Did you know that a doughnut experience or bar is a really trendy thing to do at weddings right now? I love it! I especially love it since it goes right along with my current train of thought.
I’ve been thinking so much about doughnuts (and not just because I have had no more than two bites of a doughnut since last April!). My ex husband and I had a delightful conversation about donuts a couple of weeks ago and this analogy has been spinning around in my brain since then.
So…let’s take a little trip to the corner bakery shop. (Remember that childhood song; “Well, I walked around the corner and I walked around the block, and I walked right in to a bakery shop…and I picked up a doughnut and I wiped off the grease…and I handed the lady a 5 cent piece. Well…she looked at the nickel and she looked at me, and she said, “kind sir, can’t you plainly see?” There’s a hole in the nickel, there’s a whole right through. Said I, there’s a hole in the doughnut too!) This is apparently the world’s best song, so says my brain as it hears it for the billionth time!
There is every kind of doughnut imaginable. Iced, sprinkled, coconut flakes, powdered sugar, cookie bit toppings, even one with bacon bits. I’m a pretty simple lady. I just want something comforting, traditional and of course, absolutely delicious.
Countless doughnuts are before me, their tempting aromas floating through the air. I choose what I imagine will be the most wonderful doughnut of all. It was just set out on the cooling rack. Warm and sticky to the touch, but not hot. I pick it up, inhaling it’s sweet scent as I bring it closer to my lips. My tummy rumbles and my mouth waters, I have not tasted a confection treat like this for a full year.
This particular doughnut (because it’s my chosen doughnut), is softly round, gently iced with freshly made chocolate icing, perfectly heated and so melty that it will dissolve in my mouth. Oh! It is wonderful to look at, arouses my senses when I think about how exquisite it is going to be to eat every last bite of it.
I lick my lips and bring the object of desire close, I open my mouth and take the first bite. Savoring every nibble; I am pleased that this doughnut is every bit as magnificent as I’d hoped. I’ve eaten about 1/2 of it when I begin to feel it’s sticky sugars coat my teeth and the roof of my mouth. I need a napkin because even though I have licked the icing off my fingers, they are still sticky. I am quite thirsty.
Unfortunately, the water at the doughnut shop has been shut off and they are out of milk and juice. I ask for coffee. There is no coffee. So, I sit down at the lone booth, all of a sudden aware that there is no one in the bakery shop other than the man serving donuts. My thirst grows and my mouth feels pasty. Where is the doughnut guy anyway? It seems I am my only company.
I look at the doughnut remains in my hand, looking drastically less appetizing than before. I am a little bit bored and unfocused…so I finish it off; not enjoying the last 1/2 nearly as much as the first. Still, no one is here. I am a little lonely. Actually, my stomach kind of aches. I don’t know if it was the sugar or something else. I kind of wish I would’ve stopped after just a taste. I feel bitterness rise in my throat. I haven’t experienced acid reflux since I stopped eating sugar and now look…one little doughnut. Why did I choose this when I knew what it would do to me?
I am alone in the bakery. I see that the counters are a 60’s kind of bright yellow and the room all of a sudden feels too bright. My stomach is bloated at the top and I need something to quench my thirst. Where are the people? My feelings of loneliness increase and I’m overcome with the feeling that I can’t leave fast enough.
I place a dollar bill on the table, in case the guy comes back and I walk out. I feel the breeze on my skin, a little colder than when I came in. The sun is out but it’s not warm enough. I am reminded of the way life used to be when I consistently chose the doughnut. I am uncomfortable in my own skin and wish I could have a re-do.
This is me talking about my dating life right now. Let me break this down.
Physicality in a relationship…that’s the doughnut. It’s sooooo yummy! It’s soooooo fantastically good to a woman who loves feeling desired, giving, being close, being told she’s beautiful, ALL of the good stuff. It’s enjoyable, phenomenal, pleasurable and fun!
The point is, the doughnut is super sweet in the beginning. It is scintillating, intoxicating, forbidden yumminess! Let’s be honest…kisses are fabulous, snuggles are warm, our insides are gooey goodness. It’s all incredibly hard to resist. In spite of all this, it might be best to not indulge in the doughnut; or at least give some thought and intention before that first bite. Once you have a nibble, the cravings set in.
