Wednesday, March 27, 2019
Sunday, December 9, 2018
Courage Under Fire
I did a crazy thing. I left my friends and family and moved 3 hours east to Tuolumne county. I loved my apartment in Oakland. I had a nice sized 1-bedroom with a view of Lake Merritt, under rent control. Just by leaving, I allowed another affordable housing unit to become "market-rate" which is more than I could even afford. I can't believe that this December will be 10 years that my baby brother will have been gone. Sometimes just when I think the grief is past me, a TV scene at Dover hits me like a BB in the eye ball (or if you're a guy, the actual balls). It will knock the wind out of me and I am instantly reduced to a sobbing mess. Tonight, while watching Madam Secretary, that very scene flashed across the screen and it all hit me.
I was reminded that since my brother has passed, my life has taken on a new meaning. For a few years in the beginning I chose to deal with my grief through escapism. I drank and partied my feelings into numbness so that I could buy myself some time to get a little bit farther away from the rawness of it all. 10 years ago things seemed like they were in shambles. The country had just voted for a black president and I was terrified they would assassinate him. 2 years later my cousin was killed by an Amtrak train. It hasn't been an easy road, but always in the back of my mind, is this drive to live a higher purpose. My brother Ben made me promise to never stop writing, and that is a promise I intend to keep. I also made him another promise (posthumously); to be brave and to have courage, like he did those years ago in Baghdad. Even if I feel like the state of the world is hopeless, or the state of our future as humans on this planet is a foregone tragedy, even if I feel beat down by opposition around me everyday, I carry this promise with me; to live my life with purpose. Ben may have died young, but his life was still remarkable; and in his honor, I have to choose the braver path so that I do not waste mine.
So, I moved to the woods. Up until now, I have struggled with mixed feelings about everything I might have been running from. There are plenty of reasons I could list - Oakland, the Bay Area, the many friends who have moved away - as to why I left. Up until now I couldn't reconcile that I was running away from something. Even though I knew it intellectually, I finally realized that I am actually moving towards something. Anyone who knows me is aware that I have always wanted to live in the woods. Many of you reminded me of that when I announced that it was finally happening. I waited so long to make the move because I suspected that moving to a small town would greatly reduce my dating pool. This past summer I dated a man I really saw a future with. After 6 short months he ghosted me while I was on vacation. He simply vanished and refused to take my calls or break up with me in person. This was a breaking point for me. I decided to stop hinging my life plans on finding a husband first. Many of you expressed how proud you were that I would do this brave thing on my own, without a man, and without knowing a soul out here. There were some that also expressed extreme disdain and judgment that I asked for financial help to do it. I had to remind myself that anyone who takes risks, has to expect some opposition. I was not prepared for it, but repeated shaming and judgment is one of the reasons I felt it was time to leave. There were enough incidents, failed relationships and closed doors to seal my conviction.
This whole move felt like it was happening at me, or to me, not something I was really driving or having to push too hard to make happen. It all went so fast with very little work on my part. From the time I put in my application to the time I moved took only 3 weeks. After 12 years living in the same apartment, I could have hung on forever perhaps. However, I was tired of waking up wondering if I'll still be in the same place in 20 years. The fear won out and I decided to just get on the train. I have truly felt some greater hand is at work here, and tonight I realized what it was.
This whole move felt like it was happening at me, or to me, not something I was really driving or having to push too hard to make happen. It all went so fast with very little work on my part. From the time I put in my application to the time I moved took only 3 weeks. After 12 years living in the same apartment, I could have hung on forever perhaps. However, I was tired of waking up wondering if I'll still be in the same place in 20 years. The fear won out and I decided to just get on the train. I have truly felt some greater hand is at work here, and tonight I realized what it was.
All my life I have struggled with fear, self-doubt, second-guessing every move I make and definitely, DEFINITELY self-sabotage in fear that success will be disregarded (because it has in the past). My father always encouraged me to be brave, to venture into the great wide unknown and figure it out. He was not someone who would hand-hold for very long, and you were expected to at least try things on your own. He promised he would be there when we fell, and he always has. For Ben, I suppose I choose to take risks, to follow my true path like he did; fear be damned. My brother died a hero for this country 10 years ago this New Year's Eve, and he will never be forgotten. His bravery encourages me every day to live my truth, and to forge onward despite the many who may not agree with my choices. Ben encountered many who opposed his choice to join the Army (it was 2008, and we were at war with Iraq...) but he did it anyway because he needed to follow his path. He joined because it was what he had always wanted to do, and certainly because the country needed him too. Perhaps it was this brave choice that led me to make mine. Because of him, I do my best to combat all of the fears - being alone out here, fear of some wild animal attacking me or my tiny dog, or simply just the possible madness of loneliness.
