OR, how to get there from here…I am nothing if not stubborn. But stubborn won’t get me where I want to go. Stubborn is a characteristic of defensiveness. Transformed into determination, however, it becomes a super power. My super power.
True confession: I’ve been in a funk. In case that wasn’t painfully obvious by the last few posts. And I have HAD IT with that routine. Remember, we aren’t havocing it anymore.
“Life can so suck, to use the theological term. It can be healthy to hate what life has given you, and to insist on being a big mess for awhile.” – Anne Lamott
When I am not honest with myself that I am grieving I become a royal pain in the butt. I won’t allow myself the grief, or make time for it. As if I have something better to do. It feels self indulgent, cloying. I judge it, especially if it’s been around for awhile. I judge myself. It gets ugly. For instance, I mention my mother here often. She’s been dead over 20 years. I miss her every day. I simply will never get over losing her. She was my greatest champion. Many days it feels like she was my only champion. Everybody deserves one.
If Doris exemplified anything her entire life, it was determination. She had limitless energy. She was like the energizer bunny. Actually, hyper. I didn’t get that gene. In many respects I’m much more like my father, who was quite the opposite. To the untrained eye most would consider him lazy. He kinda wasn’t willing to do anything he didn’t feel like doing. Least effort possible was his approach to life. In the wisdom of my old age I now understand that he, too, was a victim of trauma. He was always defensive.
I strive to be more like my mother as I am growing up. And therein lies the key that opens me back up – I’m growing up. I’m growing. I’m becoming. I’m a work in progress; a verb. That gets more difficult for me to keep in perspective as I am now in my 70’s. And I believe that I have unconsciously adopted some less-than-useful cultural limitations, such as: I am old. And done. And fully formed. Nope. Not done yet. Still growing. And always will be, right up until my last breath.
My father played the piano as if he were born at it. Mom struggled to teach herself the guitar. He sang loudly and lived defiantly. He had hubris. She was shy and soft-spoken. She had humility. He loved honky-tonk; she loved folk. She would close herself in the bedroom to practice and sing, and I would sneak up outside the door and sit on the floor to listen.
Nearing the end of 2024 I am wondering if I will ever “bounce back” from the pandemic. Have you? Do you think there is any bouncing back? I think we are changed forever. I know I am. There are two distinctive reasons I will never be the same, and I would like to share them if you will indulge me. I’d like to hear how it has affected your life. Even if the changes aren’t obviously attributable to the pandemic itself. How has your life changed in the last (almost) five years?
This morning I am needing to chew on the left side of my mouth. I am going through a series of periodontal treatments in an effort to save my teeth. The first treatment was originally scheduled for March – 2020. That didn’t happen. It was cancelled due to the shutdown. By the time we seemed to be coming out of that horrific nightmare scenario and the dentist called to reschedule, I was battling Lyme disease. My face was disfigured by Bell’s Palsy and I was beginning a series of acupuncture treatments for that. Thankfully those worked to restore most of the muscle use in my face, although not completely. Acupuncture is not covered by Medicare insurance. Neither is periodontal work, but they’re both necessary.
The other event that was cancelled that spring was a huge luxurious and much needed mental health vacation. It was a workshop I was scheduled to attend near Scottsdale, Arizona. Led by two of the most revered influences in my life, Elizabeth Gilbert and Rob Bell, the spiritual retreat was titled How to Imagine.
One of my closest friends lives in Tucson and had decided to attend after I told her about it. She offered to share her room at the resort hosting the weekend. But I didn’t think I could come up with the workshop fee, let alone the air fare. When I spoke about it another friend offered an airline credit. I was yet undecided. It would be a stretch financially and I would have to arrange in-home pet care for my elderly dogs.
Meanwhile, it was a local friend’s January birthday and we met for dinner. She was so excited to tell me all about the workshop she had just registered for…you guessed it. By this time I knew I had to go. It was meant to be and I would beg, borrow, or steal to get there. I did a little of each and managed to get registered in time for an early bird discount. Now I had two close friends who would be there, and something inside me knew this held profound healing opportunity.
