Nearing the end of Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead, I am taking note of the qualities in the characters that I find admirable and deplorable. Initially I could not understand why, Ellsworth Toohey, Peter Keating, and his awful mother made me sick. Their behaviors are so common and familiar that I almost mistook them for normal. Maybe they are normal, typical–but they are unwholesome posing as wholesome and good–each people pleasing, heavily reliant on sneaky, underhanded diminishing of and climbing on the backs of others. I also did not fully comprehend my immediate awe over Howard Roark, whose disinterest in conformity could be considered freakish. His fierce, unyielding truth speaking is breath-taking. A million ways he could sell out for the benefits of social and professional “success”. But his truth matters most to him and he gladly pays the price. Not for a moment, pitying himself or resenting others. He is free, as a result of his purity of intention, which is transparent and unwavering. AND that level of integrity and respect for himself and others, is what I seek for myself.

Roark’s words, actions, and beliefs remain in alignment. That badass integrity- that way of being in the world, has been defined, in spirituality, as genuine happiness. In the non-spiritual world, this is considered subversive, and just cause for abuse. His ease with himself and others seems a natural by-product of his deep knowing of what is real and important. He chooses to honestly work for what he wants, without gunning for those who oppose or obstruct him. Roark wastes no effort trying to control or to please others.

Howard Roark’s manner of living, reminds me of the Doctors’ Oath to DO NO HARM. His void of drive to please or punish others exceeds my original ideas of wholesome badassery. In these ways, I find him to be spiritually excellent and very sane. …reasonable.

I am reveling this book, as it relates to my recovery and parenting, which to be honest, are the only things I have going these days.

Every spare moment has been dedicated to slowly devouring The Fountainhead or binge-watching Schitt’s Creek. Regarding Fountainhead, it is a loooooong read but the depth of the characters is beyond captivating. And the concepts and language around society thinking and culture is like scripture to me. I did finally get to the love/rape scene between Dominique and Roark and feel conflict about my take on it. She definitely wanted him but never said yes and seems, based on the explicit and intense nature of their connection, responded to him with resistance, because it is what she thought he wanted and also what she wanted. She also never said yes or fully surrendered to it. Wow. A lot to consider about sex, love, passion which can each be part of a rape. When it comes to this encounter, I dunno. I definitely do not agree that Ayn Rand has endorsed rape.

Wanting to understand more deeply this concept of second handers, I found this quote worthy of posting and contemplation. It relates strongly to my recovery and parenting and all that I am working against in raising wholesome, good hearted boys.

Second-Handers

¶

Isn’t that the root of every despicable action? Not selfishness, but precisely the absence of a self. Look at them. The man who cheats and lies, but preserves a respectable front. He knows himself to be dishonest, but others think he’s honest and he derives his self-respect from that, second-hand. The man who takes credit for an achievement which is not his own. He knows himself to be mediocre, but he’s great in the eyes of others. The frustrated wretch who professes love for the inferior and clings to those less endowed, in order to establish his own superiority by comparison . . . . They’re second-handers . . . .

They have no concern for facts, ideas, work. They’re concerned only with people. They don’t ask: “Is this true?” They ask: “Is this what others think is true?” Not to judge, but to repeat. Not to do, but to give the impression of doing. Not creation, but show. Not ability, but friendship. Not merit, but pull. What would happen to the world without those who do, think, work, produce? Those are the egoists. You don’t think through another’s brain and you don’t work through another’s hands. When you suspend your faculty of independent judgment, you suspend consciousness. To stop consciousness is to stop life. Second-handers have no sense of reality. Their reality is not within them, but somewhere in that space which divides one human body from another. Not an entity, but a relation—anchored to nothing. That’s the emptiness I couldn’t understand in people. That’s what stopped me whenever I faced a committee. Men without an ego. Opinion without a rational process. Motion without brakes or motor. Power without responsibility. The second-hander acts, but the source of his actions is scattered in every other living person. It’s everywhere and nowhere and you can’t reason with him. He’s not open to reason.

Back to the book. Only a few hundred more pages…before I set off to re-read. Hopefully, before finishing the book, I will be able to discern the reason for the title. Fountainhead????

Having declared on 12/31 that I am moving on and redirecting my attention, I am on day 4 of posting about anything at all that I discover, observe, contemplate, enjoy….

For today, my crush on David Rose is developing into fixation. Like, I want to study him. In David, the polar opposite of Howard Roark from The Fountainhead, I have found another hero and role model. If you enjoy laughing until your stomach hurts and binge-watching Netflix, Schitt’s Creek is a must: only 21 minutes per episode and a teeny 20 second window in between to decide whether or not to continue. The characters and dynamic of David and Alexis are intoxicating. Truly.

I recently saw a brilliant meme: What if Netflix doubled as a dating service like “Here are 7 other singles that watched Grey’s Anatomy for 8 hours–straight”? Similar lifestyle and TV preferences are key. I could not be more pleased that Sweet Greg enjoys binge-watching. Actually, I believe he introduced me to it, with Breaking Bad, Hell on Wheels, and Boardwalk Empire. I think we completed each of the seasons for all of those, within our first 6 months. We have not since found many binge-worthy shows–that we agree on.

People say don’t use social media to post your personal problems. I use social media to post about abuse because it is a social problem.  I am taking all necessary measures to protect and to heal myself from decades of abuse.  Being shamed and silenced is secondary trauma, which typically yields more damage than the initial or continued abuse. There are two parts to every trauma, the initial trauma (what did or did not happen) and the secondary trauma of how that gets handled(or not handled). Each person who has known me, pre-recovery, has certainly, in some way been impacted by me, probably in ways that were disturbing or damaging. Hurt people hurt people. I learned what I lived and it was awful. I can see that.

We each are in daily contact with someone who is suffering from some form of abuse, past or present. Just consider being a loving witness. Not to fix or gloss over, but to listen and be present.  Hold space for healing. So many of you have done that for me this week. Thank you. Very Grateful.

Just as rape is not always a bloody take down, in an alley by a man against a woman, and drug abuse and addiction don’t always look like track marks in an arm, a lost job, DUI, or a car wrapped around a tree, abuse of people does not always present with marks of observable physical violence.

It is very disturbing that in our culture, it is more acceptable to impose abuse than it is to speak of it. I object to that. Speaking up is considered more of a transgression, a sign of non-forgiveness or mental instability–therefore making all claims inadmissible and unworthy of action or attention. I will continue posting, sharing, recovering and connecting with others who have the courage to do the work and to grow beyond.

As the beginning of another school year– at new schools, rapidly approaches, I imagine and worry dream for my sons– the possibilities that lay ahead.  Of course, I want them to thrive academically and even socially, but more than this, I want them to feel deeply connected to something bigger than themselves, their peers, and especially even their parents(and families of origin).  My hope is that they are more spiritually striving than socially.  (It will offer a more honest and comforting existence.  Oh please.)  We (parents and blood relations) are small and broken examples of how to be in the world, in ways that are too often, far from wholesome and nurturing.  How I wished we had church in our lives.  As I read the wisdom and hopes of Jen Hatmaker, Bob Goff, Glennon Doyle, Brene Brown, I am taking copious notes-no guarantee that they will manifest into immediate and sustainable action.  But still.

Notes for myself and my children:

Hurt kids make easy targets. And cowards, both bully and look the other way. Please let us stand between the abusers and the abused.  Let us refuse to silently watch one person break another down.  Say “no”. Say “leave them alone”.  Do not look away.  The tiniest scrap of hope is enough to save a hurt and lonely person from drowning.

Let us be safe and kind and gentle to all others–to be tender and empathetic.  I pray for your kindness more than your success.  How we love all people is the highest measure of our character.  Well behaved and kind are not the same.  And often bravery and kindness do not take the form of well behaved.  Be brave.  Above all else be kind and loving—unconditionally.  Let’s do this!

