The more I try to outrun (debating whether lying on the couch or in my bed is considered outrunning) the pain, the less I am able to experience laughter and joy.  I am reminded again, how I can not selectively numb my feelings.  And– understanding my pain has not removed it….possibly I need some help with that. There are times, in which I have been known for having a great sense of humor and for being fun.  But, since fun happens only in the present moment– and I always have one, if not both feet in the past…Very little feels fun.  I miss fun and laughter.  I no longer recognize  what  “fun” means for me.  In survival mode for too long, I have forgotten. Even if someone cleared my schedule and responsibilities to grant me A Day of Fun and Creativity, I have only one  idea—“not this”.  Okay– today’s vision: wholesome large quantities of prepared food available to me, minimal stimulus, and a variety of places to sit comfortably, exercise and take in a sunset.  Physical comfort and serenity are my constant cravings. Self soothing has not translated into enjoyment of life.  Many people seem to avoid and manage pain through intentional fun and thrill seeking.  I seem to be stuck in survival mode.  While survival and recovery are miracles, they are not fun and clearly differ from legitimate thriving. Things I used to do for pleasure and my reasons for not doing: beach volleyball, doubles, so that I had only one teammate to disappoint (weak unexercised body and no access to beach) teaching (too peopley and demanding) learning (too self obsessed with the idea of healing to do anything that would heal me) reading (see below) book club (cannot focus well enough to read books and clashes with my need to avoid others) walking at the beach (too far and too expensive to go) small outdoor concerts or a dark , nearly empty bar with a solo musician playing acoustic guitar while singing mellow songs (??) swimming in the ocean (too far from beach, even though when I lived 12 miles from ocean, I still didn’t cuz- kids, job,work) trying to draw (just can’t) watching the sunset (no excuse–it just feels impossible) sitting around with (two or less) friends (sometimes I can wrangle one) shopping (too broke) garage saling (too early) working in the yard (too hot, buggy, and muggy) marathon gambling in Vegas at the same low stakes black jack table (whatever) sitting in the sun (now makes me feel ill) I am lost.  Keeping our home paid for, cleanish, and stocked with food we like, are freakin’ miracles.  If I would do all the things I want done, that would make me feel better about myself. My list would look like this: Finish unpacking, for the love of God. Paint living room Frame and thoughtfully hang meaningful prints an photos around the house Spray and pull the weeds Fill planters with colorful plants Purge and organize the garage Train my dog–it would be both fun and beneficial for all Take a vacation with my sons Do an actual freaking activity with Greg…we enjoy a lot of eating and watching tv and avoiding stimulus and working around the house, may be time to step that up.  

I don’t recall much of life before children, only that I was miserable and treated myself poorly because that is all I knew …that I was undeserving and unworthy of comfort, connection, peace, joy.  Those things remained foreign, inaccessible–reserved for the worthy.

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.  

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