When the airlines shut down the workshop was cancelled. I’m not sure why, but I have never gotten over the disappointment. Something inside me snapped. All manner of magical synchronicities had occurred to allow me that gift and I suddenly felt like a child whose dreams were never to be. I must have transferred a basketful of grief to this because I was disproportionately leveled. It was the straw…
Subconsciously I had decided that trip would be a pivot point in my life. By making that commitment happen, I could then give myself some unearned or undeserved permission to live creatively that I would not otherwise permit myself to have. I have not yet recovered that authority. Perhaps I won’t.
And here I sit, almost five years later, chewing on the right side of my mouth, still feeling like I’ve missed something. My Mother would say, “move along smartly.” And she was a very wise woman, so…watch this space…
Part of me feels like I should come clean about something. All this soap box espousing about raising our consciousness and waking up and becoming more self aware sounds inspiring, doesn’t it? Did I forget to mention that it makes life harder? Yes, that’s right. Not easier. Harder.
When you are committed to personal growth, or perhaps you naively just want to live a more creative life, things are gonna get rough. You’re a boat rocker. You want more than the other people around you want for you, or believe you are capable of. Those people you lived with growing up are not going to like this. The people you work with are not going to like this. The friends you know you can count on aren’t going to like it. They have an agenda, consciously or not, and it is not your agenda. 99.9% of the time it will not leave any space for you to stretch your wings – it will be all about slowing and deferring any change. To the best of their ability.
In an interview years ago, I remember Oprah talking about her friendship to Gayle, saying that she stayed “after the leap,” and that the majority of people will not. But she didn’t know that would be the case when she decided to up her game and strive for success. None of us realized what it would mean to develop healthy boundaries, to speak up when we became aware of dysfunction around us. We didn’t know that it would be so challenging for those around us. We didn’t know.
Heads up: your relationships are going to fall apart. There is a popular tarot deck called This Might Hurt. Haha! While I am not a fan of the artwork and don’t use this deck, I sure love the name of it. Yes. The tarot is a brilliantly designed tool for self development. Practicing with it will open you up and make you more self aware and much more intuitive. And it will hurt; that’s a guarantee. That genie ain’t goin’ back in that bottle.
I remember at one point in my 20’s thinking all my families’ troubles were caused by my father’s alcoholism…and then a decade or two later realizing that some of us are autistic or had ADHD. And then learning about narcissism. And it goes on and on. You see it and you can’t unsee it.
The truth will out. What you think today is the cause of your frustration, or your unhappiness, or your illness will open a can of worms. Today is the tip of the iceberg and it is melting faster than you can imagine. And you are going to have to take responsibility for having started the fire underneath. Oh, and learn to swim…
I was in my sixties when my father died and my four siblings stopped speaking to me. I was recently divorced, grieving and more isolated than I ever could have imagined. My son wanted little to do with me. When I lost my elderly dog I grieved like never before; I suspect it was a cumulative grief. I could justify all of this discord; I had learned through hardship how to set boundaries and they did not like the new me – the person they could no longer gaslight and manipulate. I had been told one too many times that I would never be able to take care of myself. I had better stay. I had better be quiet. I had better be nice.
My darling Mother used to say to me, “It must be lonely at the top, Susan…” It was leveled as an accusation. She didn’t understand why I was so different, so confrontative. Obviously I thought I was better than the rest of them. But that wasn’t true. I saw them as remarkable, brilliant, so very full of potential and settling for so little. I wanted them to join me on this journey. I didn’t want to be lonely; I still don’t. Please don’t leave me…yet in truth, I was leaving them. I had seen through the superficiality of their choices and I wanted deeper connection. I wanted to matter. I wanted them to know that they mattered. Really, really mattered. But they didn’t see what I saw.
Almost every person I have ever loved has struggled with addiction. Eventually I have lost most of them, either to death, or by extricating myself from their insatiable neediness in order to have some semblance of peace. I stopped housing them. I stopped driving them. I stopped working for them for almost nothing. I stopped giving them money. I stopped defending them. I stopped allowing them to use me.
Codependency is my addiction. It is theirs, also, masked by alcohol or drugs or gambling. By the grace of God I have not had those to overcome. But once I realized this and stopped tolerating bad behaviors, I woke up and saw the part I played in the destruction. And I can’t do it anymore. I’ve had to re-evaluate my values, my priorities, my own behavior. And yes, it is lonely at the top. But something deep inside me knows that this is the only dance in town, this seeking for the truth, this prioritizing mental health, this commitment to growing up.