Develop eyes for pain.   See hurt people.  Offer them kindness with your eyes, words, or actions.   Please, let’s learn and commit to this as a way of being.  Kindness is the height of bravery.  It is difficult and awkward and feels risky–asking someone struggling, and on the outside,  “What’s up” or if they want to sit with you or what book they are reading.  We can do this.  We can do hard things.  I love you so much, but not always so well.  I am learning too!

 Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

Over the past decade, I have become very clear on my lack of desire to surround myself with likeminded people, so much as I do those whom are like-hearted.  In fact, it would be terrifying to be surrounded by like-minded others. YIKES  In recovery, we call our like-heartedness, unity of purpose, which makes it possible to genuinely want to help and support each other.   What I mean– is that quality of life for me, is elevated by those who believe and practice the same static life principles as I do.   Greg and I are such an unlikely match by all of my old measures.  But we do share a unique like-heartedness.

Greg is naturally more gentle, patient, and willing than I am. (In truth, this could be said of even of the most mature toddler.)  Still, Greg and I have highly compatible operating instructions.  Nothing about the ways in which either of us operate, emotionally, socially, or morally, are troublesome to the other.  We do not pretend, defend, or deny anything–and our greatest sources of laughter, connection, made up words and nick-names, stem from our own foibles, our shared humanity, our desire to learn and expand together(not identically but compatibly).  We call ourselves out, so that we can collectively laugh and learn–again, together.  We each guard and police only our own behaviors.  Okay, sometimes we do monitor and supervise each other, but we do so openly and with apology and laughter.   THIS is my first relationship in which defense is not part of the norm…because we each value being connected, more than being right or better than.  Most of our jokes are about being right and blaming others for our own misconduct.

Those who value or demand perfection more than they do growth and connection, are toxic to me.  I can do better each day, in fact that is my life’s purpose.  But– perfection seems undeniably tethered to shame, fear, guilt, power, and often dishonesty.  To me, perfection focuses more on appearance of how things are rather than how they actually are(Perfection is not, at all, the same as healthy striving).  And the perfection vibe drives, in me, intense spiritual  and physical unwellness. Continue reading “Like-hearted” →Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

Nearly every night between 1 and 4 a.m. , this guy wakes me up to let me know that he needs to go potty.  But, if I get up to let him out, I will not fall back  to sleep.  Instead, I will lay awake agonizing over things which upset me and I will be wrecked for the next day.  So naturally, he takes care of business  and returns to bed.  Then, in the morning when I do get up, he either slinks directly to his kennel or walks down slowly and crouching looking at me asking with his sweet Baby Seal eyes “Are we good?”.  I cannot be angry or punitive with him.  I mean I could, but if he tells me he needs to go and I don’t do my part, what am I to expect?  I realize there are effective training tactics or adjusting food and water schedule & access, which might help.  And until I am ready to initiate those with consistency, it is unfair to punish him.  Anxious and ashamed people and animals do not exercise their finest behaviors.

I am permissive with our dogs, possibly because I relate to having inconvenient needs of my own.  But our pets do not belong to me–  They, like my children, have been entrusted to me– and no matter what, we belong to each other and together.  I catch myself becoming irrationally irritated over dog or age appropriate behaviors of those for whom I am responsible.  The truth is I feel bothered only because, in the moment, the needs or demands seem inconvenient or disruptive to my own self-obsessed thinking.

I admit that I have been guilty of attempting to shame my dogs and children out of behaviors that vex me.  Shaming is such a damaging and bullshit move.   I can do better for them.  One day at a time.  I am a work in progress.

We are good, little guys.  We belong to each other.  No matter what.  Always.Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

In recovery, I am reminded consistently that we are never  victims.  This does not mean that people do not intentionally victimize and persecute others, but that we do have choices about how we respond.  All choices may be highly undesirable, none the less, they are choices.  Like going to a crummy restaurant where you hate evereeeeything on the menu.  Every single thing. Continue reading “Stand Your Ground” →Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

I do not suck, sometimes my behavior does–but THIS- this alllllwaaaaays sucks.  Today is a hard day.  I wake up every single day, so painfully aware and deeply affected by the state of my family.  I recognize that I do not cause or imagine the dysfunction- and that I alone, cannot repair it.  Intellectually and spiritually, I accept this– it is what it is.  However, acceptance of circumstances does not block me from the emotional pain of having been treated poorly, openly diminished and then discarded.  Repeatedly and consistently.  I intend to never get used to it.  Hopefully, I will continue to get better at not placing myself in this familiar dynamic.  We learn what we live and do what we know.  Unlearning–as fast as I am able and dead center in the middle of another lesson.

My boys asked me if I thought my mother would leave me anything when she dies.  All I can respond with is :  “I don’t know”.  I suspect she may leave me in the state of pain that she sees as my due.   Of course, it would be nice if her final statement to me and about me to the world, could be one of kindness.  Every day– all of the days, slowly-this kills me.

Young hurt lil Magda, still needing a mama, believes this is proof of her unworthiness.  Adult me, in recovery, knows it is evidence only of the sickness in our family.  I can learn, grow, and know all I want– and still not one damn thing will ever make this not hurt.  I may never get my head around the idea of choosing not speaking to one of my children.  Or aligning with one of them, or aligning with any person at all, against one of my sons.

I will never stop longing.  The heart wants what the heart wants.  My sweet sons continue to foot the bill for my struggle to make peace with this-to move on-get it behind me.  The best I can do, is to remind them frequently and explicitly of how wanted and loved they are, AND that they do not cause or imagine any of this.  It is a painful mess.  I suffer from depression and anxiety, not from them.

SadnessMuch Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

Oh-  this post!!!!  What an immense comfort and timely topic.  Bullying, oppression, exclusion- behaviors and attitudes:  not as narrowly defined as we tend to think.  Below is a snippet of what Glennon shared at Momastery, regarding bullying-related suicides.

And people are sensitive. People are heart-breakingly sensitive. If enough people tell someone over and over that he is not okay, he will believe it. And one way or another, he will die.

Each time one of these stories is reported, the tag line is: “kids can be so cruel.” This is something we tend to say. Kids these days, they can be so cruel. But I think this is just a phrase we toss around to excuse ourselves from facing the truth. Because I don’t think kids are any crueler than adults. I just think kids aren’t quite as adept yet at disguising their cruelty.  Children are not cruel. Children are mirrors. They want to be “grown-up.” So they act how grown-ups act when we think they’re not looking. They do not act how we tell them to act at school assemblies. They act how we really act. They believe what we believe. They say what we say.

It’s trickle-down cruelty.

If I want my world to be less vicious, then I must become more gentle. If I want my children to embrace other children for who they are, to treat other children with the dignity and respect every child of God deserves, then I had better treat other adults the same way. And I better make sure that my children know beyond a shadow of a doubt that in God’s and their father’s and my eyes, they are okay. They are fine. They are loved as they are. Without a single unless.  Because the kids who bully are those who are afraid that a secret part of themselves is not okay.

 It is odd, how striving for this brand of kindness and acceptance seems kinda subversive.  Elitist, excluding & exclusive seem to be nearly the norm, common.  Why is it uncommon to want the best for everyone?  Why do so many feel the need to oppress and exclude?!  More importantly, how  do we break the cycle and innoculate our children from messages that any one is more or less worthy of the most basic human dignities and rights?  

Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

Lately, I spend every moment possible reading and listening for comfort, from those who have openly navigated troublesome experiences, who possess the inner strength and courage to share–messages of hope alongside their deeply personal and  messy details.  I, personally, need to hear the mess.  The message without the mess can leave me feeling separated and alone.   And without the message, I find only a sick commiserative and temporary comfort.  I need both, together.  The mess and the message:  the shit before the shiFt.  Daily doses of Bob Goff and Glennon Doyle seem a perfect prescription for now.

