Making Eye Contact

I've had to cut my Therapist Lisa visits back to twice a month (due to significant budget constraints). In my last visit with her she had a few challenges for me. Unfortunately, I didn't write them all down. Since my mind is getting full (you realize the older you get the more junk you have in there so it gets much harder to find those little memory files, right?), I don't remember all of them. I'm pretty sure there were three. One was to "continue to feel". This was in response to the yucky grieving over Andrew's leaving.

I still say feeling is highly over-rated.

I can't remember the middle one.

The last one was a challenge to make eye contact with. . . men. There, I've said it. Right here in cyberspace for all to see. Crap.

I don't talk much about the "single" part of the parent thing, do I? Which is kind of crazy since I've been one for nineteen (yes, NINETEEN) years. There are many excuses that could be made here. Busy, busy, busy!! Family to raise!! All the "good" ones are taken!! I don't trust myself!! And so on.

But truthfully, I never wanted to be a single mom. All that bs spouted around about how we are just another type of family is just that: bs. There is nothing fun, glamorous, or romantic about raising children alone. Kids aren't all that keen on it, either (speaking as a person raised by a single parent).

Face it, we are designed to need two parents. We are needy beings and we suck a lot out of one person. Plus, moms are generally the nice ones. It's hard to do both nice and nazi. Confuses the kids and the mom.

Of course, this is a fallen world there are tons of reasons why we end up with only one parent. Some two parent families would do better with only one. And somehow in spite of the statistics, lots of kids from single parent homes grow up pretty well. It still amazes me how awesome my older two are.

BUT (and this is a big but), I personally hate being alone. Not just for all the kid-raising, house maintaining, someone to rub my back reasons, but because I'd like a man to share life with. Someone to listen to who likes listening to me. Someone to hang out with.

This is a place in my heart that I haven't spent much time exploring. I think it's one of those "feeling" areas I'd rather avoid. But if I ever want the situation to change, I probably need to at least take a peek at it, right? Yuck and more yuck.

So the Therapist Lisa challenge is to make eye contact with men.

Something about being available engage in a conversation or something like that. EEEEWWWW. Who the heck thought it would be so tough to just look a man in the eye??

I hate it when I am exposed as a little girly girl. Weak underbelly? Um, YEAH!

I may or may not keep you guys posted on this. Let's see how it goes.

What a wimp.

Ooops.

Well, I think I put my foot in it today. Tuesday morning is Therapist Lisa time. Today, I went with no agenda in mind, just open to what ever God and TL had for me. Big Mistake. Huge.

Somewhere in the convo, I let it slip that one of the things I use as a major distraction is TV. Like enough hours every night that I wouldn't tell her how many. Darn it. Me and my big mouth.

Of course the first thing she does is challenge me to keep it off, yes OFF, for the next seven days. Whoa there! Seven days, cold turkey? I don't think she realizes what she's asking. No television at all? Can't we just taper down or something? I don't know if I can fall asleep in a quiet room.

What will I do with the empty hours? More importantly, what will The Mentalist and So You Think You Can Dance, and NCIS do without me??? Besides, I just discovered Burn Notice and In Plain Sight...

Crud.

Well, we'll see what transpires. I do have a to be read pile that's about two feet thick. And, I am supposed to be writing...and Therapist Lisa says that going to therapy and then going home and spending all that time watching TV is completely counter-productive. More of that distracting avoiding behavior. Blah Blah.

Good thing I didn't mention Mafia Wars.

The Person Formerly Known as Me

I feel like mush lately. A few weeks ago, I saw a Bones episode where the obligatory body (after all, it is a show about a forensic anthropologist crime-solver, bodies abound) was found in a field wrapped inside a black plastic trash bag. The former person had been - no delicate way to put this - run through a wood-chipper. So, the bag was full of mush. Is this too graphic? Probably. I'll hurry along, but the visual I'm going for here is that when I saw that bag, I immediately thought, that's what I feel like! A big black trash bag full of yuck that used to be someone.

With the therapy, books I'm reading, and stuff I'm getting from God, I feel more screwed up than ever. I think it's the undoing of all the layers I've wrapped around me over the course of so many years. Like that bag of yuck is me, and the part of me that I thought was real is the part getting stripped away. Not very appealing. And most definitely not sexy.

