice-versa. So, the event that causes me to move in with someone means I have hit bottom, and have to sell all of my stuff for bus fare. Or something equally horrifying.
None of this is to say I am hopeless. All of it is to say I am very anxious about how to make this work and feeling overwhelmed.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Coping and moving on
I have to say, it's a little unbelievable that after 5.5 years of unwavering support and hard work, my company decided to end my position the week of Christmas. It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke, or maybe the beginning of a sad but hopeful Christmas movie.
What I'm trying for here, though, is the hopeful without the sad. I've never been let go before, so I don't know how I'm supposed to behave. But by people checking in on me I gather I haven't been as sad or panicked as I'm meant to be. Don't get me wrong, I'm not happy about the way this happened, or the position it's left me in. And I'm way scared about money. But there's a way to look at this like it's a break-up that needed to happen.
I've been thinking a lot about my break-ups lately and how they usually send me into a spiral of near paralyzing depression and bring up every judgement and feeling of worthlessness I have. That in turn drives me to curl up on my couch feeling alone and numb. That, in turn, means I don't work out, and sooner rather than later I find myself consuming a whole frozen pizza or two bowls of popcorn. Or both. And then, when the faucet gets turned back on to my emotions what first comes streaming out is those same judgements and feelings of being lower than low and not worth anything better. And the band plays on.
Well, here is what has happened this week, pretty much in this order:
I've been to Garden of the Gods with my mom, to a movie, and to the gym. I had the friends over I was planning on having over that night, and we played a hilarious game and ate really good soup and crab dip. I drank several beers.
Don't get me wrong, there have been some tough thoughts about money, about packing up my office, about the way this was handled, and there have been some frantic moments of "Must update my Linkedin profile NOW," and resumes, and job searches, and anxious thoughts about unemployment and part-time work.
But there haven't been any dark moments on the couch. Or in the shower. Or in this chair.
Usually in a relationship, I'm the person getting dumped, left, or abandoned. I wait, and I stay, and I see the good in someone, and I hope and try and believe in loyalty. And so when things aren't working, I usually want to do anything but STOP and break up. Consequently, when things need to end, it's on the other person to end it. So, I shouldn't be surprised that in the relationship that was taking up all my waking hours, they had to break up with me and find the door for me. In the end, that part of getting let go is just like getting dumped.
What's interestingly different is that in every break-up, in every other case where I've been left, I've been mad and resentful but also worried in a deep-down place that I don't acknowledge often that it was somehow my fault. That if I had had that fight differently, that if I had talked about my goals or needs differently, that if I had needed less . . . that if SOMETHING about me had been different that person would be there. To hold myself to the highest level of honesty, I do have to admit I've had a few wandering thoughts of, "If I had volunteered for ___" but then immediately I think, "NO." I am sure this was not about my performance on the job, and equally sure it is not about my results. Knowing that means I don't have to worry I did this somehow. It means I don't have to claim blame.
This means I'm not feeling I have to heal too much from this loss. So, I took a couple of days to enjoy my mom's visit, and that meant I took a brief sabbatical from the gym (and returned hard-core today). and we've eaten out some. And I had more than my fair share of beer on Tuesday . . . which I feel I can do because I know I can NOT do it and be ok.
But here's an interesting thing. Despite what I would consider a normal amount of "Mom is visiting from out of town" interruption to my eating, imbibing, and working out plans, I lost a pound this week.
So, I'm going to make a prediction to you all - If I don't fall into the trap of cheap, bad-for-us-all food that many Americans who struggle with money do, my guess is that while pounds won't fly off of me in 2012, the inexplicable wall keeping me from progressing may have been knocked down by this event. I have had concerns for years that this job was holding me back so . . . here it is. Nothing else is holding me back now!
I'm sure there will be panic and anxiety in the weeks to come, and moments of self-doubt. But in this moment, I am grateful for the opportunity to reinvent myself in the new year. And I am beyond grateful for the friends I have. I've had two offers of part-time work, three friends who forwarded me job opportunities within 48 hours, friends who have offered to put my resume in the hands of contacts or practice interviews with me, and friends who have offered to put me up. Wow. What a gift to know I am this loved in the week when everyone is usually hunkering down and focusing on their own immediate families.
I'll tell you what I'd like to do - I'd like to write this blog professionally. Any takers? any independently wealthy readers who want to fund that? With benefits? Anyone? Bueller?
No. Ok. Well then, I guess it's a good thing I already started on my applications for these five jobs people forwarded to me.
Tomorrow, though, I wish for this for you all on Christmas: may everyone think for a moment about what they have, and if it is what they want or signed up for. If it is, be grateful for the frustrations, hard times, and disappointments, as they make it possible for the good times to shine brighter. Whatever it is you have in your life - children, job, partner, house, goals, dreams, talents, love, strength, a business to run, a dissertation to write. If it's not what you need, then be grateful for the door you will come to when you leave it. And give love to the person next to you. Though there is some doubt to the actual correct birth date of Jesus, and though I still have some questions about what belief in his word means to me, his message is one of love and of sharing love and acceptance. I believe in that.
We celebrate Martin Luther King's birthday on a convenient date for the calendar, so why not this? So love on each other today and tomorrow, and see how long you can keep it going. (So sorry to be majorly mushy. I've just had a really strange week that has presented to me over and over how blessed I am to be so loved by so many wonderous people so I'm trying to spread it.)
What I'm trying for here, though, is the hopeful without the sad. I've never been let go before, so I don't know how I'm supposed to behave. But by people checking in on me I gather I haven't been as sad or panicked as I'm meant to be. Don't get me wrong, I'm not happy about the way this happened, or the position it's left me in. And I'm way scared about money. But there's a way to look at this like it's a break-up that needed to happen.
I've been thinking a lot about my break-ups lately and how they usually send me into a spiral of near paralyzing depression and bring up every judgement and feeling of worthlessness I have. That in turn drives me to curl up on my couch feeling alone and numb. That, in turn, means I don't work out, and sooner rather than later I find myself consuming a whole frozen pizza or two bowls of popcorn. Or both. And then, when the faucet gets turned back on to my emotions what first comes streaming out is those same judgements and feelings of being lower than low and not worth anything better. And the band plays on.
Well, here is what has happened this week, pretty much in this order:
- I was let go
- I told my mom and posted on Facebook
- I texted my five best friends (and didn't text the fifth because she just had a baby)
- I freaked out and cried for about an hour, and called my therapist
- My longest-running best friend called me (it's good to have someone who has known you for over 30 years and still loves you!)
- Then I decided to go about my day and week.
I've been to Garden of the Gods with my mom, to a movie, and to the gym. I had the friends over I was planning on having over that night, and we played a hilarious game and ate really good soup and crab dip. I drank several beers.
Don't get me wrong, there have been some tough thoughts about money, about packing up my office, about the way this was handled, and there have been some frantic moments of "Must update my Linkedin profile NOW," and resumes, and job searches, and anxious thoughts about unemployment and part-time work.
But there haven't been any dark moments on the couch. Or in the shower. Or in this chair.
Usually in a relationship, I'm the person getting dumped, left, or abandoned. I wait, and I stay, and I see the good in someone, and I hope and try and believe in loyalty. And so when things aren't working, I usually want to do anything but STOP and break up. Consequently, when things need to end, it's on the other person to end it. So, I shouldn't be surprised that in the relationship that was taking up all my waking hours, they had to break up with me and find the door for me. In the end, that part of getting let go is just like getting dumped.
What's interestingly different is that in every break-up, in every other case where I've been left, I've been mad and resentful but also worried in a deep-down place that I don't acknowledge often that it was somehow my fault. That if I had had that fight differently, that if I had talked about my goals or needs differently, that if I had needed less . . . that if SOMETHING about me had been different that person would be there. To hold myself to the highest level of honesty, I do have to admit I've had a few wandering thoughts of, "If I had volunteered for ___" but then immediately I think, "NO." I am sure this was not about my performance on the job, and equally sure it is not about my results. Knowing that means I don't have to worry I did this somehow. It means I don't have to claim blame.
This means I'm not feeling I have to heal too much from this loss. So, I took a couple of days to enjoy my mom's visit, and that meant I took a brief sabbatical from the gym (and returned hard-core today). and we've eaten out some. And I had more than my fair share of beer on Tuesday . . . which I feel I can do because I know I can NOT do it and be ok.
But here's an interesting thing. Despite what I would consider a normal amount of "Mom is visiting from out of town" interruption to my eating, imbibing, and working out plans, I lost a pound this week.
