The Five Rules

Reposting Tom Weston’s Five Rules of Being a Grown Up (steps to maintaining the status quo/rape culture/being pushed out to the margins)

The Five Rules of Being A Grown Up
By Tom Weston
1. You must not have anything wrong with you, or anything different about you.
2. If you have something wrong or different about you, you really need to correct it. You need to be able to pass under all circumstances.
3. If you can’t correct it, or change it in any way, you should just pretend that you have. It’s not a problem anymore. Good news!
4. If you can’t even pretend to have corrected the situation, you should just not show up, because it’s very painful for the rest of us to see you in your current condition.
5. If you’re going to insist on showing up, you should at least have the decency to be ashamed.

Self Doubt v. Purpose & Belonging

So interesting, I enjoyed a wonderful day off work all to myself and then, while relaxing with an audio book, I was reminded of the crippling self doubt on which I was raised. Before finding the rooms of recovery at age 40, I had always deeply believed in my own unworthiness: that the world (particularly my angry brown non-Christian family and my angry white Christian community) would be better off without me, did not want me, and was rooting against me. Those belonging in my family of origin, frequently employed the word WE, the royal WE, when speaking about themselves and the rest of their family. The silent army. The “You are either with US or against US” mentality proved toxic for me. Apparently being uniquely me, rendered me a menacing enemy.

I suppose that if genuine and prevailing trust is the currency of love, it makes good sense that I felt hated unloved in my home and family. Void of any identifiable source of comfort, connection, belonging, loyalty, I became a lost (having no purpose) desperate needy mess –particularly on the most special of family occasions. This typically manifested in physical illness, which was openly judged as “she just wants attention”. For the record, grown ups care givers, if a child wants attention, it is not a crime. Maybe they are asking to feel understood, comforted, connected, or significant. It is true– that can seem inconvenient, an unwelcome distraction from yourself, boring, or just plain difficult. But, if showing up for your child is difficult, that is proof of your need to grow- not the child’s need to shrink. I do believe that trying to break a child down into more manageable pieces is a crime, though–or maybe just very sick behavior and proof of unhealed trauma.

What can I learn from this, besides to not ridicule, alienate, or triangulate against my own children (or others((When we know better, we do better))? Be kind. Listen. Show up. Be curious. Ask Questions. Listen some more. Stay. Model (healthy) kind and benevolent interactions, particularly with those designated as inside the circle of trust. How will I maintain and grow the concept of trust with my sons?

Trust is built over time and broken in a split second, by a single word or action which communicates “you matter less than me”.

I continually and intentionally invite my boys to show me who they are.

I encourage them to identify and pursue their gifts, strengths, talents, passions–their truths.

I will be mindful of any consistent messaging to my sons about fitting in and belonging. I hope they will choose paths of bridge building rather than gate-keeping.

A deep sense of belonging and purpose– This is what I want for my boys. A sense of belonging and purpose which is born out of embracing (or at the very least, not denying) and living out our truest truths surrounded closely, by those who not only tolerate, but solicit self discovery and authentic living.

Look For The Helpers

Who do you crave when you are in pain? Who unfailingly welcomes and solicits your unedited truth?  Is it the perpetually smiling person dedicated to the optic and insisting that nothing is wrong?  Whose music and books touch you deeply?  Are they the messages of the politically correct and poised-the judgers and deniers of struggle?  If you are sensitive, those people will cause you to become very sick. They will drive in you the need to cry, hide, pretend, disappear, numb, to be someone else– a non-sensitive person.

I am finally learning from the many relationships in my life, in which the poised and smiley have turned to me, confided in me, feeling safe and comforted by my ability and willingness to listen to and identify with emotional hardship and struggle.  And then, once relieved, ties are cut and efforts are made to distance themselves from me and to discredit me, even to erase me– I think because I know things they could and would not share with others.  They came to me when they felt weak. This is a problem. Their illusions of strength are threatened by my existence.

Being dumped in this way has been a common experience.  My mother, my sister, my ex husband, and friends along the way have confided in me, things I absolutely believe they would not share with any other.  They unburdened with me and then despised and judged how I do not turn off my vulnerability, sensitivity, my willingness/need to discuss and examine difficult and uncomfortable things.

As I peruse my Audible library, I recognize that the majority of my books are memoirs and biographies of highly sensitive people who openly faced trauma, spent time in mental institutions or rehabilitation centers for substance abuse.   Strugglers and survivors are my people.  They are the lighthouses.   Fuck the tidy one dimensional clowns, the self proclaimed emotional police. They cannot handle the feelers and go to great measures to silence them/us.