Ugh. I feel like I'm way too old to be doing this crap. Why in the world do I have to clean out the rotted putrid gunk? What will be left of me? What IS me? Sigh.

No wonder I surround myself with distractions. This healing stuff is way too complicated and difficult. It probably doesn't help that I am forever in a rush to get things done. I'm looking for a step-by-step program outlining specifically what I need to do in order to "finish" this freakin' project 'cause this ain't no fun, folks.

It's beginning to dawn on me that perhaps:

1. I'm not going to be able to control this process
2. I shouldn't try
3. I need to keep repeating numbers 1 and 2 until they get through my thick skull

Dang. Well, if anyone needs me I'll be right here.
Heaped up in this bag.
Waiting.

Getting Out

Therapist Lisa is very firm about me needing to have some "me" time. This is time, a huge chunk of time to my thinking, when I am OUT of the house and participating with OTHER PEOPLE in something that I find enjoyable, relaxing, or otherwise promotes my sense of aliveness and personhood. She wants me to shoot for three times a week, three hours at a time. Wow. Three hours. Three times a week. Three.

Okay. So, the first thing I did was sign up for a writing class. Cool, that got me out once a week for two hours, plus travel time. Downside: the last class is next week, and I have to find something to replace that. Plus, I haven't found the other two things I'm supposed to like doing. Okay.

Putting on my thinking cap, I realize that since I've been back in Seattle, I've wanted to do something like kayaking. This idea led to much exploration and research on the internet. One problem with a kayak is that they are expensive and large - hard to transport. So, maybe a club? Maybe. We will revisit this another time.

Photography is another love - most of the pics on this blog are mine. So, I got on the Seattle Meetup and found several photography groups. Nothing meeting soon, but I signed up for one group.

The really odd and uncomfortable thing is that the idea of going out cold-turkey and meeting strangers, even strangers who have common interests, is really intimidating. This reaction is probably one of the reasons I have Therapist Lisa in the first place. So. . . what's the solution?
I don't know. Baby steps?

So, my friend, Manager Kimi, and I were talking the other night about our exercise deficit. She reminisced about how she used to walk with friends down at Seward Park, a beautiful tree-filled place on Lake Washington. It happens to be near her house, and the loop is almost 2.5 miles - a nice walk for two women who haven't worked out in a while. We agreed that it would be a great idea to walk together. Then, neither one of us said anything. You know how you don't push the idea, cleverly letting it slip away? That way, you've virtuously discussed the idea, but haven't actually committed to it?

Yeah, then I thought about Therapist Lisa. Three hours, three times a week. Mmk, next thing I know, I'm saying, "How about tomorrow morning? 9:30?" She's agreeing and now I'm stuck. All kinds of reasons I shouldn't, couldn't go - blame it on the kids, oversleep, I'm sure Manager Kimi would be happy to take a pass on it, too. . .

But I didn't. And she didn't. So we did it, and it was nice. Beautiful, even. It was sunny, warm (but not hot), semi-crowded, but not packed, Manager Kimi is great company. . . maybe this getting out with people isn't so bad after all.

We are walking again Tuesday morning before my next appointment with Therapist Lisa. I know I will be glad when we do it, but I feel my mind already trying to wiggle out of it. Yet I know I want to do this! UGH, ugh, ugh!

Will my mind ever shut up and learn its lessons?

Baby steps, right?

Is This Contributing to My Misery?

Therapist Lisa says that I have an "overactive, over-developed sense of responsibility". I think that's a nice way to say I'm co-dependent. Or that I have no life of my own and I've chosen to make it this way - ouch ouch ouch.

I don't like hearing that a lot of the mess I'm in is my own doing. I'd much rather blame someone else - for instance, God. After all, isn't He the Supreme Ruler of the Universe? Do I not belong to Him? Therefore, it stands to reason that He can fix all this junk. . . am I right?

Unfortunately, when God created us as His image-bearers, He forgot to make us mindless, will-less, puppets. He gave us choice. Some old, long-dead theologian called it the terrible gift of free will. The thought is that God wants us to want Him. He doesn't want us to love Him because we have to.