So, I'm going to make a prediction to you all - If I don't fall into the trap of cheap, bad-for-us-all food that many Americans who struggle with money do, my guess is that while pounds won't fly off of me in 2012, the inexplicable wall keeping me from progressing may have been knocked down by this event. I have had concerns for years that this job was holding me back so . . . here it is. Nothing else is holding me back now!
I'm sure there will be panic and anxiety in the weeks to come, and moments of self-doubt. But in this moment, I am grateful for the opportunity to reinvent myself in the new year. And I am beyond grateful for the friends I have. I've had two offers of part-time work, three friends who forwarded me job opportunities within 48 hours, friends who have offered to put my resume in the hands of contacts or practice interviews with me, and friends who have offered to put me up. Wow. What a gift to know I am this loved in the week when everyone is usually hunkering down and focusing on their own immediate families.
I'll tell you what I'd like to do - I'd like to write this blog professionally. Any takers? any independently wealthy readers who want to fund that? With benefits? Anyone? Bueller?
No. Ok. Well then, I guess it's a good thing I already started on my applications for these five jobs people forwarded to me.
Tomorrow, though, I wish for this for you all on Christmas: may everyone think for a moment about what they have, and if it is what they want or signed up for. If it is, be grateful for the frustrations, hard times, and disappointments, as they make it possible for the good times to shine brighter. Whatever it is you have in your life - children, job, partner, house, goals, dreams, talents, love, strength, a business to run, a dissertation to write. If it's not what you need, then be grateful for the door you will come to when you leave it. And give love to the person next to you. Though there is some doubt to the actual correct birth date of Jesus, and though I still have some questions about what belief in his word means to me, his message is one of love and of sharing love and acceptance. I believe in that.
We celebrate Martin Luther King's birthday on a convenient date for the calendar, so why not this? So love on each other today and tomorrow, and see how long you can keep it going. (So sorry to be majorly mushy. I've just had a really strange week that has presented to me over and over how blessed I am to be so loved by so many wonderous people so I'm trying to spread it.)
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Loss
I have all kinds of posts I've been writing and working on for a week or more that should be getting my time and attention but I'm bypassing that for today.
Today I was asked to attend a phone meeting with my supervisor at 9am. The agenda set forth for the meeting was, "Priorities for next year." Instead he asked about the very complicated project I completed yesterday, and then asked me to hold while he dialed someone else onto the line. It turned out it was HR getting on the phone to handle a conversation about the dissolution of my position and the terms of my limited severance.
So, there it is. Jobless for the first time since I was 14 years old. There was a brief stint during my first semester of grad school before I had gotten wise to the ways of picking up extra money from my university (teaching and tutoring), but really. I've haven't been unemployed since before I was too young to be employed. I have always earned my own way and taken care of myself since I can remember.
This is a weird feeling. I'd like to not be working due to a better reason. Like babies to care for. Or winning the lottery :)
Instead, my job is just gone. It seems this is through no fault of my own, but it is hard not to take it personally when it comes at this time of year and after all my hard work. I think in the end, the company is going through a lot of change and I was exfoliated during that process.
In truth, I am not sad about the job. I had outgrown it some time ago and no longer felt I was being challenged, growing, or being fully appreciated. In that sense, this is an opportunity. My therapist was fairly dancing as he coached me through this and saying, "I'm sorry, I can't help but be excited about this! I think this is such a great opportunity to be grateful for." I agree with him in the thinking about the job. He is right. It is time to find a better fit. It is time to keep growing. It's time to stop holding myself back because I'm afraid to give up what's comfortable for what might be better; what might be ecstatically happy.
On the other hand, I know people who have looked and looked and looked. One of them lived in my mom's basement for far longer than was good for either of them. I am not sorry about the job. I'm scared about the paycheck. I posted on facebook this morning, "I just lost my job." and this afternoon I posted, "Sometimes change is chaotic, scary, and handled badly. Sometimes it's an opening. This will be both I think." The later is perhaps the more deeply honest statement. There is an opportunity here, but there is also some real damage in how it came about. Isn't there a Hindu Goddess that is in charge of both? That paves the way for change by tearing the walls down? I have her on my mind today.
Since judging myself is the thing I DO it is very hard work not to make this a judgement about me being a bad person, a poor worker, or in some other way my fault. I am working really hard to breathe through that and am very lucky to have amazing support from just droves of people who love me and help shine my light a little brighter. Some amazing special mentions (thought I've had all kinds of calls, texts, and facebooks and couldn't possibly mention everyone. But thank you!) go to my mom for helping to keep things at an even keel today, to my bestie Rob for calling right away and listening to my messy thoughts, to my other bestie David for putting words to my anger when I couldn't, to my brother for being quietly supportive, to my lovely best girlfriend for calling me immediately despite having a nursing baby to care for, to my therapist for helping me breathe through my initial hour of reaction, to my dear friend Wil for starting to forward me job search ideas right away, and to all my ladies who are coming over tonight to surround me with laughter and beer. Probably the best medicine for this day.
Tomorrow I will ship my computer and cell phone and next month someone will come to clean out my office. So be it.
I will get there and start thinking of this as a good thing. Maybe not today though.
In the meantime this quote from someone talking about felting and making beauty and art out of what you're doing applies today, and thanks to Wil for this," You have to know how to use the accident, how to recognize it, how to control it and ways to eliminate it so that the whole surface looks felt and born all at once." -- Helen Frankenthaler '49
Today I was asked to attend a phone meeting with my supervisor at 9am. The agenda set forth for the meeting was, "Priorities for next year." Instead he asked about the very complicated project I completed yesterday, and then asked me to hold while he dialed someone else onto the line. It turned out it was HR getting on the phone to handle a conversation about the dissolution of my position and the terms of my limited severance.
So, there it is. Jobless for the first time since I was 14 years old. There was a brief stint during my first semester of grad school before I had gotten wise to the ways of picking up extra money from my university (teaching and tutoring), but really. I've haven't been unemployed since before I was too young to be employed. I have always earned my own way and taken care of myself since I can remember.
This is a weird feeling. I'd like to not be working due to a better reason. Like babies to care for. Or winning the lottery :)
Instead, my job is just gone. It seems this is through no fault of my own, but it is hard not to take it personally when it comes at this time of year and after all my hard work. I think in the end, the company is going through a lot of change and I was exfoliated during that process.
In truth, I am not sad about the job. I had outgrown it some time ago and no longer felt I was being challenged, growing, or being fully appreciated. In that sense, this is an opportunity. My therapist was fairly dancing as he coached me through this and saying, "I'm sorry, I can't help but be excited about this! I think this is such a great opportunity to be grateful for." I agree with him in the thinking about the job. He is right. It is time to find a better fit. It is time to keep growing. It's time to stop holding myself back because I'm afraid to give up what's comfortable for what might be better; what might be ecstatically happy.
On the other hand, I know people who have looked and looked and looked. One of them lived in my mom's basement for far longer than was good for either of them. I am not sorry about the job. I'm scared about the paycheck. I posted on facebook this morning, "I just lost my job." and this afternoon I posted, "Sometimes change is chaotic, scary, and handled badly. Sometimes it's an opening. This will be both I think." The later is perhaps the more deeply honest statement. There is an opportunity here, but there is also some real damage in how it came about. Isn't there a Hindu Goddess that is in charge of both? That paves the way for change by tearing the walls down? I have her on my mind today.
Since judging myself is the thing I DO it is very hard work not to make this a judgement about me being a bad person, a poor worker, or in some other way my fault. I am working really hard to breathe through that and am very lucky to have amazing support from just droves of people who love me and help shine my light a little brighter. Some amazing special mentions (thought I've had all kinds of calls, texts, and facebooks and couldn't possibly mention everyone. But thank you!) go to my mom for helping to keep things at an even keel today, to my bestie Rob for calling right away and listening to my messy thoughts, to my other bestie David for putting words to my anger when I couldn't, to my brother for being quietly supportive, to my lovely best girlfriend for calling me immediately despite having a nursing baby to care for, to my therapist for helping me breathe through my initial hour of reaction, to my dear friend Wil for starting to forward me job search ideas right away, and to all my ladies who are coming over tonight to surround me with laughter and beer. Probably the best medicine for this day.
Tomorrow I will ship my computer and cell phone and next month someone will come to clean out my office. So be it.
I will get there and start thinking of this as a good thing. Maybe not today though.