But, if that is all there is…the doughnut…I’m left with nothing but reminders of what I don’t have that I once (kind of) had. I tell myself, no more doughnuts. No more donuts! NO MORE DOUGHNUTS!
I eat the doughnut anyway. I get angry with myself because it was just a doughnut. My hunger is not satisfied, I am thirsty still and I am alone.
Doughnuts aren’t bad. Doughnuts are very, very good. They should just be ingested with a generous dose of awareness and wisdom. There’s good stuff in that doughnut song. There is a reason there is a hole in the doughnut. The doughnut alone isn’t enough. At least in my life, for me, for now.
Picture that same warm out of the oven, sticky, perfectly iced, soft doughnut. Instead of an empty coffee shop, I am in line with many others. I don’t really see them though, because my attention is focused on the one special person who I walked hand in hand here with.
We order a doughnut to share, because neither of us eat much sugar. (Okay…that’s too much of a fantasy, we each get our own doughnut!) He quietly pays for our purchase and for the family behind us. I admire and respect his heart and consider that he is worth everything I have been through to get to him. I know he looks at me the same.
Also, we have coffee with real cream. We sit down with our doughnuts. The conversation is easy and the laughter is abundant. This guy. He is yummy, he is kind, he thinks I am the most beautiful woman in the world. We both think the doughnut is so much better when it comes with coffee and connection. We discuss a little bit of the silliness of the doughnuts we enjoyed when we didn’t believed doughnuts were all there were. There is deep gratitude for the now.
We agree, this is how it’s been for us…
Only the doughnut…. It’s sugary and temporarily satisfying. But then what? (Again, if one is in a place of only wanting the doughnut, enjoy the doughnut!)
Then, there is the whole bakery experience. Enjoying the doughnut with someone who savors it with you; someone who takes you to the bakery shop and sits with you; sips coffee; kisses and conversation are never ending. Maybe even read the paper (or a little Anais Nin and Henry Miller to each other).
Doughnuts vs. The Bakery Shop…my preferences are a changing.
Sitting in my group psychotherapy class, in a group….it’s my turn to share. We had each made a collage with images or words that symbolized our spiritual life, gender role, sexual orientation, masks we wear, an identity not mentioned that was important to us and a few other things.
We had been a little bit focused on the topic of death, namely, how our lives would change if we knew we only had 10 years left to live. There were discussions of dropping out of grad school, deciding no children could be birthed if there were only 10 years with them, and support for having kids even though because the experience was so valuable. It wasn’t my turn to speak yet, my mind was spinning with thoughts. 10 years! 10 years? TEN YEARS! What a gift! I thought back to the stroke in 2009 and how terrified I was to die. If someone promised me 10 more years from now, it would almost be a relief. Then I could stop wondering how much more time I had with my people and in this life. Ten years seems awfully precious when I consider that no one actually knows if they even have the next moment.
The question was posed directly to me, “What was the hardest thing on your collage for you?” I began sharing; “You see, in 2009, I had a massive stroke, I had to learn to walk again.” Having my own mortality in my face like that and realizing how precious it was to be able to walk contributes well to thinking that 10 more years is a gift. Our professor remarked, “Gosh, you are almost 10 years out from that stroke.” I am! I hadn’t even thought of that, and somehow it seems like something that I should celebrate even more than I do every other year.
(SIDENOTE: I know I drive others crazy with my selfie taking and insistence on picture taking during nearly anything. My classmates were fussing about precisely this at lunch today, thus, I explained to them the why’s of my insistence.
My Daddy lost his memories with his Alzheimer’s. I recognized from that how very important pictures were in helping tell him stories, whether he recalled or not, we remembered precious moments. Also, after the stroke, I lost a few big chunks of memories that I treasure. In looking at pictures or videos, it will often trigger a memory recollection that I had lost. Lastly, I NEVER took a selfie until after my divorce. I’m truly not vain. However, I do cherish memories and know it is possible to lose them. This is why I like to have so many pictures. The selfies….they help me remember where I’ve been and how far (usually) I’ve come.)