But it's a double-edged sword. That rebellious, stubborn part of us that helps us survive this world, that strong spirit we pride ourselves in, is also the part that keeps us shaking our tiny little fists at the loving One who created us. And if you're me, blaming Him for all manner of consequences I've brought on myself and for not running my life the way I want it run. I also tend to blame Him for the nasty choices others have made that damage me. Basically, I want God to be my sugar daddy (do they still say that?), not my God. Not the One who knows best, sees all and will, eventually, put every yucky thing right.

Humm.

So, in line with me taking responsibility for my side of life, for the choices I can make and the things I can control, Lisa gave me this little thought to think before I make a move: will this contribute to my misery?

It fits right in with detaching from the outcome. If I make good choices - ones that won't contribute to my misery (don't you LOVE that word, misery?), and then detach from the outcome (let God be God - not me), theoretically, life will be easier, more joyful, and carefree.

Okay, that sounds too simplistic, doesn't it? But what if she's right? What if it works? What if God - Who I completely believe in - can be trusted?

Wow. . .what a concept. I have to ponder this awhile.

Love you guys - thanks for working through all this with me.

Acceptance

I think I've known for many years that one of the keys to a contented life is through acceptance. Back in my married years, I attended several Al-Anon and Nar-Anon meetings. One of the things that really stuck with me is the Serenity Prayer. You know:

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change,
Courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.

As a new Christian, I read an awesome book by Hannah Hurnard: Hinds Feet on High Places. This allegory drawn from the third chapter of Habakkuk follows the journey of Much Afraid as she travels with the Shepherd. At one point, in the desert, she meets a little flower which pushed through the dry, almost concrete-like earth to bloom, all by itself. The flower introduces itself as Acceptance with Joy. It was able to thrive despite its circumstances. Out of the entire book, that is the only part I remember. It struck me then, and obviously, is still with me.

But, on so many levels, acceptance just feels wrong. As an American (as you know, we are pioneers), as an "enlightened" woman, and even as a Christian, I can find rationale for fighting badness - for kicking against the goads as God accused Paul. Doesn't the Bible say not to be overcome by the darkness, but to overcome evil with good? How does that jibe with acceptance? Acceptance feels like giving up. It feels like surrender. Which, I guess, it is.

What I'm maybe starting to grasp - maybe - is that is a both/and thing. Yes, our Creator hard-wired us to rise up against injustice, that's part of being an image-bearer of Him. To hate wrong doers, to protest on behalf of the innocent. It's very scriptural, too. Just check out the Psalms.

However, ultimately, if we believe He is our Lord and that the earth is His and all the fullness thereof . . . then it only makes sense to do what we can, but leave the rest to Him. My problem is with the leaving the rest part.

I am seeing that I tend to push and push and push some more. I get a cause fixed in my mind, decide it's good (which they usually are), and then go full speed ahead. The trouble is, even if I started out doing a job for God, I stop asking Him for guidance, provision, and most importantly, I stop asking Him if this is what He has for me to do. Just because something is good and needful doesn't make it my job. Ouch.

Super-ouch because I've had to utterly fail in order to get the point a few times. I've lost homes, money, friends. . . I have a very thick skull, apparently.

Lisa the Therapist is working with me to fix this. She talks a lot about acceptance: accepting my past, accepting my present, accepting my future. It shapes out like this: I need to accept reality - how I feel about stuff, damage that I've done, damage that's been done to me. . . I'm learning to say, "I cannot change this. I will never have (fill in the blank)", or "I may never have (fill in the blank)." And further, as a Christian, that God may never fix this or change that. He may never give me the outcome I want and am convinced I need.

Can I be okay with that? If nothing ever changes, if I never see justice done here on earth, if I never get my deepest desires, will I still belong to Him and trust Him? Will I still believe? Will I believe that He is good?

Or will I turn my back on Him, pouting and sullen because He didn't do things my way?

If I am convinced that He is God, the Creator of universes, time, matter. . . how can I possibly be so sure that I know anything at all, let alone what's best for me and the rest of the world? There's a passage in Job that says it well:

Then Job replied to the LORD:
I know that you can do all things; no plan of yours can be thwarted.
You asked, "Who is this that obscures my counsel without knowledge?"
Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know.

You said "Listen now, and I will speak; I will question you and you shall answer me."
My ears had heard of you but now my eyes have seen you.
Therefore I despise myself and repent in dust and ashes.