I didn't run away from a life that was becoming small and insignificant in Oakland. I chose to take the opportunity that was handed to me because I felt like some higher being was ushering me in that direction. I felt like it was time, and I had to take this chance now or I might never leave. Despite fear and opposition, I have to follow my path. I am out here seeking a deeper understanding of my spirituality, and of the power I have experienced in the great outdoors. I am seeking that little girl inside that used to be so curious and imaginative and was never afraid of being outside. I am seeking the innocence I once had about life and the future and to find new ways to be brave instead of giving in to fear. I am seeking refuge from all that has made me feel broken, unlovable, rejected and denied the basic courtesy of respect. There are a million reasons I needed to be away from my previous environment; but I'll leave the past in the past. The only thing I carry forward with me now, is the memory of my brother who always made me laugh in the most dire of moments. Ben was one of my biggest advocates, and he always stood up for what was right. To me he is a hero, and my brother. I know I can never live up to his memory in bravery, but I can at least try to live my best life in choosing a path that is true.
RIP BOTMFC
"Courage is being scared to death, but saddling up anyway" ~ John Wayne
Monday, November 12, 2018
Great Expectations
I am leaving the city, and moving to the woods. It's been a long time coming. For the last 5 years or so, this life in Oakland has started to feel like it was coming to the end of a chapter. A great friend reminds me often that everything changes. Everything cycles. If it sucks right now, it will change eventually. There is no shortage of amazing stories to tell about this city. Oakland has cradled me in her arms and allowed me to make mistakes; she has fostered abundant creativity, and made very clear that only the tough will survive. Oakland, will show you who you are.
Despite what it might look like, this is not running away to hide. This is not leaving under a cloak of darkness and disappearing like the unfortunate trend of ghosting. The last year forced so much change that it became too uncomfortable to stay. Pouring your soul into relationships, operating under the guise that an expected reciprocity will occur, is an exercise in gut-busting heartbreak. A lesson not easily learned these past thirty-eight years. It only took one year to reveal its painful truth and for change to become the evident solution.
Despite what it might look like, this is not holding grudges or burning bridges on the way out of town. Despite experiencing heartbreak several times over, there has been some healing, at least internally, yet there is sadness and mostly disappointment. A cycle has changed, so must I, or perish. Friends have moved away, gotten married, began the life-long project that is procreation, and nothing will be the same again. There is no reason to stay if the offerings of the locale no longer appeal.
Despite what it might look like, this is not depression or a rash decision. Lives change, and people don't. Instead of continuing on through another cycle of adulthood where expectation is fostered so that somehow, via some validation, a sense of worthiness and relevance is felt; I am choosing another path. For a while, the circumstances of being a single gal well into adulthood, meant that the biggest social events of the year were holidays with family. It became very clear that I might be alone, with a tiny dog, renting an apartment, in a city, forever. Making peace with that prognosis was tantamount; becoming UN-single (at least for the long haul) is actually very grim in the Bay Area. (Just a simple google search gave me this article and this map to prove it). All of that extra energy and livelihood I have that my married-with-children-peers do not have, is spent putting copious amounts of expectations into relationships that are remaining, that seemed fine when left to surface interactions; but when expectations take hold (and other distractions didn't), cracks will show.
There are events that occur in relationships that sometimes break the shell it lives in for good. It doesn't mean it cannot be placed back together in some way; but it takes a while, and it will never be the same. It can even be strong again, but the shape is different. There were already fissures in the shells before; but put back together many times over. This time, the house has crumbled in several large earthquakes, and so it's time to find a new house.
Despite what it may look like, this is not an attempt to isolate or a plea for empathy. If anything, the goal is to make a new community in the woods; a way to start over. There are a lot of outside opinions about this move; which feels as though my sweater snagged on a zipper while I was getting undressed to put on a new outfit; and the more I move the more the sweater unravels. The alternative to moving, looks like a bitter old dog lady, with too many chihuahuas who wanders the neighborhood in a housecoat yelling at the kids to stop skateboarding, who spends all day crocheting and watching PBS. Honestly, I already am that lady. It's not a cute look. So when the opportunity presented itself, the choice was clear. At the very least, there will be stories to write about.
