A few weeks ago I reconnected with my best friend from high school. At the time we were inseparable, we went to (SKIPPED) school together and even worked at the same place. We double-dated to prom with our first loves and later cried together when they broke our hearts. And then I left and up until a few weeks ago, had no contact with her.
The reasons have been diluted by time, but I packed my car and pointed it west and never looked back. I never considered what I might be leaving behind or that I might want to get it back some day. That first trip from Virginia to California was the beginning of an odyssey of making mistakes, bad decisions and then bailing. Lather, rinse, repeat. What amazes me was how easy it was for me to just pick up and leave, to break connections, as fragile as they might have been, and hit the road. It took me many years to realize that no matter where I went, there I was, and that no matter the name of the town, or the latest Jose Cuervo induced bad decision, it was all the same.
I was always running from my latest mistake, terrified they would catch up with me. I remember working in Corpus Christi and having uh..."my past" from California walk in and say, "didn't you used to live in 29 Palms?" "Yes, I did," I replied, "and mistakes like you are the reason I moved 1000 miles away." He just kinda smiled and said, "yeah, I hear ya" and walked away. Face, enjoy being slapped by past.
I keep my sordid past deeply hidden and the Party-Girl I used to be far away from The Stepford Wife I now am. There are no "old friends" on my Facebook page, because I have no old friends. Dead men tell no tales. I don't need my kids hearing stories of the time their mom....The deeper truth is that I don't want to hear those stories. I am afraid of those stories and they fill me with shame, even as they make me appreciate the life I have now.
Now, as I reconnect with my past I am slowly naming the fear and the shame. I'm afraid my old friend won't like me any more. I'm afraid of having being confronted with the hurt I must have caused her when I just left like nothing about my past mattered. I'm afraid of asking, "what happened to us?" No, that isn't completely honest. Maybe it isn't honest at all. What I'm really afraid of is asking, "what did I do to you?" I am deeply ashamed of the wreckage I have left behind for others to clean up, and I realize that I can try to use my new life as a good mom, being a respectable a social worker, and house in the suburbs as evidence that I am a good person and that no matter the past, "all's well that ends well" but my biggest fear is that I haven't changed all that much and I am still that person who couldn't seem to quit fucking up her life and that my past is going to rear its ugly head and snatch away everything that is precious to me today. Maybe because of who I was in the past, I have no right to all I have today.
That Party-Girl seems, even after all these years, determined to rear her big 80's hair. So it is The Party-Girl vs The Stepford Wife. The Party-Girl is scrappier and will probably fight dirtier, but The Stepford Wife has some skills too, and a pretty great life that is more than worth fighting for. And maybe, just maybe, they can learn to stop feeling so much shame over the life they have BOTH lived and contributed to. One thing they do seem to bond over is wondering, "what the hell is she wearing!"
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
Gotta Get Moving
I really need to get moving. I wonder why even though I have ideas I would like to blog about, I don't. It is not for lack of time, I waste enough of it on Facebook etc...
List of topics to visit:
Magic moments and Strawberry Wine
The Last Ten Pounds
Ex Bffs
I know there is more.
Okay I guess starting a list is a beginning!
List of topics to visit:
Magic moments and Strawberry Wine
The Last Ten Pounds
Ex Bffs
I know there is more.
Okay I guess starting a list is a beginning!
Friday, January 8, 2010
Less Like Hurting More Like Healing
I have promised myself that unitl I go back to work I will hit Starbuck's after I drop the kids off at school and write something. My writing muscle has atrophied from lack of use, but then again so have my quads. I don't however think that I'm going to be able to wake up one morning and magically run a 5K. I know I'm going to have to work my running muscles back into shape slowly and that it will probably hurt, so I guess it will be the same with my writing muscle. (That sounds a little perverted, sorry) So be gentle, this is my first workout and I'm at the couch potato stage not the 5k... yet.
Less Like Hurting
More Like Healing....