Job 42: 1-6 NIV

I'm hopeful that I will get better at accepting. 'Cause endlessly struggling and striving has tuckered me out. I need a vacation. Anyone available to babysit?

Personality Inventory

So, some time back, I participated in this personality inventory thing with my older kids. We had to bare the depths of our souls - through multiple choice. I hate those things. Doesn't it seem like they are trying to trick you? They ask the same darned question seven different times in seven different ways and think they have you fooled.

Anyway, one of the questions was are you more: kind, compassionate, thoughtful, or tactful. Something like that. So, being the inquisitive girl that I am, I asked my son, Kris, who I thought knew me better than probably anyone else, how he thought I should answer. I was leaning toward compassionate. Perhaps thoughtful. His response was a little...off-putting.

He said, "Well, you sure aren't tactful".

Whoa there, big fella. What are you talking about? I'm exceedingly tactful, aren't I? I mean, I don't lie about stuff. Don't candy-coat it, you know. But, I'm ah, loving and ah, nice about it...Umm maybe I'm a wee little bit blunt...but ah, crap. Okay, so maybe I'm not tactful. Sometimes.

But what's the big deal? The definition of tact says something about dealing with others with diplomacy, and a delicate and considerate perception of what is appropriate. I'm almost six feet tall. I have a size twelve foot. How darned delicate can I be? And usually I don't have time to try to figure out what's "appropriate".

Who thinks these stupid tests up, anyway?

Next question?

Detaching from the Outcome

Okay - so do you ever have phrases and sayings that buzz around your brain for years - or am I the only one? Things like the Big Mac song:

Two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun

Or chants like Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack? The theme from the Love Boat? Anyone remember Lilly Tomlin on Laugh-in..."one ringie dingie, two ringie dingies..."? How about all the words to Yellow Submarine?

It truly amazes me how these things stick in my brain, but I forget what the kid standing in front of me is called. And I probably named him or her. I once called my son Willie. He had to remind me that that was our dog's name. His name is Kris.

But I digress.

Therapist Lisa told me something the other day (or week, it's a little fuzzy). I was sharing how I am a very good starter. You know what I mean? I have lots of ideas - great ones, probably - and get all excited. I plan, think, scheme, research - generally spend a lot of time and energy on said Great Idea.

But implementation, that's a different story. Somewhere in the scheming I start to pull back. Maybe I get afraid. Maybe I'm unsure of how it's going to turn out, so I stop. No one likes to look stupid. No one likes to FAIL. Risk is risky, right?

But we've all heard, "nothing ventured, nothing gained"; and "if you keep on doing what you've always done, you'll keep on getting what you've always got". Pithy sayings like that.

What does all that mean, anyway? When you are in the throes of something you think might be good, might be fun, might be life-changing and you freak out...I can practically guarantee that those little slogans won't help you much. In fact, they seem to up the ante on pressure. "What ifs" trump pithy almost any day.

Therapist Lisa gave me a good one, though. She said that I needed to "detach from the outcome". Just that simple. Detach From the Outcome. Cool. Do your best, work it, and release. In fact, release while you are doing your best and working it.

Okay... so I'm trying it. And you know what? It's working. I'm dipping my frozen toes into the swirling hot tub of life. We'll see how it goes. I don't want to push my luck. Hot stuff can burn, you know.

But for now, this is me, detaching from the outcome and signing off.

Shiny Objects

Okay, so I left my cell phone at work tonight. I know, horrible, isn't it? You start finding out how darned much you live for that thing when you don't have it. I mean, I know I can drive down there tomorrow and pick it up. Not a huge biggie. But the ten minute drive home was really, really quiet. I didn't feel like listening to any music. Didn't want the noise, actually. So that just left me and my brain and the road. Way too quiet.

It got me thinking about something Lisa said to me during one of our first meetings. She said she thinks one of the reasons I have such a chaotic life is to keep me distracted. Interesting thought. I mean, how is she defining chaotic? Just because I have four small children at home (well, Klaryssia's seventeen, but really she's like six), three big kids in college, two part time jobs, a small, yappy, annoying dog, a house I can't keep clean or maintained, laundry that's never done, a car that's never washed, bills that barely get paid, a really messy kitchen, phones that never stop ringing, and the TV almost always on in the background, she calls it chaotic? What's up with that?

She says that one way we deal with uncomfortable or scary situations is by distraction. Evidently I take a lot of distraction.

