tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77906818021748697262024-03-13T13:44:12.241-04:00Momedy SketchLife sketches by Kirsty SayerKirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10371333350266363879noreply@blogger.comBlogger1188125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-52701370362736907872017-11-29T11:50:00.000-05:002017-11-29T14:21:22.625-05:00Seven Morning Habits Which Are Highly Effective for This Person<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF5-eWgt8C__kvvkXv-QCCVZmrd0faKq5d6Onu_AfGQfmL2gjeoLQicZPMiGr42-3naC3JfVV9Wzxd7WosXzT3rMU3QFGhofQZ5lnVkMDqf2Rt5KfJV7yxT92o5TMz2OK0JzDjlbV5vOo/s1600/IMG_2681.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF5-eWgt8C__kvvkXv-QCCVZmrd0faKq5d6Onu_AfGQfmL2gjeoLQicZPMiGr42-3naC3JfVV9Wzxd7WosXzT3rMU3QFGhofQZ5lnVkMDqf2Rt5KfJV7yxT92o5TMz2OK0JzDjlbV5vOo/s320/IMG_2681.HEIC" width="240" /></a>Congratulations brave warrior. Your survived the Monday after Thanksgiving and if it was anything like mine that is to be commended.<br />
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The entire holiday weekend had several highlights but it was also looooooaaaaded with triggers as holidays often are for a lot of us. By Sunday night I was headed for trouble and by Monday, mid-morning I was....what they say..."a heated mess? A mess where heat is applied to it so that what once was a little messy is now very messy?" (name that line). Look the reality is that shit happens to all of us, usually at inconvenient times. I think of overcoming PTSD as a project which takes up a lot of time and energy. But even when you are involved with a project involving lots of past shit, shit can and does go down real time too. It's the nature of living that we can't schedule our shit to suit us best. This is because most of the shitty life events are outside of our control.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-2obPegYmHje-BNCDcJQYgnpPuN2i_w1IiUreJKcuSjghUg0lVvXs98FGaHfmdZ2clBhQfxtNUm0lTzlGhmr8JwOxPuqzBrgCN25JI2nWjHumhDis3e8nxxWgvMWoTZgDoCttqfGYWyY/s1600/IMG_2680.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-2obPegYmHje-BNCDcJQYgnpPuN2i_w1IiUreJKcuSjghUg0lVvXs98FGaHfmdZ2clBhQfxtNUm0lTzlGhmr8JwOxPuqzBrgCN25JI2nWjHumhDis3e8nxxWgvMWoTZgDoCttqfGYWyY/s320/IMG_2680.HEIC" width="240" /></a><br />
And that can make us feel (and also be) completely out of control too. An out of control person in a crisis situation? Well, look nobody wants to be that that person or be around that person or even know that person. You want a freaking pilot who is IN CONTROL when the plane starts having mechanical difficulties y'know? Not some freaking idiot who is shrieking about how modern planes are supposed to be able to fly themselves. It's just not an optimal thing. I try hard not to be that person.<br />
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Yet there was no other way to describe me by Monday aternoon. I was Out Of Control and it was Not Optimal. And then as I scrubbed the walls and baseboards with soapy water, (the only productive thing I could focus on for any length of time whilst trying not to hyperventilate), it occcurred to me that because of the holiday weekend, I had completely slacked off on the careful daily habits I have cultivated over the course of my PTSD-ending Project. And while I couldn't control the triggers and I couldn't control the shitty realities that had cropped up, I really<i> can</i> control whether or not I do my "Daily Disciplines" as I like to call them. And guess what else? They totally help me to become a competent pilot in the shitstorms of life.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2IzSWRHz5EkZZcIo2JSYKmvhGIUmSwV5QZD7q8U1tgS_zwfa2D0tDq7PNPvg_Tm_sWKOrxwqUalHjQGZE0fu3yafQQldXoMIUmdTIWoPDBUVf4o5weE14BM12OuADxzQPPkLP9Cellcs/s1600/IMG_2475.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2IzSWRHz5EkZZcIo2JSYKmvhGIUmSwV5QZD7q8U1tgS_zwfa2D0tDq7PNPvg_Tm_sWKOrxwqUalHjQGZE0fu3yafQQldXoMIUmdTIWoPDBUVf4o5weE14BM12OuADxzQPPkLP9Cellcs/s320/IMG_2475.HEIC" width="240" /></a>I can also tell you that when my mornings are in control, I feel pretty confident in my ability to keep my shit more or less together for the forseeable future..like, I feel pretty solid about the day ahead, come what may. Before I had these disciplines in place I felt really scared all the time. I couldn't count on getting through the day if it got too hard. That's not a cool way to live..and happily it's not how I live anymore. So long as I keep up with my disciplines. That's pretty powerful stuff. That's worth buckling down for a little bit isn't it? For me it is. For me it SO IS. So here I am to share with you what gets me and keeps me on the right track. Maybe all of these work for you too, maybe only one of them looks like something you'd like to try, or adapt to try. Disclaimer: daily disciplines are for everyone, if you have a mental health crisis in addition to this sort of thing you need to be working with care providers (which I do).<br />
