It's National Eating Disorder Awareness Week. Combine that with the awareness that it has been five years and a few days since I walked back into CFC, I'm feeling very nostalgic.
Nostalgic makes me not think so clearly... just broken/half thoughts, pictures, and emotions running through my brain.
Through my stay at CFC, I met some of the most AMAZING, brilliant, compassionate, clever, funny, beautiful, fierce, strong, AMAZING women on this planet. Collectively they have been through more shit than any one can imagine. And while they were going through their own shit, they worked hard to help me. Those women saved my life... and then were with me while I created an even better life.
It is wonderful and shocking to me that I don't know a single person who has died from an eating disorder. (At least that I'm aware of.) I know of people... friends of friends that I never had any contact with... but everyone from both of my stays are still alive and kicking and fighting to make this world a better place.
In honor of all of them. Their fight. Their struggle. Their false beliefs. The things that make them all so much alike, and the things that make them all so very unique.
To my beautiful sisters, I love you. I'm proud of you. I feel so lucky to know you, and to have you in my life.
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Friday, March 1, 2013
Saturday, January 26, 2013
The alone-ness of PTSD.
The past two weeks have been full of emotions.
Most recently, I went with a friend of mine to have a medical procedure done. The procedure itself was not a huge deal. NOT fun. Definitely not pleasant for anyone. But throw in a little PTSD, and what is mildly uncomfortable for others becomes a traumatizing moment.
I came back from that experience angry. Anger confused me. Angry at what? or who?
Sad and angry that she is having to go through any of this? Yes. What else?
Angry at the fucked up person that abused her? Hell yes!! And there's more.
A week ago, I went with K to her doctor's appointment at the Huntsman Cancer Institute. I don't know how it is other places, but every person who goes through cancer deserves to be treated the way they treated her. Compassionate, professional, knowledgeable doctors and staff. At least two staff recognized her walked up to her in the waiting room to give her a hug and talk to her. The doctors had all been working together and reviewing her scans and files to come up with the best solution for her cancer. BJ and I were in the room with her, plus three people conferenced in on the phone, plus several others who would have been there if she had wanted them there. She was surrounded by amazing and loving support.
I was so glad to see K had all those people and resources. I wish she didn't have to go through this. I love her, and would do anything I could to be helpful, and I was only one of many.
A few days ago, there was a funeral for three beautiful people. The family they left behind were surrounded by love. So many people willing to help, bring food or flowers or heaters, drive shuttles, decorate, offer a hug, a kind note, take pictures, and more that I couldn't even see. It was beautiful to see all of the love, the shared sorrow, and the support.
No one should ever have to go through that kind of loss. No amount of love from people could take the pain away, but there were so many that were willing.
As I sat in the ER with my friend, she tried to explain to the nurse that she had major PTSD.
"What? Were you assaulted or something?" (Just in case anyone is wondering, NOT a very helpful way to word that question.)
My friend asked the doctor for something to calm the anxiety, he offered a small dose of Ativan. He didn't ask what she normally took. He didn't stick around and listen when she tried to explain that Ativan doesn't do much for her.
Twenty minutes later, when the nurse asked if she felt the effects, she said, "No."
The nurse went ahead anyway, and when she saw my friend's tears, said nothing, finished the procedure and ran from the room.
I understand that doctors and nurses have a lot on their plates. These people meant no harm. I understand that my friend probably wouldn't want a room full of support at that moment. (I'm not sure she even wanted me there. I just told her I was coming... and then told the people at the front I wanted to see my sister. She didn't kick me out, so probably okay that I was there.)
It's just... I feel angry and sad that someone with PTSD has to go through it all SO alone.
Typical for me, I wasn't able to put to words the feeling when it was me. Watching someone else go through an experience that is similar to my own, I feel sad for the alone-ness of PTSD.
People don't understand. Doctors, nurses, and professionals don't get it. Most friends and family can't understand what it's like. They can't understand the pain, the confusion, the mixed up ideas, the flashbacks, the nightmares, the loneliness, the depression and anxiety, the guilt, and the shame.
So much shame associated with the abuse and the PTSD itself. I felt like I couldn't let people know what was going on. I didn't want them to think I was crazy, attention-seeking, broken, or screwed up. I couldn't handle the stupid things people would say (Things not to say, Stupid things people say) - it was better to be alone than to have to take care of someone else when I was hurting.
Flashbacks were so personal and so frightening, I didn't want to go through them alone, and I didn't want to have anyone else around while my body was going through that. I was lucky to have BJ. He seemed to understand what I needed, and just sat with me.
Sexual abuse is so personal, so perverse, and so painful... It's hard to talk about. (Sometimes impossible to talk about.) Even now, I don't like talking about it. I still feel very raw and afraid when I tell someone I was molested or raped. Just those words make me want to crawl in a hole.
(And recovery means you stop talking about it... Why is that?)
I shared some of these thoughts with BJ.
He said he wished he had money like the Huntsman's had money.
He would start a big complex just for PTSD research and treatment. There would be doctors of all kinds who were trained in their specialties as well as in PTSD. The place would feel kind and compassionate, and they'd have an ER. There would be therapists, staff, and caseworkers.
It would be big enough that the community would get involved. There would be high school choirs singing or guys playing piano in the lobby. And home-made stressballs made by people in the community available to anyone who wanted one.
They would research the brain, and how to overcome the effects of trauma. And have cutting edge treatment and technology to give every person the best chance of not only surviving but living life to the fullest after survival.
They would have a place where someone could go when they couldn't sleep, because it was too hard to stay grounded AND sleep. Staff and therapists willing to just be with someone who is hurting that much.
Most of all, it would be a place where people wouldn't have to feel ashamed. Not of PTSD symptoms. Not of the abuse or trauma. Not of needing extra support or love or attention.
Suddenly, I wish I was a millionaire. I would like to be a part of creating that place.
Until someone has the money to create such a place, what can be done?
Is there anything that can be done, so that people with PTSD don't feel so alone?
I want there to be more that I can do.
Most recently, I went with a friend of mine to have a medical procedure done. The procedure itself was not a huge deal. NOT fun. Definitely not pleasant for anyone. But throw in a little PTSD, and what is mildly uncomfortable for others becomes a traumatizing moment.
I came back from that experience angry. Anger confused me. Angry at what? or who?
Sad and angry that she is having to go through any of this? Yes. What else?
Angry at the fucked up person that abused her? Hell yes!! And there's more.
A week ago, I went with K to her doctor's appointment at the Huntsman Cancer Institute. I don't know how it is other places, but every person who goes through cancer deserves to be treated the way they treated her. Compassionate, professional, knowledgeable doctors and staff. At least two staff recognized her walked up to her in the waiting room to give her a hug and talk to her. The doctors had all been working together and reviewing her scans and files to come up with the best solution for her cancer. BJ and I were in the room with her, plus three people conferenced in on the phone, plus several others who would have been there if she had wanted them there. She was surrounded by amazing and loving support.
I was so glad to see K had all those people and resources. I wish she didn't have to go through this. I love her, and would do anything I could to be helpful, and I was only one of many.
A few days ago, there was a funeral for three beautiful people. The family they left behind were surrounded by love. So many people willing to help, bring food or flowers or heaters, drive shuttles, decorate, offer a hug, a kind note, take pictures, and more that I couldn't even see. It was beautiful to see all of the love, the shared sorrow, and the support.
No one should ever have to go through that kind of loss. No amount of love from people could take the pain away, but there were so many that were willing.
As I sat in the ER with my friend, she tried to explain to the nurse that she had major PTSD.
"What? Were you assaulted or something?" (Just in case anyone is wondering, NOT a very helpful way to word that question.)
My friend asked the doctor for something to calm the anxiety, he offered a small dose of Ativan. He didn't ask what she normally took. He didn't stick around and listen when she tried to explain that Ativan doesn't do much for her.
Twenty minutes later, when the nurse asked if she felt the effects, she said, "No."
The nurse went ahead anyway, and when she saw my friend's tears, said nothing, finished the procedure and ran from the room.
I understand that doctors and nurses have a lot on their plates. These people meant no harm. I understand that my friend probably wouldn't want a room full of support at that moment. (I'm not sure she even wanted me there. I just told her I was coming... and then told the people at the front I wanted to see my sister. She didn't kick me out, so probably okay that I was there.)
It's just... I feel angry and sad that someone with PTSD has to go through it all SO alone.
Typical for me, I wasn't able to put to words the feeling when it was me. Watching someone else go through an experience that is similar to my own, I feel sad for the alone-ness of PTSD.
People don't understand. Doctors, nurses, and professionals don't get it. Most friends and family can't understand what it's like. They can't understand the pain, the confusion, the mixed up ideas, the flashbacks, the nightmares, the loneliness, the depression and anxiety, the guilt, and the shame.
So much shame associated with the abuse and the PTSD itself. I felt like I couldn't let people know what was going on. I didn't want them to think I was crazy, attention-seeking, broken, or screwed up. I couldn't handle the stupid things people would say (Things not to say, Stupid things people say) - it was better to be alone than to have to take care of someone else when I was hurting.
Flashbacks were so personal and so frightening, I didn't want to go through them alone, and I didn't want to have anyone else around while my body was going through that. I was lucky to have BJ. He seemed to understand what I needed, and just sat with me.
Sexual abuse is so personal, so perverse, and so painful... It's hard to talk about. (Sometimes impossible to talk about.) Even now, I don't like talking about it. I still feel very raw and afraid when I tell someone I was molested or raped. Just those words make me want to crawl in a hole.
(And recovery means you stop talking about it... Why is that?)
I shared some of these thoughts with BJ.
He said he wished he had money like the Huntsman's had money.
He would start a big complex just for PTSD research and treatment. There would be doctors of all kinds who were trained in their specialties as well as in PTSD. The place would feel kind and compassionate, and they'd have an ER. There would be therapists, staff, and caseworkers.
It would be big enough that the community would get involved. There would be high school choirs singing or guys playing piano in the lobby. And home-made stressballs made by people in the community available to anyone who wanted one.
They would research the brain, and how to overcome the effects of trauma. And have cutting edge treatment and technology to give every person the best chance of not only surviving but living life to the fullest after survival.
They would have a place where someone could go when they couldn't sleep, because it was too hard to stay grounded AND sleep. Staff and therapists willing to just be with someone who is hurting that much.
Most of all, it would be a place where people wouldn't have to feel ashamed. Not of PTSD symptoms. Not of the abuse or trauma. Not of needing extra support or love or attention.
Suddenly, I wish I was a millionaire. I would like to be a part of creating that place.
Until someone has the money to create such a place, what can be done?
Is there anything that can be done, so that people with PTSD don't feel so alone?
I want there to be more that I can do.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
I don't believe in missionary work... of any kind
I didn't
believe in trying to convert people TO the church when I was a member,
and I don't believe in trying to de-convert people now that I've left.
A few years ago, I was working very closely with my bishop. In one of our meetings, Bishop C asked about my friends. One of my best friends is Jewish. At the time, we talked on the phone almost every day... And our conversations were not short, nor were they surface-y. We talked. We listened to each other cry. We shared our struggles and our victories. We REALLY talked. When I told him about her, his response was, "Wonderful! What a great missionary opportunity!!!"
I felt disgusted. Here was this amazing person who loved ME, and who was SO supportive of me and my journey. How could I possibly THINK about trying to convert (change) her? I love her for who she is, and I didn't (still don't) want her to change. I would never DREAM of taking away her family traditions, culture, and beliefs. Being Jewish is a big part of her, and I love HER. (Of course, if she decided she didn't want that to be a part of her life anymore, then I'd be there to support her. I love her, and I want her to be happy, and I trust her to know her way.)
