Category Archives: change

Apr3

when it’s nobody’s business

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Heart pounding anxiety woke me up at 3 a.m; which is not unusual anymore. I managed to talk myself off that ledge in about a minute. I’m getting better at it. My goal was freedom. The goal is always going to be freedom. Because I feel like my dream world, my rest, was hijacked. It’s mine. I want it back.

My friends and I are all worried about our adult children. They are struggling to find their footing in a culture that is undermining them every step of the way. And we are not sure how to help, or if we can. Mind you, they were raised as we were, in decent middle class families. We were well educated, but our current incomes are not cutting it. We don’t have the financial security we thought we were building all our work life. Our children left school in debt with no guarantee of a job, let alone a living wage. I read a news article last week that shocked me to my core: recent studies have shown that at least fifty percent of the baby boomers in the U.S. are financially supporting adult children. In many cases it’s the adult child and their family. They came home to get their feet back on the ground – in one case cited, 13 years ago.

Children or not, everyone I know is struggling. We are all trying to figure this out as we go along. We have no role models. We’re outliving our parents, and we are in entirely uncharted territory. We are the first generation that is openly talking about the abuse our parents and grandparents kept secret. No one was consciously dealing with narcissistic abuse 20 years ago. Or 10. No one recognized that past generations were being groomed for sexual abuse. The culture tolerated it, they tolerated verbal abuse, even laughed about it. They tolerated bad behavior, made excuses for it. Hell, we’ve voted it into the White House. Taking accountability for your behavior was optional. Do you wonder we have an epidemic of dementia?! (Help me forget!) Addiction? Of narcissism? Of sex trafficking? Of all manner of spiritual bankruptcy? Can no one connect the dots here?! That pandemic was no accident – it was a physical manifestation of a spiritual problem. It’s time to pull our heads out of the sand.

Meanwhile, I’m struggling with my health. Last week I called for a doctor appointment and was reminded that I have to be interrogated by a nurse over the phone to determine whether or not I am sick enough to qualify for a precious appointment. I have to beg just to be seen. Then before I can be given the necessary antibiotic I have to endure a week’s worth of tests. Meanwhile, I was prescribed a temporary superficial treatment. Medicare doesn’t cover that prescription, so I didn’t fill it. I can’t do that and buy groceries. And I’m angry about that.

Now, lest you think me ungrateful, or just a whiner, I am aware of opportunity hiding here in plain sight. When worry and anxiety seem to steal my peace I know my training is not yet complete. And I’m not havoc-ing it anymore (see blog post of March 15th.) Intellectually I know that the way out of angst is gratitude. But my intellect is not easily coerced. I can’t expect to start pontificating about big, general platitudes and get myself free. Those old affirmations aren’t working anymore; this feels like spiritual warfare.

But. I can start small…go back to basics. I’m sure glad I bought an orange desk chair instead of black. Orange is the happiest color. Wow, I love my bed. I love my wide Frodo feet. I walk to the bathroom in the middle of the night, and I say “Thank You” to everything I pass (yes, out loud) – the floor, the countertop, the cat, the doorway, the moon outside. Try it. There are big things I am grateful for, too – like my son having survived cancer. He is struggling through his self-proclaimed “mid-life crisis”…but he’s here for it. Not all of his friends have made it past 40.

I can re-member myself whole. I have resources in my spiritual tool box: friends, some of my family, a loving therapist, tarot cards! At 3 a.m. with a racing heart I call in invisible help: “Christ Jesus, Archangel Michael, Ancestors! Any and all available light workers.” That’s step one. I am NOT TO BE TOILED WITH here. Neither are you – know that. God didn’t make a mistake. You were not a cosmic afterthought. You do not need to “find your purpose”…you ARE your purpose. Live like you belong here. There are no qualifications you haven’t fulfilled. You have exactly the same right to be here as 8,019,876,189 other people. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