I continued, “So, the hardest thing on this collage is the blank spot on the bottom left corner. It is blank because I couldn’t find the word.” “I was looking for the word chosen“.
This ties in with my ideas of spirituality. I can trust the process. I can trust that I am right where I am meant to be. I can trust that I have a bright future ahead. I can trust God. “The reason that chosen ties in with this seems insignificant but I know it’s not.” In my heart, I know that I have been chosen for many things that I am not deserving of. I am healthy, whole and breathing, for a start.
I explained in detail, “When I look back and see how God has put the puzzle pieces together, I know He is trustworthy. In hindsight, He is good. However, for the future, I struggle with this whole trust thing hugely. There are two driving factors to my thinking.
First, I am not really sure that the desires of my heart are worth His time, or the plan, or whatever. Second, I still grapple with the lifetime thoughts that I am not worth it. Period. That said, I took a deep breath and shared what my deepest desire was.
I absolutely want to share my life with a mate. This is terrifying to me. I explained, “My ex-husband is my best friend, we were together for 23 years and I don’t want to lose that friendship.” Hard questions followed and the tears that had started flowing the minute I spoke hadn’t stopped. I decided that my vulnerability in this moment was a good thing, even if it totally sucked. I know (believe) that when I give my heart to someone, the relationship between my ex and I will need to change.
We will always be important to one another, and we will always have a friendship and co-parent our precious children. However, we still at times share the intimate nature of friendship that I feel belongs in a relationship. No more romance but all of the deep connection. It’s weird. I just know deep down that will change; and although it could be very positive, it’s super scary. For 23 years, we have been there for one another. Who will ever know me so well? I don’t know how to navigate any of this so even thinking about the possibilities makes me want to throw up in my mouth.
Despite these fears, I long for that intimate, soul sharing connection with the man who I hope exists not just in my heart and mind. I pray my desires aren’t denied. I don’t like saying any of this. It’s quite uncomfortable. I do not ‘need’ a man. If it is true that I want my own fairy tale, I am resentful of even wanting that. I recognize that my fears are holding me back and I am trying my damnedest to work my way out of them.
Back to the word, “chosen“…let me paint what this looks like to me. I want to be the woman that is not second choice to another woman and is in competition with no one. I want to choose and be chosen; to cherish and be cherished; to treasure and be treasured; to accept and be accepted; to trust and be trusted; and to passionately love and be passionately loved. All with the wildness and naturalness we are capable of.
Whether my hair is long or short, my booty is flat or bubblicious, whether my emotions are a jumbled mess or I am steady as a surgeon’s hand…just see me (an my people) and love me (us) right there, just like that. Just as I am (we are).
Is that a crazy notion? I want to give these things right back, in the manner they are needed. I guess this is my version of a fairy tale. I went to the restroom and cleaned of my mascara stained face, then returned to my desk. I picked up my pen and began an unfiltered 3 page list of what had happened or changed in my life in the past 10 years. Just look at this…
2009 – 2019
- Celebratory 1 year ‘birthday’ party on the strokeaversary. Celebrations on year 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9 as well. I will always celebrate November 9 as a second birthday because it was a second chance that forever changed me for the better.
- Surgical repair of a paten foramen ovale (hole in my heart suspected to have caused stroke)
- My babies are 9 years older. They are 17 and 14. Just wow.
- Infidelity in my marriage
- 3 years of intense marriage therapy and growth
- Started grad school (which I will complete 1 month after my 10th year celebration!)
- A special journey of self discovery…still in process.
- Had my only two relationships other than my marriage after divorce. One great, one yuck. Learning to date.
- Grappled with God. Alot.
- Grappled with self. Alot.
- My Daddy battled with Alzheimer’s. He passed away. I miss him.
- Went through and graduated Pathways.
- Learned more effective ways of dealing with my anxieties and fears.
- Lost weight. Gained weight. Lost weight.
- Learning to love myself.