When Zoë had her tonsils out last summer, she spent approximately a week being unable to eat, drink, or talk with out pain. She was beyond uncomfortable, irritable and just ready to be done with the recovery process already. Through tears of pain and frustration she looked up at me and plaintively wailed, "I don't want my tonsils out any more, Mommy!" My heart broke for her. Now I'm the one recovering from surgery (again!) and 10 days after my hysterectomy I wailed, "I don't want my uterus out anymore!"
This is, without a doubt, the most difficult recovery I have been through. Everything hurt. It hurt to move. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to lie still. It just hurt. In the midst of all the pain and in the middle of the sleepless nights I stared asking "why?" Why so much pain? Why such a hard process this time? After all, I made it through open heart surgery last year. You might think that this surgery would be a breeze after that, but you would be wrong. So as I began to contemplate the genesis of my pain I came to believe that the pain was trying to tell me something, an important lesson that I was failing to learn. I also came to realize that the pain was not going to turn me loose until I heard what it was trying to say and I believed that understanding what was at the heart of the pain would somehow (PLEASE) banish it.
Where was all this pain coming from? I had expected and prepared for a lot of pain. Was I just getting what I expected? Was I focusing on the physical pain so I did not have to deal with the reality of what having a hysterectomy ultimately signified, or was my body itself crying out in protest against what had been taken from it?
It seemed that everyone I had spoken to who had had this surgery regarded it as the worst thing ever and the last conversation I had with my doctor before being taken to the OR was regarding my fear of the pain. So even though I attempted to focus on positive healing thoughts in the last minutes of awareness before surgery I think it was a case of too little too late. My expectation of pain was the majority of what I put out into the universe and pain was now the majority of what was coming back.
The pain also provided me with something to focus on rather that what I had just lost. There will absolutely not be a miracle, late-in-life, surprise-but-oh-so-longed for baby. Whoever that serene little girl with the blue eyes like lakes of sky I have dreamt about for years is, she is not mine. The pain filled my mind and body so that the reality of my loss was unable to bubble to the surface and drown me in tears. I could focus on the physical pain, point to yet ANOTHER scar and say "see this, it HURTS" and receive understanding but when I spoke of the loss of potential motherhood, people wrinkled the foreheads in confusion and started at me with disbelief, "but you have two perfect children?!
Maybe the pain was a physical manifestation of loss, my body adjusting (and not happily) to the now empty cavern that had once held Caleb and Zoë. Twisting and pulling, my body ached with the loss of vital organs that had sustained two lives inside me, the loss of the potential for any life to grow again, the loss of my youth. It seems to strange that my "childbearing years" (I hate the phrase) are behind me and that I have had all the children I am ever going to have. Yes, I am thankful for the beautiful boy and girl that fill my heart, soul and life with so much love, light, laughter, noise, frustration and worry, but my children are like chocolates, Two is just not enough. I could gorge myself on my children everyday and still keep coming back for more. To me it makes sense that I would want more. Who doesn't want more chocolate?
When I began to realize that the pain was all of those things, I began to see it as less like hurting and more like healing, healing from the physical trauma of major surgery and as the healing acceptance of the reality of my loss which allowed me to finally see my hysterectomy not as a interruption of a phase of my life but as a completion.
The pain is slowly abating, but I'm not rushing it. Healing not hurting I keep telling myself. While hurting was something I found so hard to manage, I see healing as necessary process that I can accept and embrace.
Less Like Hurting
More Like Healing....
When Zoë had her tonsils out last summer, she spent approximately a week being unable to eat, drink, or talk with out pain. She was beyond uncomfortable, irritable and just ready to be done with the recovery process already. Through tears of pain and frustration she looked up at me and plaintively wailed, "I don't want my tonsils out any more, Mommy!" My heart broke for her. Now I'm the one recovering from surgery (again!) and 10 days after my hysterectomy I wailed, "I don't want my uterus out anymore!"