Since that has been established, I can be the narcissist’s worse nightmare. My home, my mind, and my body – my sanctuary – is a no tolerance zone. No talking down to anyone. I carry an expectation that you will be on your very best behavior around me and show up as present as possible. Don’t ever settle for anything less from anyone. Not your teacher, not your boss, not your doctor, and certainly not your family. I can laugh at myself with the best of them – when I’m silly or wrong. But don’t make fun of me at my expense. Don’t ridicule me. I’m a fucking spiritual Jedi, and I’ve trained my boundaries to be stronger than my empathy. Everybody sing along now…

Mar20

The Emperor’s Offer

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Yesterday I drew the Emperor as the tarot card of the day. Specifically, I drew from the Emily Dickinson Tarot. The deck depicts the major arcana as insects, derived from her work as a botanist. The Walking Stick is our Emperor here. Always looking to take action as acknowledgement of the card, I went for a walk. And I asked the Emperor to talk to me, to show me something useful. What popped into my mind surprised me, as intuition often will. I imagined a movie character as The Emperor – Grace, from the movie Hope Gap. How on earth could Grace embody the Emperor? Grace is a hot mess.

Grace is faced with her marriage ending. But they didn’t grow apart after 29 years; he suddenly left for another woman. Not only is she facing her older years alone, but utterly rejected. Perhaps for the first time in her life, Grace is faced with herself. She becomes inconsolable, and intolerable. We’re not quite sure if she and her family will survive this.

This story is a memoir. It was written and directed by William Nicholson, and is the story of his parents divorce and the way it changed a family. The way each of them were transformed. The lives that came out differently than expected. And here is where the Emperor shows up.

The Emperor embodies all four kings of the minor arcana. He is the intellect king of swords, arrogant and haughty and absolutely devoted to the truth. Ultimately he is your best soldier once he matures to realize he isn’t always the smartest person in the room. He is the king of wands, intuitive and compassionate and fair – above all else, fair. In his younger self we saw his impulsive nature and his one-sided idealism get in his way, but he sees his place in history. The king of cups has learned to love the hard way. It isn’t what he thought it meant. It requires dedication and loving action even when he doesn’t feel it, even when anger seems to consume him. And the king of pentacles has learned to manage energy, because without his health he has no throne, no say. And without his wits about him his fortunes will be squandered, and he will be rendered powerless that way as well. He intends to stay in power and to use it effectively. They have all learned to stand their ground, to govern judiciously. And they have learned what power is for.

Grace is shaken to her core, and she must find a way to survive and flourish. And live her life, her way. In her transformation we are all healed. So, yeah, I can see Grace as an emperor. But as it happens, the emperor wasn’t finished with me yet…

The Emperor is my son’s archetype. My son is the most important person in my life. When he was going through cancer treatment in his early twenties I remember something funny he said one day. He said “I know I’m going to be alright no matter what happens, but what are we going to do about getting you some help?” That’s the emperor. These days I am watching him mid-life, struggling to re-invent himself, floundering. He would make the very best dad, but he is not likely to have children of his own. That is not the path of the emperor. They walk alone, the shamans, the way showers. And I need to let him go. I need to alchemize my own life and let him learn to survive and flourish. I need to be Grace. Embrace your own internal Emperor today and be compassionate with yourself. The world is waiting for you.

Mar20

asking for a friend…

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The Crappy Childhood Fairy, aka Anna Runkle, is another of my heroes. It’s no understatement that she changed my life when I first came across her several years ago. A decade ago I would have called my angst “social anxiety,” which brings me to a shocking discovery: our unhealed trauma evolves with us. Our symptoms adjust, our language updates, the common therapeutic terms change, we find new ways to define ourselves. It is easy to convince ourselves that we have healed our anxiety and are better able to participate with life, to be present.

Self-awareness is always a good thing. But here’s the rub: subsequently as we become increasingly committed to our healing we become acutely aware of how we mask our defenses. It’s a double-edged sword. Self-awareness has no real value without self-development. That’s a tricky word, development, and an even trickier achievement. It sounds a lot like maturing, and growing up is hard to do.