Who knows how the story ends however, or how the characters will end up and what shape the relationships will take. There's a growing up happening here; and it feels like the right time. This year has been ramping up to a climax; fraught with relationships falling apart one after another. Earthquakes are not overnight sensations. They are years in the making. Many, many plate tectonic shifts and sometimes small rumbles break loose the rubble a little at a time. At some point, the Big One happens. It is expected, by many who pay attention. Earthquakes shake out the truth, and expose everything until it is bare and raw. The gently put together frame burst apart and I fell out; it couldn't hold me in that shape anymore. When everything seems lost, except the truth in your heart; you grieve - and then you move on. You rebuild.
So, this is rebuilding. The earth has shaken and now the horizon is different. Starting from ground zero, the future looks bright. The only expectations will be to learn something. So, onward, to meditate and pray in the woods and to find a new level of spirituality that I hope will be lasting. Bikes will be ridden on the wooded roads that ripple through neighborhoods of quaint and idyllic homes; a commune with nature that never seemed possible is at the top of the menu. The trees are a reliable source of happiness because they have been consistently standing in the same place for centuries. I feel visible among the woods. Not, as it would seem, invisible. Somewhere in childhood, I discovered my home amongst the trees. Something is waiting there, like the beginning of a new story in this short book of life. The only thing that kept me away so long, was expectation.
Thursday, December 21, 2017
Invisible ≠ Unworthy
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A few months ago I wrote about something very vulnerable; sexual assault. In the time since, Time magazine has named all of the whistleblower women, Person of the Year. The shockwave of celebrities, politicians and CEO's who have been outed and dethroned has been almost unsurprising to watch unfold. Of course these men are abusers of power. Women knew it. We all knew it. This has been going on since the dawn of time. The social construct of subservience by way of vagina was born with the first birth, bolstered by religious teachings and perpetuated by institutions.
But this is not a post about misogyny. This is about feeling invisible. Despite my own very personal experience of rape, I found myself minimizing it amidst the sea of female fists in the air rising up and saying, "Me too." I am just one in a billion fists, therefore, not very significant and shut up about it already. Societal messaging embalmed so deeply in my conscience, that I, am even shutting down my own voice.
When I was very young, my parents were very young. My brothers were very young. For some reason, I felt as though I needed to be very old. Indeed I was a very old soul and remain so today. At 6 I dreamt of being 30, and at 37 I dream about being 90. I remember changing diapers and doing dishes and worrying about having enough money for lunch that day. I would fret over asking for new shoes or jeans because mine were from Kmart and I simply couldn't stand another day hating myself. But I knew what the answer would be and I didn't want to put my mother through the pain of having to say no so much. I did ask, but I knew I'd have to settle for the cheaper things my heart wasn't after. They were material asks, but it was worth I was looking for.
I have struggled my entire 37 years to feel... seen. To be really seen by someone who loves who I am despite my faults, fears and acne scars. I was born with a German nose, terrible cystic acne, early breast development and a chubby round belly. As if my shame of poverty wasn't enough, I also felt heinously ugly and fat by the 7th grade. When I turned 30, I decided that my body is what it is, and I could spend the rest of my life hating myself, or I could just learn to love the skin I was in. The day of my 30th birthday, I felt no one could ruin it. I was on cloud 9 and I didn't care what anyone thought or said. I felt like I had finally come into my own. That night, two friends and I dabbled along Bourbon St. in New Orleans. I chose a gay bar where I got to judge a strip contest that my drunk friend decided to enter and make a complete ass of herself. I still was delighted to be alive. A gay gentleman danced with me and told me that I should wear more flattering dresses, and then I'd be adorable. I couldn't be happier. My drunk friend picked a fight with me and demanded to follow a tweaker around all night then blamed me for a horrible evening. I still went home feeling alive for the first time. For a while that feeling stayed with me.
But as time has pressed on, despite my best efforts at self-help, years of therapy, 2.5 years of sobriety working a hard 12 step program, I remain; unchosen (by a man), unseen and terribly lonely. Don't get me wrong, I've had moments of clarity where indeed I choose myself. I have built the best life I know how where it is full of fun, laughter, wonderful friendships, travel and more hobbies than I have time for. I outsource my most unbearable chores, work hard at my job and buy almost anything I need. I want for nothing material. However, inside I still feel like that kid who doesn't necessarily need LA Gears or Guess jeans; what I need is to be told I'm beautiful anyway. That I can make Pro-Wings so cool the girls would be jealous. I don't think I ever really knew what I was worth; because it certainly wasn't a pair of jeans.
When I was assaulted at age 15, I had no one to tell. No allies that I trusted and no sense of safe place to land. This isn't about bashing my parents or their lack of tools available to them at the time; this is about finding out who I am in spite of that. Today, I struggle so deeply with feeling loved and valued. Every micromanaging boss, every man who doesn't seem interested, every lonely night I spend cuddling my tiny dog like she's my only friend; I feel... invisible. Unloved. Unworthy.