When I started questioning, she was one of the only people I felt like I could talk to. Her perspective was SO refreshing. She helped me to see I wasn't bad for questioning. She helped me by just listening. There was never any judgment, or even really any advice. She was always supportive and safe to talk to. I am still so so so grateful I had her to turn to...
I know many missionaries love the product they sell... and I'm not against telling people about something you love. By ALL means. I love when Amanda tells me about her traditions and holidays. (I like it when she tells me about just about everything - the traditions and holidays are just things that she loves that are different from me.) Last week, my family listened to me talk about the Book of Mormon Musical for thirty minutes. Do you think they cared about it at all? No. They listened because they care about ME. And I hope they know I wasn't trying to sell them on anything. I was talking about it because I like it, but I don't expect everyone to like what I like. The trouble I see with missionary work is that people believe their way is the ONLY way. Missionaries believe that other people are incomplete/broken/need to be changed if they don't believe the same way that they do. (Atheists are just as guilty of this sometimes, and I don't like their missionary work either.)
To those of you who love the church, how would you feel if I told you that the Truth was outside of the church... You can never find happiness as long as you are a member... If you have prayed, and you still believe the church is true, it's because you are not praying right, or haven't studied enough, or you need to repent. It HURTS. It feels shitty and invalidating, and it's not okay. (Those of us who have left get this kind of stuff all the time... And I've heard missionaries telling potential converts things like this. I imagine it hurts less coming from a naive eighteen-nineteen year old stranger than it does coming from family and friends, but still...)
In the book The Good Heart, the Dalai Lama he tells Christians NOT to convert to Buddhism. The Dalai Lama said that... WHY? The only reason I can come up with is that it is more important to him that people make peace with themselves and their own roots. Conversion of any kind is painful. The religious stories we were told growing up are a BIG part of us. In my case, I had to leave because I couldn't make peace with the church and much of it's teachings. It hurt. It is hard. Even though it has been two years, and I am definitely MUCH happier than I was, I feel like I am still in the process of finding ME outside of the church. It seems like asking someone to convert TO the church would be just as difficult.
I HIGHLY value accepting others and loving them as they are. If I had a cause, that would be mine. If I wanted to convert anyone to anything, it would be, LOVE YOURSELF!
A few years ago, I was working very closely with my bishop. In one of our meetings, Bishop C asked about my friends. One of my best friends is Jewish. At the time, we talked on the phone almost every day... And our conversations were not short, nor were they surface-y. We talked. We listened to each other cry. We shared our struggles and our victories. We REALLY talked. When I told him about her, his response was, "Wonderful! What a great missionary opportunity!!!"
I felt disgusted. Here was this amazing person who loved ME, and who was SO supportive of me and my journey. How could I possibly THINK about trying to convert (change) her? I love her for who she is, and I didn't (still don't) want her to change. I would never DREAM of taking away her family traditions, culture, and beliefs. Being Jewish is a big part of her, and I love HER. (Of course, if she decided she didn't want that to be a part of her life anymore, then I'd be there to support her. I love her, and I want her to be happy, and I trust her to know her way.)
When I started questioning, she was one of the only people I felt like I could talk to. Her perspective was SO refreshing. She helped me to see I wasn't bad for questioning. She helped me by just listening. There was never any judgment, or even really any advice. She was always supportive and safe to talk to. I am still so so so grateful I had her to turn to...
I know many missionaries love the product they sell... and I'm not against telling people about something you love. By ALL means. I love when Amanda tells me about her traditions and holidays. (I like it when she tells me about just about everything - the traditions and holidays are just things that she loves that are different from me.) Last week, my family listened to me talk about the Book of Mormon Musical for thirty minutes. Do you think they cared about it at all? No. They listened because they care about ME. And I hope they know I wasn't trying to sell them on anything. I was talking about it because I like it, but I don't expect everyone to like what I like. The trouble I see with missionary work is that people believe their way is the ONLY way. Missionaries believe that other people are incomplete/broken/need to be changed if they don't believe the same way that they do. (Atheists are just as guilty of this sometimes, and I don't like their missionary work either.)
To those of you who love the church, how would you feel if I told you that the Truth was outside of the church... You can never find happiness as long as you are a member... If you have prayed, and you still believe the church is true, it's because you are not praying right, or haven't studied enough, or you need to repent. It HURTS. It feels shitty and invalidating, and it's not okay. (Those of us who have left get this kind of stuff all the time... And I've heard missionaries telling potential converts things like this. I imagine it hurts less coming from a naive eighteen-nineteen year old stranger than it does coming from family and friends, but still...)
In the book The Good Heart, the Dalai Lama he tells Christians NOT to convert to Buddhism. The Dalai Lama said that... WHY? The only reason I can come up with is that it is more important to him that people make peace with themselves and their own roots. Conversion of any kind is painful. The religious stories we were told growing up are a BIG part of us. In my case, I had to leave because I couldn't make peace with the church and much of it's teachings. It hurt. It is hard. Even though it has been two years, and I am definitely MUCH happier than I was, I feel like I am still in the process of finding ME outside of the church. It seems like asking someone to convert TO the church would be just as difficult.
I HIGHLY value accepting others and loving them as they are. If I had a cause, that would be mine. If I wanted to convert anyone to anything, it would be, LOVE YOURSELF!
Saturday, September 22, 2012
I miss knowing that I could heal the world.
A friend of mine recently discovered a tumor. Cancer. Stage III. Very close to her heart and pressing on her lungs. She's scared. Her family is scared.
I'm scared... What if she isn't okay?
And a bit angry... It doesn't seem fair. This is supposed to be a very happy time for her. She's fought hard to be healthy in mind and body. She's worked on creating beautiful friendships and relationships. She is one of the nicest, sweetest, most giving people I know. She deserves to spend the next few years just laughing, and going on fun cruises, and LIVING.
Mostly, I feel sad. And helpless...
(A warning to those who find peace in fasting: If you don't want to hear my sad and cynical point of view, stop reading now.)
I grew up believing in fasting and prayer. Someone got sick, you could pray for them, and if that didn't make them better, you could just go without food, and THAT would make them better. I could do something. I could help. If I just didn't eat AND prayed hard enough, God wouldn't hurt the people I loved. If I could just go without food, everyone would be safe.
That kind of teaching... taken to an extreme... sounds like a perfect recipe for a pretty serious case of anorexia.
Five years ago, I was really struggling with an eating disorder. I met with my Stake President, because I believed he would know how to help me. He told me that I didn't need to go to therapy - I just needed to fast and pray. If I fasted enough, God would cure me. I am glad I hadn't starved ALL of my brain cells yet. I gave him a shocked look and said, "Do you know what an eating disorder IS? I have fasted a lot, and I'm still struggling. If all I had to do was fast, it wouldn't be a struggle.... because fasting is what I WANT to do. I could be wrong, but I don't think fasting is the answer."
He shrugged his shoulders and said, "Well... then I don't know what to tell you. I guess you can TRY therapy, but without the power of fasting... How can God cure you?"
His words played around in my head for a while. They really messed with my brain until I realized I just don't believe that God cares if I go without food or not. It doesn't make him do things for me that he wouldn't have done otherwise. (Like, ya know, God was totally going to let her die, but now, because you haven't eaten for the last twenty-four hours, He's changed His mind. WTF?)
I can go without food for a long time. I get headaches. I get dizzy. I feel sick, but I can ignore all that. I have the ability. It doesn't make me a stronger person. It doesn't make me a better person. It doesn't make me more spiritual. It doesn't make God do what I want. It doesn't make the world a safer place or a better place. It does make me hungry (and dizzy and sick and eventually numb to the world).
Today... I want that belief back. I want to FEEL like I am doing something to help my friend. I want to believe that I can make a difference...
Reality is, all I can do is love her. Be there to support her in whatever ways SHE needs support. Listen if she wants to talk. Go away if she wants to be alone. Send money. Or food. Or even... if her knowing I was fasting for her made HER feel better, I'd do that too. I trust her, and I trust the doctors that she trusts.
I felt a lot of anxiety when I started writing this post. Somehow, writing the last paragraph, I feel peaceful. Accepting things as they are IS very peaceful.
I'm scared... What if she isn't okay?
And a bit angry... It doesn't seem fair. This is supposed to be a very happy time for her. She's fought hard to be healthy in mind and body. She's worked on creating beautiful friendships and relationships. She is one of the nicest, sweetest, most giving people I know. She deserves to spend the next few years just laughing, and going on fun cruises, and LIVING.
Mostly, I feel sad. And helpless...
(A warning to those who find peace in fasting: If you don't want to hear my sad and cynical point of view, stop reading now.)
I grew up believing in fasting and prayer. Someone got sick, you could pray for them, and if that didn't make them better, you could just go without food, and THAT would make them better. I could do something. I could help. If I just didn't eat AND prayed hard enough, God wouldn't hurt the people I loved. If I could just go without food, everyone would be safe.
That kind of teaching... taken to an extreme... sounds like a perfect recipe for a pretty serious case of anorexia.
Five years ago, I was really struggling with an eating disorder. I met with my Stake President, because I believed he would know how to help me. He told me that I didn't need to go to therapy - I just needed to fast and pray. If I fasted enough, God would cure me. I am glad I hadn't starved ALL of my brain cells yet. I gave him a shocked look and said, "Do you know what an eating disorder IS? I have fasted a lot, and I'm still struggling. If all I had to do was fast, it wouldn't be a struggle.... because fasting is what I WANT to do. I could be wrong, but I don't think fasting is the answer."
He shrugged his shoulders and said, "Well... then I don't know what to tell you. I guess you can TRY therapy, but without the power of fasting... How can God cure you?"
His words played around in my head for a while. They really messed with my brain until I realized I just don't believe that God cares if I go without food or not. It doesn't make him do things for me that he wouldn't have done otherwise. (Like, ya know, God was totally going to let her die, but now, because you haven't eaten for the last twenty-four hours, He's changed His mind. WTF?)
I can go without food for a long time. I get headaches. I get dizzy. I feel sick, but I can ignore all that. I have the ability. It doesn't make me a stronger person. It doesn't make me a better person. It doesn't make me more spiritual. It doesn't make God do what I want. It doesn't make the world a safer place or a better place. It does make me hungry (and dizzy and sick and eventually numb to the world).
Today... I want that belief back. I want to FEEL like I am doing something to help my friend. I want to believe that I can make a difference...
Reality is, all I can do is love her. Be there to support her in whatever ways SHE needs support. Listen if she wants to talk. Go away if she wants to be alone. Send money. Or food. Or even... if her knowing I was fasting for her made HER feel better, I'd do that too. I trust her, and I trust the doctors that she trusts.
I felt a lot of anxiety when I started writing this post. Somehow, writing the last paragraph, I feel peaceful. Accepting things as they are IS very peaceful.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Angela's word revisited (A guest post for Julia)
Julia asked me to do a guest post for her blog.
She gave this post the title, "A Mouse Tells How She Found Her Voice".
When I was in high school, I had a violin teacher that told me at least once a week that I played like a mouse. He'd push me to play stronger. I wanted to please him, and I wanted to play better, but I could NOT figure out how to be less of a mouse.
When I started playing again (two years ago), I had no problem playing out. It seems that I found my voice, and my mousiness went away.
Here is the blogpost I wrote.
Thanks for the invite Julia! I really appreciated revisiting this poem. It meant a lot to me before, and it meant something more this time.
A Mouse Tells How She Found Her Voice
Sometimes, I come across the writings of others, and I wonder how they could have put my thoughts and feelings so perfectly into words. This poem described my journey perfectly:
I don't have a lot to add. The poem says so much, so perfectly... I was an agreeable little girl. I was quiet. I was giving. I was obedient. I was an agreeable adult. I did what I thought I was supposed to. I never said no. I tried not to have wants or desires. If I did have a want or a need, I tried to put other people's wants ahead of my own. I tried to be good and nice and GOOD, and I was miserable. I wanted to die.