In the past I’ve lamented those “spiritual” friends who “are so heavenly minded they are no earthly good,” from fundamentalist Christians to devout Buddhists to professional tarot counselors. I’m not so impressed with your beliefs if your behavior is needy (myself included in all said here.) Spare me the buzz language of the divine. I really don’t care how many crystals you have, how many self-improvement books you’ve read, how often you attend church, or how diligently you meditate or practice your chosen rituals – are you living creatively? Are your relationships more healthy than codependent? Are your boundaries conditional depending on your mood? Can you justify your poor behavior with need? Asking for a friend…

About a decade ago after my marriage ended, my father died, and I became estranged from my siblings, I found myself orphaned at the age of 60. “When you dig down deep you lose good sleep, and it makes you heavy company…” writes Joni. Yep. Some people cut me out of their lives and over the course of the past decade I have gone no contact with several people myself. I still think of going no contact with people when they are petitioning for my attention. What is their agenda, anyway? I’m less and less inclined to help them discover it.

I seem to need an unreasonable expanse of quiet time and open space. My nerves are shot. For awhile I used this as an excuse for being distant with people, saying and believing that my anxiety would heal, that I would overcome it. It is not to be overcome; that is not how healing works. It turns out I must grieve for as long as it takes, healing or not, anxious or not. So here we are.

Mar15

I’m not havoc-ing it any more…

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Ugh. A friend reached out for advise this morning and I let her have it. The truth is that she’s been struggling for several years now with the same issues, and nothing is changing. And I’ve tried being nice. Being gentle. I’ve actually also tried being quite direct a year or so ago and that didn’t work either. She isn’t hearing me. She doesn’t want to hear it. She’s in an abusive marriage, and come hell or high water she is going to make it work. Except it won’t, of course. Someone will get sick. Or worse. It’s heart-wrenching to watch in someone you love. Here’s the tricky thing about narcissistic abuse – you’re confused all the time. You’re trying to figure out why you can’t seem to get along – and you don’t realize the actual issue, which is that your life is at stake. You’re a frog in a frying pan noticing an annoying warmth.

Let me give a disclaimer before going any further: no one is more stubborn than me. Nobody. I often say “been there, done that, still paying for that T-shirt…” In the school of hard knocks I am the perpetual student. I have lived a lifetime of being a “master codependent” according to Melody Beattie (and she would know, eh?) I grew up with a pathological narcissist and then I managed to marry two of them. I have PAID. MY. DUES. I am here to tell you that is the highest tuition of any school on the planet. Narcissists will wreak havoc in your life like a Tasmanian Devil. Chaos becomes them. And you won’t see it. Until you do, if you’re lucky enough to survive that long.

Perhaps we will talk about the liberation of learning to set (and keep) uncompromising boundaries. But let’s really, REALLY, for the benefit of the people in the back – let us LEARN HOW TO RESPECT OURSELVES. It’s an uphill battle in this culture where narcissism is coddled.

I’m reading a new book, IT’S NOT YOU, by Ramani Durvasula, PhD. Please read it. Yes, she has a million YouTube videos, but the book is a solid reference that will walk you through this process. I mean, read it right after you read CODEPENDENT NO MORE – again. I do not care when you first read it. I do not care how many times you’ve read it. Read it again. And I recommend you re-read Scott Peck’s People of the Lie, the sequel to The Road Less Traveled. Both books are more pertinent in my life today than when originally published. All of these books live on my nightstand.

A news report came out of Texas years ago: Texas did not have a no-fault divorce law (I don’t know if they do now or not) and so the plaintiff had to prove that the defendant was at fault for the failure of the marriage. The woman stated her reason for petitioning the court for divorce as HE IS A BORE. When the judge asked her to define bore she read from the dictionary: A PERSON WHO DENIES YOU SOLITUDE WITHOUT OFFERING MEANINGFUL COMPANIONSHIP IN EXCHANGE. That hit like a gut punch.