Until recently, I believed that last one to be true. Indeed, feeling unloved does not mean I am unworthy of love. If I were the last human on earth, truly unloved by anyone, I would still be worthy of it. The two are mutually exclusive. I am worthy of being loved, because I am a child of the universe. A purposefully created creature with a mind and a voice. I was given hands and feet for good works and a brain sharp with wit and the intelligence of an autodidact. Lately, I have been caregiving and running amok being of service to others. In this space I am usually very happy and free. Feeling useful and needed brings me immense joy. Perhaps this is because, for a moment, I am not invisible. Through the giving, I feel seen.
Like so many other nights in my life, I lay crying, depleted. Alone and cold on a blustery December night so near Christmas; I cry because my heart is just broken. I still struggle with worthiness, and because of that I settle for boys who pay no mind, I dye my hair blue and yet obsessively wear camouflage as if to say "Look at me!" but "I'll still remain invisible; here I'll do it for you." I pray to a higher power that usually makes me feel loved and comforted and generally it's enough. I have been blessed with so much I don't deserve and yet my soul is restless for change; for more. I think the yearning has more to do with being able to stand in my own body and say, "Look at me. I am worthy." Until that day, I remain in struggle and conflict with my own face; my own internal battle with acceptance.
May you find your own worthiness, and feel loved and seen this winter holiday season.
Tuesday, October 17, 2017
It's Not Your Fault
When you're a teenage girl and you're growing up with the advent of the internet, and you don't have any experience with boundaries around dating, you might find yourself in trouble. I didn't know what I was worth, or if boys even liked me, or if I was a goblin with a big nose and should take what I could get. I didn't know if I was a rather fetching young lass or if my early developed breasts were all boys wanted. I didn't know that none of these things mattered, and that I absolutely was worth respect and deserved to be treated nicely by boys. I thought if I said No, they wouldn't like me and there would go my chance at love. I cringe to even type that today.
There was a viral post going around the internet today encouraging women to speak up and claim, "Me Too", in regards to being a victim of sexual assault. If millions of women stood up at the same time around the world and held their fist up in the sky, would it darken the sun? I sure hope not, but sadly that image seems possible.
I didn't learn what feminism really was until I was 21. I didn't have language for what had happened to me over and over again until I read my friend's Women's Studies books while I was hiding out on their college couch at UCLA having just escaped an abusive situation. I didn't have any way to relate what I had experienced and believed that indeed I was a piece of garbage and that man was the best I was going to get.
Years later, I have made so many strides in other areas of my mental health, self-esteem, and self-confidence that I couldn't escape the continuing pattern of inappropriate men I have chosen to date. The abuse hasn't continued but I still can't seem to shake this idea that I should just take what I can get. That isn't to say these men aren't appropriate for someone else, but rather that I seem to settle for that which I really do not want.
When I was 15 and 17, I was raped by two different men. There have been countless sexual harassment episodes since; too many to even remember or count. I am probably sexually harassed at least once a week. I've become so numb to it that I can't internalize it anymore. I actually get annoyed at women who claim that every room has misogynists in it and cannot deal. I get annoyed at women who are angry all the time and fight against every holler, every comment, every slander and every compliment. I also recognize that by my ignoring it all and allowing it, and flirting and waving off the boys will be boys, I am only enabling and encouraging and failing to recognize the ongoing damage. I am failing to deal with my own trauma. Perhaps my own trauma has been too much for me to bear until now.
All these years I have just owned the incidents as my fault. It seemed easier at the time to lay claim to the surrounding circumstances than to announce to the world that I had entered into a sexual situation and was then violated. It turns out that being a victim of circumstance might have been a shorter healing process than being held prisoner by my own guilt. Perhaps my experience will help another woman have the courage to come out and say what happened to her regardless of the immediate consequences.
The first time I was raped at 15, I was also drunk for the first time. It turns out that later I would be an alcoholic, and that night I found my first solution to my first consequence to my solution. In other words, alcohol made me feel alive and confident, which also landed me in the lap of a cute boy, who ended up raping me, but at least I was drunk and didn't really feel any of it or know what was happening entirely. I did not feel I was able to tell my parents at the time that a) I lost my virginity (but did I?) and b) I was wasted at a party with no parental supervision. My father yelled at me when I called and asked him to pick me up because it was 2 a.m. and I was supposed to be at a friend's house. I couldn't deal with any of it. So I got angry. I stomped around high school with my hood over my head, combat boots and a hippie skirt and just played Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young's album "So Far" on repeat through my sophomore and junior year. I protected my best friends from boys who harassed them. I yelled at women at concerts who blocked my view and screamed obscenities at them. I did drugs. This was what coping looked like.