- Almost lost home due to foreclosure.
- New and old animals.
- Worked at Jenks public schools, Sooner Start, Life, Autumn Leaves and I’m sure I’m missing something.
- Learning the value of letting go, letting go and letting go.
- Became stronger, wiser, taller, braver, more cognizant of reality and less apt to live in a fantasy land.
- Continue learning every day.
- Lost and made and regained and didn’t regain friendships.
- Endless hugs and kisses, even more heart to heart moments.
- Drove (all by myself) to Dallas, Kansas, Arkansas, and Missouri.
- Finding my voice in a positive way.
- Practicing gratitude more than ever.
- Stepped out of my comfort zone a billion times.
- Crossed items off bucket list, including getting fired from Whole Foods!
- Learning who I am as a grown woman.
- Treat myself with love and respect more than ever.
- Gardened until my fingers and feet were mud stained.
- Cooked a trillion meals.
- Watched my Momma move out of our family home and into a new home.
- Stopped sugar and processed foods.
- Watched more precious nieces and nephews graduate, get married, have babies, enjoy first careers and more. Added the role of friend in with aunt.
- Learned that I am strong. I am a survivor.
- Finding my path to joy and freedom (it’s a journey.)
- Learned to love the word fuck. As in fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck….because sometimes it’s the only appropriate word even for a princess. (really a Sailor Sarah)
- Experienced two fabulous years of marriage that placed hope in my heart for beautiful things.
- Put dreams into action, see some coming to fruition.
- Experienced countless storms, rainy days, splashed in puddles, danced, sang, laughed, cried, embraced, shared, found the deepest pain and the most radiant joy, focused on passions, wrote, cooked, held hands with dying people, held new born babies, manicures, pedicures, massages, listened to music, had my eyes opened to the beauty of diversity, loved hard….an endless list.
- I’m still breathing.
I’m breathing. What a miracle I am. What a miracle we all are. This gift of life is one I can barely grasp. What did I do to deserve the goodness of being here and of being me? Chosen. Yes. Want to be chosen in other ways? Yes.
So ya…10 years. An amazing gift.
Sometimes I get stuck in the muck. Focusing on the lack does that for me.
I forgot my word this year is abundance…as in I have been provided with an abundance of all my needs.
I forgot I have the option to love myself despite someone else’s actions.
I forgot I can choose acceptance over struggle. We are all fighting our own battles and traveling our own journey.
I forgot about grace for all. Forgiveness is healing. Love is stronger than fear. Emotions are okay and gratitude is growth.
Today, I remember these things.
It’s okay to be hurt. It’s not okay to accept the perception of others as an interpretation of my own worth.
I wasn’t going to write tonight. Each time I had started to do so, I came up with nothing but feisty, unkind, passive aggressive wording, yet, here I am. Thanks to the love, prayers, positive energy and encouragement that surround me, I have decided to try to be brave and share my heart. Let’s hope I don’t regret it in the morning.
This is not a pretty post. Not at all. It’s kind of ugly and I just pray that I keep it about my experience and not someone else’s story. Whatever.
I am in the middle of learning some tough lessons. About myself, relationships, the difference between love and lust…so much. So fucking much. Lessons that I expect I ‘should’ have down by down at the ripe age of 46. I guess after being with one man for 23 years, I’m not joking when I say I am like a teenager at times and these growing pains are simply yuck.
My heart aches. Deeply. Every time I face rejection from a man, in any aspect, it’s like I bring into it a lifetime of rejection. It rapidly becomes all about everything I am not rather than about what the situation really is. Tonight, someone I am particularly fond and who has been precious (in my eyes) ‘defriended’ me on social media. Really. So familiar to what I hear my teenagers struggle with at times. I don’t even know why. It doesn’t matter. It stung and started a flood of tears that I can’t seem to stop.
An onslaught of failures, lies and struggles suck me in. Failed marriage. Poor choices. Less than. Never enough. Won’t happen. Negligent. Disorganized. Scattered. Settled for. Two faced. Fat. Broken. Messed up. Crazy. Damaged. Wounded. Stubborn. Less than, again. Optional. Disposable. Debris. Stupid. Boring. Too much. Not enough, again. Temporary. Unworthy. Plain. Short hair. Gross. Hurting. The list goes on.