Angels came along. They took many different forms. Friends. Books. Horses. Family. Bloggers. Acquaintances. Support groups. Songs. Church leaders. Each one of them gave me little glimpses into what life could be.
I was afraid. I didn't know who I'd be if I wasn't agreeable Jen. The many different angels in their many different forms supported me as I found ME. There was always an angel to show me my next step. They taught me how to live and how to be happy. They were there with me when I was afraid, and reassured me there was nothing to be afraid of. (It turns out I can still be a nice person AND have wants and desires and thoughts of my own.)
Re-reading the poem tonight, this paragraph stuck out to me:
It wasn't that long ago that I felt guilt for having ambitions, feelings, needs or goals. I was not allowed to have money in the bank, so IF I had anything extra, I gave it away.
And an opinion? Especially at the polls? NOT ALLOWED. Mostly because my political opinions are very different than the majority where I live. But... then again... since I now know that my opinions are different, that means I have them. And that feels kind of amazing - especially thinking about where I once was.
She gave this post the title, "A Mouse Tells How She Found Her Voice".
When I was in high school, I had a violin teacher that told me at least once a week that I played like a mouse. He'd push me to play stronger. I wanted to please him, and I wanted to play better, but I could NOT figure out how to be less of a mouse.
When I started playing again (two years ago), I had no problem playing out. It seems that I found my voice, and my mousiness went away.
Here is the blogpost I wrote.
Thanks for the invite Julia! I really appreciated revisiting this poem. It meant a lot to me before, and it meant something more this time.
A Mouse Tells How She Found Her Voice
Sometimes, I come across the writings of others, and I wonder how they could have put my thoughts and feelings so perfectly into words. This poem described my journey perfectly:
When Angela was very youngJulia asked for my thoughts on the poem - what it meant to me in my life.
Age two or three or so,
Her mother and her father
Taught her never to say NO.
They taught her that she must agree
With everything they said,
And if she didn’t, she was spanked
And sent upstairs to bed.
So Angela grew up to be
A most agreeable child;
She was never angry
And she was never wild;
She always shared, she always cared,
She never picked a fight,
And no matter what her parents said,
She thought that they were right.
Angela the Angel did very well in school
And, as you might imagine, she followed every rule;
Her teachers said she was so well-bred,
So quiet and so good,
But how Angela felt inside, they never understood.
Angela had lots of friends
Who liked her for her smile;
They knew she was the kind of gal
Who’d go the extra mile;
And even when she had a cold
And really needed rest,
When someone asked her if she’d help
She always answered Yes.
When Angela was thirty-three, she was a lawyer’s wife.
She had a home and family, and a nice suburban life.
She had a little girl of four,
And a little boy of nine,
And if someone asked her how she felt
She always answered, “Fine.”
But one cold night near Christmastime
When her family was in bed,
She lay awake as awful thoughts went spinning through
her head;
She didn’t know why, and she didn’t know how,
But she wanted her life to end;
So she begged Whoever put her here
To take her back again.
And then she heard, from deep inside,
A voice that was soft and low;
It only said a single word
And the word it said was … NO.
From that moment on, Angela knew
Exactly what she had to do.
Her life depended on that word,
So this is what her loved ones heard:
NO, I just don’t want to;
NO, I don’t agree;
NO, I don't believe that;
NO, that’s wrong for me;
NO, I wanted something else;
NO, that hurt a lot!
NO, I’m tired, and NO I’m busy,
And NO, I’d rather not!
Well, her family found it shocking,
Her friends reacted with surprise;
But Angela was different, you could see it in her eyes;
For they’ve held no meek submission
Since that night three years ago
When Angela the Angel
Got permission to say NO.
Today Angela’s a person first, then a mother and a wife.
She knows where she begins and ends,
She has a separate life.
She has talents and ambitions,
She has feelings, needs and goals.
She has money in the bank and
An opinion at the polls.
And to her boy and girl she says,
“It’s nice when we agree;
But if you can’t say NO, you’ll never grow
To all you’re meant to be.
Because I know I’m sometimes wrong
And because I love you so,
You’ll always be my angels
Even when you tell me NO.”
Barbara K. Bassett
I don't have a lot to add. The poem says so much, so perfectly... I was an agreeable little girl. I was quiet. I was giving. I was obedient. I was an agreeable adult. I did what I thought I was supposed to. I never said no. I tried not to have wants or desires. If I did have a want or a need, I tried to put other people's wants ahead of my own. I tried to be good and nice and GOOD, and I was miserable. I wanted to die.
Angels came along. They took many different forms. Friends. Books. Horses. Family. Bloggers. Acquaintances. Support groups. Songs. Church leaders. Each one of them gave me little glimpses into what life could be.
I was afraid. I didn't know who I'd be if I wasn't agreeable Jen. The many different angels in their many different forms supported me as I found ME. There was always an angel to show me my next step. They taught me how to live and how to be happy. They were there with me when I was afraid, and reassured me there was nothing to be afraid of. (It turns out I can still be a nice person AND have wants and desires and thoughts of my own.)
Re-reading the poem tonight, this paragraph stuck out to me:
She has talents and ambitions,That's ME! I have talents and ambitions, feelings, needs, and goals. There's money in the bank, and I most definitely have an opinion at the polls!
She has feelings, needs and goals.
She has money in the bank and
An opinion at the polls.
It wasn't that long ago that I felt guilt for having ambitions, feelings, needs or goals. I was not allowed to have money in the bank, so IF I had anything extra, I gave it away.
And an opinion? Especially at the polls? NOT ALLOWED. Mostly because my political opinions are very different than the majority where I live. But... then again... since I now know that my opinions are different, that means I have them. And that feels kind of amazing - especially thinking about where I once was.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Sometimes I feel whiny...
For the past six months, a coworker has not been doing her job. She no longer works for the company. (I originally used the word "fired". That wasn't completely accurate.
I said it because this paragraph isn't really the point of this entry
at all. I just wanted to give enough of the back story, so that the rest
of this entry made sense. I fixed it to be more accurate, and I
apologize for my original inaccuracy.) For the past two weeks, I have spent a lot of time cleaning up. Literally. There was more than $5000 worth of invoices that had to be voided out, merchandise put away, and corrected in the inventory.
A few days ago, when I was dealing with the biggest part of the mess, I posted on facebook, "Who wants to listen to me complain? I'm feeling whiny."
I chose my words carefully, because I was just feeling whiny. It's not like I was dealing with a REAL problem... I knew that, but sometimes... it makes the job easier if I can whine for a minute.
The response on facebook blew me away. I wasn't expecting the love and concern that I got.
I tried to explain to my friends that I was just feeling sorry for myself, being whiny, and that I was fine... I tried to explain to them that it was just a feeling of, "I don't wanna," but they just wanted to be there for me. (My Grandma called my dad the next day just to make sure I was okay.)
I felt guilty that I somehow made them believe I wasn't okay. But, what surprised me the most was how loved I felt.
Most of the people on facebook have no idea the things I've been through. They have no idea the hiding I've done or the secrets I've kept. They don't know about all of the times I stayed quiet when I really needed to scream and swear and complain and (what I would have called) whine.
I still am pretty guarded about asking for help, or sharing "too much".
And then, one night, in a moment of, "I don't wanna," I reached out, and many people reached back.
I don't know what to say about that, other than, "Weird. And cool. Very cool."
A few days ago, when I was dealing with the biggest part of the mess, I posted on facebook, "Who wants to listen to me complain? I'm feeling whiny."
I chose my words carefully, because I was just feeling whiny. It's not like I was dealing with a REAL problem... I knew that, but sometimes... it makes the job easier if I can whine for a minute.
The response on facebook blew me away. I wasn't expecting the love and concern that I got.
I tried to explain to my friends that I was just feeling sorry for myself, being whiny, and that I was fine... I tried to explain to them that it was just a feeling of, "I don't wanna," but they just wanted to be there for me. (My Grandma called my dad the next day just to make sure I was okay.)
I felt guilty that I somehow made them believe I wasn't okay. But, what surprised me the most was how loved I felt.
Most of the people on facebook have no idea the things I've been through. They have no idea the hiding I've done or the secrets I've kept. They don't know about all of the times I stayed quiet when I really needed to scream and swear and complain and (what I would have called) whine.
I still am pretty guarded about asking for help, or sharing "too much".
And then, one night, in a moment of, "I don't wanna," I reached out, and many people reached back.
I don't know what to say about that, other than, "Weird. And cool. Very cool."
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Four years ago today
In November 2007, I pretty much came to the conclusion that I was done. Done living. Done trying. Done pretending. Done. Done. Done. That translated to an eating disorder: Starving myself and over-exercising was a way to end my life in the most painful and slow way possible. I didn't even deserve a quick and painless death...
I had gone to treatment in 1997, and I saw how the women treated each other: Competing for who could be the "sickest", berating those that ate, being fed via tube up the nose was a "badge of honor". I didn't want to be in that environment again, but in January 2008, I started to wonder if that was my best choice.
On the one hand, I knew how to eat. I knew what to eat. I just didn't want to. I had done it before: Forced myself to eat because it was what I had to do, because it made other people happy, because there was no other choice... but I didn't want that life anymore. I felt like my choices were either to die, or to somehow find a way to want to live. I wasn't sure if anyone could really help ME... but... I chose to give it a shot.
On February 18, 2008, I checked myself into Center for Change.
Going inpatient to CFC meant turning my WHOLE LIFE over to other people. They tell you when to eat (and what to eat, and what happens if you don't eat everything they tell you to eat), sleep, go to the bathroom, everything. Your whole day is scheduled out to the minute. They tell you what you can talk about, what you can't talk about, what you HAVE to talk about. They ask you to share your deepest, darkest, hardest parts to share, about yourself. There is no such thing as a private life in treatment. (You even get people standing outside the bathroom door with it cracked open.) It sucks. Even if it is totally necessary, it SUCKS!
I knew it was going to be hard work. I knew there was a lot of things I had to face and changes I'd need to make, but at the same time I had no fucking clue. I feel pretty lucky that I had the opportunity to go to a safe place to do the work that had to be done. They took care of the business of keeping me alive, so that I could put everything I had into healing myself. I know how RARE that opportunity is. (Only 1 in 10 people who have eating disorders get to go to treatment. Most are sent home LONG before they have had the chance to face the problems that caused the eating disorder in the first place.)
There are so many powerful experiences I could share. Here are just a few:
The women I met there
I was afraid I'd have another experience like the one in 1997, but I had nothing to be worried about. I went at the exact right moment: With the most intensely beautiful, strong, amazing women on the planet. Fighters with huge loving hearts. The fact that most of them had survived their lives was a miracle to me. Every single one of those women have been through hell, and not just a little bit of hell: HELL!!! Every single person I met there had faced life experiences that "normal" people can't even begin to fathom. Before CFC, I had sat in church, and listening to the women there, I felt jealous at what they called "trials". Sitting with the women at CFC, I felt understood. Finally, not alone.
Petey, the wheelchair
Chronic low blood pressure, combined with random drops in blood pressure, combined with anxiety and dissociation, combined with trying to gain a lot of weight in a short amount of time, combined with blood sugar issues, combined with emotional exhaustion, combined with who knows what else - all those things made me so dizzy, I had a hard time walking. I was a "fall risk", so I had to sit in a wheelchair.
I spent months sitting in that wheelchair. I learned to rest. I learned that I didn't always have to push through and push my body past it's breaking point. I learned to take safe risks, and to avoid unsafe risks. I learned to let others help me..