Later I dated meth addicts and hardened criminals who cheated on me repeatedly and gave me double kidney infections. I dated emotionally unavailable men. I dated alcoholics with no jobs or cars or homes. I am so tired of feeling like I am not worthy of someone worthy because I never end up with someone worthy.
Slowly, over the last few years, I have begun to learn that I am worthy because I am alive. I am learning that my worth does not lie in the man I am with, but from within. It is through spiritual healing and growth, that I am able to walk this path without drinking or using drugs. I suppose my coping strategies got me through the years without completely losing it. My coping tools today are to look at it squarely in the face and say, ok, what happened here and how can I unravel this messaging I've acquired from society, my parents and myself?
There was a viral post going around the internet today encouraging women to speak up and claim, "Me Too", in regards to being a victim of sexual assault. If millions of women stood up at the same time around the world and held their fist up in the sky, would it darken the sun? I sure hope not, but sadly that image seems possible.
I didn't learn what feminism really was until I was 21. I didn't have language for what had happened to me over and over again until I read my friend's Women's Studies books while I was hiding out on their college couch at UCLA having just escaped an abusive situation. I didn't have any way to relate what I had experienced and believed that indeed I was a piece of garbage and that man was the best I was going to get.
Years later, I have made so many strides in other areas of my mental health, self-esteem, and self-confidence that I couldn't escape the continuing pattern of inappropriate men I have chosen to date. The abuse hasn't continued but I still can't seem to shake this idea that I should just take what I can get. That isn't to say these men aren't appropriate for someone else, but rather that I seem to settle for that which I really do not want.
When I was 15 and 17, I was raped by two different men. There have been countless sexual harassment episodes since; too many to even remember or count. I am probably sexually harassed at least once a week. I've become so numb to it that I can't internalize it anymore. I actually get annoyed at women who claim that every room has misogynists in it and cannot deal. I get annoyed at women who are angry all the time and fight against every holler, every comment, every slander and every compliment. I also recognize that by my ignoring it all and allowing it, and flirting and waving off the boys will be boys, I am only enabling and encouraging and failing to recognize the ongoing damage. I am failing to deal with my own trauma. Perhaps my own trauma has been too much for me to bear until now.
All these years I have just owned the incidents as my fault. It seemed easier at the time to lay claim to the surrounding circumstances than to announce to the world that I had entered into a sexual situation and was then violated. It turns out that being a victim of circumstance might have been a shorter healing process than being held prisoner by my own guilt. Perhaps my experience will help another woman have the courage to come out and say what happened to her regardless of the immediate consequences.
The first time I was raped at 15, I was also drunk for the first time. It turns out that later I would be an alcoholic, and that night I found my first solution to my first consequence to my solution. In other words, alcohol made me feel alive and confident, which also landed me in the lap of a cute boy, who ended up raping me, but at least I was drunk and didn't really feel any of it or know what was happening entirely. I did not feel I was able to tell my parents at the time that a) I lost my virginity (but did I?) and b) I was wasted at a party with no parental supervision. My father yelled at me when I called and asked him to pick me up because it was 2 a.m. and I was supposed to be at a friend's house. I couldn't deal with any of it. So I got angry. I stomped around high school with my hood over my head, combat boots and a hippie skirt and just played Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young's album "So Far" on repeat through my sophomore and junior year. I protected my best friends from boys who harassed them. I yelled at women at concerts who blocked my view and screamed obscenities at them. I did drugs. This was what coping looked like.
Later I dated meth addicts and hardened criminals who cheated on me repeatedly and gave me double kidney infections. I dated emotionally unavailable men. I dated alcoholics with no jobs or cars or homes. I am so tired of feeling like I am not worthy of someone worthy because I never end up with someone worthy.
Slowly, over the last few years, I have begun to learn that I am worthy because I am alive. I am learning that my worth does not lie in the man I am with, but from within. It is through spiritual healing and growth, that I am able to walk this path without drinking or using drugs. I suppose my coping strategies got me through the years without completely losing it. My coping tools today are to look at it squarely in the face and say, ok, what happened here and how can I unravel this messaging I've acquired from society, my parents and myself?
It's not my fault. It's not your fault. I believe you.
Monday, September 18, 2017
Summer of Love
This summer has been one for the books.
I started the summer here at Pine Grove, with two of my closest friends. No matter where we three go, we laugh till we cry and pee our pants. And now, this late summer weekend in September, I am staying in a cabin at Pine Grove again, awaiting the masses that will come to hopefully experience a campout that is both fun and memorable. I'm so excited to have come full circle, in a place that has already made a huge impact on my life, and one that I feel will continue to for a long time.