I am both losing and finding myself in the teachings of those who who humbly share their hardships, missteps, mistakes, confusion and lessons.  It is through them, that God speaks to me and is guiding me—helping me to recover my spirit.

I seek their wisdom with the hope and intent to become a better guardian of the spirits of my sons.  They are intelligent, courageous, strong, able, and kind humans.  These things just are.  What they also are, is deeply faithful– and this, I know has something to do with my recovery and parenting.  In all of the many ways I fail and struggle, I am deeply comforted, if not proud of the ways in which I practice protecting and developing their spirits:  their senses of connection, belonging and their deep gut knowing of goodness and kindness.  Below, I share with you my daily dose of healing from Glennon.

The thing is that I’m not worried about my little man’s brain. I’m worried about his heart.

When I was in elementary school, all of these little teeny things happened to me that made me embarrassed, or confused, or sad. Like when I had to stand against the huge cafeteria wall with my nose pressed against the big purple painted grapes, or when all the girls teased me at my lunch table because my hair was greasy, you could start a car with all that grease, they said. Or when the boys never chased me at recess. Or when a classmate brought a Playboy to school, or when my friend Jennifer called me a gay wad. What’s a gay wad? But these things didn’t seem big enough to talk about, and I didn’t want my parents to know that all wasn’t perfect . . . so for whatever reason, I kept all these little sad and confusing things secrets. And keeping secrets became second nature to me. Which didn’t turn out so well for me for a couple decades.

So when it comes to how my kids are doing at school, I don’t worry about academics. I worry about social things. I worry about their time at lunch, at recess, on the bus. Mostly, children learn to read and add and sit still eventually. But not everybody learns that he deserves to be treated with respect and so do others. And not everybody learns that he is OKAY and loved and precious and that it’s all right to feel hurt and all right to hurt others, as long as he cleans up his messes. And not everybody learns that different is beautiful. And not everybody learns to stand up for himself, even when it’s scary. So I worry about that. Seven is young to navigate a big social sea all by oneself. I feel like thirty four is too young sometimes.

Last week, I snuggled in bed with Chase and told him all about the embarrassing, sad, scary little things that happened to me in elementary school. I told him that I never gave Bubba and Tisha a chance to help me, because I kept my worries in my heart. So my worries became problems. I told him that this was a shame. Because the beautiful things about being a kid, is that you don’t really have any problems. You might have worries, but if you share those worries with your parents, they don’t have to become problems. I told him that his daddy and I are his team. That his worries are really our worries. And that the most important thing in the world to us is his heart.

 

Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

Unable to articulate all that is on my mind, I have decided to share another magical and medicinal post from Momastery.com 

I would like to pre-empt this by saying that this post, for me, relates to people with whom I have intimate and meaningful affiliations.   It is likely that I will continue to dabble in gossip about celebrities and other remote people.  If I have meaningful information or opinions, I will share them with the person whom they are relevant.  This is a tough habit and norm to breech.  It is a wildly unpopular way of being in the world.

Even if the gossip is given under the guise of “concern.” Because if a concern is big enough to talk about, then it is big enough to be addressed directly to the concern-ee. And if a concern is not big enough to be addressed directly to the concern-ee, then it’s not big enough to talk about.

I want to live in a world where women trust each other. Where people know where they stand with each other. Where women give each other the benefit of the doubt simply because they believe down deep that other people are doing the best they can. Where self control is valued. Where women don’t delight in evil. And so I am going to create that type of world for myself. Because we all create the world in which we live. That’s the secret. If you want the world to be different, then go ahead and make a different world for yourself.

Gossip is tricky. Not gossiping is even trickier. Because here’s the thing. There is something inside me that loves gossip so incredibly much. When someone shares something with me about someone else . . . a juicy little morsel, it makes me feel so IN. It just makes me feel so special and accepted and like if she’s talking to ME about HER than she must like ME more than HER and it just feels cozy and like we are in this little circle of trust.

But as my dear friend Adrianne says, (Earmuffs, Jesus) “That. Is Some Bullshit.”

When someone shares a secret or complaint or judgment of another with me, all it proves it that she’ll do the same thing to me. It offers a false sense of security, this gossiping. No time for false things during this beautiful short life. We’re looking for the Truth.

It’s going to be hard. This new Love Experiment is likely to put a damper on some friendships. It might make certain get-togethers a little less fun and I might be left out of some juicy conversations. I probably won’t be as funny or exciting. I might be a bit of a wet blanket. That’s okay. Because I want to be a woman who can be trusted. More than I want to be funny or envied or admired or IN, I want to be trusted. I want to be a safe place for friends to land. I want to be honorable.

“I used to be afraid of failing at something that really mattered to me, but now I’m more afraid of succeeding at things that don’t matter”  

– Bob Goff

Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

You struggle to keep your balance- to not jump- but you just keep putting one foot in front of the other.  You are walking a tight rope held by those you are bound to.  They plan to let go,  you know it in your gut, and you keep going.  What else to do?  People watch, helplessly, silently–some judging.  You put one foot in front of the other.

Cuz-faith.  Faith that it will be what it is and you will be ok.  You have been down this rope before.

 Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

My recovery is a wildly unpopular choice, extremely agitating to those who need to be feel in control, play God, the judge, the jury, the punisher, the rewarder.  I am also reminded daily that recovery is the ONLY way– and it divides me further and permanently from those feeling displeased(harmed) by it.    They are not yet ready and will literally do anything to get in the way of recovery life.  Annneeething!  I carry on with fervor, not ease, but fervor.

Sometimes we have to sacrifice what we want now, which is war, to get what we ultimately want, which is peace.  And not everyone defines peace the same way.  For some people can only find peace in winning, which requires a war and a loser.  Well people do not make sick people well, but unwell people can make well people sick.  I seek wellness, illumination, peace.  Progress not perfection.  One Day at a time.

There is always a right way to say what we need to say and a wrong way to say it. There is a way that will invite more light and reconciliation and a way that will invite more darkness and polarization. The latter is often the result of mental unwellness and cycles and dynamics of addiction plaguing a community or family system, usually through generations.  Break the cycle, I say!  

And, sometimes doing what we really want to do, if it’s going to add more anger, isn’t the right thing to do. Even if it feels good at the time.  Recovery has offered me the tool of pausing and acting rather than reacting.  I am emotionally triggered in under a nano-second, this I cannot help.  Recovery taught me to pause long enough to decide what I can do to acknowledge the feeling and then to practice self care and self preservation without harming another.  In sick systems, there is no distinction between being displeasing or making a mistake AND being harmful.  Recovery teaches me that –it is not my job to please and it is not mean or a crime to displease or make mistakes.  I do not choose any systems that have reliance on people pleasing OR paying the price.

a little bit soap box and ranty–oh well–Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

Looking back, I see that the only times my mother and sister had anything to do with me, were for emergencies and celebrations/scheduled gatherings.  I guess those times made them feel, maybe, benevolent, by showing up as rescuers, hosts, or gift givers.  But I think life, for me, is what happens in between the events.

Relationships, as I experience them, are strengthened and clarified by day to day showing up and connecting, for no reason at all.   I stopped accepting gifts and help from anyone who can easily live without me.  That is not love.  It feels icky and confusing.

I suspect that if they could honestly express their sentiments with words, they might say “Who the fuck do you think you are, going off script?”.  My marriage was similar.  Big efforts toward planned gatherings and crisis, little attention in between.  It died a natural death once it became clear that only sustained connection would lead to physical intimacy.  Again, off script.  Why am I not more grateful and indebted and willing to throw myself away, feigning closeness?  I will not accept any more opportunities to show gratitude in the from of submission.

Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

Because of intense and atypical sensitivity to both physical and emotional stimulus, I have felt humiliated, not only for being wired differently but for having been shamed and shunned for it– never taught to manage the frequent and difficult emotions.  Naturally, I came to envy those  unaffected, composed— indifferent to others.  I think it is boasted as thick skinned.  As if that is strength.  But I realize today, that I would not prefer to be that way.  Feeling deeply is difficult and a gift, and requires inner strength.  Yesterday, on our way to camp, a homeless woman approached our car for money, Having just gone to the ATM, and having no singles, I was pleased to have no choice but to offer her more than I typically would.  What I also did, was make and hold intentional eye contact as I told her to take care.  And then I wept as we drove away,  explaining to my sons–that if the suffering and need of a woman whom I do not know causes me pain, imagine what I feel  when a person behaves with unkindness to me.

It is true that I cry in the presence of a new baby person or animal, children singing, weddings, homeless or hurt people or animals.  I am powerless to change this, though life would be more manageable and less painful if I could.  This is the same me that cannot just move on and let go as my family has for decades done with me–the ability to individually and collectively go on as if my existence does not matter in the least.  I do not wish to be that way.  Ever. My sons have plenty of models of indifference in their lives and I am grateful to have something different to offer and model for them.

I will say it again.  The opposite of sensitivity is not strength, but insensitivity.  I married the person I did because he was so good at composure and indifference and I had been taught that was the measure of strength, maturity, and rightness hoping that I might learn from him or receive validation by proxy and association with such valor.  Emotional stoicism/vacancy are things I would no longer wish for myself or my children.  I am slowly learning to manage my feelings.  They are deep and many, but they are not crimes or defects.  I offer generous space to anyone suggesting otherwise.  Compassion and empathy are the most wholesome badass ways of being.  All of the people whom I respect most, are leading in this way.  Leading people to understand and connect rather than shame, judge, distance, and  punish for differences of skin, orientation, or opinion.

Feeling less pain would be nice but I am blessed to feel what is meant to be felt.  My program and spiritual striving suggest nowhere, that indifference and thick skin will help me to become my best self.  For appearances only, I would like to be less affected.  But my heart is big and open and for that I am learning boundaries and healthy coping.  I am a work in progress– a love warrior.  I unapologetically feel it all–openly pained by diminishing or dehumanizing words and behaviors.

Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

Today, my sweet boys embark on their first week ever, of sleep away camp- away from mom, dad, and each other.  What I feel even more acutely than my anxiety, is pride (for lack of better word) for how kind, courageous, compassionate, and faithful these guys are.  AND–I, as their mother and primary care giver,  have something to do with that!  When I shared with Sweet Greg this overwhelming feeling of how fragile everything is, he gently reminded me that my boys are very self reliant.  True– and comforting with regards to physical safety…however my concern is their spiritual and emotional wellness and growth.  Physical stuff is easy to observe,manage, and address.  The camp is a faith based center for spiritual development, recommended by a mother whom I trust. At an intellectual level, I know, and even believe it will be great. I am longing for another mother/person to come with me, like a mother or sister of my own who would understand and faithfully support these values and concerns.

Before bed last night, we read this letter from Glennon Doyle to her son.  THIS speaks my heart’s truth, better than any words of my own.  I could tell, as they listened, that it spoke to their hearts.  So beautiful that we get to have this shared language and example of “Adam”–compassion and courage.

Hey Baby.

Tomorrow is a big day. Third Grade – wow.

Chase – When I was in third grade, there was a little boy in my class named Adam.

Adam looked a little different and he wore funny clothes and sometimes he even smelled a little bit. Adam didn’t smile. He hung his head low and he never looked at anyone at all. Adam never did his homework. I don’t think his parents reminded him like yours do. The other kids teased Adam a lot. Whenever they did, his head hung lower and lower and lower. I never teased him, but I never told the other kids to stop, either.

And I never talked to Adam, not once. I never invited him to sit next to me at lunch, or to play with me at recess. Instead, he sat and played by himself. He must have been very lonely.

I still think about Adam every day. I wonder if Adam remembers me? Probably not. I bet if I’d asked him to play, just once, he’d still remember me.

I think that God puts people in our lives as gifts to us. The children in your class this year, they are some of God’s gifts to you.

So please treat each one like a gift from God. Every single one.

Baby, if you see a child being left out, or hurt, or teased, a little part of your heart will hurt a little. Your daddy and I want you to trust that heart- ache. Your whole life, we want you to notice and trust your heart-ache. That heart ache is called compassion, and it is God’s signal to you to do something. It is God saying, Chase! Wake up! One of my babies is hurting! Do something to help! Whenever you feel compassion – be thrilled! It means God is speaking to you, and that is magic. It means He trusts you and needs you.

Sometimes the magic of compassion will make you step into the middle of a bad situation right away.

Compassion might lead you to tell a teaser to stop it and then ask the teased kid to play. You might invite a left-out kid to sit next to you at lunch. You might choose a kid for your team first who usually gets chosen last. These things will be hard to do, but you can do hard things.

Sometimes you will feel compassion but you won’t step in right away. That’s okay, too. You might choose instead to tell your teacher and then tell us. We are on your team – we are on your whole class’ team. Asking for help for someone who is hurting is not tattling, it is doing the right thing. If someone in your class needs help, please tell me, baby. We will make a plan to help together.

When God speaks to you by making your heart hurt for another, by giving you compassion, just do something. Please do not ignore God whispering to you. I so wish I had not ignored God when He spoke to me about Adam. I remember Him trying, I remember feeling compassion, but I chose fear over compassion. I wish I hadn’t. Adam could have used a friend and I could have, too.

Chase – We do not care if you are the smartest or fastest or coolest or funniest. There will be lots of contests at school, and we don’t care if you win a single one of them. We don’t care if you get straight As. We don’t care if the girls think you’re cute or whether you’re picked first or last for kickball at recess. We don’t care if you are your teacher’s favorite or not. We don’t care if you have the best clothes or most Pokemon cards or coolest gadgets. We just don’t care.

We don’t send you to school to become the best at anything at all. We already love you as much as we possibly could. You do not have to earn our love or pride and you can’t lose it. That’s done.

We send you to school to practice being brave and kind.

Kind people are brave people. Because brave is not a feeling that you should wait for. It is a decision. It is a decision that compassion is more important than fear, than fitting in, than following the crowd.

Trust me, baby, it is. It is more important.

Don’t try to be the best this year, honey.

Just be grateful and kind and brave. That’s all you ever need to be.

Take care of those classmates of yours, and your teacher, too. You Belong to Each Other. You are one lucky boy . . . with all of these new gifts to unwrap this year.

I love you so much that my heart might explode.

Enjoy and cherish your gifts.

And thank you for being my favorite gift of all time.

Love,
Mama

Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

Surprisingly, it was a very good day.   I forced myself to go sweat it out in the yard, pruning, mowing, weeding.  I always feel better when I do something that elevates the overall quality of life.  The daily and repetitive tasks offer no satisfaction, only the threat of greater stress if not addressed.  My yard now looks more respectable and I respect myself more, for having managed to do something I didn’t feeeeel like doing.  The truth is, I do not feeeeel like doing most things, this is part of depression, avoiding life.

Then, Sweet Greg arrived and together we he hung a picture, but only after he made an unforgivably large hole in my bedroom wall, which disturbed him greatly, and made him lose his shit a little.  He is adorable this way.  I thought it was funny and I love working together with him, feeling how much it matters to him, that he do things nicely for me.  He swears the GIANT hole is my fault, for making him hang the picture.  But that piece of shit art has been sitting on my floor waiting to be hung since December and see, I needed to pack the boys for camp and felt that I could not begin– until that thing got hung.  Make sense?  To him, it did not make sense at all, but he went along.  And we made a fun memory, not just a hole large enough to plug with your finger.  But whaev, the picture covers it.  And now we get to enjoy the project of patching and painting another day.  And camp packing is 81% complete..so there.