One of the reasons I hated the chair was how much space it took up, but in that chair, I had my own space. For so long, I'd convinced myself that my mere existence was somehow infringing upon other people's space. I'd tried to make myself as small as possible... Since it was my chair, and no one was going to sit in the thing with me, it was okay to take up the whole wheelchair. I relaxed and began to let myself take space.
The assignment to "Stop doing all the things you do to prove to others that you are loveable"
For me, at that moment those things were: Smiling, talking to other people about their problems (not talking about myself), and following all of the rules.
At first, I wanted to please everyone by doing that assignment perfectly... and then I decided that was silliness, because I would still be doing the same damn thing I'd always done: Trying to get other people to love me by doing what they wanted. For the first time, I started thinking about what I wanted. I WANTED to smile, so I did. I WANTED to break the rule of getting out of that stupid wheelchair and walk to the dining room, so I did. Before that day, it had never even occurred to me that I had choices, that I could want something. It was also the first time I ever said "no" to someone in authority. (I was such a rebel. I wouldn't give her my watch when she asked. She didn't know what to do. I felt bad for saying no, and I felt SO GOOD that I could.) It was an eye-opening day for me.
Beating the hell out of a couch cushion in "Care Bear's" group
In group therapy, a friend was sharing an experience she had had with her husband. He had said things to her that were just... awful... and I remembered Larry saying the same kinds of things to me. I told the group that I was angry, but I didn't know what to do with that feeling... Care Bear (therapist) got a tennis racket and a pile of couch cushions and had me hit them. With every hit, I was supposed to say, "I am angry!" like I meant it. That was not an easy thing for me to do. It took me a long time, and a lot of trying before I could say "I am ANGRY!" (It's funny, looking back now, I can see that I was still very restrained, even when I thought I was "out of control" angry. It was just the start of learning to be present with my own emotions.) It was incredibly intense for me, and for others in the group. They still talk about that day in group when Jen finally let go of the some of the anger.
Ceremonial Group: Standing before a jury of my peers, I had to convince them that I was bad
I had believed my whole life that I was worthless and unlovable and "no-good", but I couldn't tell you WHY I thought that. In a court, there has to be evidence, so the assignment was to lay out my evidence to the women there. I shared the most painful things that had happened to me. I shared the worst things I had ever thought. I KNEW that they would hate me, but they didn't. To this day, only BJ and that group have heard some of those thoughts... Because of the way those select few responded, I'm not afraid of myself anymore. Those women gave me the courage to face the "worst" parts about myself, and let me know it was okay to love me. Pretty much changed my life.
RAD (Rape Aggression Defense) training
I wasn't allowed to do the training, which was okay by me, because just watching OTHER people do it caused panic attacks, dissociation, flashbacks, and generally awful days. As awful as it was, watching my friends go through the training, helped me face my own past. Going through flashbacks and panic is AWFUL, but it was necessary for me to heal. By facing my past, it stopped having the control over me.
I still have the plan to take a RAD class sometime. The final day includes a simulation: Men "attack" you. You use your voice, your body, everything you've learned to get them off and to get away. I'd like to be able to do that. (Still don't think I'm ready for it. I'm shaking just thinking about it.)
DBT (Dialectical Behavior Therapy) "Non-judgmental stance"
I learned that things aren't "good" and "bad". Things just are. There aren't good people and bad people. There aren't good emotions and bad emotions. There isn't a right or a wrong. There isn't a should or a should not. Everything just is. Very powerful lesson that helped me to stop being crazy. (I've sat here trying to think of how to say it, but honestly... I was crazy. Trying to put everything into it's little box of "good" or "bad" or some derivative of that, made me insane.) Life is a lot more gentle, peaceful, and happy. There are still times when I get caught up in judging things (mostly myself or my emotions) as "good" or "bad". Then I remember Espra and getting pillows thrown at me. (I know that last sentence won't make sense to most people. But in group, if you said anything that was a judgment: good, bad, right, wrong, should, shouldn't, etc., you got a pillow thrown at you. It was a good way to make me aware of what I was doing. Now I use phrases like, "I prefer" or "I don't like", because that is more effective.)
The "pinky promise prayer"
This one still brings tears of love and joy to my eyes. I'm not sure how long I'd been at CFC at this point. A couple of weeks, maybe? "Bubbles" was a teenager who was a new patient. Her body was failing her, and the group of us sat and watched helpless as the nurses worked to take care of her. Together, we prayed for her and then made a pinky promise that none of us were going to give up the fight with the eating disorder. Eating disorders claim so many lives, but not ours. That night I wrote in my journal: "CFC. At this moment. With these women. Is EXACTLY where I need to be". We've all kept that promise thus far. 1 in 5 people diagnosed with an eating disorder will die. The fact that I don't know anyone who has died from an eating disorder is astounding to me. I know of people who have died: Friends of friends, but no one I know personally. And no one from that group. They're all still fighting like hell, and I love them for it.
There were many times after I left CFC that I just wanted to throw in the towel, and be done. I didn't want to fight for my life anymore. I was so tired. In those moments, I thought of the women in the group, and there was no way I was breaking that promise. There was no way I was going to give them any excuse to give up their fight. That promise I made to them, and that we made to each other has saved my life more than once.
Sacrament meeting
Since we couldn't leave to go to church, they arranged to have the young men bring the sacrament to us. A small group of women gathered in one of the group rooms. We sang a hymn a'capella. A prayer (and the prayers offered by the women there were the most sincere and beautiful prayers I've ever heard). No talks, but sometimes we'd share thoughts with each other. So much love in that room. If church had felt like that, I probably would have never left.
Your definition of recovery
We were all asked to define what recovery looked like to each of us individually. Mine was, "When I love myself more than I hate myself."
According to that definition, I am recovered, but I think recovery is just life. I keep learning and growing and changing and living. According to that definition, I'm still working for recovery and always will be.
I know that most people won't understand the rest of this list, but to myself and the few that will:
"Love you to pieces"
J and C dancing to "Beat it"
temper tantrums
ripping up phonebooks, throwing ice, throwing pillows
challenge day
NIA
"Let it be okay"
Fedder and Le Freak
music listening
drum circles
arguments about the fireplace or walks
Boost
that nasty bean salad
singing and peeing
"hit snap clap hit hit snap clap"
table manners? what table manners
"Goals change lives"
FNS
Curses
"How is that like your life?"
illegal exercise
the big white van
the race to get out and the race to check back in
scream therapy
"auto" group
the vitals machine
games at the dining room tables
the "f word" wasn't fuck - it was fat
"The voice is no longer hidden in me. I've let go, Now I am free!"
and this:
I'll never hear this song and not think of the dining room, saying goodbye to beautiful women, not knowing where life would take me...it turns out... I like where life has taken me.
And the best part: I REALLY like the girl that I've become.
I had gone to treatment in 1997, and I saw how the women treated each other: Competing for who could be the "sickest", berating those that ate, being fed via tube up the nose was a "badge of honor". I didn't want to be in that environment again, but in January 2008, I started to wonder if that was my best choice.
On the one hand, I knew how to eat. I knew what to eat. I just didn't want to. I had done it before: Forced myself to eat because it was what I had to do, because it made other people happy, because there was no other choice... but I didn't want that life anymore. I felt like my choices were either to die, or to somehow find a way to want to live. I wasn't sure if anyone could really help ME... but... I chose to give it a shot.
On February 18, 2008, I checked myself into Center for Change.
Going inpatient to CFC meant turning my WHOLE LIFE over to other people. They tell you when to eat (and what to eat, and what happens if you don't eat everything they tell you to eat), sleep, go to the bathroom, everything. Your whole day is scheduled out to the minute. They tell you what you can talk about, what you can't talk about, what you HAVE to talk about. They ask you to share your deepest, darkest, hardest parts to share, about yourself. There is no such thing as a private life in treatment. (You even get people standing outside the bathroom door with it cracked open.) It sucks. Even if it is totally necessary, it SUCKS!
I knew it was going to be hard work. I knew there was a lot of things I had to face and changes I'd need to make, but at the same time I had no fucking clue. I feel pretty lucky that I had the opportunity to go to a safe place to do the work that had to be done. They took care of the business of keeping me alive, so that I could put everything I had into healing myself. I know how RARE that opportunity is. (Only 1 in 10 people who have eating disorders get to go to treatment. Most are sent home LONG before they have had the chance to face the problems that caused the eating disorder in the first place.)
There are so many powerful experiences I could share. Here are just a few:
The women I met there
I was afraid I'd have another experience like the one in 1997, but I had nothing to be worried about. I went at the exact right moment: With the most intensely beautiful, strong, amazing women on the planet. Fighters with huge loving hearts. The fact that most of them had survived their lives was a miracle to me. Every single one of those women have been through hell, and not just a little bit of hell: HELL!!! Every single person I met there had faced life experiences that "normal" people can't even begin to fathom. Before CFC, I had sat in church, and listening to the women there, I felt jealous at what they called "trials". Sitting with the women at CFC, I felt understood. Finally, not alone.
Petey, the wheelchair
Chronic low blood pressure, combined with random drops in blood pressure, combined with anxiety and dissociation, combined with trying to gain a lot of weight in a short amount of time, combined with blood sugar issues, combined with emotional exhaustion, combined with who knows what else - all those things made me so dizzy, I had a hard time walking. I was a "fall risk", so I had to sit in a wheelchair.
I spent months sitting in that wheelchair. I learned to rest. I learned that I didn't always have to push through and push my body past it's breaking point. I learned to take safe risks, and to avoid unsafe risks. I learned to let others help me..
One of the reasons I hated the chair was how much space it took up, but in that chair, I had my own space. For so long, I'd convinced myself that my mere existence was somehow infringing upon other people's space. I'd tried to make myself as small as possible... Since it was my chair, and no one was going to sit in the thing with me, it was okay to take up the whole wheelchair. I relaxed and began to let myself take space.
The assignment to "Stop doing all the things you do to prove to others that you are loveable"
For me, at that moment those things were: Smiling, talking to other people about their problems (not talking about myself), and following all of the rules.
At first, I wanted to please everyone by doing that assignment perfectly... and then I decided that was silliness, because I would still be doing the same damn thing I'd always done: Trying to get other people to love me by doing what they wanted. For the first time, I started thinking about what I wanted. I WANTED to smile, so I did. I WANTED to break the rule of getting out of that stupid wheelchair and walk to the dining room, so I did. Before that day, it had never even occurred to me that I had choices, that I could want something. It was also the first time I ever said "no" to someone in authority. (I was such a rebel. I wouldn't give her my watch when she asked. She didn't know what to do. I felt bad for saying no, and I felt SO GOOD that I could.) It was an eye-opening day for me.
Beating the hell out of a couch cushion in "Care Bear's" group
In group therapy, a friend was sharing an experience she had had with her husband. He had said things to her that were just... awful... and I remembered Larry saying the same kinds of things to me. I told the group that I was angry, but I didn't know what to do with that feeling... Care Bear (therapist) got a tennis racket and a pile of couch cushions and had me hit them. With every hit, I was supposed to say, "I am angry!" like I meant it. That was not an easy thing for me to do. It took me a long time, and a lot of trying before I could say "I am ANGRY!" (It's funny, looking back now, I can see that I was still very restrained, even when I thought I was "out of control" angry. It was just the start of learning to be present with my own emotions.) It was incredibly intense for me, and for others in the group. They still talk about that day in group when Jen finally let go of the some of the anger.
Ceremonial Group: Standing before a jury of my peers, I had to convince them that I was bad
I had believed my whole life that I was worthless and unlovable and "no-good", but I couldn't tell you WHY I thought that. In a court, there has to be evidence, so the assignment was to lay out my evidence to the women there. I shared the most painful things that had happened to me. I shared the worst things I had ever thought. I KNEW that they would hate me, but they didn't. To this day, only BJ and that group have heard some of those thoughts... Because of the way those select few responded, I'm not afraid of myself anymore. Those women gave me the courage to face the "worst" parts about myself, and let me know it was okay to love me. Pretty much changed my life.