In the meantime this quote from someone talking about felting and making beauty and art out of what you're doing applies today, and thanks to Wil for this," You have to know how to use the accident, how to recognize it, how to control it and ways to eliminate it so that the whole surface looks felt and born all at once." -- Helen Frankenthaler '49
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Putting myself first
On the mirror in my bathroom it says, "Make yourself a priority." There are also various sticky notes in various places that say things like, "This appointment is just as important as every other you make," and "Commit to yourself."
And yet, it's really easy for me to think, Hi, you. the laundry needs to be folded and there is more wrapping and cleaning before mom gets here. Or, Mom is here! It's rude to go to the gym while she reads a book!
Yesterday, mom chose not to go to the gym with me, knowing I'd be gone for at least three hours (running, swimming laps, and then working with a friend plus a shower take up a solid chunk of time). It was her choice. When I texted my friend that Mom wouldn't be joining us she immediately said, "I don't want to take time away from your mom." and I get that. I don't want to take time away from my mom either. But the truth is, wherever I am, I have to be willing to put time into this process every day. If I'm traveling for work, I still have to try and eat right and get up early to exercise. If I go to India, which is a dream I have (and where one of my client's mothers apparently gives her head massages and brings her tea every morning, I recently found out), I will have to walk and make sure I get plenty of protein and vegetables. If I was at my mom's house, I would have to fight to find the time for cardio every day. So, if she's at my house, the same rules apply.
It took reaching down to pull up on my sense of personal responsibility and my desire to work on my goals to text my friend back and say, "I really want to swim. No one else is going to get my cardio done for me."
It feels . . . selfish to me to put myself first. It's a new experience. I've always been asked to put others first. As a caretaker in my family, my needs were always subservient to those of others, and expressing them was always received badly. And so that is the space I learned to occupy in the world. I see it in all my past relationships, in how work expands and fills more of my week than it should, in everything I've sacrificed to be where I am. Saying no is always hard for me, unless I'm saying no to the voice that says, "Get your workout done. And while you're at it, eat some broccoli instead of some popcorn."
But the truth is, no one will work out for me. My job will not take responsibility for the weight their crazy schedule and too-high expectations caused me to gain 4 years ago. My mom can't eat broccoli for me or take popcorn away from me. And if not everyone can understand that I can work out 6 days a week, 5-7 hours a week, and eat everything right, and still get minimal results, then the least I can do is to understand it and act on it. Compassion to myself means knowing the scale won't always move even if I do what I'm supposed to, but it also means lovingly getting my butt out of the seat and to the gym. Loving myself means forgiving the bowl of popcorn for dinner but also trying to do better the next day and pack my protein and veggie lunch to take with me on the road. Patience is a gift I can give myself by not judging how slow my results are, but also by planning for the long haul and knowing that taking the long view means owning that working out this much or more will be my life forever.
I have a lot of understanding, compassion, love, and patience to give other people. I tend to have endless supplies even when times may be really hard for me or when I may be angry with another person. I need to learn to apply some of it to myself. Because the truth is that if my metabolism and hormones fight even my best efforts, then putting in less than my absolute max will serve me not at all. And the other hard truth is that if things are this hard now in my 30's, my elder years will only get worse. Without work and discipline and giving myself enough love and time I could easily become a 500 pound woman that needs to be cut out of her house. I don't think I'm exaggerating to say that.
It took alllllllllll yeaaaaaaar to get to the point where my gym schedule orbits cleanly through my other obligations. Even now there are little hops and skips when I'm sick or traveling. The difference between now and a year ago is that now if the record skips, I know how to bring the needle back down to play through. A year ago, missing one workout usually was the beginning of a long string of missed workouts. Now I know that if it is missed I must get back up on the horse the next day before I find myself on a slippery slope, and ideally, "make up" the missed workout. (This is a little like doing extra-homework to catch up when I was out of school for pneumonia in elementary school.) My workouts now matter to me in a different way than they did. I know that without them I will feel less pleased with myself, regardless of the scale or my jean size. I know I will have more stress. I know I will tend towards more depression. I know what my workouts give me. Which is why there is also a sticky note in my house that says, "It will feel good AFTER you go." That is a true story. Before walking out the door, it'd be my pleasure to stay on the couch reading. After going to the gym I know I will feel more productive, happier, more energetic.
There's another result of working out: I have discovered it directly effects how well I eat. You'd think that working out and being hungry from it could lead me to fries and Cheezits, but it has the opposite effect. I come home from a work out determined to eat my brussel sprouts and chicken, and further, to plan and pack an awesome lunch for the next day. And here's the truth - while I could eat nachos and pizza all day long, I really do like brussel sprouts and chicken. So, if I know I like them, and feel better eating them, then why not do the thing that leads me to eat those things more and let go of the pizza and nachos. It turns out, shopping differently (ignore that Cheezits exist! There is no aisle 5!) and cooking the brussels and the chicken are just preliminary steps. The thing I really need to do is go to the gym and strengthen not just my lats and hamstrings, not just my core and abs, but also my resolve. So, I go. sometimes it feels like I'm dragging myself there by the ear, like a child who has sassed a crabby grandmother, but so be it.
So, I went to the gym yesterday, and it was so good to know I had done it and met my goals for the week. and as my mom naps on the couch this morning, I will continue to get ready to meet my trainer. It's what has to get done in order for everything else to line up as it should. I still have to make myself do it often, but I can see the day where it will make sense for it to be just as natural and expected as brushing my teeth. Off I go!
And yet, it's really easy for me to think, Hi, you. the laundry needs to be folded and there is more wrapping and cleaning before mom gets here. Or, Mom is here! It's rude to go to the gym while she reads a book!
Yesterday, mom chose not to go to the gym with me, knowing I'd be gone for at least three hours (running, swimming laps, and then working with a friend plus a shower take up a solid chunk of time). It was her choice. When I texted my friend that Mom wouldn't be joining us she immediately said, "I don't want to take time away from your mom." and I get that. I don't want to take time away from my mom either. But the truth is, wherever I am, I have to be willing to put time into this process every day. If I'm traveling for work, I still have to try and eat right and get up early to exercise. If I go to India, which is a dream I have (and where one of my client's mothers apparently gives her head massages and brings her tea every morning, I recently found out), I will have to walk and make sure I get plenty of protein and vegetables. If I was at my mom's house, I would have to fight to find the time for cardio every day. So, if she's at my house, the same rules apply.
It took reaching down to pull up on my sense of personal responsibility and my desire to work on my goals to text my friend back and say, "I really want to swim. No one else is going to get my cardio done for me."
It feels . . . selfish to me to put myself first. It's a new experience. I've always been asked to put others first. As a caretaker in my family, my needs were always subservient to those of others, and expressing them was always received badly. And so that is the space I learned to occupy in the world. I see it in all my past relationships, in how work expands and fills more of my week than it should, in everything I've sacrificed to be where I am. Saying no is always hard for me, unless I'm saying no to the voice that says, "Get your workout done. And while you're at it, eat some broccoli instead of some popcorn."
But the truth is, no one will work out for me. My job will not take responsibility for the weight their crazy schedule and too-high expectations caused me to gain 4 years ago. My mom can't eat broccoli for me or take popcorn away from me. And if not everyone can understand that I can work out 6 days a week, 5-7 hours a week, and eat everything right, and still get minimal results, then the least I can do is to understand it and act on it. Compassion to myself means knowing the scale won't always move even if I do what I'm supposed to, but it also means lovingly getting my butt out of the seat and to the gym. Loving myself means forgiving the bowl of popcorn for dinner but also trying to do better the next day and pack my protein and veggie lunch to take with me on the road. Patience is a gift I can give myself by not judging how slow my results are, but also by planning for the long haul and knowing that taking the long view means owning that working out this much or more will be my life forever.
I have a lot of understanding, compassion, love, and patience to give other people. I tend to have endless supplies even when times may be really hard for me or when I may be angry with another person. I need to learn to apply some of it to myself. Because the truth is that if my metabolism and hormones fight even my best efforts, then putting in less than my absolute max will serve me not at all. And the other hard truth is that if things are this hard now in my 30's, my elder years will only get worse. Without work and discipline and giving myself enough love and time I could easily become a 500 pound woman that needs to be cut out of her house. I don't think I'm exaggerating to say that.