And if that isn't enough background noise, there's always political issues I CARE about, the book I'm NOT writing, the pictures I WANT to take, the parenting I COULD be doing better, the floors I NEED to clean, the kid's fights I BETTER stop, the upcoming wedding of my son I SHOULD be helping plan...

I'm sure there are more things I have crammed on my plate.

Oh yeah, the relationship with my Heavenly Father I'm NEGLECTING, the parents I IGNORE, the friendships I'm NOT working at, the Bible I OUGHT to read...

You see a pattern here? My brain can't handle it. All the undone things, necessary and unnecessary, all the things I want to do and things I need to do, all the things I allow into my life swirl around in my head like water in a toilet that won't flush and are constantly overflowing.

This is what my therapist calls "distraction". She says I do it to make my brain stay so busy and overwhelmed that I can't possibly have time or energy to deal with what's actually bothering me. I shift my attention to the noisy present and have real reasons to justify my inability to take care of life (or myself) perfectly. Strike that, at all.

In short, I have created my own Chaos. My own little hell on earth.

Interesting.

This observation sneaked in through one of the little cracks in the wall around my heart while my phone was sitting alone at work and my car radio was off. The thing is, I found myself afraid of the quiet and afraid of my thoughts. Wow. Afraid to think? Afraid to allow my mind to wander without purpose, without a problem to be solving? Dang, how did that happen??

I think the wall is finally cracking is because my heart's had a few major setbacks this year. My son is marrying and getting his life apart from mom underway; my older daughter safely sent off to an awesome college...and I'm home with the little kids alone.

I am proud, sad, and a little jealous all at once. Proud, of course, because they are making way better choices than I ever did or could have at their age. Sad, because they are seriously fun and interesting people who love me and listen to me and make me laugh. I am missing their company big time. And jealous, because I sincerely wish I'd had the chance to live my young adulthood the way they are now.

Sucks frankly. And the temptation to hustle up more distractions away from these and other truths is huge. I want to have a glass or four of wine; watch a really empty TV show, try to read a novel, take a three hour bath, play Mafia Wars on Facebook...

But, maybe God wants me to try to accept some of this stuff and work through it with His and Lisa's help so I can actually live this life instead of trying to hide from it within the cocoon of chaos and guilt I normally weave around me. Maybe it's time to try to be a beautiful, healthy butterfly instead of a rotting caterpillar trapped inside my aging home.

Then again, it's pretty cozy in here...

Putting on My Oxygen Mask First

Have you heard that illustration that professionals use to encourage self-care? They say that ensuring time for yourself is like what they tell you on a plane: put your oxygen mask on first, then help those around you.

In theory, that makes a lot of sense. I mean, if you are choking and gasping and about to pass out, it's probably going to be difficult to take care of anyone else effectively - or at all.

But in practice...

I've been seeing this awesome counselor. Now, for years and years I've been one of those "Oh, you're seeing a Therapist?" kind of girls. Like wow, good for you (I'm perfectly fine, but hey, great, happy for you). Seriously. Kind of annoyingly "strong" but honestly understanding how other people could need therapy. I mean, it's a really nasty world out there. Even as a Christian, those slings and arrows can just wear you down. But every now and then, the inner pain and damage I have walled away in my deepest heart starts to seep through the cracks, and the fear of facing it in order to maybe, just maybe get it fixed has had me running for the hills (or a few glasses of wine!).

Lisa says this is dis-integration. An apt word, really. You have these dis-integrated, segregated chunks of your personality that are so wounded you try to keep them hidden and "safe" because it feels like if you allow anyone access to them you will, quite literally, die.

Thankfully, God brought Lisa into my life at this time, because I honestly can't shove the pain back any longer. Whatever is lurking behind that crumbly wall around my heart is winning. I can't keep running around it trying to hold it together any more.

For the sake of my children, and maybe for myself, it's finally time to look at these fears and feelings and hope that, by God's grace, mercy, and love, I won't be consumed by them. No clue what it all involves. Not especially thrilled by the prospect - in fact it scares the hell out of me - but, hopefully I'm finally convinced that it is not only necessary, but essential to the survival of myself and those around me.

The masks have dropped, and I'm reaching for mine. I'll try to keep everyone posted on what comes next.