RAD (Rape Aggression Defense) training
I wasn't allowed to do the training, which was okay by me, because just watching OTHER people do it caused panic attacks, dissociation, flashbacks, and generally awful days. As awful as it was, watching my friends go through the training, helped me face my own past. Going through flashbacks and panic is AWFUL, but it was necessary for me to heal. By facing my past, it stopped having the control over me.
I still have the plan to take a RAD class sometime. The final day includes a simulation: Men "attack" you. You use your voice, your body, everything you've learned to get them off and to get away. I'd like to be able to do that. (Still don't think I'm ready for it. I'm shaking just thinking about it.)
DBT (Dialectical Behavior Therapy) "Non-judgmental stance"
I learned that things aren't "good" and "bad". Things just are. There aren't good people and bad people. There aren't good emotions and bad emotions. There isn't a right or a wrong. There isn't a should or a should not. Everything just is. Very powerful lesson that helped me to stop being crazy. (I've sat here trying to think of how to say it, but honestly... I was crazy. Trying to put everything into it's little box of "good" or "bad" or some derivative of that, made me insane.) Life is a lot more gentle, peaceful, and happy. There are still times when I get caught up in judging things (mostly myself or my emotions) as "good" or "bad". Then I remember Espra and getting pillows thrown at me. (I know that last sentence won't make sense to most people. But in group, if you said anything that was a judgment: good, bad, right, wrong, should, shouldn't, etc., you got a pillow thrown at you. It was a good way to make me aware of what I was doing. Now I use phrases like, "I prefer" or "I don't like", because that is more effective.)
The "pinky promise prayer"
This one still brings tears of love and joy to my eyes. I'm not sure how long I'd been at CFC at this point. A couple of weeks, maybe? "Bubbles" was a teenager who was a new patient. Her body was failing her, and the group of us sat and watched helpless as the nurses worked to take care of her. Together, we prayed for her and then made a pinky promise that none of us were going to give up the fight with the eating disorder. Eating disorders claim so many lives, but not ours. That night I wrote in my journal: "CFC. At this moment. With these women. Is EXACTLY where I need to be". We've all kept that promise thus far. 1 in 5 people diagnosed with an eating disorder will die. The fact that I don't know anyone who has died from an eating disorder is astounding to me. I know of people who have died: Friends of friends, but no one I know personally. And no one from that group. They're all still fighting like hell, and I love them for it.
There were many times after I left CFC that I just wanted to throw in the towel, and be done. I didn't want to fight for my life anymore. I was so tired. In those moments, I thought of the women in the group, and there was no way I was breaking that promise. There was no way I was going to give them any excuse to give up their fight. That promise I made to them, and that we made to each other has saved my life more than once.
Sacrament meeting
Since we couldn't leave to go to church, they arranged to have the young men bring the sacrament to us. A small group of women gathered in one of the group rooms. We sang a hymn a'capella. A prayer (and the prayers offered by the women there were the most sincere and beautiful prayers I've ever heard). No talks, but sometimes we'd share thoughts with each other. So much love in that room. If church had felt like that, I probably would have never left.
Your definition of recovery
We were all asked to define what recovery looked like to each of us individually. Mine was, "When I love myself more than I hate myself."
According to that definition, I am recovered, but I think recovery is just life. I keep learning and growing and changing and living. According to that definition, I'm still working for recovery and always will be.
I know that most people won't understand the rest of this list, but to myself and the few that will:
"Love you to pieces"
J and C dancing to "Beat it"
temper tantrums
ripping up phonebooks, throwing ice, throwing pillows
challenge day
NIA
"Let it be okay"
Fedder and Le Freak
music listening
drum circles
arguments about the fireplace or walks
Boost
that nasty bean salad
singing and peeing
"hit snap clap hit hit snap clap"
table manners? what table manners
"Goals change lives"
FNS
Curses
"How is that like your life?"
illegal exercise
the big white van
the race to get out and the race to check back in
scream therapy
"auto" group
the vitals machine
games at the dining room tables
the "f word" wasn't fuck - it was fat
"The voice is no longer hidden in me. I've let go, Now I am free!"
and this:
I'll never hear this song and not think of the dining room, saying goodbye to beautiful women, not knowing where life would take me...it turns out... I like where life has taken me.
And the best part: I REALLY like the girl that I've become.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Emotional Intimacy
I heard a quote the other day:
"How do you know when you are being emotionally intimate with another person?
When you feel anxious and afraid of how the other person will react to what you are sharing, that is when you are being emotionally intimate."
That kind of blew my mind. It's been rumbling around in my head for several days now.
In my post a few days ago, I talked about how intimacy requires saying what you mean to say. Being honest about anger, pain, love, happiness... I talked about how afraid I was to talk about my anger and my pain. I was afraid of getting hurt. Sometimes, literally PHYSICALLY hurt. I was also afraid of being criticized, demeaned, or humiliated. I was afraid of the things I said being used against me at a later date. I was afraid of so many things, so I kept my anger and pain to myself. I thought for so long that I didn't deserve to be treated with kindness and respect if I wasn't doing everything everyone wanted me to do, and that feeling and belief drove my fear... which kept me from expressing... well... anything.
I like this new idea of what intimacy is... It makes so much sense to me...
Saying, "no", requires more trust (for me) than doing what the other person asks of me.
And thinking about the people that I like having in my life: They accept my boundaries. When I say, "No," they don't push me. They are still kind to me and treat me with respect even when I don't do everything they want me to do. It would be IMPOSSIBLE to have an intimate relationship if it wasn't safe for me to be honest... say no; I don't like that; I don't want that; please don't... Completely impossible to have any level of intimacy if "No" is not an option.
Argh! Even now, I hear voices from other people telling me, "It is selfish."
I hear myself saying, "It's no big deal. I can handle it."
Or the fear of retribution from some... the ones who don't understand what a healthy relationship is... thinking that it is okay to respond with hurtful words or actions if I don't do what they want.
But I go back to what I would want for those that I care about. I would want them to be respected. I wouldn't think it was selfish of them to take care of themselves... in reality... seeing others stand up for themselves and take care of themselves has created many beautiful friendships. (My FAVORITE moment with BJ, "I'm going to take care of myself. I'm going to do what I want, and if you don't like it, then FUCK YOU!" At the time, I resisted the urge to smile... I didn't want to ruin the moment. It felt AWESOME! Loved seeing that he could and would stand up for himself... even "against" me... That was hard and scary for him to say: Completely goes against HIS need to please everyone... which is probably a big reason we became such good friends. He trusted me, and I responded in a way that showed I knew him and I respected him.)
I wouldn't want them to force themselves to do things they don't want to do because "It's not big deal."
And I hope that if I ever say or do hurtful things, they would get themselves away from me to a safe place. I don't want to hurt anyone.
Respecting boundaries doesn't mean that they don't share feelings. If I say, "No. I don't want to spend the day with you," then a healthy response (if it's true) would be, "I feel sad and disappointed. I really wanted to spend the day with YOU." I respect their feelings and don't try to change what they are feeling... they respect my feelings and don't try to change what I am feeling... I share what I need to share, and I allow others the freedom to respond in the way that is truest to them. (And as always, if their response is abusive, I can let them know, I can choose not to be around them, or any option... I always have the freedom to get out of a situation that is harmful or toxic to me.)
Still learning. Still exploring. Still thinking.
What are YOUR thoughts on this idea of intimacy??
"How do you know when you are being emotionally intimate with another person?
When you feel anxious and afraid of how the other person will react to what you are sharing, that is when you are being emotionally intimate."
That kind of blew my mind. It's been rumbling around in my head for several days now.
In my post a few days ago, I talked about how intimacy requires saying what you mean to say. Being honest about anger, pain, love, happiness... I talked about how afraid I was to talk about my anger and my pain. I was afraid of getting hurt. Sometimes, literally PHYSICALLY hurt. I was also afraid of being criticized, demeaned, or humiliated. I was afraid of the things I said being used against me at a later date. I was afraid of so many things, so I kept my anger and pain to myself. I thought for so long that I didn't deserve to be treated with kindness and respect if I wasn't doing everything everyone wanted me to do, and that feeling and belief drove my fear... which kept me from expressing... well... anything.
I like this new idea of what intimacy is... It makes so much sense to me...
Saying, "no", requires more trust (for me) than doing what the other person asks of me.
And thinking about the people that I like having in my life: They accept my boundaries. When I say, "No," they don't push me. They are still kind to me and treat me with respect even when I don't do everything they want me to do. It would be IMPOSSIBLE to have an intimate relationship if it wasn't safe for me to be honest... say no; I don't like that; I don't want that; please don't... Completely impossible to have any level of intimacy if "No" is not an option.
Argh! Even now, I hear voices from other people telling me, "It is selfish."
I hear myself saying, "It's no big deal. I can handle it."
Or the fear of retribution from some... the ones who don't understand what a healthy relationship is... thinking that it is okay to respond with hurtful words or actions if I don't do what they want.
But I go back to what I would want for those that I care about. I would want them to be respected. I wouldn't think it was selfish of them to take care of themselves... in reality... seeing others stand up for themselves and take care of themselves has created many beautiful friendships. (My FAVORITE moment with BJ, "I'm going to take care of myself. I'm going to do what I want, and if you don't like it, then FUCK YOU!" At the time, I resisted the urge to smile... I didn't want to ruin the moment. It felt AWESOME! Loved seeing that he could and would stand up for himself... even "against" me... That was hard and scary for him to say: Completely goes against HIS need to please everyone... which is probably a big reason we became such good friends. He trusted me, and I responded in a way that showed I knew him and I respected him.)
I wouldn't want them to force themselves to do things they don't want to do because "It's not big deal."
And I hope that if I ever say or do hurtful things, they would get themselves away from me to a safe place. I don't want to hurt anyone.
Respecting boundaries doesn't mean that they don't share feelings. If I say, "No. I don't want to spend the day with you," then a healthy response (if it's true) would be, "I feel sad and disappointed. I really wanted to spend the day with YOU." I respect their feelings and don't try to change what they are feeling... they respect my feelings and don't try to change what I am feeling... I share what I need to share, and I allow others the freedom to respond in the way that is truest to them. (And as always, if their response is abusive, I can let them know, I can choose not to be around them, or any option... I always have the freedom to get out of a situation that is harmful or toxic to me.)
Still learning. Still exploring. Still thinking.
What are YOUR thoughts on this idea of intimacy??
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Just because they didn't take the handful of pills DOES NOT mean they are hurting any less.
My heart hurts today. Yesterday, one of my favorite people decided to end her own life. Luckily, she shared her plan on facebook, and there were way too many of us to let her just go. (Facebook has a way to report suicide threats. As well as a link to Suicide Hotlines all over the world.) Her father got to her and got her to the hospital. She's been in the ICU on a breathing machine, but is now breathing on her own.
My heart hurts for the friend that was hurting so much that she saw no better way. My heart hurts for how hard she's fought, and how close I came to losing my friend. My heart just hurts.