Through it all, my mind keeps hearing the words of a dear friends prayer for me, along with a sermon that I have listened to numerous times lately. It’s all about the story we tell ourselves. We might tell ourselves something that is not necessarily a lie, but instead a twisted up version of the truth. It really pinged my heart because I know that I tend to live in the truth of my story instead of the truth of who God really made me to be….especially in regard to my relationships with men.
I am happily confident in my job, work hard in school, and adore my internship. I am a magnificent friend, the best Momma for my kids and try hard to fill my other roles with all the love, giving, compassion and care that I can give. Bottom line, I feel ‘good enough’ in these roles for the most part and when I don’t, I make changes accordingly. That’s one Sarah. She knows who she is and what she wants. She believes it is just as important to play hard as it is to work hard; she is not hesitant to go for what she wants.
Then…there is the Sarah who sees herself as disposable. She is seeking a real and deep love, a true connection with a gentleman that holds truth and freedom in it. She is looking for the hands that will hold her heart with love, gentleness and protection. She knows she has much to give BUT….this woman sees herself as a young girl who is overweight, awkward, painfully shy and unwanted. No matter how she ‘looks’ to others, and despite the way she works on positive changes…she mostly sees herself as someone broken, deeply lacking or undesirable. This feeling sucks. I know it’s not truth, but it ‘feels’ truthful in the moment and operating from that truth leads to a plethora of poor choices. Choices that disregard who I am at my core and what I hope for in this life. Choices that are made out of a fear of being without companionship. Choices that give a temporary band-aid to lonely feelings but absolutely do not result in long term fulfillment. Choices that are made because there is gratitude that someone desires me vs. knowing it is a privilege to have time with me.
I’m not speaking to intentional choices I make as a grown woman to participate in relationships that are fun, fulfilling in their own way and not long term. I am referring specifically to participating in relationships knowing full well that it won’t be what I want it to be, but choosing to believe I can change it to what I desire. I can BS myself like no other, but don’t worry, I speak the truth to others. So often that it gets me in trouble…not everyone wants that.
The story that I tell myself is that I will never find the love of my life, so I may as well enjoy whatever the moment offers. I will not ever be ‘the one’ to someone special, so I shall act accordingly. I’ve already had that, kind of, so God wants me to live the rest of my life alone and serving others. (I put those words to God, nothing I feel from him). I may as well go for the men who are not going to be long lasting, because in the end, they will leave. So why choose the ones I will really give my heart to? They too, will leave. Both will hurt but the latter will hurt far less. Choose the lesser of two evils, right? In the process, I am getting hurt and I am hurting others…unintentional as it may be. All of my protective forces are accomplishing nothing worth mentioning.
Who knows what of this is true and what is not? I know I am supposed to honor who I believe I am…a brave, worthy, happy, truly loved by God, whimsical, whole and surrendered woman. That is who I believe I was made to be, yet when I am engaging with men I am willing to trade that in for whatever they need me to be. That’s got to be better than what I really have to offer, right? Better even, let me serve as therapist and best friend ever, maybe even as a nurturing mom role. Ewwww. But it comes so natural.
A precious friend recently told me that “God made me and his work is always beautiful”. I love that friend and his heart. I want to believe his words. My heart agrees, it is beautiful…my brain taunts me by letting me know I’ll never measure up. But to who? How long am I going to let others opinion of me determine how I view myself. It’s ridiculous. Real stuff, but ridiculous.
I have a safety plan. Another dear friend and I have a ‘twenty year plan’. If neither of us are married at age 60, or in 20 years…we can marry each other. This is our little funny! In truth, I freak myself out. What if I die before then without experiencing the gift of a deep and abiding love with the ‘right’ man. I know…God’s timing…it’s just so hard for me to trust.
I am tired. I cannot believe I am ‘here’. There are new crinkles around my eyes and I see faint wrinkles on the delicate skin of my neck. I can’t seem to keep up with the fastness of passing time.