After the breakup of my marriage in my late 20’s I sought counseling. The therapist said something to me that shocked me. She said, “Every thought, word, and deed is either nurturing or abusive. There is no grey area in relationships.” I thought she was nuts. And I have spent five decades trying to disprove that statement. You try it. Because, when it was up to you…

Feb4

A Limited Gig

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Are you okay with dying? Artist Peter van Straten says no. He’s completely fallen in love with reality. “If you don’t take reality for granted, then whatever is in front of you is miraculous.”

How insightful he is, to realize that when you are not friends with yourself you are in solitary confinement. That’s very different than choosing solitude. Only recently have I come to understand that I have been a solitary person my entire life. I craved it as a child and still do, probably more solitude than most people could handle. I am my own best friend. If you have learned how to be your own worst enemy, you can learn how to be your own best friend.

Solitude restores me. I’m just beginning to realize what a gift that is. But I have had to fight for solitude my entire life. I have never taken it for granted, nor the company of my imagination. I’m not saying I’m always happy; I’ve just never held happiness as the measure of a meaningful life. My emotional state is and always has been like the weather – wait a bit and it will change. Deep at the core of my being there is a peace that has never faltered. I believe it was hard-wired in at birth. I think that’s why I fell in love with Lady Gaga the first time I heard Born This Way. We are born this way; we are born whole. That attitude has allowed me to fall in love with reality in all it’s resplendency.

This chaotic, insane, completely buggered world is fascinating to me. If offered a subscription renewal, I’d sign up again. Like anyone, I fear suffering or being a burden to my child. But I don’t fear death. I’ve had far too many spiritual experiences to ever think that this world is all there is, and so I’m infinitely curious. I’ve never doubted an afterlife. That’s the long game. It is this limited reality that is surreal, and therein lies the miracle.

How do YOU remind yourself to BE? Because there ain’t no other way – you’re on the right track, baby…

“My Mama told me when I was young – we are all born superstars…” – Lady Gaga

Jan24

Interiors Are Hilarious, like me…

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Can interiors be humorous? Haaahaha….of course they can. Have you ever paid personality fees? I believe in them. Even today in my own home, I refuse to think in terms of resale value.

I’ve heard it said that it’s never too late to have a happy childhood. I’d like to propose a deeper perspective: that to have a meaningful childhood you must grow up first, re-parent yourself, and then gift yourself the childhood you have always wanted. The real childhood you wanted, the one with all the love and acceptance. It’s work. It’s grief work. First you have to grieve the life you haven’t lived, the life you thought you wanted. You have to get to where you can earnestly be grateful for the life you have.

As an adolescent I painted murals on my bedroom walls. One day as I was painting a tree up the wall and out onto the ceiling, my Mom walked in. She did a double take and asked, “what are you doing?” and I looked at her perplexed. Was this a trick question?! “I’m…uh…painting a mural.” “Oh. Okay.” She set down my folded laundry and walked back out.

In many ways my childhood was a dream. We lived in a big old house on the Detroit River. We had cool cars and a built-in swimming pool and boats docked at the end of the yard. We had dogs and cats and rabbits and even a horse among our menagerie of pets. We had a sugar bowl of cocaine in the kitchen cupboard. We had Taco Tuesdays because there were often no parents around, so we took cash out of the drawer to feed ourselves. We had everything you could ever wish for as a child, and much you wouldn’t.

I’m an old woman now, and I wouldn’t change any of it. Early in life I knew the world would never make any sense, and I knew that it wasn’t my fault. I learned to trust my intuition. I learned to be content alone; I taught myself to draw. I became a voracious reader. I learned to think fast on my feet. I learned to love art. I learned the value of anger – it can get you to your grief, where all the grist is found.

“A happy childhood is the worst possible preparation for life.” Kinky Friedman

Jan15

Be Human Only

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The longer I live the more I realize that we each have an important story to share. We are far more human collectively. Let me tell you one of many personal healing stories: unable to walk with sciatica, I called the chiropractor whose Birmingham office was across from the salon. He agreed to fit me into his schedule before work at 7 a.m. Little did I know sitting in his waiting room that morning would change my life forever. A magazine lay on the table there: The Sun, a small literary magazine published in North Carolina. I have now subscribed for decades, but that 1988 issue had an interview with Helen Palmer about her new book, The Enneagram.