This is, without a doubt, the most difficult recovery I have been through. Everything hurt. It hurt to move. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to lie still. It just hurt. In the midst of all the pain and in the middle of the sleepless nights I stared asking "why?" Why so much pain? Why such a hard process this time? After all, I made it through open heart surgery last year. You might think that this surgery would be a breeze after that, but you would be wrong. So as I began to contemplate the genesis of my pain I came to believe that the pain was trying to tell me something, an important lesson that I was failing to learn. I also came to realize that the pain was not going to turn me loose until I heard what it was trying to say and I believed that understanding what was at the heart of the pain would somehow (PLEASE) banish it.
Where was all this pain coming from? I had expected and prepared for a lot of pain. Was I just getting what I expected? Was I focusing on the physical pain so I did not have to deal with the reality of what having a hysterectomy ultimately signified, or was my body itself crying out in protest against what had been taken from it?
It seemed that everyone I had spoken to who had had this surgery regarded it as the worst thing ever and the last conversation I had with my doctor before being taken to the OR was regarding my fear of the pain. So even though I attempted to focus on positive healing thoughts in the last minutes of awareness before surgery I think it was a case of too little too late. My expectation of pain was the majority of what I put out into the universe and pain was now the majority of what was coming back.
The pain also provided me with something to focus on rather that what I had just lost. There will absolutely not be a miracle, late-in-life, surprise-but-oh-so-longed for baby. Whoever that serene little girl with the blue eyes like lakes of sky I have dreamt about for years is, she is not mine. The pain filled my mind and body so that the reality of my loss was unable to bubble to the surface and drown me in tears. I could focus on the physical pain, point to yet ANOTHER scar and say "see this, it HURTS" and receive understanding but when I spoke of the loss of potential motherhood, people wrinkled the foreheads in confusion and started at me with disbelief, "but you have two perfect children?!
Maybe the pain was a physical manifestation of loss, my body adjusting (and not happily) to the now empty cavern that had once held Caleb and Zoë. Twisting and pulling, my body ached with the loss of vital organs that had sustained two lives inside me, the loss of the potential for any life to grow again, the loss of my youth. It seems to strange that my "childbearing years" (I hate the phrase) are behind me and that I have had all the children I am ever going to have. Yes, I am thankful for the beautiful boy and girl that fill my heart, soul and life with so much love, light, laughter, noise, frustration and worry, but my children are like chocolates, Two is just not enough. I could gorge myself on my children everyday and still keep coming back for more. To me it makes sense that I would want more. Who doesn't want more chocolate?
When I began to realize that the pain was all of those things, I began to see it as less like hurting and more like healing, healing from the physical trauma of major surgery and as the healing acceptance of the reality of my loss which allowed me to finally see my hysterectomy not as a interruption of a phase of my life but as a completion.
The pain is slowly abating, but I'm not rushing it. Healing not hurting I keep telling myself. While hurting was something I found so hard to manage, I see healing as necessary process that I can accept and embrace.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Climbing Fearless!!
Yes, I am quoting Hannah Montana. I have a six year old girl at home. Shoot me.
I can almost see it
That dream I'm dreaming but
There's a voice inside my head sayin,
You'll never reach it,
Every step I'm taking,
Every move I make feels
Lost with no direction
My faith is shaking
but I Got to keep trying
Got to keep my head held high
There's always going to be another mountain
I'm always going to want to make it move
Always going to be an uphill battle,
Sometimes I'm gonna to have to lose,
Ain't about how fast I get there,
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side
It's the climb...
There's been a lot of climbing lately. A lot of journey with not a lot of destination. A lot of keeping my head down and pushing through, knowing there is a finish line somewhere down the road but that the only way to get there is to put one foot in front of the other and keep...well..climbing... the summit will arrive at some point.
I took a job. The perfect job? Well, no, but at this job I can gain valuable experience that will allow me to deal with what ever walks in my door as a social worker. It also gives the State what they need in order to deem me worthy of opening up a private practice next year. So I climb upward and onward trying to keep myself open to the experiences I am being offered. And of course there are many. I've never worked with the chronically mentally ill before. Everyday they inspire me. I knew I would learn a lot...but be inspired? It never crossed my mind. And yet, there it is, as I watch them reach for a brief lucid moment, or fight off psychosis...I am inspired. And I love it. In the past week and a half I have made memories that will last a lifetime, and I am just beginning!