It took alllllllllll yeaaaaaaar to get to the point where my gym schedule orbits cleanly through my other obligations. Even now there are little hops and skips when I'm sick or traveling. The difference between now and a year ago is that now if the record skips, I know how to bring the needle back down to play through. A year ago, missing one workout usually was the beginning of a long string of missed workouts. Now I know that if it is missed I must get back up on the horse the next day before I find myself on a slippery slope, and ideally, "make up" the missed workout. (This is a little like doing extra-homework to catch up when I was out of school for pneumonia in elementary school.) My workouts now matter to me in a different way than they did. I know that without them I will feel less pleased with myself, regardless of the scale or my jean size. I know I will have more stress. I know I will tend towards more depression. I know what my workouts give me. Which is why there is also a sticky note in my house that says, "It will feel good AFTER you go." That is a true story. Before walking out the door, it'd be my pleasure to stay on the couch reading. After going to the gym I know I will feel more productive, happier, more energetic.
There's another result of working out: I have discovered it directly effects how well I eat. You'd think that working out and being hungry from it could lead me to fries and Cheezits, but it has the opposite effect. I come home from a work out determined to eat my brussel sprouts and chicken, and further, to plan and pack an awesome lunch for the next day. And here's the truth - while I could eat nachos and pizza all day long, I really do like brussel sprouts and chicken. So, if I know I like them, and feel better eating them, then why not do the thing that leads me to eat those things more and let go of the pizza and nachos. It turns out, shopping differently (ignore that Cheezits exist! There is no aisle 5!) and cooking the brussels and the chicken are just preliminary steps. The thing I really need to do is go to the gym and strengthen not just my lats and hamstrings, not just my core and abs, but also my resolve. So, I go. sometimes it feels like I'm dragging myself there by the ear, like a child who has sassed a crabby grandmother, but so be it.
So, I went to the gym yesterday, and it was so good to know I had done it and met my goals for the week. and as my mom naps on the couch this morning, I will continue to get ready to meet my trainer. It's what has to get done in order for everything else to line up as it should. I still have to make myself do it often, but I can see the day where it will make sense for it to be just as natural and expected as brushing my teeth. Off I go!
Monday, December 12, 2011
Singing
"Are you ready?"
"I was born ready."
Yes, I said those words, but on some level I was in hard core "fake it until you make it" mode with my tough talk and pretending I knew what to tell the band to lead them in this song. I was rehearsing for a performance last night when that mini-conversation took place.
The deeply honest truth is that it's very, very hard for me to sing. Physically, I have a lot of allergies and breathing issues, so singing isn't exactly a natural fit, but it is what I love. I love music, and though I play a bunch of instruments poorly, singing is what makes me feel the feeling of making something that can be pretty and moving. I often say that singing is the only thing I do JUST for fun (though at this time of the year this ceases to be true because I'm rehearsing so much). Like, I swim, and I have a good time, but there's a little counter in the back of my head keeping track of how much cardio I got out of it. I am starting to not hate running, but I still do it because it's what I have to do. And I love to cook, but seriously, cooking for myself every week means that there are some times where it's just exhausting and oh-so boring.
I love to sing in a group (and do sing in a choir), and when timing, and phrasing, and harmony all come together in the same moment, it frequently moves me to tears (you know, little ones that I wipe away quickly and blink back so that the people I'm singing with don't think I'm a weirdly over-emotional freak). But singing solo is a little like going out into the world without skin.
I stood up at last spring's performance and talked about the Vocal Performance Class (Henceforth called VPC - a class about learning not just to sing solo but to lead the band) I introduced my journey through the class by saying taking this class felt like naked skydiving. Scary, and vulnerable, and exhilarating but you're sure if you can just open up, and land right, it'll be all fine. And people laughed. And I was hiding behind that joke, so it was ok that they laughed. On the other side of that joke the truth was, I felt adrenaline up there, but real concern about not landing. About just falling and falling. And failing. Most of that class had felt to me like I wasn't quite where I needed to be. Technique is one thing, performing is another. It turns out I'm so not prepared for the later that the former often goes out the window.
It surprises a lot of people that opening up and being emotionally honest was my challenge. That's because there's this thing with me, where people think they know me, but they don't. It's not their fault - it's mine. I was talking about it with a member of the spring class and saying that because I'm open, and very not-interested-in-beating-around-the-bush and will answer just about any question, people assume they are close with me or understand me deeply. My clients see professional me, and my honesty with them, and assume they know who I am. One of them told me, "Well, you really struggle with seeing any grey areas between the black and white requirements." Umm, actually, I was just on the phone that morning arguing why her situation might not fit our current definitions and thus she might need to be exempt from something. No grey my ass.
I have friends who I like, but who never hear my difficult or revealing stories, but because they've heard my honest views on marriage equality, or my story about one of the least honest things I've ever done (it involved a Zamfir, The Pan flute master cd), or my joke about mayonaise (don't ask unless you really want to know) they think they're on the inside. I love all my friends, and I choose them carefully, but the truth is there's people who get into the foyer, people who are in the living room, and people who can come all the way into the kitchen and see the mess, and imperfection, but also the heart and warmth of me. It's much more about my hesitation to trust, my holding back than about any one friend being better suited for kitchen-time than another. I have an amazing friend, who started out as being "just" the partner of my BFF and then grew into a separate friendship. I cherish him. It's been 10 years since we found the speed and rhythm and and feel of our friendship, and along the way we have discovered how much we love each other and how much we have in common. and how fun it is for both of us to know and love my BFF. But even still, it wasn't until this fall that I had the courage to let him all the way in and to messily (with crying and snot, and everything) admit to him some of the deep, dark places my heart has gone. Ten Years! It's not like he hadn't put his time in or shown he was trustworthy or given me love and support and understanding.
I let people in enough so that I can be me, while also holding them back from coming all the way in. how was I supposed to let them all in, all at once, a whole audience full?
And when it came time for my vocal coach to give me feedback last spring, she just kept on saying, "I know you! You're expressive. You're open! You're emotional." And I kept on thinking, "You THINK you know me." Not because she hadn't seen real things about me, not because she was wrong about me being an expressive person, but because she felt like she could say definitively that there was a deeper place inside me that I was covering up. I was guarded, I was defensive, and I did and do struggle to express myself fully when singing solo. She wasn't wrong. But, she kept on naming specific things that were deep inside of me, and I wasn't always sure she was naming things that really resided there or that she could be sure she had seen. She and I had known each other for 2 years then, but only know each other on a more personal level for about 9 months. She was past the foyer, but not in the kitchen.
But, without knowing it, even though she was naming different things than I feel, she was still helping me to describe the place I needed to let everyone into in order to perform with all of me and be fully engaged with the audience. I needed to find the courage to let everyone into the kitchen. Or at least let them see it. And she kept pushing me. At times, she would even say, "Start over. I'm not feeling it." Or "This isn't believable." She didn't say it meanly, but man, it always felt like I was driving somewhere thinking I was on course and then finding out I had driven into a deep forest, off-roading. You know the forest - it's the one in Wizard of Oz where the witch is hiding and the trees throw apples at travelers just for walking there.
I wasn't lost because I hadn't understood what she was asking of me or where she wanted me to go. I literally didn't know how to get there. She kept saying, "you know everyone here. What's the worst that can happen from going there?" But the point for me wasn't whether or not they would judge me, but that there was a lock between me and that room and I didn't have the key.
I focused on technique, and did some planned performance moves in one of my songs and that loosened things up a lot but I knew I wasn't where everyone else was. So, I stood up in front of our audience and made my naked skydiving joke, and did my "fun" song and felt like, "Ok, this could be do-able." I made the audience laugh and get into it. I did! Me and my performance!
Of course, I had a royal freak-out moments before but kept it mostly under wraps (minus the moment that saw me clawing for the paper that had my lyrics on it, looking at it, and then putting it back away . . . after singing the song for 3 months. Yeah. Security blanket anyone?) and it also helped that I took my glasses off and drank a not insignificant amount of vodka with pineapple juice.
But my second song, the song whose lyrics said:
(Gravity, Sara Bareilles)
Set me free, leave me be. I don't want to fall another moment into your gravity.
Here I am and I stand so tall, just the way I'm supposed to be.
But you're on to me and all over me.
I live here on my knees as I
Try to make you see that you're
Everything I think I need here on the ground.
But you're neither friend nor foe though I
Can't seem to let you go.