Another article featured feminist poet Deena Metzger. When she lost her breast to cancer she had the Tree of Life tattooed across her chest. These two women would influence the rest of my life. Meanwhile, so would the brief treatment with Dr. Radke, my first chiropractic visit ever. He asked me to sit on the table and he faced me at eye level: “Tell me about the nightmare you had this morning.” I’d never met the man; how the hell did he know I’d woken from a nightmare only minutes ago?!

A traveling circus had come to town, but during the night a fire had broken out. All of the animals had escaped and were wandering the city streets and alleys. Unaware of any danger, I walked the alleyway still sleepy and soon realized that a polar bear was stalking me. Faced with a dead end, I was terrified as it caught up to me, reared back it’s giant head and raged in protest at this unfamiliar territory. And I woke, crippled in pain.

Dr. Radke never did adjust me. Instead he guided me through a meditation where I stood my ground with the bear and allowed it close enough to smell me. I wrapped my arms around the bear and buried my face in it’s neck, smelling it back. The majesty of the beast overrode my fear. “Repeat this visualization at bed time, and if you still have pain in the morning I will adjust you.” I would never experience another day of sciatica in my life.

Like Omi here, I am still in this journey of allowing myself to be soft. Listen here as she describes her healing and let the majesty of our humanity override your fear:

“When I came to understand that there are mythic patterns in all our lives, I knew that all of us – often unbeknownst to ourselves – are engaged in a drama of souls we were told was reserved for gods, heroes, and saints.” – Deena Metzger, Miracle at Canyon de Chelly

Jan5

Meet Tubby and Glad,

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the chairs she named after her Grandmother’s sisters. We wish they could talk, too, Monique. In this exuberant home we see fearless use of color. Again, a theme I call “follow your heart” decorating. Buy what you love – unapologetically. Your home IS your altar, the proclamation of your tenacity and of true faith – in life. Was it Picasso who said “artists live out loud?” Live like you mean it.

I was as glad for a new year as anyone. But I experienced a weird phenomenon: there was a deep sadness, too. I felt like I was leaving someone behind. My younger brother died unexpectedly in his sleep eight months ago. Somehow acknowledging the passing of the year felt as though I was abandoning him. I had to say goodbye all over again. Yet I had not thought of that or felt that way on the new year following either of my parents deaths; had not felt like I was leaving them…what was that? I dreamt of Ward on New Years eve, we said goodbye with love and affection, and some type of awareness that this was it for us. I don’t feel his spirit around me anymore.

I have come to appreciate the gift of grief, not to recoil from it. I appreciate my anger. Surely any healing requires acceptance of the full range of our emotion. Gratitude waits on the other side of allowing for it all. I’m so grateful he was my brother.

What has this got to do with decoration? If you haven’t gleaned a theme in this blog yet, it is the fact that I do not know how to separate interior design from interior experience…it’s all the same for me, as within, so without…I FEEL colors. I feel everything. I absolutely GIVE UP trying not to. Because at nearly 70 years of age, I utterly and completely give up trying to be anything other than who I am.

AND – here’s the thing: I just want to grow up. I want to mature spiritually, mentally, emotionally. I want to heal this year, finally, from a lifetime in survival mode. From multi-generational abuse and mental illness, and from living defensively. I’m finally willing to be vulnerable. And the fact is, probably much like you, I have been on a lifelong search for truth, for the cure for this human condition, for “enlightenment” (deliver me.) I want nothing to do with that quest any longer. It holds no value. We both know it’s an INTERIOR issue.

Instead I will seek joy. In every little nook and cranny. I will sing at the top of my lungs off key! I will paint anything that stands still long enough – any color I feel. I might even name my furniture. I want to be warm and cozy and fat and sassy (so far, so good…) I will not abide beige.

My sweet brother never had a chance at any quality of life or happiness. But that’s a story for another time and place. Meanwhile I will not back down from living my life as an artist, in full living color.

“We have to dare to be ourselves, however frightening or strange that self may prove to be.” – May Sarton