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.

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

A friend of mine, whose family of origin experience is frightfully similar, has just learned, second-hand, of her mother’s passing.  Her mother, throughout her life, consistently NOT chose her…  In a state of No Contact with her mother for most of her adult life, her mother’s will nominates her as the executor.  Fortunately, the document states that a nominee may decline for any reason at all–which she has.  The attorney, whom her mother selected, is intent on carrying out HER MOTHER’S WILL.   It seems truly her mother’s will to manipulate and shame her daughter, even from the grave.  The attorney asserted a moral obligation to serve as executor.  WTF?  You do not shame a person who has lost their mother, for the last time, into serving in this capacity.  His job would be easier if she would accept.  But it is not unreasonable to ask:  “if I am not needed or wanted in her life, why am I needed upon her passing?  Let someone she was close to handle her affairs and belongings with the love and respect they hold for her”  For the record, my friend had been notified  years ago of her removal from the will.  Bittersweet, and a lie. I often wake to scenarios of what deaths of people in my  family of origin will call from me.  Since memorial services are intended for mourners to celebrate, recall, and commune, it makes sense that I honor the purpose–hence:  that gathering is not for me.  I cannot contribute in those ways.  To attend any gathering of those whom have elected to live as if I don’t exist, matter, count, belong —would, literally, be for what purpose?  By going, who/what am I serving—the illusion that we were/are ______???  There is no WE, here. People concerned with perception management may feel strongly that I MUST GO unless I am a complete asshole.  BUT, Why?  So, I can be retruamatized by heart breaking disconnection some more?  So people can awkwardly tell me they are sorry for my loss or how wonderful  the person who discarded me was?   If I am not a part of your life, it makes no sense to be a part of your death.  My showing up or not showing up is a reflection of only my experience and my responsibility to choose people, places, and things to which I belong and am connected by a higher and loving purpose. Managing these scenarios with consideration for my sons, will be delicate.  What lessons will they learn from my choice??  I will do nothing to place them in the midst of conflict and sickness, which has nothing to do with them.  Their serenity and innocence top of the list of things to consider.  Getting hugged or cried on by people with whom they have no real connection and who diminished and disposed of their mother is not appearing as a sane or wholesome choice.  Maybe tomorrow it will look  different.  Good news is I don’t need to know today how I might handle tomorrow.  

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.