The one thing that I still know is that you're keeping me down
You're keeping me down, yeah, yeah, yeah
You're onto me, onto me and all over
Something always brings me back to you
It never takes too long
Well, it wasn't an option to be funny or stagey. I just had to open up the vault and hope that what came out was something that the audience could bear. And a funny thing happened. Because I was nervous, that feeling sailed me past the wall into other emotions. It melted my skin off, and I was so raw that there was nothing to stop my feelings and the audiences' from osmosing and blending together. It was scary, it was awful, it was painful but doing it made me feel I was giving something, getting something, and strong enough to do it. As I sang I wondered, "Why does the light look wobbly?" and realized it was because I was feeling so much that I had been moved to tears, and not a tiny tear I could blink away like at choir. Where crying or showing that emotion usually makes me feel scared about being so vulnerable, I left the stage shaky, but feeling weirdly strong for all that I also felt spent. It was an amazing experience. There was a rush of energy, and it went by so fast but I felt so amazed by how empowering it was, and how that feeling of toughness was able to join tenderness and mix perfectly. I can't speak for how it was for the audience, but for me, I left the stage having had a moment of knowing exactly how I felt and being able to invite 50 people into that moment with me and be ok with whatever they thought about it. It was that pure, and deep - it was just undeniable so whatever anyone else felt about it was beyond unimportant.
By the way, I am acutely aware of how corny and over the top that sounds. But I can't pull any other words from my brain to describe it.
It's with a lot of trepidation that I approach that moment this time around. I've peeled the skin back even further this fall. I literally feel like my nerves are exposed sometimes when we are rehearsing. I have cried in lessons and gotten shivers and heat flashes in rehearsals with the band. These kind of big, revelatory moments don't happen to someone analytical like me. These stories feel so baring that it's like nakedness would be a step towards protection! What's amazing is that I keep choosing these songs! I choose them. I obviously want this, on some level, but getting there is exhausting.
Right now I'm tired, but anticipating a rush of energy and hoping to share something deep and big and scary and moving with everyone. It is the thing that lets me know there are deeper places in me. Places I can call on when things are sad or hard. There's a part of me that knows that if I could tap into that place more, I could stop needing to look externally for things . . . validation, comfort, you know, those things. I'd like to find those things in places other than my job, my relationships, my dinner. So, I keep doing scary-ass things. Next up, skydiving. But I'll probably try it with my clothes on first.
"I was born ready."
Yes, I said those words, but on some level I was in hard core "fake it until you make it" mode with my tough talk and pretending I knew what to tell the band to lead them in this song. I was rehearsing for a performance last night when that mini-conversation took place.
The deeply honest truth is that it's very, very hard for me to sing. Physically, I have a lot of allergies and breathing issues, so singing isn't exactly a natural fit, but it is what I love. I love music, and though I play a bunch of instruments poorly, singing is what makes me feel the feeling of making something that can be pretty and moving. I often say that singing is the only thing I do JUST for fun (though at this time of the year this ceases to be true because I'm rehearsing so much). Like, I swim, and I have a good time, but there's a little counter in the back of my head keeping track of how much cardio I got out of it. I am starting to not hate running, but I still do it because it's what I have to do. And I love to cook, but seriously, cooking for myself every week means that there are some times where it's just exhausting and oh-so boring.
I love to sing in a group (and do sing in a choir), and when timing, and phrasing, and harmony all come together in the same moment, it frequently moves me to tears (you know, little ones that I wipe away quickly and blink back so that the people I'm singing with don't think I'm a weirdly over-emotional freak). But singing solo is a little like going out into the world without skin.
I stood up at last spring's performance and talked about the Vocal Performance Class (Henceforth called VPC - a class about learning not just to sing solo but to lead the band) I introduced my journey through the class by saying taking this class felt like naked skydiving. Scary, and vulnerable, and exhilarating but you're sure if you can just open up, and land right, it'll be all fine. And people laughed. And I was hiding behind that joke, so it was ok that they laughed. On the other side of that joke the truth was, I felt adrenaline up there, but real concern about not landing. About just falling and falling. And failing. Most of that class had felt to me like I wasn't quite where I needed to be. Technique is one thing, performing is another. It turns out I'm so not prepared for the later that the former often goes out the window.
It surprises a lot of people that opening up and being emotionally honest was my challenge. That's because there's this thing with me, where people think they know me, but they don't. It's not their fault - it's mine. I was talking about it with a member of the spring class and saying that because I'm open, and very not-interested-in-beating-around-the-bush and will answer just about any question, people assume they are close with me or understand me deeply. My clients see professional me, and my honesty with them, and assume they know who I am. One of them told me, "Well, you really struggle with seeing any grey areas between the black and white requirements." Umm, actually, I was just on the phone that morning arguing why her situation might not fit our current definitions and thus she might need to be exempt from something. No grey my ass.
I have friends who I like, but who never hear my difficult or revealing stories, but because they've heard my honest views on marriage equality, or my story about one of the least honest things I've ever done (it involved a Zamfir, The Pan flute master cd), or my joke about mayonaise (don't ask unless you really want to know) they think they're on the inside. I love all my friends, and I choose them carefully, but the truth is there's people who get into the foyer, people who are in the living room, and people who can come all the way into the kitchen and see the mess, and imperfection, but also the heart and warmth of me. It's much more about my hesitation to trust, my holding back than about any one friend being better suited for kitchen-time than another. I have an amazing friend, who started out as being "just" the partner of my BFF and then grew into a separate friendship. I cherish him. It's been 10 years since we found the speed and rhythm and and feel of our friendship, and along the way we have discovered how much we love each other and how much we have in common. and how fun it is for both of us to know and love my BFF. But even still, it wasn't until this fall that I had the courage to let him all the way in and to messily (with crying and snot, and everything) admit to him some of the deep, dark places my heart has gone. Ten Years! It's not like he hadn't put his time in or shown he was trustworthy or given me love and support and understanding.
I let people in enough so that I can be me, while also holding them back from coming all the way in. how was I supposed to let them all in, all at once, a whole audience full?
And when it came time for my vocal coach to give me feedback last spring, she just kept on saying, "I know you! You're expressive. You're open! You're emotional." And I kept on thinking, "You THINK you know me." Not because she hadn't seen real things about me, not because she was wrong about me being an expressive person, but because she felt like she could say definitively that there was a deeper place inside me that I was covering up. I was guarded, I was defensive, and I did and do struggle to express myself fully when singing solo. She wasn't wrong. But, she kept on naming specific things that were deep inside of me, and I wasn't always sure she was naming things that really resided there or that she could be sure she had seen. She and I had known each other for 2 years then, but only know each other on a more personal level for about 9 months. She was past the foyer, but not in the kitchen.
But, without knowing it, even though she was naming different things than I feel, she was still helping me to describe the place I needed to let everyone into in order to perform with all of me and be fully engaged with the audience. I needed to find the courage to let everyone into the kitchen. Or at least let them see it. And she kept pushing me. At times, she would even say, "Start over. I'm not feeling it." Or "This isn't believable." She didn't say it meanly, but man, it always felt like I was driving somewhere thinking I was on course and then finding out I had driven into a deep forest, off-roading. You know the forest - it's the one in Wizard of Oz where the witch is hiding and the trees throw apples at travelers just for walking there.
I wasn't lost because I hadn't understood what she was asking of me or where she wanted me to go. I literally didn't know how to get there. She kept saying, "you know everyone here. What's the worst that can happen from going there?" But the point for me wasn't whether or not they would judge me, but that there was a lock between me and that room and I didn't have the key.
I focused on technique, and did some planned performance moves in one of my songs and that loosened things up a lot but I knew I wasn't where everyone else was. So, I stood up in front of our audience and made my naked skydiving joke, and did my "fun" song and felt like, "Ok, this could be do-able." I made the audience laugh and get into it. I did! Me and my performance!
Of course, I had a royal freak-out moments before but kept it mostly under wraps (minus the moment that saw me clawing for the paper that had my lyrics on it, looking at it, and then putting it back away . . . after singing the song for 3 months. Yeah. Security blanket anyone?) and it also helped that I took my glasses off and drank a not insignificant amount of vodka with pineapple juice.
But my second song, the song whose lyrics said:
(Gravity, Sara Bareilles)
Set me free, leave me be. I don't want to fall another moment into your gravity.
Here I am and I stand so tall, just the way I'm supposed to be.
But you're on to me and all over me.
I live here on my knees as I
Try to make you see that you're
Everything I think I need here on the ground.
But you're neither friend nor foe though I
Can't seem to let you go.