Tomorrow I run my first 5K since surgery. The climb to this summit has been equal parts heart wrenching and heart lifting! I guess that makes it WHOLEhearted! :) I have learned so much the past seven months. One thing I have learned is the depth of my own strength both mental and physical. I have never thought of myself as physically strong person. But getting out there and fighting my way for every step I can and refusing to let the six inch war wound on my chest stop me showed me just how much strength I have. Who knew. Somebody this week suggested that my next challenge should be a triathlon and I thought "yeah, I could do that!" Before surgery my first thought would have been, "yeah, NOT in a million fecking years could I do something like that?!" After surgery however it doesn't seem out of the realm of possibility.
The climb is merely showing up. Showing up to run and put one foot in front of the other.
I can almost see it
That dream I'm dreaming but
There's a voice inside my head sayin,
You'll never reach it,
Every step I'm taking,
Every move I make feels
Lost with no direction
My faith is shaking
but I Got to keep trying
Got to keep my head held high
There's always going to be another mountain
I'm always going to want to make it move
Always going to be an uphill battle,
Sometimes I'm gonna to have to lose,
Ain't about how fast I get there,
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side
It's the climb...
There's been a lot of climbing lately. A lot of journey with not a lot of destination. A lot of keeping my head down and pushing through, knowing there is a finish line somewhere down the road but that the only way to get there is to put one foot in front of the other and keep...well..climbing... the summit will arrive at some point.
I took a job. The perfect job? Well, no, but at this job I can gain valuable experience that will allow me to deal with what ever walks in my door as a social worker. It also gives the State what they need in order to deem me worthy of opening up a private practice next year. So I climb upward and onward trying to keep myself open to the experiences I am being offered. And of course there are many. I've never worked with the chronically mentally ill before. Everyday they inspire me. I knew I would learn a lot...but be inspired? It never crossed my mind. And yet, there it is, as I watch them reach for a brief lucid moment, or fight off psychosis...I am inspired. And I love it. In the past week and a half I have made memories that will last a lifetime, and I am just beginning!
Tomorrow I run my first 5K since surgery. The climb to this summit has been equal parts heart wrenching and heart lifting! I guess that makes it WHOLEhearted! :) I have learned so much the past seven months. One thing I have learned is the depth of my own strength both mental and physical. I have never thought of myself as physically strong person. But getting out there and fighting my way for every step I can and refusing to let the six inch war wound on my chest stop me showed me just how much strength I have. Who knew. Somebody this week suggested that my next challenge should be a triathlon and I thought "yeah, I could do that!" Before surgery my first thought would have been, "yeah, NOT in a million fecking years could I do something like that?!" After surgery however it doesn't seem out of the realm of possibility.
The climb is merely showing up. Showing up to run and put one foot in front of the other.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Being Braver
So I climbed into my hip suit and my cool SUV and headed out to my first job interview. They offered me the position right then and there. I was floored. I had some major concerns about what having a job that far from home (1hr 15min) would do to the kids. For 24 hrs I went back and forth..everything else about the job fit: the money, the fact it was clinical and would count toward license, sounded good. I didn't even mind the drive. If you live in Houston, chances are you commute. An hr commute is prob the norm. Then I did the math. The kids would need to be dropped off by 6:45am and would not be picked up until 5:30pm. Dude, that is a lot of hours! No matter how great the job sounded I couldn't wrap my mind around nor could I justify leaving my kids for that long. I got scared that this was the only job I would ever be offered and I should just count myself lucky that somebody would hire me at all. Maybe I should just shut up and take the dang job. I just couldn't though. Couldn't do it.
In the end I called them and declined the offer. I did however tell them that I would be willing to work contract. I would be willing to work a couple full days a week, including Sat, or mornings, or afternoons, but I really need to be there either in the mornings or afternoons for the kids. I can't drop them off half asleep at daycare and see them only in the evenings to nuke some corndogs and pray homework has been done already.