I spent the day with another friend who has been really struggling for a while. She's suicidal and depressed, and watching Kate go through all this is only adding to her struggle. I know that just because she hasn't taken the pills, doesn't mean she isn't hurting just as much. Kate's getting the love and support, because people KNOW what is going on, but other friends are not. And I'll say it again:
Just because they didn't take the handful of pills DOES NOT mean they are hurting any less. They need to be heard, to be loved, to be accepted just as much. My hope is that one day, everyone will have someone who will listen to them, love them, and accept them BEFORE it gets to this point. Kate's father went to her house when she was nearly dead, but she had told her parents for months that she was hurting. She had been trying to get them to see her, to give her the love she so desperately needed, but they wouldn't hear. (I know... there comes a point when you have to just say, "Who cares what my parents think, and go on living without their love, but that just sucks. No one should HAVE to do that.) I don't think she realized how many friends around the world she has. How many people she has touched. How many people REALLY love her. Here are some of the things her friends have posted in the last two days:
"So very sad and worried tonight about a friend who tried to take her own life today simply because she is told over and over that she can't be her wonderful self. This madness has got to stop. If you are the praying type, please pray for my friend, Kate. If you are not the praying type--positive thoughts and energy. What is wrong with our society when people think they are better off dead then being GLBT? She is in ICU."And one more:
"Struggling today. A wonderful woman tried to end her life yesterday. She is a lesbian, and her family has been taught by their church that she less of a person because of that. And consequently treat her as less of a person because of that. They "love the sinner", which may sound okay at first blush, but at it's core is a judgmental statement, which automatically denigrates the person it's directed at.And one that took a lot of courage to share,
One of her last posts before she went and took a double handful of pills stated that she wished she could be straight, because then maybe her mother and father would love her. Doesn't exactly sound like someone who *chose* to be gay, does it?
My heart hurts for her, and for all those in her position, who are rejected either tacitly or outright by friends and family because of their religious beliefs. It's almost 2012 people. Can we finally shrug off the 2000 year old prejudices? Can we simply love and accept people for who they are inside? Stop the judgement. Stop the hate. Stop the inequality. As a parent, I simply cannot fathom rejecting my children for who they are, or who they're attracted to.
This change isn't coming quickly enough for some..."
"For those who may or may not know, I have officially resigned from the LDS church. I haven't really talked about it publicly. One of the key triggers in my apostasy, or enlightenment, depending on your point of view, was Prop 8. I am not gay but a staunch supporter of the Constitution and basic human rights. I am a member/participant of a few post/exMormon groups. Today, a friend I met in one of these groups posted her suicide farewell on FB shortly after posting the following: "I just wish I was straight My Mum and Dad would love me if I were straight." She made it to the hospital but has been recently moved to the ICU. I'm deeply saddened and my emotions are spent as I've been following all day on pins and needles.
I refuse to allow my children to be raised with the "Better dead clean, than alive unclean" religious moral mentality. May we love our family & friends for who they ARE and not who we believe they should be."Today, I am crying for all those that are hurting. I am smiling for all those that can see and are making changes. I'm crying for all those that don't understand the pain they are causing. I'm smiling for the progress I have made.
I've been through this before with other friends. I've called the police. I've shown up on a doorstep and insisted they go to the hospital. I've sat on the phone across the country talking someone out of taking their own lives. I didn't write about any of those things, because back then, I was barely hanging on myself. For the first time in my entire life, I am not wishing it was me that was dying. Death (or near death or talk of suicide) has always triggered me. I didn't realize why until today, when this isn't triggering me. I dreamed of dying. I felt jealousy whenever someone else got to do it, and I didn't. And then I felt crazy for wanting to die. Who gets jealous of death?
Those feelings have changed. I can be here and present with those that are hurting, because I'm not looking for my own way out. Now, I can say, "It gets better. Just hang in there. I know it hurts. I know it seems like there is no better way, but there is."
It really does get better.
Monday, November 14, 2011
No such thing as worthy
A few weeks ago, I was struggling. I talked to my amazing friend, Jen. We went through some visualization, and the picture that kept looming before me was the temple. I was frustrated. I kept trying to figure out why I would feel like I needed that in my life, but I also hate it. I was miserable there. I made life miserable for everyone else whenever I had to go there. (And by "had to" I mean I forced myself to go.)
With her help, I found the word, "worthy". The temples means I am worthy. I am worth it.
When I was 17, and only barely alive, my mom had a dream. She saw me in the temple in a wedding dress, and she knew everything was going to be okay. When I was 19, and getting married in the temple, she reminded me of her dream. She was so happy that I had finally "made it".
Before I got married, I knew that's what people around me felt. I KNEW that if I just made it to the temple, all of their heartache, their money, their time, their prayers would be worth it. *I* would be worth it.
Jen said something perfect: "It sounds to me like all of those old beliefs are DESPERATE for you to let go of them, so why are you still holding on so tightly?"
Well, fuck. I don't know.
Because I wanted to be worth it. I wanted to be loved. Being in a place I love. In the relationships I love. Feeling happy and fulfilled and GOOD, those things just aren't "good enough" if I'm not worthy.
Since that conversation, and even IN that conversation, I let go of that old belief. I am not worthy, because I go to the temple. I am worthy, because I am me. I am not worthy because I am in a marriage, or because my life looks like it "should" to anyone else... I am good. No because needed.
Back in my own truth, in the reality that there is no such thing as "worthy", I find the world to be a beautiful place. I see the perfection that is every friendship I have in my life. I see the perfection that is every situation in my life. I see the joy that is to be found in every second.
I was reminded of what it is like to live in the other world again yesterday.
I was talking to a friend. He REALLY wants to be married. He made the comment, "Why is it so hard? Why can't two people just say, 'I like you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.' I just want to move on with my life."
It sounded so familiar.
But not the way I live my life now.
Trying to find someone to "share the rest of my life with" is HARD. Trying to find a friend to talk to today; Who enjoys spending time together; Who loves me: That's easy. I have a lot of friendships like that. I have a lot of friendships that are absolutely perfect. But I wouldn't have even SEEN these amazing and perfect friendships back when I had only one goal:
If marriage is the only way to "move on with my life", then I can't appreciate the perfection that IS right now. I am feeling grateful for the things I've learned in the past few years. I'm feeling grateful that I no longer feel that pressure.
I feel grateful for all that is today.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
The poker game
A good friend of mine wrote this blog post, and I think she hit it spot on.
I especially love her analogy of the poker game.
"I would compare it to a round of poker. “Genetics deals the cards, environment determines the number/skill of your opponents, and you play the hand.”
I also love this:
"In other words, don’t obsess about your body in front of children. Don’t encourage them to try fad diets. And, of course, eat cake at their birthday parties. Your children will thank you."
Only, I doubt your children will thank you, because they won't know any other reality. They will just know what it was like to have parents that eat birthday cake. They won't know that some people don't get to enjoy such wonderful things.
Love your body.
You're beautiful!
I especially love her analogy of the poker game.
"I would compare it to a round of poker. “Genetics deals the cards, environment determines the number/skill of your opponents, and you play the hand.”
I also love this:
"In other words, don’t obsess about your body in front of children. Don’t encourage them to try fad diets. And, of course, eat cake at their birthday parties. Your children will thank you."
Only, I doubt your children will thank you, because they won't know any other reality. They will just know what it was like to have parents that eat birthday cake. They won't know that some people don't get to enjoy such wonderful things.
Love your body.
You're beautiful!
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Friends
Two years ago, I came to the realization that I was spending all my time with people who wanted me in their lives, but not necessarily with people who I wanted in my life. They were people who said they loved me, people who seemed to need me, people who wanted something from me.
I realized I didn't like living like that, and decided to make a list of the people I would want in my life. One of the friends that topped the list, was Sara. I called her - she felt the same way, and we had a ton of fun together. And then, in August of last year, we just sort of stopped hanging out. Occasionally, I'd text her or she'd text me. We even talked on the phone a couple times, but something had definitely changed.
For me, I was a little nervous about what she'd think if she knew I'd left the church. I was worried that I might say something that would start her questioning, and I didn't want to do that. I was really angry at the church for a while, and I was worried I might tell her about my anger. (We'd always been incredibly open with each other. There isn't a topic we haven't discussed at length.)
Last week, I got a text from her saying, "I miss you. I need a friend. Can we hang out?"
I've become pretty comfortable in my own skin, and felt ready to tell her about my status with the church. I was not quite comfortable enough to wear a tanktop to her house, but when she came to her door, guess what she was wearing?
It took me back a little. One of the things we had in common was we were both very devout members. I didn't say anything then - I waited while we filled each other in on the last year. It got quiet, and she said, "I need to tell you about where I stand on religion. I'm SO nervous, but... I just have to tell you."
I told her to keep talking, because I was pretty DAMN sure we are in the same place.
That shocked her. She then went on to say that she's not sure how she feels about God, or if God even exists, but she knows for pretty certain that religion seems to seriously mess people up.
We talked about the guilt, the fear, the strange culture, the controlling ways people treat each other, we even talked about the good things the church had brought into our lives. It served a purpose for both of us - in many ways, for a time, it helped keep us each alive. And then we both moved past it. She said she didn't feel the need to use fear to teach her children to be good. She wants to be around people who are good, just for good's sake, not because they want blessinga in the afterlife, or because they are afraid of God's wrath, or because they are afraid of what others will think of them if they don't follow all of the commandments.
She said she wouldn't go recruiting people for this new way of life, because it's HARD. It's hard to have to make decisions about what you think and feel, because suddenly, there's no one telling you how you SHOULD think and feel. It's hard to make decisions on your life based on what is true for you rather than following a strict plan. The plan might not be right, and might make you miserable, but at least you know what to do... And then she said she wouldn't go back and do it any other way than what she is doing now.
I couldn't help but smile. EXACTLY how I felt.
Ironically, we had both withdrawn from each other as we were going through the same process. Afraid of what the other would think.
I came home feeling so happy. And so lucky. I've been through hell, but leaving the church has not been nearly as gut-wrenching as it is for some. Many of my friends went through the whole process totally alone. I had them.(I started listing out names, but I know I'll forget someone, and the list was a lot longer than I even knew) who left the church long time before I met them. I was in the process of leaving, and I had their friendship. I found a support group for those who were questioning their faith, and I found several friends there. My family has been loving and supportive and non-judgmental. All they've ever said to me is that they want me to be happy. I also have old friends - my old roommates from BYU and Sara. My "never-mo" friend Amanda who listened as I tried to sort out what I actually felt. And more than one bishop who cared about me enough to tell me to get away from the church.
How did I get so lucky? I have many close and wonderful friends - not just acquaintance - REAL friends. It amazes and astounds me to feel the love of so many amazing people.
I realized I didn't like living like that, and decided to make a list of the people I would want in my life. One of the friends that topped the list, was Sara. I called her - she felt the same way, and we had a ton of fun together. And then, in August of last year, we just sort of stopped hanging out. Occasionally, I'd text her or she'd text me. We even talked on the phone a couple times, but something had definitely changed.
For me, I was a little nervous about what she'd think if she knew I'd left the church. I was worried that I might say something that would start her questioning, and I didn't want to do that. I was really angry at the church for a while, and I was worried I might tell her about my anger. (We'd always been incredibly open with each other. There isn't a topic we haven't discussed at length.)
Last week, I got a text from her saying, "I miss you. I need a friend. Can we hang out?"
I've become pretty comfortable in my own skin, and felt ready to tell her about my status with the church. I was not quite comfortable enough to wear a tanktop to her house, but when she came to her door, guess what she was wearing?
It took me back a little. One of the things we had in common was we were both very devout members. I didn't say anything then - I waited while we filled each other in on the last year. It got quiet, and she said, "I need to tell you about where I stand on religion. I'm SO nervous, but... I just have to tell you."
I told her to keep talking, because I was pretty DAMN sure we are in the same place.
That shocked her. She then went on to say that she's not sure how she feels about God, or if God even exists, but she knows for pretty certain that religion seems to seriously mess people up.