The one thing that I still know is that you're keeping me down
You're keeping me down, yeah, yeah, yeah
You're onto me, onto me and all over
Something always brings me back to you
It never takes too long
Well, it wasn't an option to be funny or stagey. I just had to open up the vault and hope that what came out was something that the audience could bear. And a funny thing happened. Because I was nervous, that feeling sailed me past the wall into other emotions. It melted my skin off, and I was so raw that there was nothing to stop my feelings and the audiences' from osmosing and blending together. It was scary, it was awful, it was painful but doing it made me feel I was giving something, getting something, and strong enough to do it. As I sang I wondered, "Why does the light look wobbly?" and realized it was because I was feeling so much that I had been moved to tears, and not a tiny tear I could blink away like at choir. Where crying or showing that emotion usually makes me feel scared about being so vulnerable, I left the stage shaky, but feeling weirdly strong for all that I also felt spent. It was an amazing experience. There was a rush of energy, and it went by so fast but I felt so amazed by how empowering it was, and how that feeling of toughness was able to join tenderness and mix perfectly. I can't speak for how it was for the audience, but for me, I left the stage having had a moment of knowing exactly how I felt and being able to invite 50 people into that moment with me and be ok with whatever they thought about it. It was that pure, and deep - it was just undeniable so whatever anyone else felt about it was beyond unimportant.
By the way, I am acutely aware of how corny and over the top that sounds. But I can't pull any other words from my brain to describe it.
It's with a lot of trepidation that I approach that moment this time around. I've peeled the skin back even further this fall. I literally feel like my nerves are exposed sometimes when we are rehearsing. I have cried in lessons and gotten shivers and heat flashes in rehearsals with the band. These kind of big, revelatory moments don't happen to someone analytical like me. These stories feel so baring that it's like nakedness would be a step towards protection! What's amazing is that I keep choosing these songs! I choose them. I obviously want this, on some level, but getting there is exhausting.
Right now I'm tired, but anticipating a rush of energy and hoping to share something deep and big and scary and moving with everyone. It is the thing that lets me know there are deeper places in me. Places I can call on when things are sad or hard. There's a part of me that knows that if I could tap into that place more, I could stop needing to look externally for things . . . validation, comfort, you know, those things. I'd like to find those things in places other than my job, my relationships, my dinner. So, I keep doing scary-ass things. Next up, skydiving. But I'll probably try it with my clothes on first.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Good trade?
This is a story you all know.
An addict walks into their 12-step meeting, and while talking about their addiction (coke, meth, alcohol, gambling) they are digging deep into a cup of coffee and something sugary. It's almost expected that when alcoholics start to seek sobreity that they will start smoking, drinking coffee, and seeking sugar. Likewise, the thing people always talk about when they are breaking up with their cigarettes is eating, eating, eating.
Heroine addicts seek chocolate. Smokers seek beer, wine, and food. Drinkers seek coffee and sugar. So I shouldn't be surprised to be reporting this, but I am.
Here it is. Drum roll . . . All of a sudden, in the last month, I am drinking a lot of coffee.
Let me qualify this. Normally, I drink a cup of coffee 1-3 times a month, usually when I'm traveling and am waaaay-haaayyy off my schedule. But you may recall that I traveled a LOT in November. Somewhere between flying to Orlando, driving to Williston, FL, flying back to CO, then jetting off right away to Utah, flying back, having my break-up disrupt my sleep, cooking all night for Thanksgiving, Black Friday the next night it became a LOT of coffee.
Like, a cup every day. Ok, ok, I know that most of my readers (aka EVERY adult I know) drinks 2-4 cups every day, but I don't. Except now I do. I find myself buying coffee, stopping for fat-free lattes, making coffee at home, thinking about coffee and finding ways to work it in almost every. day.
I've given up coffee twice. Once in college, and once in grad school. In college it was because I was disturbed by the reality that I was planning my schedule around free coffee stops at the college's various offices. Like, I would plan my route through campus based on where I could stop for a cup. I wanted to be unshackled from that need. I wanted to not have an addiction driving me around, ironically.
I recognized after a few years that the issue was really that I have an addictive personality. I can get addicted to Cheezits, coffee, popcorn, TV, almost anything. I drank a lot in grad school, and during my second masters, it was a daily activity (and a necessary one to keep me from violently rejecting my circumstances . . . more on that another time), but I actually think alcohol and drugs are among the few things I'd have to work to be addicted to. Because at the end of the day, I really hate not being in control.
With that in mind, I realized that general addictive tendencies were the issue; so, when I had a lovely, wonderful, smart, talented roomate who made me coffee every morning, I thought, "Ok. One cup." And you know what, one cup a day was fine. (It was mighty fine, s'matter o' fact since she would get up and make it! in a french press! ) It didn't go further than that - it was all good.
But, I was addicted to LOST, I went out and drank with friends at least once a week, I smoked socially (I know. So baaaad) , I worked out like a fiend . . . so, you know, my addictive energies went other places. I gave up that one cup because when it became clear that I had insulin and blood sugar issues, I did my research. And I found that lower glycemic foods were a good idea, whole grains, less gluten, and more protein. I also found out that alcohol, and caffeine have been known to affect blood sugar in some ways that are pretty gnarly. I thought, "Ok, if I'm going to really go for this I should take those out of the rotation." So, I gave them both up for 6 months outright. Then I decided I could have them in moderation.
Usually I think the phrase "in moderation" is a bunch of bull. It's a slippery slope that means different things to different people. For someone else, in moderation with sugar means one cube instead of two, but to someone like me it means I have white sugar only on special occasions. But in this case, it worked, for a really long time. I would have my 1-4 cups a month (mostly at airports and conferences) and if I went out I might have one or two drinks.
But, it turns out I'm like every other addict. If you take my substance away, I glom on to something else. So, here I have given up everything. Popcorn, Cheezits, pizza, white flour, chocolate, desserts of all kinds, sandwiches, extra servings of fruit, and eating non-vegetable sources of carbs after 5pm (this is to say, potatoes count as carbs, as do most squashes and I can have those with dinner, but oatmeals, rices, pastas, etc. are a before 5pm thing only). I don't drink, not because I can't handle it, but because alcohol is carbs too. That discipline is hard, hard, hard work. It is made harder by how busy I am, how often I don't get to stop and eat a meal like a real person at a table. And the discipline of working out on top of things is stressful.
So, here are these holes in my life. I don't get enough sleep. I don't get enough support. I don't get enough down-time. I don't get enough results. I definitely don't get enough popcorn, damnit!! So, along comes my new substance: coffee. And man, I gotta say, coffee is good. It's warm, and lovely, and creamy, even when it's skim or 1% milk. It makes it easier to get through the day with my pre-measured portions and not enough sleep. So, is that so bad?
I think I'm going to just have to go with it right now and keep it to once a day.
An addict walks into their 12-step meeting, and while talking about their addiction (coke, meth, alcohol, gambling) they are digging deep into a cup of coffee and something sugary. It's almost expected that when alcoholics start to seek sobreity that they will start smoking, drinking coffee, and seeking sugar. Likewise, the thing people always talk about when they are breaking up with their cigarettes is eating, eating, eating.
Heroine addicts seek chocolate. Smokers seek beer, wine, and food. Drinkers seek coffee and sugar. So I shouldn't be surprised to be reporting this, but I am.
Here it is. Drum roll . . . All of a sudden, in the last month, I am drinking a lot of coffee.
Let me qualify this. Normally, I drink a cup of coffee 1-3 times a month, usually when I'm traveling and am waaaay-haaayyy off my schedule. But you may recall that I traveled a LOT in November. Somewhere between flying to Orlando, driving to Williston, FL, flying back to CO, then jetting off right away to Utah, flying back, having my break-up disrupt my sleep, cooking all night for Thanksgiving, Black Friday the next night it became a LOT of coffee.
Like, a cup every day. Ok, ok, I know that most of my readers (aka EVERY adult I know) drinks 2-4 cups every day, but I don't. Except now I do. I find myself buying coffee, stopping for fat-free lattes, making coffee at home, thinking about coffee and finding ways to work it in almost every. day.
I've given up coffee twice. Once in college, and once in grad school. In college it was because I was disturbed by the reality that I was planning my schedule around free coffee stops at the college's various offices. Like, I would plan my route through campus based on where I could stop for a cup. I wanted to be unshackled from that need. I wanted to not have an addiction driving me around, ironically.