This summer has been filled with belly laughter, camping trips, concerts, roller skating, love and travel. There has also been gut-wrenching heartache, soul-searching lessons, tears of sadness, triumph in self acceptance and finally, total surrender. I have learned the difference between physical sobriety, and emotional sobriety.
The peak moment where all of these emotions culminated in one cauldron of soup was around the lunar eclipse in late August. It was a solid two weeks of just watery emotion that didn't make sense, felt very heavy and yet I somehow managed to stay out of bed. I had already been at the gallows begging for mercy just one month before so I guess I felt I could still pull up my big girl boots and trudge through the thick cosmic air. Perhaps, watery times are my jam.
I am a Pisces. I am a dichotomous woman who goes with the flow while equally swimming upstream. I very easily fill the space of my surroundings like water and instantly lose myself in the moment of who I am with. This trait has left me heartbroken and confused more times than I would like to count, and this summer was no exception. I found myself on the painful end of losing several trusted friendships when I didn't see it coming. These friends seemed to have my best interest at heart yet left me feeling totally empty, destroyed and betrayed.
This experience of loss in friendships made me question myself more than anything. I suddenly didn't trust my own judgment of character which had always been reliable as old faithful. I usually know who you are the moment we meet. When I look back now, my first instincts were correct. However I prefer to focus on everyone's good qualities, and ignore the faults. This season has been more about learning to believe in myself, rather than judging others' character. I have learned to love myself through radical self-acceptance as a result of rejection from others.
I started the summer here at Pine Grove, with two of my closest friends. No matter where we three go, we laugh till we cry and pee our pants. And now, this late summer weekend in September, I am staying in a cabin at Pine Grove again, awaiting the masses that will come to hopefully experience a campout that is both fun and memorable. I'm so excited to have come full circle, in a place that has already made a huge impact on my life, and one that I feel will continue to for a long time.
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| Pine Grove Resort #6. My magical home for the weekend. |
This summer has been filled with belly laughter, camping trips, concerts, roller skating, love and travel. There has also been gut-wrenching heartache, soul-searching lessons, tears of sadness, triumph in self acceptance and finally, total surrender. I have learned the difference between physical sobriety, and emotional sobriety.
"Keep your face always toward the sunshine - and shadows will fall behind you" ~ Walt Whitman
I am a Pisces. I am a dichotomous woman who goes with the flow while equally swimming upstream. I very easily fill the space of my surroundings like water and instantly lose myself in the moment of who I am with. This trait has left me heartbroken and confused more times than I would like to count, and this summer was no exception. I found myself on the painful end of losing several trusted friendships when I didn't see it coming. These friends seemed to have my best interest at heart yet left me feeling totally empty, destroyed and betrayed.
This experience of loss in friendships made me question myself more than anything. I suddenly didn't trust my own judgment of character which had always been reliable as old faithful. I usually know who you are the moment we meet. When I look back now, my first instincts were correct. However I prefer to focus on everyone's good qualities, and ignore the faults. This season has been more about learning to believe in myself, rather than judging others' character. I have learned to love myself through radical self-acceptance as a result of rejection from others.
"In a society that profits from your self doubt,
liking yourself is a rebellious act".
This summer I also fell in love. It had been 3 years since I last gave my heart to someone. I was certain that this time I was choosing different, therefore it would work out. He seemed to have everything I wanted and yet, I was blindsided by a sudden and random end. I simply couldn't understand it, or let it go. This experience taught me that I have to learn my true worth or I will repeat this vile experience again and again like I have my whole life. I have always chosen men who weren't really available for what I need. And sometimes they leave before I realize it, because they realize it first.
I don't know what hurts more; the heartbreak of a lesser man leaving you, or realizing that you're heartbroken over a lesser man.
These emotional ups and downs of the summer cracked me wide open. Desperate and vulnerable, I went on a truth seeking mission to figure out what my problem was (because let's face it, when people keep leaving you, the common denominator is YOU). I discovered that just because I stopped using drugs and drinking, my coping skills with relationships still needed some sobriety. For me, self knowledge often affects change. At least, I become willing to change once the truth is witnessed.
Hitting an emotional bottom brought me to my knees. I could no longer tolerate the self-pity, shame and self-flagellation; I had to surrender any ideas I had about who I am or what I want for my life. I still struggle with the post-WWII concept of success imprinted upon me by my parents. As a modern, single woman living in an urban environment for over a decade, I always find my ideals at odds. Today, I have decided to put everything I want or believe in, on trial.