Decades ago in meditation I heard “do not squander your father’s inheritance.” I dismissed that as I knew my father had no money to leave his children. What the heck did that mean? Now I wish I could remember when I heard that, but it still applies today. Today I would write that sentence differently: Do not squander your Father’s inheritance.
This has been another tough week. I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired. I try to tough it out, but finally succumb to the exhaustion and call the doctor. I went in again yesterday and am back on yet another course of antibiotics. When I am nauseous and in pain I am impatient and…well, let’s just say less than gracious.
Summer has become my least favorite season for several reasons. One reason is too much activity crammed into the 3 months of warm weather. I prefer cooler weather. And less activity. Quieter. That said, I am blessed to live in a beautiful part of the country (and the world) and summer is busy with visitors. Tourists come from all over the world. Friends and family visit from all over the country. Some have cottages nearby, some rent. My darling nephew came up from Cincinnati in June with his three young girls. They stayed with me in my little one bedroom house. I took the sofa and made the 3 girls camp out on the living room floor next to me. That visit was way too short and absolutely magical. I’m still tingling with delight every time I think of it.
But I was well that week, and now I’m not. It happens that most of my peers, family and friends alike, are retired now. I’m working from home. They are on vacation; I am not. And recently a visiting relative was quite insensitive about bringing that up. Bragging actually, about not having to work in his later years. As if I were not as smart, or had done something wrong. I ignored him, considered the source and all that. The next day I offered a bit of help as they were having to move from hotel to cottage, juggling suitcases and food and outdoor gear. They inquired as to the location of a laundromat and I offered to do their laundry while they went out touristing. I was laying low trying to turn this sinus infection around; I might as well make myself useful. My generosity was responded to with another request. Sadly I have to be reminded now and again that most of my family will take a mile if you give them an inch.
But today after cooking myself some breakfast before taking all the pain medication I can safely take at one time, I caught myself feeling sorry for myself. That’s ugly. I crawled back into bed in hopes of the relief that comes only with sleep…and heard a knock on the front door. Someone knocks on my front door about 3 times a year. I do not live on the way to anywhere (on purpose) and the door is up a flight of stairs, after you’ve managed the 45 degree incline of the driveway. I’m perched high on a hill, also on purpose. The views are great, and more importantly, I’m a destination.
At the soft knock I leapt out of bed, excited. My immediate thought was that it might be a delivery of flowers! Several friends and family members know I am in bed sick and having a hard time. But it was just UPS. The box was heavy and he offered to set it inside the door. I have the kindest UPS driver, Brian, who goes above and beyond. And I was grateful. So was the cat, whose food and litter made up the weight of the box. No, that’s not true – the cat takes me for granted, too. As testament to my being a good pet owner.
And as I shuffled stiffly back to bed, I thought of how odd it was that my first thought was a flower delivery. My mother used to send flowers to me. Always pink tulips on my birthday in March. Often when she knew I was feeling down. Just a little cheer.
But she’s been gone 21 years. In those 21 years I have had exactly one flower delivery. It was dropped outside my door just after losing my sweet little beagle Odie 5 years ago. That came from a dear friend, who has also suffered too much loss and grief. She brought an orchid that is still flowering, and tea and chocolates long gone. How very thoughtful. I have received lovely notes and cards and gifts in the mail from friends, and I delight in sending them occasionally. I wish health and finances allowed for much more of that.
Why don’t we do more thoughtful acts of kindness anymore, myself included? I’m healing now, mentally and emotionally at least, from a lifetime of living with narcissists, with brutish men and defensive women. I’ve had to realize that many of my family were not nice people, albeit I understand their pain and dysfunction. I’ve had to see those traits in myself and work to overcome them. Most importantly, I’ve learned to enjoy my own company. I’m the CEO.
I did lose my patience yesterday. I was short with a dear friend and ornery with my son. All via text, while waiting in an hour long line at the pharmacy. I’m disappointed with myself. I compromised my integrity. Integrity doesn’t allow you to justify bad behavior based on your own needs. I hope I learned something and can do better in the future. My friend and my son were both quite magnanimous about it. My son texted back, “Your feelings are valid. No need for guilt. I love you and I’m grateful for you.” Sometimes words are even better than flowers.
A Painterly Home 