I recognized after a few years that the issue was really that I have an addictive personality. I can get addicted to Cheezits, coffee, popcorn, TV, almost anything. I drank a lot in grad school, and during my second masters, it was a daily activity (and a necessary one to keep me from violently rejecting my circumstances . . . more on that another time), but I actually think alcohol and drugs are among the few things I'd have to work to be addicted to. Because at the end of the day, I really hate not being in control.
With that in mind, I realized that general addictive tendencies were the issue; so, when I had a lovely, wonderful, smart, talented roomate who made me coffee every morning, I thought, "Ok. One cup." And you know what, one cup a day was fine. (It was mighty fine, s'matter o' fact since she would get up and make it! in a french press! ) It didn't go further than that - it was all good.
But, I was addicted to LOST, I went out and drank with friends at least once a week, I smoked socially (I know. So baaaad) , I worked out like a fiend . . . so, you know, my addictive energies went other places. I gave up that one cup because when it became clear that I had insulin and blood sugar issues, I did my research. And I found that lower glycemic foods were a good idea, whole grains, less gluten, and more protein. I also found out that alcohol, and caffeine have been known to affect blood sugar in some ways that are pretty gnarly. I thought, "Ok, if I'm going to really go for this I should take those out of the rotation." So, I gave them both up for 6 months outright. Then I decided I could have them in moderation.
Usually I think the phrase "in moderation" is a bunch of bull. It's a slippery slope that means different things to different people. For someone else, in moderation with sugar means one cube instead of two, but to someone like me it means I have white sugar only on special occasions. But in this case, it worked, for a really long time. I would have my 1-4 cups a month (mostly at airports and conferences) and if I went out I might have one or two drinks.
But, it turns out I'm like every other addict. If you take my substance away, I glom on to something else. So, here I have given up everything. Popcorn, Cheezits, pizza, white flour, chocolate, desserts of all kinds, sandwiches, extra servings of fruit, and eating non-vegetable sources of carbs after 5pm (this is to say, potatoes count as carbs, as do most squashes and I can have those with dinner, but oatmeals, rices, pastas, etc. are a before 5pm thing only). I don't drink, not because I can't handle it, but because alcohol is carbs too. That discipline is hard, hard, hard work. It is made harder by how busy I am, how often I don't get to stop and eat a meal like a real person at a table. And the discipline of working out on top of things is stressful.
So, here are these holes in my life. I don't get enough sleep. I don't get enough support. I don't get enough down-time. I don't get enough results. I definitely don't get enough popcorn, damnit!! So, along comes my new substance: coffee. And man, I gotta say, coffee is good. It's warm, and lovely, and creamy, even when it's skim or 1% milk. It makes it easier to get through the day with my pre-measured portions and not enough sleep. So, is that so bad?
I think I'm going to just have to go with it right now and keep it to once a day.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Patience and Forgiveness, part 1
Here's the thing - a long time ago I asked for feedback on what people would like to hear more about. One friend encouraged me to write about singing, and about my children's book ideas. Another about judgement, patience, and forgiveness. I haven't written either of those posts, but they haven't left my thoughts either. Given my recent religious questioning it's probably not surprising that I'm thinking about judgement, patience, and forgiveness, but the truth is I was thinking about it before, and before my friend brought the idea up.
It has been on my mind since July when I first felt the full weight of my boyfriend's issues and found a broader perspective on them. I saw the lies, the loss of control, the broken promises, the misleading statements and manipulation. And he began to see them. I wanted so badly to forgive him for that, and to put it in the past. Instead, it became part of a larger pattern, and that made it so hard to let it go. Recently I was able to articulate to him that I can forgive him, but it would help enormously if he sincerely apologizes for the things he thinks he did wrong and asks for my forgiveness. But real forgiveness is just given, no asking and begging required - see I'm bad at this. I should give it over and above is breaking up with me, and I should give it freely, not in spite of, that.
Patience and forgiveness are my values, but I often fail at my values and need to be reminded of them and brought back to my center. I have been described as being "black and white." I don't think I am, I actually think I analyze a lot, collect a lot of data on my world and consider a lot of possibilities - black, white, and a lot of shades of grey in between. The thing that people may pick up on is that once I do decide on something, I tend to stick to my guns. To be honest, some of that comes from my tendency to be stubborn. But also, if I've spent a lot of time thinking about something, and collecting information on why that thing is the way it is, and forming my opinion or tracking down the best course of action, when I act, I'm usually pretty committed and convinced of how it should be. Maybe that's hubris, maybe that's being pig-headed, maybe that's being judgmental, maybe it's being black-and-white, but to me it's about dedication and seeing things through and making sure that when I do make a decision its backed up by the best information gathering I can manage.
I also have a very weird blessing/curse - I remember things more accurately and completely than most people do. I also have a nearly perfect audiographic memory which means I tend to remember exactly what people said. It's nice when I want to recall a sequence of events, or think back to what someone said to me. But, on the other hand . . . I can't forget. If someone says something that hurt me, I remember their exact words. I remember how it sounded. If someone did something that hurt me on July 4th, I'll remember it every time I think of July 4th. It makes it hard not to dwell on the things that have hurt me, let me down, or made me angry when I can remember them ALL all the time.
I am able to forgive, but not to forget. It's a complicated issue for me. I am capable of letting something go, but it's rare that not remember it. It's also a complicated issue for the people in my life. Something that is cognitively true is that we ALL more easily recall and recount negative things. It is for this reason that if someone asks you how your most recent performance review at work went, the first thing you think of is the one negative thing your supervisor said, and it takes work to remember the 6 positive things that were mentioned. I'm not making this up out of folk wisdom - I was required to take a class on memory and attention as part of my Ph.D program in Cognitive Psych.
So, when my ex-fiance (yep, the same one who left like three minutes after I moved here, and was all alone dealing with my dad who had just died. We don't use his name anymore) told me that he felt like I only remembered things he did wrong, not things he did right. I tempered that with the fact that while my cognition might mean I remember everything more thoroughly than I really should, his cognition (and everyone's) meant that he was not remembering the times I appreciated him, was grateful for things he did or said, or was positive.
The truth is this is no gift unless I want to recall how-to instructions someone gave me orally or music. It is much more of a curse when it comes to my relationships (romantic or otherwise) because what they experience is me remembering exactly what they did and their words and tone, even when they'd rather gloss over what they said and smooth it into meaning something a little less harsh. I often can't let that slide because the computer in my head spits out, "Ummm, no. that's NOT what you said, so don't tell me I'm wrong in thinking this is what you meant." To be perfectly honest, the most harm this does is to me. I know it troubles other people about me, but the part people don't think about when they are praising or lamenting my freakish memory is that it doesn't just turn on them . . . it turns on me too. I remember all the stupid, embarrassing, mean, cruel, inconsiderate, angry, crazy, wrong, horrible things I have done or said too. And I can't make the computer not spit those things out either.
I can't stop that computer from running. But maybe I can work on being more forgiving, and to act in ways that are more forgiving. First stop, be less judgmental. This doesn't mean not having judgments. I can judge that someone who texts and drives is putting themselves and others in harms way. I can decide that when people park ridiculously badly, they were oblivious and should pay more attention. But I can also work to adopt less of a mentality of judging others and thinking harsh thoughts about them as a whole person.
As I sat at a church service last night, the questions was raised of Can we trust God. And I don't have answers to that, nor the fortitude to go looking for those answers right now. But the conversation and thought process went something like this, "Other people break promises and let me down. Other people point their fingers in my chest and remind me of how many things I screw up. So, how can I count on God not to give up on me, let me down, leave me hanging, and accuse me of being a bad person." And as the service moved forward the pastor admitted something that I had been thinking since he brought up the judgments of others . . . when we think about other people giving us a hard time, judging us, reminding us of how much we fail usually the biggest offender is ourselves. I know that's true for me. I know that I spend most of every day either trying not to think or catching myself thinking really harsh, difficult things about myself. I quit grad school, I made a dill potato salad with dill that had bugs in it because I didn't have money or time to go buy more. I had a really hard year growing up where I lied about everything to my parents, and stole loose change and dollar bills. I promised myself I would reform my eating and then ate an entire frozen pizza. I threw a watermelon on the night my ex-fiance left (ok, to be perfectly honest, there is part of met hat is horribly ashamed I did that, but part of me is proud of that too), I yelled horrible things at my most current boyfriend at one point because I couldn't believe he had spent so much time avoiding me and breaking promises . . . and no, his actions do not justify mine. I once spent an entire work day surfing the web and shopping online, which to me is like stealing from my employer. Once, in grad school (2001), I was so poor that I stole over the counter allergy meds that I badly needed . . . and no, that doesn't make it ok. You'll notice, some of those things are past actions that I worked to reform, but some of those are issues I continue to face now.