We talked about the guilt, the fear, the strange culture, the controlling ways people treat each other, we even talked about the good things the church had brought into our lives. It served a purpose for both of us - in many ways, for a time, it helped keep us each alive. And then we both moved past it. She said she didn't feel the need to use fear to teach her children to be good. She wants to be around people who are good, just for good's sake, not because they want blessinga in the afterlife, or because they are afraid of God's wrath, or because they are afraid of what others will think of them if they don't follow all of the commandments.
She said she wouldn't go recruiting people for this new way of life, because it's HARD. It's hard to have to make decisions about what you think and feel, because suddenly, there's no one telling you how you SHOULD think and feel. It's hard to make decisions on your life based on what is true for you rather than following a strict plan. The plan might not be right, and might make you miserable, but at least you know what to do... And then she said she wouldn't go back and do it any other way than what she is doing now.
I couldn't help but smile. EXACTLY how I felt.
Ironically, we had both withdrawn from each other as we were going through the same process. Afraid of what the other would think.
I came home feeling so happy. And so lucky. I've been through hell, but leaving the church has not been nearly as gut-wrenching as it is for some. Many of my friends went through the whole process totally alone. I had them.(I started listing out names, but I know I'll forget someone, and the list was a lot longer than I even knew) who left the church long time before I met them. I was in the process of leaving, and I had their friendship. I found a support group for those who were questioning their faith, and I found several friends there. My family has been loving and supportive and non-judgmental. All they've ever said to me is that they want me to be happy. I also have old friends - my old roommates from BYU and Sara. My "never-mo" friend Amanda who listened as I tried to sort out what I actually felt. And more than one bishop who cared about me enough to tell me to get away from the church.
How did I get so lucky? I have many close and wonderful friends - not just acquaintance - REAL friends. It amazes and astounds me to feel the love of so many amazing people.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Self Acceptance takes away an abuser's power
I really like this post.
There were two quotes that jumped out at me:
The second quote that hit me was this one:
Today, BJ asked me what was wrong with him going after his wants. What was wrong with him doing what he wanted? I didn't have an answer... other than, "Nothing. Live YOUR life." He asked me to play the devil's advocate. Come up with a reason that he shouldn't do what he wants to do. I had a hard time. Years of therapy where I kept telling Paul that I couldn't just be ME, because ME wasn't good enough... I couldn't just do what I want, because the whole world would fall apart, or I'd hurt people, or... and today, without coming back and reading old blogs, I couldn't remember how I used to think. (cue trumpets!)
For most of my life, I was told that having control over my own life was selfishness. It was not okay to pursue my dreams or goals, or to take care of my wants and needs unless I FIRST took care of everyone else. That is SO WRONG!
There are many people who don't want me (or you or anyone else) to accept ourselves. If I accept myself, I will not use anti-wrinkle cream on my face, or get plastic surgery, or eat this or that diet, and there goes a billion dollar industry.
If I accept myself, I might not do what everyone else thinks is right. I will do what is best for me. Always.
If I accept and love myself for who I am, I do not have to be a slave to you to earn your love.
If I accept myself, I will not allow myself to be abused. When someone tries to manipulate me into doing what they want, it just won't work. Power hungry people cannot handle a person who loves themselves. It takes away all their power.
I stayed in relationships that were very unhealthy, because I believed no one else could love or accept me. After all, I hated me, how could anyone else love me? Through a miraculous combination of therapy, books, friends, horses, and experiences, I have come to love and accept myself for who I am. With that love came the power to walk away. It didn't matter what they said, because I knew myself and I loved myself.
I have amazing friends. On a hard day, they remind me how much I am loved by them. And then they remind me that their love doesn't matter nearly as much as my love for me. And I am grateful.
There were two quotes that jumped out at me:
"If you want to know who your truest friends are, ask yourself who encourages you to accept yourself as you are. For it is all but the very mark of true friend that he or she encourages that in you. Yet, most of us have few friends of that caliber."I thought of all of the amazing friends I have that encourage me to accept myself as I am.
The second quote that hit me was this one:
"It is possible that no one but your truest friends will accept that you do not condemn your “darkest impulses”. The rest of the world is reluctant to give up that means of manipulating you."I was SO afraid of accepting myself. I was terrified I would suddenly become a horrible person. I was afraid of who I would be without guilt and shame driving me. I have seen first hand what "darkest impulses" can do, and I didn't want to BE that. I didn't want to hurt others like I had been hurt. I fought with Paul constantly about this - he believed his job was to help me accept ALL of me, including the darkest parts. I believed I had to manipulate and force myself to be something I wasn't. I didn't even require outside forces doing it.
Today, BJ asked me what was wrong with him going after his wants. What was wrong with him doing what he wanted? I didn't have an answer... other than, "Nothing. Live YOUR life." He asked me to play the devil's advocate. Come up with a reason that he shouldn't do what he wants to do. I had a hard time. Years of therapy where I kept telling Paul that I couldn't just be ME, because ME wasn't good enough... I couldn't just do what I want, because the whole world would fall apart, or I'd hurt people, or... and today, without coming back and reading old blogs, I couldn't remember how I used to think. (cue trumpets!)
For most of my life, I was told that having control over my own life was selfishness. It was not okay to pursue my dreams or goals, or to take care of my wants and needs unless I FIRST took care of everyone else. That is SO WRONG!
There are many people who don't want me (or you or anyone else) to accept ourselves. If I accept myself, I will not use anti-wrinkle cream on my face, or get plastic surgery, or eat this or that diet, and there goes a billion dollar industry.
If I accept myself, I might not do what everyone else thinks is right. I will do what is best for me. Always.
If I accept and love myself for who I am, I do not have to be a slave to you to earn your love.
If I accept myself, I will not allow myself to be abused. When someone tries to manipulate me into doing what they want, it just won't work. Power hungry people cannot handle a person who loves themselves. It takes away all their power.
I stayed in relationships that were very unhealthy, because I believed no one else could love or accept me. After all, I hated me, how could anyone else love me? Through a miraculous combination of therapy, books, friends, horses, and experiences, I have come to love and accept myself for who I am. With that love came the power to walk away. It didn't matter what they said, because I knew myself and I loved myself.
I have amazing friends. On a hard day, they remind me how much I am loved by them. And then they remind me that their love doesn't matter nearly as much as my love for me. And I am grateful.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Who is the better friend?
I had a friend post this on facebook as her status:
I wanted to put an answer, but the only thing I could think of was, "Who the hell are YOU (or ME) to decide what makes someone better?" That didn't seem like an answer that would create the feeling I wanted.
I have literally spent the last two days obsessing and mulling over the question, as well as other people's answers. I've had discussions online, on the phone, and over dinner all about this same thing. I laid awake last night unable to sleep, because I couldn't turn my brain off.
Round about five o'clock this morning, this is what I came up with:
I posted it to her status. I feel terrified. At first, I wasn't going to... I didn't find this answer for her, it was for me. But, she did ask for opinions, and just because my opinion was pretty much the opposite of everyone else that posted doesn't make my opinion wrong...
It might open me up to nasty messages. It IS her wall, so she can hate it, delete it, tell me not to post there, and I think that's fair. I'm still scared. Speaking my truth is new for me, and scary. I'm not used to voicing my opinions when they are different from others... yet.
"Let's hear some opinions- Do you think a friend is someone who lets you be your self or is a friend someone who helps you become better than yourself?"
I wanted to put an answer, but the only thing I could think of was, "Who the hell are YOU (or ME) to decide what makes someone better?" That didn't seem like an answer that would create the feeling I wanted.
I have literally spent the last two days obsessing and mulling over the question, as well as other people's answers. I've had discussions online, on the phone, and over dinner all about this same thing. I laid awake last night unable to sleep, because I couldn't turn my brain off.
Round about five o'clock this morning, this is what I came up with:
"The friend who accepts me and loves me for who I am is the truest friend. It feels amazing when someone sees ME, knows ME, and loves me. That kind of friendship feels hopeful, healing, and inspiring. That kind of friendship inspires me to be the best me. They don't love me, SO that I will change anything. There is no expectation to change... And ironically, that provides the best environment to change and grow and learn, and become better.
When a friendship is based on, "I love you and I hope you'll change," that feels confusing, lonely, sad, "dried up", and withered away... The opposite of inspired. It eats away at me. Until I have no desire to be around that person, because it is painful and empty.
I also used to get confused and think that I should accept everyone just as they are, which meant accepting things that really hurt me. (Like a friendship I described above.) Now, I can say, "That hurts me, so I won't be around you when you're doing that." That isn't about changing them to be better, its about creating an environment I like being in. I can't know what is "better" for someone else. Only they can know that. And only I know what is "better" for me.
I really like the saying, "Accept me as I am or watch me as I walk away." And I feel like that goes both ways, "I will accept you as you are, or I will let you walk away." That feels like love (true friendship) to me."
I posted it to her status. I feel terrified. At first, I wasn't going to... I didn't find this answer for her, it was for me. But, she did ask for opinions, and just because my opinion was pretty much the opposite of everyone else that posted doesn't make my opinion wrong...
It might open me up to nasty messages. It IS her wall, so she can hate it, delete it, tell me not to post there, and I think that's fair. I'm still scared. Speaking my truth is new for me, and scary. I'm not used to voicing my opinions when they are different from others... yet.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
"my expression is about me"
I turned on Jen and Angie's blogcast, "Everyday Joy".
Jen talked about the Universe's wake up calls. She talked about the thing she has learned this week:
"my expression is about me."
At that moment, I got an email saying BJ's son had sent me a message.
I wrote the response, but was feeling... uneasy. I needed help seeing. I asked Norm for help. I knew he knew some of the story, he wouldn't judge, and it felt like I needed to ask him.
I had him read the blog and BJ's son's response. This was his question:
(I'm only leaving the parts that I thought could be beneficial to others. Anything personal to BJ's son's letter, I removed.)
I can't explain exactly what was happening, but my theory is that I'm coming together. A few more pieces of me that have been broken off and separated are not broken off anymore.
Jen talked about the Universe's wake up calls. She talked about the thing she has learned this week:
"my expression is about me."
At that moment, I got an email saying BJ's son had sent me a message.
I wrote the response, but was feeling... uneasy. I needed help seeing. I asked Norm for help. I knew he knew some of the story, he wouldn't judge, and it felt like I needed to ask him.
I had him read the blog and BJ's son's response. This was his question:
"What makes you think that you can change his mind about you any more than you might be able to change anyones mind about the church?"My reply was perfectly me. Just what I needed to hear and to know.
"I don't. I don't expect him to listen or hear me, so my responding isn't about him. My words probably will be used against me. Twisted to serve the church, or his stories, or something else... My response is about me speaking up and not hiding because my voice is "useless"."At which point, he told me that he didn't need to give me any advice. I knew what to do. And I know he's right. I just needed to find that. This isn't about BJ, or his son, or the church, or anyone but me. I have long believed my voice was useless, so I never spoke up. I thought if I couldn't change the world around me, there was no reason to talk, to sing, to laugh. It has always been about everyone else... and in a backwards way about myself. Today, I can finally see in a forwards way its about me. This is a part of what I sent back:
(I'm only leaving the parts that I thought could be beneficial to others. Anything personal to BJ's son's letter, I removed.)
I appreciate you asking, and I'm grateful you sent me the message.
I can't speak for BJ and his authenticity. All I know is that he has said he is now being authentic. I trust him to speak for himself.When I finished talking with Norm, I was shaking. Whole body vibrating enough that I thought I was going to pass out. I laid down on the floor for an hour and just shook.
Having traveled the road of trying to figure out how to be authentic... it IS hard. It hurts. There is a cost. And the longer we have pretended to be something we aren't, the harder it is. The trouble with masks is when we take them off, no one recognizes us. I know many people would say authenticity is NOT worth it, and that is something we can only say for ourselves. I don't get to make that choice for anyone but me. No friend, bishop, parent, spouse can choose or decide for me... And I can't choose for them.