My precious children…lots of love and hugs from them tonight. That should be more than sufficient. Why do I long for anything more? I just do. Even in my deep gratitude, there is a constant yearning.
This is my story. I’m trying to figure out how to live in the truth of who I am…in ALL of the circumstances and with ALL of the people. I am trying to let go of the story I once helped me survive and embrace the story that is truth.
This is my honesty.
Transformation, alteration, renewal, metamorphosis….constant change is a certainty of this human experience. Stubborn resistance may root us in place. Still, the very change that surrounds will also change us. Why resist? We are forever becoming.
I was playing a little game with a friend, we were giving each other a number, and we had to share the photo from our phones that matched that number. He asked to see the 10th picture of only me.
The 10th picture of only me sent me spinning with shame and embarrassment. I could not show him this one. However, I promised…no cheating. Before sending the photo, I let him know that this was taken at one of the worst times of my life. My ex-husband had just told me he no longer loved me and wanted a divorce; my precious daddy was dying after a 12 year battle with Alzheimer’s. The picture (which is here for all the world to see) was a clear image of a lady who had no love for herself and her eyes held a deep sadness, despite the smile on her face. The only reason I share it is because I am trying to practice what I preach…vulnerability and transparency. In this moment, I also share in hopes of diminishing the pier of shame this photo holds.
This precious friend heard my shame and replied with, ‘it’s just a selfie, look at your smile’. Then he made me laugh with a gentle joke about chipmunk cheeks. I never thought I’d giggle looking at that picture, but I did, and it was genuine. However, I have obsessed over that picture since. It’s not just that I hadn’t realized how much I changed, it brought back a rush of painful memories.
I remember the day the man who was the only love I’d ever known told me he was leaving. I was inundated with feelings of unworthiness, disposability and fear. For some reason, I made a little video on my phone to myself. I guess to commemorate the day. I very clearly stated (to myself) that I wanted to learn to love myself, no matter who else loved or didn’t love me. That my friends, is the journey of transformation I have been and am still on.
My timehop today reminded me that at this time last year, I had lost 20 pounds on Weight Watchers. I then stopped Weight Watchers, and started doing my own thing. It’s called the ‘keto’ish but not all the way because life is too short to not enjoy ice cream” diet. Clean eating pretty much, low carb, very low sugar and almost no processed foods. In doing this, I have lost another 28 pounds. This makes 48 pounds gone! I should be so proud.
Rather, my first reaction was “wow!, but I have so long to go.” I began a laundry list of all the men who would like me better if I had a better body, and of how life would be different if my ass matched my sass! (Borrowed from a favorite meme). Somehow, I stopped myself in the middle of my negative recitation. I wondered to myself, “what will it take for me to be good enough?”
I asked myself what I wanted. Easy. I want to love myself. As is. I want to believe I am enough and honor that deeply, no matter where I am on my journey. I want to be excited about the work I am doing for ME while enjoying who I am right in this moment.
I want to practice gratitude, for I have so much to be grateful for. I am here, breathing. I am a miracle, just as we all are. Life is the celebration! I have two legs that are strong and lovely, and they get me where I want to go. The gift of walking was taken away from me in 2009 and I had to relearn that skill at the age of 35. How dare I fuss that I am not enough? My heart is strong; it is full of love, life and laughter. I can easily exercise on the elliptical for 35 minutes without rest. I might not be the most graceful, but I am me and I am a masterpiece. There is no one like me, ever, anywhere. I am blessed in every way, I want to remember this every second of every moment of every day.
I want to realize that when someone asks me out on a date, they are every bit as lucky to have time with me as I am to have time with them. It is not settling to be with me, it is a gift, for I am pretty damn cool. I want to stand in this truth. It changes my choices, it changes everything.
I want to show my kiddos who I am at my core and that we are ALL capable and worthy of beautiful, positive, transformation…their Momma included.
There is so much joy in the transformation these days…one day the pain will be nothing but a motivator for better.