This reminded me how much I crave and respect genuine unity, a mutually shared cause or purpose.  For me, it is at the root of connection.  I realized that I cannot recall the last time my boys and I worked together for a common purpose and that we would benefit from some unification.  Cuz–connection.  It also reminds me of– that as long as I was showing up to care for and support my mother, we were able to sustain connection….and as soon as she was well and my service was no longer needed, we fell apart.   I will always have the memory and pleasure of knowing I showed up 100% and served with a glad heart.

So, back to the beautiful day.  After giant hole making and partial packing, Greg and I agreed that we were too tired to socialize and celebrate.  And then we decided that showing up to great people who love and want us, is a beautiful and important thing to do.  We enjoyed an evening with my best friend and all of her peeps.  It was a sweet night of yummy food in abundance and easy connection.  Nobody was forcing or trying too hard, people were just together as themselves, for as long as they liked.  Depression and apathy could have easily robbed me of this night.  We not only made a great memory, but this reminded me of so many other laughs and memories with MA and her family, who are always there for us and with us-never treating us as extra.

It was a beautiful 4th of July.  Very grateful for wholesome badass people in my life teaching my boys and I the TRUTH about love, belonging, connection.Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

In the past year, I have noted consistently how my low blood sugar either triggers or mimics anxiety for me.  I feel ill much of the time, the way I did for all nine months of my pregnancies, and most of my childhood.  Most mornings begin with me feeling simultaneously revolted by the idea of eating and desperate for calories.  It is impossibly stressful–food and drink gagging and disabling me-the lacking nourishment and the blood sugar crushing me.  I recall feeling this way as a child, maybe this is what helped me to get labelled impossible pain in the ass.  I cannot help but contemplate how much I stressed my mother by not only this combination of dueling needs but also by my sensory driven preferences of the 7 non-overstimulating foods which I found to be manageable.  Also, my mother has difficulty accepting anything which she personally cannot relate to.  She managed rheumatic fever, polio, scoliosis, cancer with more resilience than I can muster on a regular morning after a decent night’s rest.

My struggles were neither accepted as unpleasant facts nor treated with a solution driven attitude.  Seems as if everyone may have naturally agreed upon a  “Fuck her” mentality.  I was just a young girl and as I grew older, so did my discomfort and my reaction to years of dismissed,judged,unmet needs, manifesting in ways less easy to ignore & dismiss, and twice as easy to judge.  Judgment and banishing never really helped with anything but a strengthened bond by those disturbed by me.

I am grateful to abandon the tradition of banishment and shunning to discipline and teach my children that they must hustle for acceptance and weep when they have failed to gain it.  My natural inability to effectively process sugar (and what felt to me like abuse) made me different.  My anxiety made me different.  My sensitivities made me different.  My brown skin, weird nose and name and non-Christian family made me different.  My height and weight made me different.  My lame and ill -fitting clothes and shoes made me different.

I was reminded both in and out of my home that I was not the same and did not belong.  I wanted sameness and belonging badly and confused them for being the same.  Recovery teaches me that genuine belonging has nothing to do with being the same.  My reaction to being cast an outsider was unfortunate.  I cannot help but wonder if I would have found a talent or a passion/hobby with which to busy myself, things might have turned out better.  My obsession with trying to understand my pain and to impersonate a worthy unpained person robbed me of ever genuinely knowing who I actually was(am).  Was there ever even was a passion or hobby inside of me?  I never fantasized or longed for much of anything other than “not this” and “make it stop RFN” PLEASE

Today, I practice managing my blood sugar and my anxiety through eating smarter and sticking close to those who practice love, the promise, no less so when I am difficult/struggling.  Changing the things I can one day at a time.  Accepting and detaching, when possible from those I cannot.  All of those things that made me different were not crimes or defects.  Struggling is not a defect.  But non-compassion is 100% defective.  I am learning to practice compassion, one day at a time..and have not yet found a way to feel compassion for anyone still convinced that diminishing me, is a thing to be accepted.  
Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

How I wished I would have been a nice kid.  Kindness and humility were neither natural nor modeled for me.  I was scared shitless, constantly–with no healthy coping skills.  I was terrified, literally out of my mind from a lack of knowing how to get along in the family and world.  The lessons I took from my formative years about connection and belonging are tragic, at best.  They taught me to be fearful as much of myself, as of others, all others, particularly those related to me, and whom I counted on.  I devolved into one very sad, angry, punitive, controlling, scarY AF individual.  It was not until becoming a mother, turning 40, filing for divorce, entering a program, that I began learning to examine and recover from my experience in my family of origin.

I cringe as I look back and reflect on how poorly I managed, 100% failure to cope and to thrive.  Every single person and situation caused me anxiety(a way of being which seemed to enflame the family).  I never, ever, felt safe or relaxed.  Since entering into a program of recovery, dignity, self-esteem, courage, and sometimes serenity and faith replace fear, humiliation, guilt.  Remaining in a state of that kind of fearfulness, drove behaviors that caused me difficulty and shame.  How did  I manage to never learn how to cope with difficult experiences and feelings—aka—all of my experiences and feelings?  What I adopted as truth about myself and others was distorted beyond words.  And now– the unlearning.

Since moving cross country, 3 years ago, a return to those who count on me to be too afraid and ashamed to live and express my personal truth and values, I have elected to minimize contact with most ALL others, while I lick my wounds, new and old.  I thought they would be pounding me on the back for no longer reacting the way I always had.  But it became clear, quickly, that my easily judgeable  raging and decomposing, were preferred to the calmer, direct inquiries and statement of clear boundaries.  I did amaze myself that an onslaught of abusive accusations, name calling, and shunning intended to reduce me, did not call me to tell them about themselves or to beg for better treatment.  They presented two options, denial of/submission to unkindness or cold war.  I chose a third way- offering repeatedly(too many times) to explore and mend the fractures and my willingness to wait in safety for their readiness and willingness.  The reactions to those initiatives were jarring, the fact that much of it is in writing has been illuminating.  Since my decomposition seems rooted in a myth that I caused or imagined unkindness and non-love, paving the way for my own abusive behaviors.  My old thinking:  It is acceptable diminish those that displease you and then blame and shame them for it.  If you make them feel small enough, they may keep trying to please you and earn your good graces…not kindness, but an occasional respite from the non-kindness.

I cannot unlearn THIS fast enough.  What I want for my children, more than anything is for them to assume wholesomeness, of themselves and others.  To be able to experience non-goodness without internalizing it, judging it, or adopting it as a way to control and manage.  For my sons to believe in their own virtue, no matter what others say, do, and feel—how can I teach them this before I, myself, fully know it?  Thank god for the model of Sweet Greg, in our lives who unceasingly and naturally practices kindness, always.  He is totally the nice kid.  So wholesome.

For the past few years, I have relied heavily on Momastery to help me parent my children in the ways of kindness and courage, because these ways of being are still too new for me to model with any sort of consistency.  Below is a letter I will read to my sons, before sending them to sleep away camp, next week.  Connection and inclusion are values I hope they will choose to exercise rather than be in charge of.  Praying:  Please be connectors and includers… please.

Hey Baby.

Tomorrow is a big day. Third Grade – wow.

Chase – When I was in third grade, there was a little boy in my class named Adam.

Adam looked a little different and he wore funny clothes and sometimes he even smelled a little bit. Adam didn’t smile. He hung his head low and he never looked at anyone at all. Adam never did his homework. I don’t think his parents reminded him like yours do. The other kids teased Adam a lot. Whenever they did, his head hung lower and lower and lower. I never teased him, but I never told the other kids to stop, either.