Because of passionate and courageous badass truth seekers: activists, singers, artists, writers, speakers, innovators– who express difficult truths, darkness, yearnings, questions, I am able to breathe and to soldier on.  These are the people whom I count on, trust and look to.  They are the helpers.   They are the feelers.  They are proof of God.  “Look for the helpers.” said Mr. Rogers.  Be a helper and a healer. Never Ever has denying the darkness gotten a suffering person closer to the light.

Today, it is clear to me that people who deny their own pain also will adamantly deny the pain of others. (unwavering denial of pain felt or caused by them) This makes them improbable sources for mercy, compassion, comfort, solace. They do however make great hosts, politicians, salespeople, networkers, attorneys, and performers. In recovery I have been stripped of any need for affiliation with these types. I have watched as those whom I characterize this way are increasingly disturbed by me. This no longer makes me sad. At all. I am a reminder to them of what they do not want to consider.

Not So Classy

I felt thrilled and a little proud-ish to have enrolled in a class at the local university.  I was satisfied by my initiative, planning, execution, arranging time off work, applying for tuition assistance through my company and mostly about becoming a student and learning.

And then the shame, because I had not fully understood the nature of graduate work.  It is not normal or healthy to feel shame for not knowing a thing.  I guess a part of me still worries about what the judgers will think, what it might confirm for the people who do not wish me well. But then I remembered, that is not my business. Anyhow, I had believed that if you take a course after you graduate, you enroll as a graduate student and therefore take a graduate class—because you are not an under-grad, right?  Wrong.

Well– graduate level study assumes a wealth of prior knowledge on the subject matter, of which I had none.  I felt equally excited and confused in day 1 of class, struggled to complete the week’s assignments and checked in with the Professor after the second meeting. She confirmed that it would be a difficult for me to participate and complete assignments.  By that time, the date to change or add classes or to request a full refund had passed.  So, not only did I forfeit the Spring Semester of learning, for which I yearned deeply, I lost money for tuition, parking, books and I felt crummy about myself-but only for a minute.  Because, once I did share with Favorite and Sweet Greg, they each assured me that they too, would have assumed the same.  I knew better than to feel bad- but still felt uncomfortable with myself for not knowing better. It is true, we are only as sick as our secrets. Until I shared about it, it was causing me suffering. Sharing with trusted others is key.

Recovery allows me to develop shame resilience through the understanding and excercising healthy boundaries.  Boundaries, for me, are like a spiritual skin.  They inform me of where I stop and where others begin.  My boundaries have only to do with me– helping me to recognize and honor my own personal & unique needs, limits, and responsibilities — and to leave the rest alone.  What others think, falls outside of my boundaries, and so I waste no energy there. Boundaries guide me to work only on the things I can. (the wisdom to know the difference)

Because I was raised by and with people who blamed others for their behaviors and did not acknowledge or regret their own hurtful and harmful contributions, my perceptions of accountability and culpability were distorted for many years.  I often experienced crippling guilt and shame for things over which I had no control.  And so– I was quick to offload shame and blame to others.  It was all I knew.   Unwarranted shame and guilt left me wanting to hide, deny, and to pretend— to pretend to feel, want, possess, or know things which I did not.  It seemed impossible to identify what I had control and responsibility over. It was confusing–and painful, for everyone. I am grateful for the process of unlearning.

Today, I thought to myself: I am grateful that course did not work out because I would still be missing out on the classroom experience I craved, now, with school closures for CoVid 19.  It is just one of those things.  I am unlearning the myth of shame and working to break the cycle of taking it on and passing it to my children– and this makes me very proud, the most proud. The miracle really is inside the mess, always.

What is Wrong?

Deny, defend, deflect, dilute. I think it is natural to do these things when we are young and full of not knowing how to act right, particularly when we are feeling bad about something, maybe afraid, angry, sad or ashamed.  We might do something unwholesome and then naturally prefer to evade shame and punishment.  Some people, from early on, choose to say or do literally anything to avoid unpleasant consequences—unwilling to acknowledge, admit, accept, and amend.  