Hitting an emotional bottom brought me to my knees. I could no longer tolerate the self-pity, shame and self-flagellation; I had to surrender any ideas I had about who I am or what I want for my life. I still struggle with the post-WWII concept of success imprinted upon me by my parents. As a modern, single woman living in an urban environment for over a decade, I always find my ideals at odds. Today, I have decided to put everything I want or believe in, on trial.
But I am not the final judge. In the act of surrendering the chaos of my watery brain to the greater universe; my life has launched into an 80 mph thrill ride of service, surprises and pure joy. The joy has come from getting out of my own way.
When I decided to give up any expectations, I was relieved of disappointment.
The more that I am other-centered, I find that everything I am responsible for happens magically. My life simply just works out. As soon as I decided to throw myself into being available for women in need, and putting my talents to good use for many in my immediate community, I was handed the love I was looking for. It didn't exactly show up in the form I would have expected but it is exactly what I need.
Today, I put my higher power at the center of my life, and my life becomes about altruism and my higher power. I used to get completely knocked off my spiritual game when a man was in my life because he would become my higher power. When you make another human responsible for all of your well-being you only get disappointed and hurt. I was forced to find a way to be ok alone before I could allow relationships to flourish organically and without so much pressure to fill my God-shaped hole. Today, I am keen to keep that spiritual path at the center of my purview. Magically, I go to bed every night feeling loved, satiated and secure in myself. I need or want for nothing. I have more than I ever could deserve. It is only my honest joy to give it back.
Today, I put my higher power at the center of my life, and my life becomes about altruism and my higher power. I used to get completely knocked off my spiritual game when a man was in my life because he would become my higher power. When you make another human responsible for all of your well-being you only get disappointed and hurt. I was forced to find a way to be ok alone before I could allow relationships to flourish organically and without so much pressure to fill my God-shaped hole. Today, I am keen to keep that spiritual path at the center of my purview. Magically, I go to bed every night feeling loved, satiated and secure in myself. I need or want for nothing. I have more than I ever could deserve. It is only my honest joy to give it back.
"It is in the giving, that we receive" ~ St. Francis Prayer
I have no idea what the future holds, in love or in life, but I do know that right here right now, is all that matters. As I begin to put this epic campout weekend to rest, I am beyond grateful for the opportunity to put this newfound emotional sobriety to test. The response from this weekend has made my heart so full; bursting in fact, with love, peace, joy, gratitude and serenity for the massive connection made up here. In getting out of my own way and just showing up where I felt called, people were able to step up and serve in their own way too. As a Type-A Perfectionist, it is not my normal instinct to allow others to show up authentically. This is the miracle I experienced this weekend, no doubt as a result of the lessons I learned over the summer and in the last 2.5 years of sobriety.
Peeling back the onion layers of my soul has never been so painful, but pain breeds desperation and only in that space do we tap out and try something different. I ran through my tool kit of coping skills and allowed my higher power to just take the wheel. As evidenced by the results, I can assure you this method is way better than whatever my plans or designs might be.
The real beauty of not being numb all the time, is that I get to experience all of life's emotions, not just the deeply sad ones or the inebriated ones. The joy of sobriety and service is way more powerful than any drug or drink I've ever taken. The power of being useful in the world creates a new sense of confidence and ease I have never experienced before. Experiencing true joy and contentment is a gift I cherish so deeply, and for that, I am eternally grateful.
The real beauty of not being numb all the time, is that I get to experience all of life's emotions, not just the deeply sad ones or the inebriated ones. The joy of sobriety and service is way more powerful than any drug or drink I've ever taken. The power of being useful in the world creates a new sense of confidence and ease I have never experienced before. Experiencing true joy and contentment is a gift I cherish so deeply, and for that, I am eternally grateful.
~*~ shine on you crazy diamonds ~*~
Wednesday, June 28, 2017
Freedom from Bondage
I've spent a lot of time lately thinking about expectations, hope, future-trippin', self-will, and finally acceptance. The state of the world, the country, the government, the police-state, the nation's healthcare and basic human needs remaining unmet (see: housing crisis) has me wanting to control something. If I just moved to the mesa in New Mexico and built me an Earthship, everything would be right. If I just hurry up and get married, have babies and start a life with my partner, everything would be perfect.
If I just... If I just...
Restlessness is a beast of a burden and immensely uncomfortable because in my experience, restlessness left untreated with tools of a spiritual nature lead to escapism; self-medicating, self-destruction; wreckage. Let's face it, we live in a world that wants us to die, unless we're über-wealthy. And if you're blessed enough to be in that category, you're wealth only buys you freedom within a social construct designed to oppress others.