It’s been a teeny bit of a struggle hearing about Luke Perry’s death. I mean, it’s sad when people die anyway. Then, it feels especially sad to me when they are young. He was for sure young.
We are told that Luke died of a stroke. Anytime I hear this, I feel this flurry of emotions. It’s a combination of deep gratitude for being alive and well nine years after the stroke I had, and of intense guilt for being here when others are not. It’s a feeling of being safe and held that is often interfered with by feelings of anxiety and fear.
I want to know all the details of his stroke. How, when, why, where? As if all of these answers bring me a magical always healthy solution. I have such an ability to let my worries spin right out of control until I lose myself in the middle of them. (I’m speaking to health anxiety…not to my whole way of being). The minute I get lost in that world, I disconnect from all that I love.
It’s been a gift to learn this about myself; to be aware of the things I do when I’m heading in that direction; and to do them.
Being still and trusting that God has my back has been huge for me and it’s rarely my first response. Reaching out to the handful of people that know my heart deeply is such a gift, and another thing I rarely do first.
My wise momma once asked me in the middle of one of my biggest times of worrying about losing my life…”We only have this life, are you going to spend it living or dying?” Absolutely I want to spend it living.
It’s a good day.
It’s National Heart Health month and Congenital Heart Defect awareness week. I’m thinking about Dr. Loughridge who performed the full correction of my tetrology of fallot 45 years ago, my Dr. Cooper…the cardiologist who ‘grew me up’ and the cardiologists and medical personnel who have helped and do help me stay healthy and strong.
I am thankful for the practice of medicine. I am deeply grateful for those who dedicate themselves to learning the science of healing in all aspects. I am thankful for the God who fills my lungs with air and my spirit with joy.
Whenever these celebratory awareness events occur, I celebrate. But I celebrate always because I have seen first hand that my life is a gift to be treasured. Our moments are precious indeed, and time is truly a gift.
I ask myself and God why in the world I am here and others are not. Scientifically, I did not fit neatly into the statistics. I will never have the answers. I will never think my life is more significant that another’s. I will be grateful, deeply grateful for each breath and I will strive to find the wonder, awe and joy in each living being as long as I am here.
Anyway…HAPPY HEART MONTH! Love a little more!
I have no idea what I am writing about tonight, or what I am trying to say. Just going to go with pouring out my heart and see what happens; this seems to work well for me in writing.
I’ve been looking for this quote forever. I knew it was Aristotle and I knew I had written it in a journal years ago. I couldn’t find the exact quote, even on Google, lol! I also couldn’t find the journal…until tonight.
I have a friend going through the dying process with his Mom. It was only 2.5 years ago that I lost my Daddy and so many memories have come flooding back. Anyway…he was sharing tons of family pictures which in turn, inspired me to start looking through old photos. I was able to just get through a couple of albums before I felt like I was headed toward emotional overload….because each picture bring a special sentiment with it.
In the mix of the albums I dug out, I found a few old journals. The first page I opened to was the long lost quote. Validation. I didn’t make it up!
“I count him braver who overcomes his desires than him who conquers his enemies; for the hardest victory is over self.” -Aristotle (written in my journal, June 18, 2010)
I loved this quote years ago, it still fits. I feel it is my constant yearning in life to gain victory over myself..my ugly talk, my self-defeating behavior, the lies I believe about myself, the rules I create, the illusion of control, letting go…all in effort to live truly as who I am made to be. Not in anyone’s shadow, not in the history that is mine; rather by standing tall as who I am…inside out. It’s a journey for sure.
I also found a little piece of my history that I thought was gone forever. My Grandma used to write me letters when she was angry at me. (often). My sweet Momma once destroyed (we thought) all of those letters in order to save me from further hurt. I understood and at the same time was so sad that she did, I didn’t know why.
This post could be a little here, there and everywhere and that also fits. No matter how planned our lives are, there is always a bit of scattering. Personally, I find that beautiful. If I didn’t allow myself to be open to that which is not in my plan, I’d be missing so many opportunities. If you are not a lover of the unplanned, just stay with me anyway…it’s real.
