Category Personal Growth

You ever find yourself thinking and notice your body hasn’t moved in minutes, and is barely breathing? The more mental overload/spiral, the more likely I am to turn into a mannequin. There are a lot of little tangental things adding up to huge traffic congestion in my brain. In an attempt to declutter my pathways I’m going to dump some of the randoms here, right now.

There is so much to do!

In the same week a colleague’s dad passed, another’s grandchild was born. And in-between those huge major life events many funny as well as melodramatic things happen each day at my job. Sympathizing, cheering, laughing, brainstorming, and all the other things we experience interacting with others takes an emotional toll. Life is exhausting.

Money doesn’t stretch nearly as easily these days. Even a year ago, I didn’t worry as much at the end of each month. (Note to self: research how much donating plasma pays.)

Remember, remember, remember…you are only in charge of yourself…even though your job, the culture you grew up in, and society at large tells you otherwise. Take care of yourself, and make sure you’re okay, so that your boundaries will be easier to maintain while dealing with all sorts.

Yes, there truly is so much to do. I need to go DO now.

The last two weeks have flown by. The weather here has been hot and muggy. Last weekend and most of this week we’ve had flash flood warnings. Earlier this week there was standing water on the road, including the freeway, on my morning commute. I appreciated the change from the normal arid climate. The change in weather caused me to change the way I drove. It made me slow down, give more space, leave earlier to arrive on time, rather than panicked or not at all.

While noticing and appreciating the weather change I also had the experience of appreciating that most of the time I live pain-free. Yes, I do have the normal aches and pains that come with aging, but for the most part it’s a rare day when I need to take ibuprofen or other OTC pain killers. For a few days this week I’ve hobbled along due to inflammation in my big toe. I don’t remember bumping the toe, or dropping anything (Inattentive ADHD person here) but it sure felt uncomfortable to walk or even put on socks and shoes. After a few days I realized I had changed my walk. I had compensated for the pain by putting my weight on the outer arch of the foot as I walked, which brought discomfort up my calf to my knee. When I noticed this imbalance I readjusted to my old walk, and when I got home I elevated and iced my toe for a few nights. It’s not feeling completely better, it’s so much better than the way it felt days ago.

Little adjustments can create big ripples, and have large impacts, which can be positive or negative, depending on conscious observation and action. Being conscious requires a lot of energy, at least for me, I can’t speak for others. In the past the word lazy was linked to negative emotions for me. However, there is nothing wrong with having lazy afternoons, or down time. Just like everyone needs sleep, everyone needs time to themselves, whether they can get carve out that time or not. I’m grateful I have a life that allows me to recuperate some energy and be present most of the time. 

My inner critic is strong today. This post probably won’t—definitely won’t—be what I would like it to be, but I’ve got to write to overcome this paralysis.

This week has gone by in a blink.

I was able to write another three thousand words to a story I’m writing. I find that it’s the in-between (the details between dialogue, pivotal moments, etc.) that are the most critical challenge at the moment. I find I wish I was just the reader, and the description would magically appear on the page. And then the next thought I have is how glad I am that I am the writer and I get to be the one to paint the scene for others.

I was out running errands today and felt tightness in my calves. That feeling reminded me of all the physical things I was able to do this week. I cleared out a few cabinets in my kitchen to downsize and donate items. I lifted and cleared out moving boxes while I organized my new work space. I kicked and actively swam in a gorgeous AirB&B pool with friends on one of the most beautiful sunny days this month.

Self care is still a relatively new thing for me, but I have to acknowledge that this week felt like a good balance. I saw friends, paid bills, went to an annual medical screening before heading to work. I feel very fortunate for to have all I have, including all the people in my life.

My critic feels less oppressive at the moment, so I will go write a few thousand more words to my stories. 

August will arrive on Thursday.

I’ve never done a Gratitude Journal or any sort of formal reflection of the good things going on in my life. A book I’ve read this week mentioned that daily gratitude can change your overall thinking or feeling about life. So reflecting on the week past, here are the things I am grateful for.

Nephews

I’m grateful for my nephews. I’m grateful I got to celebrate two of my nephew’s birthdays this month. Though they are both young men and live far away I was happy to celebrate them on their day and to share what they mean to me.