These seem to be the same people who apologize profusely for circumstantial things but not for their choices. They are eager for praise and swat down and return rather than accept compliments and tend to fawn and ooze flattery- desperate to be recognized for being polite and friendly. How is it possible to trust or relax with a person always demanding forgiveness for nothing at all and snatching at praise for nearly anything? These types resent me for not caring more about the opinions and pleasure of others. I do care but am not directed by them. Allowing myself to be guided by static principles, allows me instead to act and speak with integrity. The other way did not. These are the folks who fight to uphold comfortable lies and go to war over unpleasant truths.

Nothing to me, feels as hopeful as witnessing my children claim responsibility for their words and actions when they have done harm or broken trust. I love when either they know or they ask how to make reparation- to restore connection which has been compromised.  To be or appear perfect or pleasing is not something I desire or expect from my sons, only to be honest and kind. If nothing else, I need for them to discern the differences between trusted others and non-trusted others. Trusted others will not punish you for displeasing them and will be honest and direct when they feel upset about a thing, allowing for reparations. Non trusted others will always say nothing is wrong and continually seek to get even, usually in underhanded ways. This is the birth place of eggshells- the lack of ease and trust.

Because I grew up void of trust in others or myself, I did not learn how to be trusted or to trust. I was too reactive and defensive to be counted on. The rules were not clear and strictly enforced and I was pretty much always shitting my pants. At some level, I understood this lacking within myself and assumed it to be true of others, as well. Living that way was scary. I had not experienced love and trust. So, I did not know. When we know better we do better.

A common argument in our home arises from bullshit apologies intended to serve as magic wand erasers.  To anything resembling this, I vehemently object: “Fine– I am sorry, can we just move on, it is over”.   But is it really possible to genuinely apologize for a thing said or done and the pain caused, while simultaneously believing we have done no harm?  I think not.

Sometimes when we are feeling sheepish and ready to apologize, we laugh out these words: I am sorry you made me scream at you or I am sorry that you feel I screamed at you. We all get it and like to respond with similar sentiments of forgiveness. I forgive you for making me lose my shit….. We are breaking cycles and learning together, to choose accountability and compassion for even those with whom we may still feel angry.

I Choose Corona Virus Over…

Last week, when we were notified of Ecoli in our water, our local schools and restaurants closed for 2 days and residents were under a boil advisory.  I was not afraid.  On the heels of Ecoli threat, we were notified of school closures for state and nation wide containment efforts around the Corona Virus Epidemic.

I observe and read online as many frantically race to buy and possess all of the stuff- for themselves, leaving the stores empty– some having too much resulting in scarcity for others. I will try not to judge. Fear makes people crazy and poorly behaved. I know this, first hand.

In the face of this catastrophic uncertainty, I feel oddly calm. After all, I survived my family childhood,  my marriage and my divorce, in which people (from whom I could not protect myself or my children) were knowingly harmful to us.  Helpless to predict or protect, I, for years, felt distraught and anxious beyond measure. Panicked and sad. I am still recovering.

But this, a deadly virus-  It is not actively denying or attacking my little family and we have guidance for how we may insulate ourselves from contracting and spreading the ailment, regardless of what others do.  I prefer the threat of a deadly virus any day, over another similar experience with my family of origin.  

Concerned, but not panicked, we will continue to follow advised pre-cautionary measures to keep ourselves and others safe and to buy only enough, plus a little more. One sane reason to buy excessively, is if you plan to serve those in need. Otherwise, how hard is it to leave enough for others. Right? Though, we are not fully stocked, we will gladly share what we are able, with anyone who needs or asks, even the boys’ father.

And regarding the social distancing–this feels like a dream come true. Laughing, but not kidding.

I Can Only Imagine

If the opportunity to exchange goodbyes with my mother had been possible… I would have wept, thanked, apologized, forgiven–even if she remained silent and unreceptive. It could have been beautiful. There could have been healing.

I can only imagine how that might have been for the two of us.

Today (or tomorrow or the next day), I will write a letter to my mother, in which I will express my anger, sadness, grief, pain, gratitude, fear, longing, regret, resentment, and forgiveness. All the things I was not to openly need, feel or say, I will feel and say.

To those who righteously stood squarely in the way, yes, you possess the power to divide. That is clear and undeniable. (That is nothing to brag.) And– I am embracing my power to feel and to heal. Congratulations on robbing my mother, her daughter, and her grandsons from a wholesome ending. Perhaps one day you will be courageous enough to seek the strength to consider the nature of your behavior and then maybe even take accountability for your actions. This is unlikely. I am decades from being able to forgive the pain and struggle you impose(d), simply because you can/could—and for reasons which would be humbling for anyone with the ability or willingness to examine and self reflect. No matter what it is you claim I have done, your divisive antics reflect only who you are and what you are like-the essence of your spirit and character.