In that little pile of journals, I found three of her letters to me. I don’t know how they survived, but tonight, I am deeply grateful that they did. In these letters, I saw a summary that confirmed that all I had remembered was as it occurred. She loved me so deeply, and she struggled with mental illness, and her behavior was often emotionally abusive.
Reading those letters I was reminded that her love was strangely possessive, as one might be with a jilted romantic partner. (Never did sexual abuse, nor physical occur in my history). It was an incredibly unhealthy enmeshment that began when I was a young child and that I still have to pull away from at times, although she passed away in 1995.
The craziest thing ever…I have written about the relationship I had after my divorce that was extremely unhealthy. I don’t know the diagnosis, but I do know that his words to me in our final communications were nearly identical to the words in the letters from my Grandma. As Pema Chodron says, “Nothing ever goes away until it teaches us what we need to know”. Let’s hope I’m receiving the lesson.
I can hear Grandma’s voice in my head as she scolded me via the letters. “Why are you doing this to me?”, “Why don’t you love me anymore?” “You better ask God for His forgiveness, He’s going to punish you.”, “Who do you think you are little girl (at 21)”, “When did you get so smart?”
With each little thing I read, I still have internal dialogue and have to talk to the little girl/adolescent/young woman inside of me. I do this to remind myself that she was sick and not in control of herself much of the time; that although she loved me it did not make her behavior okay, and that my God is loving beyond what I can fathom and He is not out to get me. When I do this, I approach my history, and my present, from a place of healing, compassion, grace and forgiveness. I know that I am and was immensely loved.
I also recognize how those words sunk into my spirit and they rear their ugly heads still. “When did I get so smart?” Great question! I have just in the last few years begun to enjoy the fact that I am intelligent, and that conversing with intelligent others and not playing dumb is the true me. No more shrinking. (I fight this one often). Shrinking down to make someone else feel better serves no one well.
“Who do I think I am little girl?” I’m figuring that one out still but I’m becoming joyfully aware that I’m not a little girl. I’m a bad ass grown woman with bad ass grown woman desires and thoughts. I’m also a woman who is filled with peace in reflecting on these letters. They mean I was not crazy. Everything happened as I remember.
“Why don’t you love me anymore?” I am still so afraid for anyone to not feel loved by me, whether they deserve that gift or not….see? Still healing.
There is also no blame for anyone else. Growing up with someone who has a mental illness, or substance abuse issue creates countless self-doubts, guilt and shame for all! It does not just affect the afflicted person, it’s a whole family illness. Behaviors that served me well as a young person trying to survive are no longer useful, as a matter of fact, they are damaging.
Here’s the takeaway…I am thankful that I am in a position of healing for myself and others. I am thankful for my history because I believe my compassion is greater for it. I am able to do beautiful things because of this.
I’m grateful that I’ve had the chance to know God as my persecutor and punisher (which He never was) and as my Savior and Rescuer (which he very much is).
I am appreciative of a family I can share memories with; both easy and hard ones. I am pleased that I am living out of my comfort zone in a multitude of ways and I am intrinsically aware that though I have come so far, I have so far yet to go.
I also found something on my phone today. It was a video I had recorded of myself back in 2016, as my ex-husband was preparing to move out and my Daddy was dying. I looked like the walking dead. No glimmer in my eyes, no peace in my heart, puffy faced and teary eyed. I remember… I was a weary warrior and ready for a rest. But, I couldn’t rest, I had way too many responsibilities. Just keep swimming, right?
It pained me to watch the video. I was in someone else’s skin. I was talking to myself as a child in the video (maybe a counselor had given me that assignment). I told ‘me’ that I was going to be okay, that this was all a journey to learn to love myself. That could not have been more accurate. I was literally trembling as I spoke.
I love myself today more than I ever have in my adult life. I still hate myself sometimes. I am so flawed. I always will be. My journey is to love myself because I am. Just because I am. Only because I am.
I anticipate that even if I never fully ‘arrive’, I will stay on course. I think it’s supercool how all of our life experiences prepare and link us to what is now. I find that deeply comforting.
This is my understanding of the journey of trusting the process.