And I never talked to Adam, not once. I never invited him to sit next to me at lunch, or to play with me at recess. Instead, he sat and played by himself. He must have been very lonely.

I still think about Adam every day. I wonder if Adam remembers me? Probably not. I bet if I’d asked him to play, just once, he’d still remember me.

I think that God puts people in our lives as gifts to us. The children in your class this year, they are some of God’s gifts to you.

So please treat each one like a gift from God. Every single one.

Baby, if you see a child being left out, or hurt, or teased, a little part of your heart will hurt a little. Your daddy and I want you to trust that heart- ache. Your whole life, we want you to notice and trust your heart-ache. That heart ache is called compassion, and it is God’s signal to you to do something. It is God saying, Chase! Wake up! One of my babies is hurting! Do something to help! Whenever you feel compassion – be thrilled! It means God is speaking to you, and that is magic. It means He trusts you and needs you.

Sometimes the magic of compassion will make you step into the middle of a bad situation right away.

Compassion might lead you to tell a teaser to stop it and then ask the teased kid to play. You might invite a left-out kid to sit next to you at lunch. You might choose a kid for your team first who usually gets chosen last. These things will be hard to do, but you can do hard things.

Sometimes you will feel compassion but you won’t step in right away. That’s okay, too. You might choose instead to tell your teacher and then tell us. We are on your team – we are on your whole class’ team. Asking for help for someone who is hurting is not tattling, it is doing the right thing. If someone in your class needs help, please tell me, baby. We will make a plan to help together.

When God speaks to you by making your heart hurt for another, by giving you compassion, just do something. Please do not ignore God whispering to you. I so wish I had not ignored God when He spoke to me about Adam. I remember Him trying, I remember feeling compassion, but I chose fear over compassion. I wish I hadn’t. Adam could have used a friend and I could have, too.

Chase – We do not care if you are the smartest or fastest or coolest or funniest. There will be lots of contests at school, and we don’t care if you win a single one of them. We don’t care if you get straight As. We don’t care if the girls think you’re cute or whether you’re picked first or last for kickball at recess. We don’t care if you are your teacher’s favorite or not. We don’t care if you have the best clothes or most Pokemon cards or coolest gadgets. We just don’t care.

We don’t send you to school to become the best at anything at all. We already love you as much as we possibly could. You do not have to earn our love or pride and you can’t lose it. That’s done.

We send you to school to practice being brave and kind.

Kind people are brave people. Because brave is not a feeling that you should wait for. It is a decision. It is a decision that compassion is more important than fear, than fitting in, than following the crowd.

Trust me, baby, it is. It is more important.

Don’t try to be the best this year, honey.

Just be grateful and kind and brave. That’s all you ever need to be.

Take care of those classmates of yours, and your teacher, too. You Belong to Each Other. You are one lucky boy . . . with all of these new gifts to unwrap this year.

I love you so much that my heart might explode.

Enjoy and cherish your gifts.

And thank you for being my favorite gift of all time.

Love,
Mama

 ***Each year people ask my permission to substitute their child’s name for Chase’s and read this letter together the night before school begins. YES. Others ask if they might change the word God to their family’s name for love and read it that way. OF COURSE. This letter belongs to all of us. I’d be honored if you took it and made it work for your family. Heck, tell ’em you wrote it. I’m always picking up pre-made grocery buffet food, throwing it into a casserole dish, placing it triumphantly on the table and then stepping back and smiling as humbly as possible in the wake of such triumph. Same/Same. Love, G

 

Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

I don’t really get it.  How is it ever better for relationships and trust, to rely on indirect communication for genuine understanding of needs, wants, desires, feelings?  I seriously hate that shit… It is only acceptable to me, when done with someone whom I trust and we get to call it out and laugh about it-TOGETHER.  That is the whole point of relationships, right–the together part?  Connection?

When something feels unpleasant, unfair, or upsetting, what is wrong with: “Hey, I don’t like that or that makes me uncomfortable”?  Is it too vulnerable, maybe presenting the other person a chance to honestly show you what matters more, your comfort or them getting to do the thing they are doing?  Or is it some statement of imperfection or defectiveness to have a need or to feel uncomfortable?  And so what if it is?  I may never get this.

Here are some fun examples of playfully indirect communication with Greg, as we mutually value and rely on direct communication.  With sensory issues through the roof, I experience the sound quality of iPhone speaker, even on low volume, to be stressful.  So, when he elects to listen to a video or podcast using speaker,  I laugh and say “Hey, want to borrow my earbuds?”  He laughs back and says “Nah, I’m good”.  Then he grabs his earbuds and we laugh and smooch.  Intentionally indirect communication would be me throwing a face, sighing deeply, expecting him to KNOW and revere my discomfort, or to ask me what is wrong.  So I could be all: “nothing”, resenting him for not being a mind reader who knows and loves me as completely as I deserve…. and then becoming cold and withdrawn for an incalculable amount of time, while escalating tension by denying any issue at all. Continue reading “Indirect Communication” →Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

Because we have recovery in our home, we get to practice clarifying, for ourselves and each other, the difference between unpleasant facts and problems.  Before recovery, I believed if something was unpleasant, it was a problem and I must work on it–to change it and make it be different or at the very least punish and demonstrate my discontent.  So, that was fun, living that way.  Now, with a program to reparent me, I have learned that  actual problems have solutions.  Unpleasant facts do not—people, places, things, circumstances not to my own design and specifications  are to be handled with only acceptance because they are what they are.  Acceptance, for me, is the practice of allowing things to be, not a feeling that I like or condone it, but that I may be disturbed and still choose to act right, anyway.  I accept the reality of ITs existence and my powerlessness to make it be different from how it is.

Problems have solutions.  No solution–no problem.   Sometimes it is clear which actions are called for. But, until it is clear, I get to be still mentally (keep my mind and mitts off!) and once there is recognizable prudent action, toward solution or resolution, only then may I act.  When my heart is racing, that is not the time to do or decide anything.  That is the time to stop doing and saying all of the things I naturally say and do. Racing heart tells me that I am in fear and I am being reactive. Now I understand that I must do nothing out of fear, shame, or guilt…previously, my only motivators.  They are not good guides.

Lately, in our home, we have been discussing bullying…trying to clarify the distinction between things which we must accept and those for which more than acceptance is required of us.  See, for example jerks are people who just don’t give AF about anyone but themselves.  They may not necessarily be jerks AT us— and being a jerk is not a crime or a problem, just upsetting…so we must accept.  A bully, however, is concerned with what certain others think and feel.  Bullies thrive on doing things to make others feel impressed(awkwardly trying to elevate the already elevated) or diminishing those already diminished–a need to PUT PEOPLE IN THEIR PLACE.  They are intentional in what they say and do and have a desired affect in mind, where the jerk just does NOT effing care.  Bullies are a problem to be dealt with.  Currently, we are in the stages of defining what is and is not bullying and harassing.  We will neither do it nor stand for it.  The word bullying seems to have gotten pigeon-holed into easily observable behaviors, but it is much more subtle than physically or verbally going after someone directly.  There are many indirect ways to attack, dehumanize & do damage and then be all:  “what???, i didn’t touch him or I didn’t say anything to him”.  We are onto that!  We see YOU.  We object!

We had a family meeting this week, all of us, Dad, boys, and me.  That is a amaaaaazing.  We agreed that kindness and loyalty are our family rule.  Violation will have consequences.  We do not get to choose our feelings.  But we can always choose our behavior and our intentions.  Our intentions are to look out for each other, first.  Always.  Period.  The irony of this convo involving their father is not lost on any of us.  Let’s see if we can each practice what we preach.  The boys were first nervous about this family meeting and then clearly felt good about having mom and dad working as a team for them.  Just for today, we are working together.  Another miracle for which to be grateful.