I seem really unlikable when I list those things. And this is the short version. I seem really ugly, and small, and like I deserve the finger of accusation in my chest 24/7 when I read just those things here.
So, I need to practice forgiveness with myself. Luckily, it's better for me to practice on me, and possibly fail at it sometimes, than to practice with someone else. But I need to forgive other people too. I need to forgive people who were supposed to love me and protect me and didn't. It would be better for everyone if I could forgive my ex-fiance, because then I wouldn't carry around residual anger about what he did or didn't do. (Left me alone to grieve my father and the ending of our relationship in a place where I knew nobody because I moved here for him. Left me sitting like an idiot in a couples counseling waiting room! Aggghhhh. Just listing it is a demonstration that I'm not there yet. Epic fail.) I need to decide to either forgive myself for the watermelon, or embrace that that was a true moment of standing up for myself and be proud of it. I need to right my wrongs. i need to make ammends where I am able. I need to forgive myself when I slip on the changes I'm trying to make, when I fall off the wagon as it were, because beating myself up about it keeps me from moving forward and trying to be better the next day. I need to stop yelling at myself and move past the conversations where I have yelled at other people. (I don't like yelling. )
But I need to be patient too, and realize that it's not all going to happen right away . . . and patience, I have in abundance except when it comes to myself. Irony. So much irony.
It has been on my mind since July when I first felt the full weight of my boyfriend's issues and found a broader perspective on them. I saw the lies, the loss of control, the broken promises, the misleading statements and manipulation. And he began to see them. I wanted so badly to forgive him for that, and to put it in the past. Instead, it became part of a larger pattern, and that made it so hard to let it go. Recently I was able to articulate to him that I can forgive him, but it would help enormously if he sincerely apologizes for the things he thinks he did wrong and asks for my forgiveness. But real forgiveness is just given, no asking and begging required - see I'm bad at this. I should give it over and above is breaking up with me, and I should give it freely, not in spite of, that.
Patience and forgiveness are my values, but I often fail at my values and need to be reminded of them and brought back to my center. I have been described as being "black and white." I don't think I am, I actually think I analyze a lot, collect a lot of data on my world and consider a lot of possibilities - black, white, and a lot of shades of grey in between. The thing that people may pick up on is that once I do decide on something, I tend to stick to my guns. To be honest, some of that comes from my tendency to be stubborn. But also, if I've spent a lot of time thinking about something, and collecting information on why that thing is the way it is, and forming my opinion or tracking down the best course of action, when I act, I'm usually pretty committed and convinced of how it should be. Maybe that's hubris, maybe that's being pig-headed, maybe that's being judgmental, maybe it's being black-and-white, but to me it's about dedication and seeing things through and making sure that when I do make a decision its backed up by the best information gathering I can manage.
I also have a very weird blessing/curse - I remember things more accurately and completely than most people do. I also have a nearly perfect audiographic memory which means I tend to remember exactly what people said. It's nice when I want to recall a sequence of events, or think back to what someone said to me. But, on the other hand . . . I can't forget. If someone says something that hurt me, I remember their exact words. I remember how it sounded. If someone did something that hurt me on July 4th, I'll remember it every time I think of July 4th. It makes it hard not to dwell on the things that have hurt me, let me down, or made me angry when I can remember them ALL all the time.
I am able to forgive, but not to forget. It's a complicated issue for me. I am capable of letting something go, but it's rare that not remember it. It's also a complicated issue for the people in my life. Something that is cognitively true is that we ALL more easily recall and recount negative things. It is for this reason that if someone asks you how your most recent performance review at work went, the first thing you think of is the one negative thing your supervisor said, and it takes work to remember the 6 positive things that were mentioned. I'm not making this up out of folk wisdom - I was required to take a class on memory and attention as part of my Ph.D program in Cognitive Psych.
So, when my ex-fiance (yep, the same one who left like three minutes after I moved here, and was all alone dealing with my dad who had just died. We don't use his name anymore) told me that he felt like I only remembered things he did wrong, not things he did right. I tempered that with the fact that while my cognition might mean I remember everything more thoroughly than I really should, his cognition (and everyone's) meant that he was not remembering the times I appreciated him, was grateful for things he did or said, or was positive.
The truth is this is no gift unless I want to recall how-to instructions someone gave me orally or music. It is much more of a curse when it comes to my relationships (romantic or otherwise) because what they experience is me remembering exactly what they did and their words and tone, even when they'd rather gloss over what they said and smooth it into meaning something a little less harsh. I often can't let that slide because the computer in my head spits out, "Ummm, no. that's NOT what you said, so don't tell me I'm wrong in thinking this is what you meant." To be perfectly honest, the most harm this does is to me. I know it troubles other people about me, but the part people don't think about when they are praising or lamenting my freakish memory is that it doesn't just turn on them . . . it turns on me too. I remember all the stupid, embarrassing, mean, cruel, inconsiderate, angry, crazy, wrong, horrible things I have done or said too. And I can't make the computer not spit those things out either.
I can't stop that computer from running. But maybe I can work on being more forgiving, and to act in ways that are more forgiving. First stop, be less judgmental. This doesn't mean not having judgments. I can judge that someone who texts and drives is putting themselves and others in harms way. I can decide that when people park ridiculously badly, they were oblivious and should pay more attention. But I can also work to adopt less of a mentality of judging others and thinking harsh thoughts about them as a whole person.
As I sat at a church service last night, the questions was raised of Can we trust God. And I don't have answers to that, nor the fortitude to go looking for those answers right now. But the conversation and thought process went something like this, "Other people break promises and let me down. Other people point their fingers in my chest and remind me of how many things I screw up. So, how can I count on God not to give up on me, let me down, leave me hanging, and accuse me of being a bad person." And as the service moved forward the pastor admitted something that I had been thinking since he brought up the judgments of others . . . when we think about other people giving us a hard time, judging us, reminding us of how much we fail usually the biggest offender is ourselves. I know that's true for me. I know that I spend most of every day either trying not to think or catching myself thinking really harsh, difficult things about myself. I quit grad school, I made a dill potato salad with dill that had bugs in it because I didn't have money or time to go buy more. I had a really hard year growing up where I lied about everything to my parents, and stole loose change and dollar bills. I promised myself I would reform my eating and then ate an entire frozen pizza. I threw a watermelon on the night my ex-fiance left (ok, to be perfectly honest, there is part of met hat is horribly ashamed I did that, but part of me is proud of that too), I yelled horrible things at my most current boyfriend at one point because I couldn't believe he had spent so much time avoiding me and breaking promises . . . and no, his actions do not justify mine. I once spent an entire work day surfing the web and shopping online, which to me is like stealing from my employer. Once, in grad school (2001), I was so poor that I stole over the counter allergy meds that I badly needed . . . and no, that doesn't make it ok. You'll notice, some of those things are past actions that I worked to reform, but some of those are issues I continue to face now.
I seem really unlikable when I list those things. And this is the short version. I seem really ugly, and small, and like I deserve the finger of accusation in my chest 24/7 when I read just those things here.
So, I need to practice forgiveness with myself. Luckily, it's better for me to practice on me, and possibly fail at it sometimes, than to practice with someone else. But I need to forgive other people too. I need to forgive people who were supposed to love me and protect me and didn't. It would be better for everyone if I could forgive my ex-fiance, because then I wouldn't carry around residual anger about what he did or didn't do. (Left me alone to grieve my father and the ending of our relationship in a place where I knew nobody because I moved here for him. Left me sitting like an idiot in a couples counseling waiting room! Aggghhhh. Just listing it is a demonstration that I'm not there yet. Epic fail.) I need to decide to either forgive myself for the watermelon, or embrace that that was a true moment of standing up for myself and be proud of it. I need to right my wrongs. i need to make ammends where I am able. I need to forgive myself when I slip on the changes I'm trying to make, when I fall off the wagon as it were, because beating myself up about it keeps me from moving forward and trying to be better the next day. I need to stop yelling at myself and move past the conversations where I have yelled at other people. (I don't like yelling. )
But I need to be patient too, and realize that it's not all going to happen right away . . . and patience, I have in abundance except when it comes to myself. Irony. So much irony.
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