I’m grateful I had my brother’s boys this week, while their mom was out of town and their dad had early-morning jobs. I’m grateful for the early morning commute each day as I drove them to their summer activities. I’m grateful I get to experience the joy I feel when they are present in my home.

Home

I’m grateful I have a home of my own, filled with things that bring me happiness.

Job

I’m grateful I have a job that allows me to pay my monthly bills. I’m grateful to have mentally challenging, sometimes physically exhausting days. I’m grateful for my co-workers, especially the building custodians this week, for their dedication and hard work.

Family

I’m grateful for each member of my family. The more the years pass, the more love and feelings of friendship I have for them. I’m grateful I live near a majority of my family, and that I can still interact with those who live farther via social media.

Random Gratitude

I’m grateful for the rain; for the immediate peace that petrichor brings me, and the sweet recollections of childhood when I hear the rumble of summer thunder.

I’m grateful for locally owned bookstores and self-help books.

I’m grateful I was able to reset my AirPods charging station so I can use them as I work around my house.

I’m grateful for water, to float and flow with, to kick and swim against, to quench thirst and sustain life. 

I’m grateful for friends who love me and accept me even when I go quiet.

I’m grateful for me; for the person I am and the one I am trying to become.

Grief fills the room up of my absent child, 
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, 
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, 
Remembers me of all his gracious parts, 
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; 
Then, have I reason to be fond of grief?

William Shakespeare, King John, Act III, Scene 4

So I thought I was doing a good job of coping with life. I thought I looked fine on the outside. I knew I wasn’t doing well, but I thought that using all the tools I’ve learned in my years of therapy would at least give my close family and friends peace of mind. Yes, I’ve bought myself a couple of therapy sessions this summer to get a handle on my mental health game, and I’m glad I did, because I super needed my latest session.

When I went into my therapist’s office earlier this week evidently I was giving out an “on edge” energy, which I was unaware of. After updating my work from a previous session he asked what was going on.

I’m sad

I’m sad and I’ve been sad for so long. No matter what I do for self care, (diet, exercise, adequate sleep, meaningful social connections, etc.) I can’t shake it. I’ve felt this for months and months, and none of the sadness is going away.

Here’s the gist: sad is not exactly how to categorize what I am feeling. I’m grieving. I need something that will help me process my grief, rather than holding it inside me.

I’m someone that needs a plan. My therapist knows this about me, and did a wonderful job helping me find a tool/procedure that might help. It has concrete steps to hang on to, so that I have something to work toward, measure, and reflect on.

The Plan

Make a list of all that I have lost. Not just the physical presence of my dad. There are other personal losses, but there are also global losses that all who are alive and alert may also be grieving (ie, The Age of Innocence, Age of Morality, Age of Lawfulness). After making the list choose an item from the list and meditate on it. Experience it; not just think it. Feel it. Continue the process regularly.

I made my list Tuesday night in a room I rarely use in my house. The next night I meditated on one of those losses, in that space, for no longer than thirty minutes. Yes, I did set a timer on my phone.

So far the work is exhausting. In that room Wednesday night, I sobbed and rocked for thirty minutes straight, I was so overwhelmed by my grief. By the time my thirty minute meditation was over I felt drained. Utterly empty.

The thing is, what I processed on Wednesday night wasn’t even on my list of losses. But as I looked at my lists, to see what loss would be the focus that night I felt a visceral need to write one more down.

My body knew.

My heart knew.

I never knew until I opened the possibility for grief to come in and tell me more.

This week marks the second anniversary of the passing of my dad. Each day since he died thoughts of him come to me, most of which bring a sense of love. I deeply loved my dad. He wasn’t perfect. No one is. But my dad tried to be the best man he could be with the understanding/perceptions he had while on Earth.