And– this time of unity feels tricky, because I tend to fall into the thinking of –this is the new forever—either when he is being harmful to me or decent to me.  I honestly never know why things get better or worse, I just see that  they do and that it is not ever my job to tell him about himself or to try too hard to make things be different.  We are divorced—irreconcilable differences 100%.  Hard times happen…when I see my part, I make it right.  When it is not about me, I have to let it be…and that is difficult.  I am easily obsessed with things that frighten, confuse, or sadden me.

All this to say that–All unpleasant things fall into one of two categories, problem Or unpleasant fact.  I find this to be helpful and wanted to share.  Because also, I used to think when IT(life) is difficult, it is a result and proof of of being wrong or doing it wrong…but life is just fucken hard.  Right?  And it is easier to live life when we are not trying to change things we can not.  I think it is called minding our own business–not in the hostile and unwholesome directive to “mind your own beeswax” way-but simply tending(trying to manage and control) ONLY to what is ours, and leaving the rest be.

 Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

6:45 a.m.-  It doesn’t even mater why…

I woke to crushing anxiety this morning, as I do most, overwhelming, free-floating anxiety tied to nothing in particular and everything all at once.  Nauseous and on the verge of tears, before getting out of bed- I feel immense guilt for how my anxiety robs my sons and Sweet Greg of a more present and emotionally generous me. Weary from white knuckling through every minute, trying to keep from snapping or crying.

I recognize that I have always been this way and how much it cost me, to not have been born and wake daily, all easy breezy and anew like a Golden Retriever ready to seize the day, catch the ball, run and enjoy.  I too, would have preferred that.  But all these little things kept happening in life which filled little me with big shame and fear of unworthiness–utter inability to experience a sustained sense of well-being and peace.  There was no recognizable person, seeking to  understand why I suffered, many insisting that I stop– or learn to manage my dis-EASE in less vexing ways.  Little things consistently said and done OR not said and done wracked me with great worry and shame-which in turn, caused trouble.  Maybe another day, I will share some of the things that I wished I could have shared and felt heard and still loved by just one person.

All of the little things,when un-shared and not honored, turn to soul killing, life robbing, hole in our hearts/ myths–that make us need to hide and numb ourselves.

Honestly, all of the things are fine in the big picture. I am hardwired for panic, which causes me to miss out on so much and holds my children hostage to a mother who is perpetually edgy and brittle and often reacting to 50years worth of pain rather than only what is happening in the moment.  Oh for fuck’s sake, the despair over being sad is too much.  Secondary feelings kick my ass every single time, if I allow them.

I will be gentle with myself today.  Some days are less difficult than others.

Maybe tomorrow will be more thrivey than survivey.

6:45 p.m. – I did manage to focus on only my work today after writing,eating, exercising (none of which I do with regularity).  My anxiety definitely is linked to low blood sugar and metabolic issues– mornings and late afternoons are the same for me.  My blood sugar drops and I rapidly unravel.

My younger son has become aggressive since the bully incident(possibly, but not necessarily related) and keeps his older brother in his crosshairs 24/7.   I have insisted that they(he) demonstrate brotherly loyalty by not taking each other out of team games until it is necessary.  JUST go for anyone else first, before going after and taking your own brother down. But nope.  It happened again at camp today.  And, I reacted poorly.  My tone and face have expressed things that cannot be taken back.  Possibly, punctuated with a swear word.

The effect of little brother’s  persisting efforts to humiliate and alienate big brother may be almost as damaging, as my reaction to the familiar dynamic.   Oh my god, history repeating itself.   The cycle!!!  Please make it stop.  Praying for willingness to handle myself differently. HaaaaalpMuch Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

I heard it expressed frequently by my family of origin– which led to my own false belief that we may each enforce our truths and wills on those who disturb us.  Thank good gawd almighty that I was able to unlearn this in time to raise children- and to break the cycle of unwholesome thinking and behavior.  Unless it is being said to/of someone for achievement recognition, a promotion, or a high score well earned, it is bullshit.  Nobody deserves harm.  NOBODY.

Cruelty is not a natural consequence nor is it corrective or constructive.  When a person is cruel, it is because they are broken, not because something or someone has earned it.  Cruelty is a choice.

Another person’s vulnerability, fragility, ignorance, even meanness is not an invitation or free pass to do them harm.  There is a difference between being corrective and being hateful.  Defense from legitimate danger  differs vastly from attacking.  Malevolence is the work of the mentally unwell.  There is help for that.  Good news, vigilantes:  It is never too late to seek help and to change.

I had to unlearn the sick thinking so I could practice behaving like the person I am meant to be.  This requires rigorous resisting of my natural urges and reactions to stress and threat.  Much of the wreckage of my life stems from the myth that cruelty and abuse are well earned and justifiable reactions, rightfully directed at those “askin for it”.  Before understanding the practices of  kindness and compassion, my only known tools were shaming, blaming, judging, retaliating.  If you got in the way of the way of how I believed things should be, you would fucken pay.  Shaking my head at having thought this way well into my 30s.  When we know better we do better. Kindness, previously, was a reward for having pleased me or met my needs.  Ach!  We do learn what we live.

All beings deserve comfort and kindness.  Anyone believing otherwise is scary AF.  TRUTH:  Those requiring less of us are easier to love in that conditional ego-centric sort of way.  Many years ago, as a rookie teacher, still deep in a state of un-knowing,  I (possibly in some ways) preferred students arriving to class on time, smelling Downy fresh, well behaved, able to listen and learn (do as I say).  They would be fine no matter what kind of person or teacher I was.  They made my job easy while making me look good, right?  Ugh.  With experience, came my recognition of the strugglers as my people, and my love for them drove me to try harder to become what they needed and deserved.  I was not always fair and kind to them(or anyone) because I had not yet been introduced to principles illuminating what is and is not ok to say and to do.  I believed that you get what you deserve and that I was fit to decide and impose that.  If you challenge me too much and I have the authority and the means, I will diminish you.  I wish I could reach out to my students from my first days of teaching so I could say to them, “I did not know how to do better, but you ALL always always deserved better.  Please forgive me for anything I said and did that indicated otherwise.  It was only ever my defectiveness that made me act badly.”

Short skirts •crossing the border •being sexually confused or different •smelling bad • having a different or no religious/political affiliation • showing sensitivity • objecting to a thing that feels wrong • standing up for something that feels right:   People feeling called to diminish or attack for things like this, probably won’t get what they deserve.  And yet, it remains true, that their diminishing behavior speaks ONLY to their brokenness and darkness, not to the worthiness of their targets.  Vilifying others is their choice, not a natural consequence.

As Harold Kushner says, not all punished people are bad, not all bad people are punished.  Bad things happen to good people and good things happen for bad people.  Some shit just happens.  Proof of God is in the showing up of the helpers.  I am so grateful to finally know how to be in this world in a kinder, gentler way.  I am a work in progress.Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