This brings up a lot of shame issues for me. I have NEVER felt like a good mom. Not ever. Most times I feel that my kids are working out some horrible karma by being entrusted to my care. It seems like everyone else has it so much more together than I do. I really need to keep reminding myself that we all have issues and challenges and I'm probably not as horrible as I think I am. I mean, hey, Caleb is officially a teenager and STILL talks to me. Must be doing something right! :)
In the end I called them and declined the offer. I did however tell them that I would be willing to work contract. I would be willing to work a couple full days a week, including Sat, or mornings, or afternoons, but I really need to be there either in the mornings or afternoons for the kids. I can't drop them off half asleep at daycare and see them only in the evenings to nuke some corndogs and pray homework has been done already.
This brings up a lot of shame issues for me. I have NEVER felt like a good mom. Not ever. Most times I feel that my kids are working out some horrible karma by being entrusted to my care. It seems like everyone else has it so much more together than I do. I really need to keep reminding myself that we all have issues and challenges and I'm probably not as horrible as I think I am. I mean, hey, Caleb is officially a teenager and STILL talks to me. Must be doing something right! :)
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Being Brave
Okay...so here I go. All this talk about being brave and fearless will be put to the test tomorrow as I venture out to the other side of the universe (otherwise known as Northwest Houston) for my first social work job interview. I was lucky enough after graduation two years ago to get hired on at my intership so I never had to endure the hell that is the "job search." Now it is coming back to bite me on the butt.
My friend Lindsay got my resume together for me and badgered me until I finally sent it out. Now I have an interview. And wouldn't you know it, she is in Seattle and has no idea that she has left me to interview alone...she will pay!!
Went to Anne Taylor and bought a hip (although about three sizes larger than I would have liked) interview suit. Have my Coach bag and Italian pumps ready to go. I will look good even if I totally bomb the interview. I have printed out a pic of the doc "kicking and shaking boots" and tucked into my purse to remind myself that I CAN be brave and terrified at the same time.
Okay. Deep breath. Here we go.
My friend Lindsay got my resume together for me and badgered me until I finally sent it out. Now I have an interview. And wouldn't you know it, she is in Seattle and has no idea that she has left me to interview alone...she will pay!!
Went to Anne Taylor and bought a hip (although about three sizes larger than I would have liked) interview suit. Have my Coach bag and Italian pumps ready to go. I will look good even if I totally bomb the interview. I have printed out a pic of the doc "kicking and shaking boots" and tucked into my purse to remind myself that I CAN be brave and terrified at the same time.
Okay. Deep breath. Here we go.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Superpower!
(From Brene Brown's I Thought it Was Just Me read-a-long)
What is my superpower? Well, back when I was nursing Zoë, I had a t-shirt that said "I make milk! What is YOUR superpower?!" Loved that t-shirt. Totally freaked the Stepford Wives out here in Clear Lake. Now that my breastfeeding days are far, far, far behind me (Zoë is now six) I'm not sure I have a superpower.
As a therapist I have a knack for understanding motives behind my client's actions. Especially between parents and children and couples. It's like I can step back, and see "the big picture" However, any therapist worth a dang should be able to do that, so while it is a skill I'm proud of and think I'm good at, not sure it qualifies as a SUPERpower.
So I started thinking about WHAT I wanted my superpower to be. I want to be brave. I want super-duper-braveness powers…the power to be fearless…then I remembered something Brene said in the last podcast…about being scared and brave at the same time.
That is my superpower! To be in two states at once and finally realizing that I don't have to be one or the other and allowing myself to be vulnerable to be both (to integrate and not alternate thanks, Brene…again!) is a very good thing.
Because you have to be brave and totally terrified when you:
Skip out on a graduate program the semester before graduation and go for something else!
Try to have another baby with the memory of PPD still stinging.
Send out a resume for the first time after being out of work for six months
Learn to ski at the age of 31
Karaoke
Do play therapy with young children who have been abused
Run after open heart surgery.
My outfit is comprised of a red cape, and these really cool Doc Martens boots to kick butt in and shake in!
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