For many years I was bitter and angry with my parents and the way I was raised. My entire family, on both paternal and maternal sides is Mormon, which is now considered a derogatory name for members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Many of my family of origin and extended family still practice their faith, so I don’t want to be dismissive or shaming, and I apologize if my writing comes off that way. I know not everyone’s experiences with religion mirrors mine, and if continuing their membership brings them peace and happiness, who am I to say they’re in the wrong? I know, for me, growing up in a devout LDS home was really damaging to my self-worth. It has been a long, painful struggle to repair or re-frame my value and purpose in life. Maybe in a later post I’ll expand on that topic, but not today. Today, I’ll just say how grateful I am that through my years of therapy and continued work on myself, I was in a frame of mind and heart that I had made peace with my parents before my dad passed, and that I could share my love and acceptance with them.

Some of my favorite things about my dad:

Willingness to Grow

The man who was my dad when I was five was not the same man when I was twenty-five, nor when I was thirty-five. My dad was humble when it came to the feelings of his family members. When our hearts had been broken it truly shook him to the core and made him reevaluate and make subtle changes. By the time my dad left this life he was one of the most gentle humans I have interacted with.

Sense of Humor

Yes, dad jokes are awful. Yes, my dad had plenty of those groan-worthy gags to go around. But dad also loved Stan Freberg’s satire, and Steven Wright‘s dry delivery and absurdist comedy. Dad showed me artists that thought outside of the mainstream, beyond the easy laugh. Dad loved intelligence and humor, which is why–I think partially, at least–I developed a quick wit and sharp tongue. 😉

Music

My dad was a gifted musician and composer. He played over thirty instruments. He wrote a musical. He wrote original hymns and oratory based on LDS scripture. I was always jealous of his big hands. I can barely reach an octave when I play piano, which leaves a lot of repertoire beyond my ability. When my dad showed me a song he wrote as a teenager he used his pinky and pointer finger, kind of like the devil horns fans raise at a rock show, to play the octave harmonic resolution with his left hand. So jealous!

Dad also loved quality musicianship from others. He shared his love of music with us kids. Our own music tastes are quite eclectic, from Puccini to K-Pop, and everything in between. In dad’s later years it was fun to share songs and artists with each other. A few years before dad passed I’d stop by my parent’s house on Wednesday nights to have dinner with them before my group therapy session. Several times dad would share a composition that was special to him. One time it was Lang Lang playing Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto. Another time it was the entire album of Duke Ellington’s Newport set in 1958. When I hear those pieces now I get choked up and feel my dad’s love surround me in the music.

I’m not perfect either. Sometimes bitterness tries to grow back in my mind by planting what if seeds. What if my parents hadn’t been so conservative or restrictive? What if there had been money for my interests? What if I’d known x,y, or z? What if, what if, what if… When I catch those thoughts I do my best to go back to my place of forgiveness and understanding for my dad. Part of the balm that soothes my soul comes from a George Hammerstein lyric from The King & I.

This is a man who thinks with his heart,

His heart is not always wise.

This is a man who stumbles and falls,

But this is a man who tries.

My dad really did try his best.

Love you to pieces, Dad

ox

As a reformed perfectionist, the only way I can do anything, be it playing piano, making pottery, et cetera, is to repeatedly tell myself it’s okay to make crappy things. If I don’t give myself permission to make a less-than-perfect thing it will never happen. So I make bad pottery, and play piano and sing poorly. However, as I develop and refine my skills, the art I make become less craptastic.

So here I am, trying to be a less-crappy writer. I’ve had stories and scenes in my head all my life, but hardly dared write them down. Even now, writing this passage, I’m struggling with my inner critic. To quiet that critic and help me move on, I remember what Lewis Carroll’s Queen of Hearts said, “Sentence first; verdict afterwards.” My hope is that as I practice the writing craft it will become easier to get the thoughts on the page and then edit and refine. It’s difficult if not impossible for me to do both at the same time.

I’m using this website to help me share my inner world, mainly with myself as I continue my healing and mental health journey; but if anything I write resonates with you as well, so much the better. With this website I no longer have excuses to not write, so the blog is also an accountability tool, which means I’ll have to update it regularly…which means I get to create a writing routine for myself.

So right now, I’m going to commit to write a blog post at least once a week. It won’t be perfect. Nothing I do ever will be, but it will be posted, and hopefully be one of many craptastic things I make that show I was here. 🙂