Escapism. I dream of lost, large open spaces where the only noise are the sounds of crows scavenging for mice. The simplicity of life and death is stripped down to it's most basic display and reminds me that death and birth are a continuing cycle. In the rat-race city life my own mortality is hung before me like a marionette on a stage made of bills, FICO scores and consumerist ads. Puppeteering not-so-behind-the-curtain are the wizards of corporate banking you can never seem to escape.
Freedom. All I want is freedom. Freedom from bondage of these racist, insufferable, illegal, repugnant and utterly demoralizing agendas under which many more than I are directly under it's thumb. I am fairly certain, that my late brother did not die so that my neighbors, friends, countrymates would be homeless, sick and dying with no healthcare, deported, and stripped of their basic human rights to travel freely about the country for which they stand. My brother did not die for this. My brother died for his brothers in arms. My brother died for his son. My brother died for his country, for which he swore a solemn oath to protect. That man in the hot seat in the big white house swore a similar oath, yet has only protected his own.
This is not a post about politics. This is a post about action. Sitting and stewing in anger, resentment, fear; is a choice I cannot afford. The action laid before me is one of passive action; the choice to lay it all down. I have no control over the past, or the future, but I can throw my hands up and be grateful, give thanks and help my fellows. I can make tiny ripples in a vast sea of humanity, if only touching those closest to me. I can't, but a higher power can. Today, I will give up my self-will and honor my brother, my family, my friends and loved ones, with the surrender of all my controlling nature. Politics cycle and can incessantly fatigue ones sense of urgency to let go and let God. What's more, is that news these days cannot be trusted anyway, therefore the only trust I bestow is that in my closest loved ones, and a power greater than myself. I surrender. Throw in the towel. I have been broken enough over the course of my life, and today I choose to be in this moment, and love as much as I am able and serve those in need around me.
Evidence of past actions has proven this to be the most effective relief of restlessness because in the moment I am surrendering and trusting God, I am not in fear. And fear is the birthplace of all things destructive in my life. I choose a life of freedom on these terms. That, is what my brother died for.
I hope you find your own freedom too.
If I just... If I just...
Restlessness is a beast of a burden and immensely uncomfortable because in my experience, restlessness left untreated with tools of a spiritual nature lead to escapism; self-medicating, self-destruction; wreckage. Let's face it, we live in a world that wants us to die, unless we're über-wealthy. And if you're blessed enough to be in that category, you're wealth only buys you freedom within a social construct designed to oppress others.
Escapism. I dream of lost, large open spaces where the only noise are the sounds of crows scavenging for mice. The simplicity of life and death is stripped down to it's most basic display and reminds me that death and birth are a continuing cycle. In the rat-race city life my own mortality is hung before me like a marionette on a stage made of bills, FICO scores and consumerist ads. Puppeteering not-so-behind-the-curtain are the wizards of corporate banking you can never seem to escape.
Freedom. All I want is freedom. Freedom from bondage of these racist, insufferable, illegal, repugnant and utterly demoralizing agendas under which many more than I are directly under it's thumb. I am fairly certain, that my late brother did not die so that my neighbors, friends, countrymates would be homeless, sick and dying with no healthcare, deported, and stripped of their basic human rights to travel freely about the country for which they stand. My brother did not die for this. My brother died for his brothers in arms. My brother died for his son. My brother died for his country, for which he swore a solemn oath to protect. That man in the hot seat in the big white house swore a similar oath, yet has only protected his own.
This is not a post about politics. This is a post about action. Sitting and stewing in anger, resentment, fear; is a choice I cannot afford. The action laid before me is one of passive action; the choice to lay it all down. I have no control over the past, or the future, but I can throw my hands up and be grateful, give thanks and help my fellows. I can make tiny ripples in a vast sea of humanity, if only touching those closest to me. I can't, but a higher power can. Today, I will give up my self-will and honor my brother, my family, my friends and loved ones, with the surrender of all my controlling nature. Politics cycle and can incessantly fatigue ones sense of urgency to let go and let God. What's more, is that news these days cannot be trusted anyway, therefore the only trust I bestow is that in my closest loved ones, and a power greater than myself. I surrender. Throw in the towel. I have been broken enough over the course of my life, and today I choose to be in this moment, and love as much as I am able and serve those in need around me.
Evidence of past actions has proven this to be the most effective relief of restlessness because in the moment I am surrendering and trusting God, I am not in fear. And fear is the birthplace of all things destructive in my life. I choose a life of freedom on these terms. That, is what my brother died for.
I hope you find your own freedom too.
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