Authenticity is not about what you do... I would define authenticity as "doing what you believe", being who you are. Authenticity will look different for each one of us.
I'm about to give advice. You didn't ask for it. Its free. Take it for what its worth. If your dad tells you he is being authentic, believe him. If your dad tells you he wasn't happy, believe him. Listen to him. He knows himself better than you or me or anyone else.
I can't explain exactly what was happening, but my theory is that I'm coming together. A few more pieces of me that have been broken off and separated are not broken off anymore.
Friday, February 18, 2011
"I can be trusted."
I was talking to my friend, Jen (not me Jen, another Jen) a while ago. She was sharing the story of her coming out. Everyday for nine months, she told someone new. I can't remember exactly what she said, or how she even said it, because as she was talking fireworks started going off in my head and a voice was shouting, "Listen! Listen!"
It went something like this:
I had to show my spirit that I would choose me over everyone else. I had to show me that I could take care of me.
I thought of the body memories and pain I experience. I have known for a long time that the pain will be there until I can show myself I will take care of and protect myself from being hurt again.
My move was big.
But one big event doesn't make you trust.
It is a series of little events; little things everyday that say, "I can be trusted."
Like Jen's story of talking to someone everyday. Everyday telling someone who she is. I know this is what I need to do, but I really don't know HOW. Or what that even looks like.
What does that look like? How do I show ME that I will take care of me?
I know that I don't allow people to hurt me like I used to. I speak up much more often. I'm learning skills so that I can communicate my needs and wants better. I'm paying attention to my own feelings SO much more.
Is there something I am missing? Does it just take time?
(Jen's story wouldn't have been quite so big to me if I was already doing what I needed to be doing... right?)
Frustration!!!
I want to do something different. I just don't know what...yet.
It went something like this:
I had to show my spirit that I would choose me over everyone else. I had to show me that I could take care of me.
I thought of the body memories and pain I experience. I have known for a long time that the pain will be there until I can show myself I will take care of and protect myself from being hurt again.
My move was big.
But one big event doesn't make you trust.
It is a series of little events; little things everyday that say, "I can be trusted."
Like Jen's story of talking to someone everyday. Everyday telling someone who she is. I know this is what I need to do, but I really don't know HOW. Or what that even looks like.
What does that look like? How do I show ME that I will take care of me?
I know that I don't allow people to hurt me like I used to. I speak up much more often. I'm learning skills so that I can communicate my needs and wants better. I'm paying attention to my own feelings SO much more.
Is there something I am missing? Does it just take time?
(Jen's story wouldn't have been quite so big to me if I was already doing what I needed to be doing... right?)
Frustration!!!
I want to do something different. I just don't know what...yet.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
The King's Speech
I saw the movie The King's Speech yesterday. Loved it.
Warning: I'm about to spoil the whole movie for you!
The story is about King George VI. He had a stammer. He had been to every speech therapist his wife could find. He finally finds himself at the office of Lionel Louge. Lionel says he can help the (still just a) Prince, but he has to do exactly as Lionel says.
They go through exercises, but Lionel is constantly pushing Bertie to talk about his childhood We find out that Bertie had a very mean nanny. She starved him. It took the family three years to discover the problem.
Lionel tells the story of how he got started. He was an English teacher and a sub-par actor at the end of World War I. Soldiers were coming home from the war unable to speak. He decided he could help them. He tells of a group of people who used their voices to cry out for help, and no one heard them, and they lost their voice. His solution, his cure was just to listen to their fears and their pains. Their voices returned.
I never lost my ability to speak, but my voice got lost. And I found some amazing friends that heard me. They listened to ME. Beyond all of the noise. And the traditional advice. And... they heard me. And through their help, I now have a voice... and not a quiet one.
Warning: I'm about to spoil the whole movie for you!
The story is about King George VI. He had a stammer. He had been to every speech therapist his wife could find. He finally finds himself at the office of Lionel Louge. Lionel says he can help the (still just a) Prince, but he has to do exactly as Lionel says.
They go through exercises, but Lionel is constantly pushing Bertie to talk about his childhood We find out that Bertie had a very mean nanny. She starved him. It took the family three years to discover the problem.
Lionel tells the story of how he got started. He was an English teacher and a sub-par actor at the end of World War I. Soldiers were coming home from the war unable to speak. He decided he could help them. He tells of a group of people who used their voices to cry out for help, and no one heard them, and they lost their voice. His solution, his cure was just to listen to their fears and their pains. Their voices returned.
I never lost my ability to speak, but my voice got lost. And I found some amazing friends that heard me. They listened to ME. Beyond all of the noise. And the traditional advice. And... they heard me. And through their help, I now have a voice... and not a quiet one.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Just More
I shared my last entry (How I destroyed a marriage) with an online group as well as here. I had thought about sharing the story, but kept stopping myself. "If they know, they'll hate me."
Finally, I realized that wasn't who I wanted to be. If they're going to hate me for the choices that I make... I'd rather be honest and hated then pretend and ASSUME they'll hate me.
The responses were amazing! Most were super kind and very protective of me. One, just made my day:
I used to be so afraid of who I was. I was afraid of who I was going to become when I was really me. I realized today, I'm not afraid anymore. I'm not afraid of me or who I am... I don't fully know who that will be yet, and I'm not afraid.
Finally, I realized that wasn't who I wanted to be. If they're going to hate me for the choices that I make... I'd rather be honest and hated then pretend and ASSUME they'll hate me.
The responses were amazing! Most were super kind and very protective of me. One, just made my day:
"For those who are concerned about Jen's welfare, I think you're awesome. Many of you have never met her, and you're still this concerned for her.I have felt that I am becoming more. More calm, more confident, more centered, just more. And it helped to have someone who has only known for a few months to repeat that.
But I wanted to give you some insider info, as one who has met Jen IRL. When I saw her the first time at a CALM meeting (back in October) she looked so brittle, timid and scared... I thought she would shatter if I looked at her funny.
I have a hard time reconciling that image with how she is now. More confident. More centered. More... just more. I think now that I'd be more scared she'd feed me my own teeth if I looked at her funny. She's able to express anger at the church, and at the people who harmed her in a way she couldn't before. Before, I didn't get the impression that expressing that anger was easy, or possible in some cases.
And she's gonna keep getting better."
I used to be so afraid of who I was. I was afraid of who I was going to become when I was really me. I realized today, I'm not afraid anymore. I'm not afraid of me or who I am... I don't fully know who that will be yet, and I'm not afraid.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Horribly painful, life-altering, and still perfect.
I've spent a lot of time thinking, and discussing, and intellectualizing things. I wrote about it in my last post... I feel like I got out of touch with a very crucial part of myself.
Tonight, I came across Duck's blog entry, "Does God...?" and read her thoughts about God after her abuse.
She echoed my feelings.
When I started therapy with Paul, he told me it was his job to tell me what to do. I told him I didn't need that... I had a relationship with God... I needed Paul's help to do what I knew I needed to. Paul asked why he had never felt things like I did. I came to the conclusion that Paul didn't need the spiritual connection that I needed. I wouldn't have survived any other way.
BJ has said he has never seen such perfect and miraculous answers to prayers as he has with me. (He also said he had never seen anyone in as much pain...)
As I read Duck's writing... I thought back to that really strong, spiritual, slightly crazy sounding person. I miss her. It was easy for me to accept that God was there and working it all out in my own life... I mean, I I could SEE His hand everywhere around me. Although my life is anything but perfect, still... I could see His hand perfectly. I understood that even if I didn't survive, I was His.
I started working through my own pain, and started listening to others' painful stories. As I really listened, I couldn't SEE God like I could in my own life... and I didn't know how to make sense of it anymore. I got angry. I AM angry.
Where was He? Why didn't he protect my friend? When she was only six and needed a mom, why didn't He send her someone who could actually love her rather than someone to hurt her? WHY? If He could send me a friend like BJ, why didn't he send someone like that to her? And why did it take so long for ME to find the help? And where was He for all of my other friends? And...? So many questions that I didn't have answers for... and I HATE the common rhetoric of, "We don't know, and will never know in this life. We just have to accept it on faith."
Somehow, I still believe God's hand is in everything around me. Did He personally go through the nightmares, the night terrors, facing the flashbacks? No.
Did He guide me on my journey? Did He show me how to help myself? Did He give me strength when I had none left? Did He send friends and angels and miracles at the very moment that I needed THAT? YES! YES! YES! YES!
To use Duck's words(because they are awesome and perfect!)
Tonight, I came across Duck's blog entry, "Does God...?" and read her thoughts about God after her abuse.
She echoed my feelings.
"Except that God gave me the VERY things I needed to survive what THEY did to me. He sent gifts to me that helped me survive what happened to me and to others. In His mercy, He helped me survive."I have been amazed at the Love I have felt even when I couldn't find love around me. It is miraculous how I have sorted out different memories and flashbacks. The understanding I have found.
When I started therapy with Paul, he told me it was his job to tell me what to do. I told him I didn't need that... I had a relationship with God... I needed Paul's help to do what I knew I needed to. Paul asked why he had never felt things like I did. I came to the conclusion that Paul didn't need the spiritual connection that I needed. I wouldn't have survived any other way.
BJ has said he has never seen such perfect and miraculous answers to prayers as he has with me. (He also said he had never seen anyone in as much pain...)
As I read Duck's writing... I thought back to that really strong, spiritual, slightly crazy sounding person. I miss her. It was easy for me to accept that God was there and working it all out in my own life... I mean, I I could SEE His hand everywhere around me. Although my life is anything but perfect, still... I could see His hand perfectly. I understood that even if I didn't survive, I was His.
I started working through my own pain, and started listening to others' painful stories. As I really listened, I couldn't SEE God like I could in my own life... and I didn't know how to make sense of it anymore. I got angry. I AM angry.
Where was He? Why didn't he protect my friend? When she was only six and needed a mom, why didn't He send her someone who could actually love her rather than someone to hurt her? WHY? If He could send me a friend like BJ, why didn't he send someone like that to her? And why did it take so long for ME to find the help? And where was He for all of my other friends? And...? So many questions that I didn't have answers for... and I HATE the common rhetoric of, "We don't know, and will never know in this life. We just have to accept it on faith."
Somehow, I still believe God's hand is in everything around me. Did He personally go through the nightmares, the night terrors, facing the flashbacks? No.
Did He guide me on my journey? Did He show me how to help myself? Did He give me strength when I had none left? Did He send friends and angels and miracles at the very moment that I needed THAT? YES! YES! YES! YES!
To use Duck's words(because they are awesome and perfect!)
"I am ONLY here today BECAUSE of God. How could I NOT have faith in THAT?"I can't explain it all. I don't know why I have been so blessed. Its not because I am good, and its not because I am not good. Its not because I am stronger or better or... I can assume that God is taking care of my friends too. Actually, I HAVE seen Him guide that six-year-old. In ways that don't always make sense to the rest of us, I have seen her find strength when she shouldn't have been able to go on. I have seen her make choices that bring her exactly what she needs. I have seen it all working perfectly. And I assume whatever comes next for her will be the same perfect. Horribly painful, life-altering, ass-kicking, AWFUL, not fair, shitty (and these words don't even BEGIN to describe it) and still perfect.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Thank God for brilliant friends
I shared my heartbreak.
My worries.
My shame and guilt.
In one sentence, she brought me back to reality.
And just like that, I was calmer.
And I could think better...
She's freaking amazing.
Does she understand that??
My worries.
My shame and guilt.
In one sentence, she brought me back to reality.
And just like that, I was calmer.
And I could think better...
She's freaking amazing.
Does she understand that??
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