Was it worth it? What point has been established– about you and by you?

I will continue to work on the practices of mercy and compassion because my anger for you hurts my children-and me.

An Altruistic Donor

Altruistic Donor is the term for a living donor who chooses to part with an organ for an unknown and unspecified recipient. Totally fascinated by words and language, I frittered some time contemplating how much the term applies to me. I am willing to donate a portion of my liver to a complete stranger, but would how would I feel if I were to learn my sister or ex needed some liver?

Well, of course I would for my boys’ father, because our sons love and need their dad. As for my sister, only with the condition that she acknowledge and work to repair the damage to my children, resulting from her scheme. I feel certain she would choose death over this.

Zero guilt for declining opportunities to be diminished by the words and behaviors of another. Saying No to what harms me is a healthy boundary, not a retaliation. Daily spiritual striving calls for the practices of self care and self preservation. THIS does not sit well with some. I am okay with that.

Surviving divorce and single parenting and co-parenting counter-parenting is tricky enough. To stoke those fires of tension and resentment to further your agenda, is indefensible, though I am certain something said or done by me circa 1992 would be referenced as justification. I cannot help but feel curious to know what she tells herself and others to justify her choices, which knowingly harm children.

I firmly reject any invitation for more of the same. So- Sorry, no liver for Jilan. Honestly, aside from Donald Trump, I can identify nobody whose principles, pretenses, delusions, and entitlement, I think less of, than those of my female sibling. The one difference between her and my ex–My boys need him. They need their parents working together for them. They deserve that.

While BF(boys’ father) is denied access to me, our home, our dogs, even– I would show up to serve, in the name of our sons. I prefer nothing to do with any person who chooses to harm us– to soothe or advance themselves. I elect for NO CONTACT, but as the father to my children, I support his longevity on this planet. AND- that is altruistic enough for me.

Liver Anyone?

While Sweet Greg and I were out for his birthday lunch last Saturday, I went to the restroom to wash my hands and saw a flyer posted- for a local man in need of a Kidney and it made me first sad, then curious and excited about what I could do. I came home and applied with Duke Medical Center to become a Living Donor. And then I researched—yes, in that order, of course.

It turns out that 30% of people on lists to receive Livers and Kidneys from deceased donors, die waiting. Also, it turns out that our Livers fully regenerate and parting with a portion of my liver therefore seems less scary to me, than letting go of an entire Kidney.

I love getting tattoos and claiming my body and skin in that way. Having and seeing a scar on myself, from saving a person’s life, a stranger even, would be amazing. Working from home, at a job which requires no lifting, makes me feel extra qualified for this. Plus staying home is one of my favorite things in the world. I would miss out on almost nothing, during my physical recovery.

Having no financial security does leave me fearful of potential complications arising and demanding money and time from work. I feel that I NEED assurance of coverage for anything related. From what I understand, this is not possible. So it seems that only a person with financial security can confidently take the risk to become a living donor. Boo.

In my liver donor fantasy, someone needing my liver would be financially and legally able to guarantee me covered, for any issues resulting from the procedure. If not for my two beautiful sons, I would surely roll the dice on this. I am not afraid of surgery, scars, (most) pain, or dying– but the idea of added or lasting financial burden seems terrifying. We scraped hard, for several years, when the boys were small and their father could not be counted on to consistently provide court ordered support and care costs. I think I still have PTSD from that.

I bet my liver is big and beautiful. We (My strong liver and I) still have about 9 years before it is rendered non-ideal for donation. I will continue researching.

Just Because

I once did pretty much all of the same shit I now will not tolerate. In recovery, I am unlearning and growing, not pretending as if I have not been guilty of some very unfortunate attitudes and behaviors. I began my journey into recovery in my early 40s. Before that, I could be pretty assholey. When we know better, we do better.

If a person is bringing up things you did long ago to discredit you, chances are, that they are attempting to deflect attention away from their own current behaviors and actions. Offer them the chance to resolve the thing they are still upset about, but if it is only being used as ammunition, they want war, not resolution.

I realized recently (possibly) why people like my sister and ex prefer states of war to working together toward resolution and peace. Those require mutually agreed upon terms. They are not interested in mutual regard. Collaboration and compromise tend to lack appeal for certain types: making them feel less powerful, less in charge. To those people, I offer space.