1. Frankly, little mattered to me before motherhood.
2. Life has has never, NOT felt incredibly difficult and unnatural for me.  Having sensory issues is difficult. Even the smell and feel of foods I enjoy, can nauseate me.  An avocado smear on a plate or worse, on my hand, gags me…and I really like avocados, provided I do not have to touch them outside of my mouth.  I am not wired and regulated like a typical person.  I can enjoy the taste of a food and be unnerved by the sight, smell, and feel of it.  AND how I feel about a food is changing constantly, depending on how much rest, space, and exercise I get.  I cannot bear the sensation of most anything on my hands.  The feel and smell of the kitchen sponge or a wet dish towel stress me.  I do not mean I dislike them because washing dishes is not fun, but my adrenaline surges when I handle things with my hands that feel bad to me or that have a smell that I dislike.   The sensations stay with me even after the experience is over.  I experience all things at a cellular level.   Music with saxophone or a classical vibe make my heart race and adrenaline pump, fight or flight in full swing and don’t even get me started on opera.  Repetitive or erratic sounds are also deeply troubling to me and I do not possess that dimmer switch in my brain, which would regulate how affected I am—-unable to tune anything out.  I am sooooo overly tuned in, and being in the world with people and all of the stimulus can be too much.   And I require time which is free from all stimulus to recover.   Sleeping with a 17 pound weighted blanket in addition to my covers is immense comfort and relief, even when it is hot.  The pressure and weight regulate and calm me.  My bed is my favorite most safest place.   I am sensory defensive.  It is not a choice.  I will leave the matter of my emotional intensity for another day, but let’s just say that is a whole other balla wax and it is a tough combination…but guess what….none of this makes me an asshole or a defect.  I struggle to remain calm near given sources of sensory and emotional intensity. So, now I avoid them.   Learning to parent a child with sensory integration issues, diagnosed at 18 months, along with my program of recovery taught me not only the value of, but the wisdom for how to seek serenity and to teach my son to do so without apology or shame.  Less sensitive and more controlling people might call all of this pickiness or-just being a pain in the ass.  To them, we offer space. We wear soft clothes with no tags, enjoy sitting beneath weighted blankets with no overhead lighting, minimal sounds, and smells.  Limiting ourselves to small groups of trusted others is also a choice we practice making.
3. We have two sweet rescue dogs, each of whom teach us daily about unconditional love, loyalty, and patience.  It is a little hostagey at times and it is not completely clear who the hostages are in our home, us or the dogs,when I say us, I mostly mean me.
4. One of the things that brings me joy, a sense of belonging and infinite connection is- inside jokes and situational nicknames that are wholesome and infinitely funny, like they will not ever get old.  This insideyness did not exist for me with my family of origin or in my failed marriage, I was never inside.  What I see now, is that if I am not free to cry and find comfort with you, I will never relax or relate enough to laugh deeply with you.  Laughter is the balm!  Good wholesome, silly and often sophisticated jokes tend to evolve, usually in moments in which somebody is expressing an objection.  In chosen relationships, we all get to object and say no without it being a secret or a fight.  I believe— this is what is referred to as genuine intimacy.  Boundaries and laughter…YES!!
5. I stopped drinking when I met my husband, because I wanted to love him.  I wanted us to love each other, but it was hopeless and loveless, and when I drink I am more likely to speak truths that are otherwise too hard to say.  I hated the way I felt with him, but it was familiar, the same feeling/love I experienced in my family.  It was not the right kind of love for me.  Maybe it wasn’t loveless, just not a love I wanted to keep trying to master or survive.
6. I just returned from a work trip in which I fucked up and said something insensitive.  I offended someone, innocent, but not harmless.  I owned it and apologized but still feel sick from it and hope to not lose another night of sleep to it.   I am still learning about how to be in the world.  I am a work in progress.

Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

I used to have immense shame over how I struggled and how I felt, like I was embarrassed for my feelings.  WTF? Difficult feelings were for judging not having or coping with.  And I fruitlessly sought approval from the most emotionally vacant and disapproving. And, I too learned to become disapproving of myself and others, particularly those in struggle, having needs or ideas different from my own, so basically everybody.

We judge when we are afraid.  It is easier to look, point and judge than to look inward and ask, why does that make me so uncomfortable?  By judging and disliking someone, is that proof of their badness and unlikability?  No, it is evidence of an inability to be compassionate and loving.  Behaviors can be bad.  Choices can be bad.  But people are not bad.  Even assholes are just people who cannot yet see the changes they are being called to make.  Is using the word asshole, a sign of judgment?  Probably so.  I am a work in progress.

I do believe that some people are inherently broken and dark hearted and knowingly do harmful things in order to get ahead or to be right and lacking in the ability or will to self reflect and elevate their spiritual presence.  I don’t judge them.  I just give them a lot of space and send them light and love from over here, when I am feeling humble and generous. hahaha.  Again, a work in progress.  The struggle is real.  Assholes are real.  Feelings are real.  Recovery is real—#odaatMuch Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

I was alllwaaaays melting down-losing my shit. I had not learned healthy coping skills. For my first 40 years, secondary feelings about my feelings kicked my ass.  In our home feelings were for losers, and for judging. —I felt shitty because life was painful and experiencing pain, duress, and discontent was treated harshly-
generally shamed, punished, gossiped about, and banished.  I was sad about feeling sad and scared I might get scared and tense about getting tense and fully ashamed of it all.  Being name-called and demanded to lighten up OR snap out of it never seemed to do the trick.  Now, I allow myself to have feelings without worrying about having them, and the difficult ones are shorter in duration.

Recovery helps me to unlearn the myths of shame and unworthiness and fear of feelings, and the price for having them–disconnection (from those whom I was never authentically connected, anyway).  Now I am mostly only afraid of being placed in proximity to those who righteously attempt to punish, judge, and challenge my emotional experiences.  When given the choice, I only #gowherethelove is.  Life feels more manageable and even enjoyable this way.  Byeeeeee!Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/

This reminded me of Christmas Dinner 3 years ago while angsting over my contribution of a salad for the evening meal; worried that the dressing was not turning out. My niece said to me, in a genuinely curious and unthreatening way; “Since when do you care what people think?” This confirmed my sense of my sister’s front-loading her daughters with her story of who I am. So… it was a fair question. I laughed and said nothing because my response would have been too lecture like. What I wanted to say:   “Annie, I obviously would like if everyone appreciated what I do and choose, and NOT allowing other people’s opinions to direct me, is in no way the same as not caring. I have a Higher Power to guide me–and it is not other humans’ opinions or ideas. Not needing to impress others is not the same as not caring. And, I love you and no matter what is said to you, I know you will always know this.” My sister insured the end of connection with her daughters and used who knows what to justify it. But she tells herself and the FOO, it is all for the family—which I am welcome to join at any time.

Hustle Align meme also left me needing to reflect and understand my position on social climbing and spiritual striving. Very different paths and directions. Different Choices.  The need to “appear” agreeable is not something I value, even a little. Some people think I #dgaf but I do. I give lots of fucks about seeking serenity, improving myself, raising children with healthy senses of connection and #belonging I give fucks about my performance at work, not because I need to impress, but because doing better today than yesterday feels amazing. What others think is never my reason for doing or not doing a thing.

I differ from my family because I do not engage in weird flattering comments or offering gifts publicly to make a statement. I don’t so much reject that way of being as I just don’t choose it. I express genuine gratitude, appreciation, and admiration freely and easily. I buy gifts when I see items which a person has shared that they would like–and I give them just because, And then sometimes have nothing material to present on the day of the calendar in which a gift is expected. Maybe even, I am not able to physically attend the event.  But those are not a statements of my love or lack of. Love is 24/7.  Also, I suck at wrapping gifts but I am a terrific gifter all of the days of the year to people whom I feel a gifted connection. So, while the GIFT may be wrapped poorly or not at all and not presented  on the specified day of the year, you will love that shit and remember how much I notice and appreciate you each time you use or see your “gift” from me.

Gifts aimed at impressing or mending feel icky to me.  In my life today, gifts are things we do or get for each other that say:  “I see you.  I hear you.  I know you.  I love you.  As you wish.”  Anything else is a gesture and a statement for sure–but not necessarily a gift.

We all choose how,why, what, and when we give.  Some forms of “giving” are more wholesome and generous than others.  Giving people what they need is badass love.  Giving them what you want them to have is more assy than badass.  Just saaayin, IMHO.

I give great gifts and lots of fucks for reasons and occasions that feel true to me.Much Love,
Magda Gee

For shorter, more frequent and fun posts, connect with me on Instagram by clicking the pic- Wholesomebadass. https://www.instagram.com/wholesomebadass/