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Here's what I'm going to ask you <i>not</i> to do. Not because it annoys me but because I want you to reframe the way you think about your life and its problems. If you are inclined to write to me and tell me how you guess you are just stuck with a sucktastic life because you can't do these things for xyz million different reasons then remember: I'm not asking you to do these specific things. I'm asking you to figure what disciplines you <i>could </i>employ to help you take control of your responses to what life hurls your way. So instead of putting energy into explaining why these things wouldn't work for you, go ahead and put it into figuring out what <b>will </b>work for you! Deal? Deal! I'm bossy cos I love you. Without further ado:<br />
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Kirsty's Daily Disciplines.<br />
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<b>1. Wake up early.</b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB4KUpma1z16detDwakGWvIxqX7yxKoV6WmKAFMtj4uiGskGfH29thYGbOcHXpulZx5uypxrPVxdDABsRhtYPExOCc4L_oGq-3jtwYZwIAfBWJwfsFjZkNWu2CcQQ9sHhQhyphenhypheneZ_pwNskI/s1600/IMG_2198.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB4KUpma1z16detDwakGWvIxqX7yxKoV6WmKAFMtj4uiGskGfH29thYGbOcHXpulZx5uypxrPVxdDABsRhtYPExOCc4L_oGq-3jtwYZwIAfBWJwfsFjZkNWu2CcQQ9sHhQhyphenhypheneZ_pwNskI/s320/IMG_2198.HEIC" width="320" /></a>What?? No! I hate myself for typing those words. I am not an early bird. I don't understand people who love the early morning, I go to bed too late...blahblahblahblah. I need an alarm to get me up every single day. And it's dark and it's cold and I'm sleep deprived because I do like to stay up too late. And if I had to get out of bed early without some sort of accountability it's almost certain that I wouldn't. Because I am nothing against the power of a warm comforter and a soft pillow. Which is why I have organized my life to have people expecting me and waiting for me and even <i>paying</i> me to get up early. The sad truth is that successful people are almost always early risers. Dammit. Anyway, sunrises are really pretty and when my beautiful friend Stacey died in her 30's amongst <br />
the words of advice she left were, "get up to see more sunrises". I like to think of her when I do.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-VrbQjIeEbc_L-h5q6O2bHxRCcWgywoagVmAPqnr7L34oVc5ewvys70pam6OxWGGcRgiT0ChyphenhyphenXdk7puNvXZHVfGUVqXbI_rABtyvvsYPLzuYEEAI0Tz0gllZbfjEwlauwmW7jgrmzjLY/s1600/IMG_2693.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-VrbQjIeEbc_L-h5q6O2bHxRCcWgywoagVmAPqnr7L34oVc5ewvys70pam6OxWGGcRgiT0ChyphenhyphenXdk7puNvXZHVfGUVqXbI_rABtyvvsYPLzuYEEAI0Tz0gllZbfjEwlauwmW7jgrmzjLY/s320/IMG_2693.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div>
<b>2. Drink a big bottle of water first thing</b>. Life hack. When you are brushing your teeth every night, fill up a bottle of water, put it on your night stand. Upon awakening...<i>drank.</i> People. Dehydration. Is. So. Bad. It's bad for your body, it's bad for your brain, it's bad for your mood, it's bad for your looks, your weight control, it's bad for your breath it's bad. If in doubt, drink more water. FYI: Coffee is not water, milk is not water, soda is not water, juice is not water. Water is water. Herbal tea without caffeine is a closer substitute than the above things. Water is not just good it's really<i> critical </i>for healthy functioning and so many things are going to start working better for you if you just buckle down and drink the right amount of water. Just Do It. Drinking room temp or warm water first thing in the morning is really good for your digestive system. If I don't drink about 20 oz first thing, there's a good chance I'm going to keep on the path of dehydration all day which will lead to bad eating choices, headaches, digestive issues and a super terrible mood. And that's just short term. If I do drink it first thing I just function better and I keep hydrated as the day goes on. Good things beget more good things. If you hate water trick yourself into liking or at least in drinking it: imagine you are in the desert and the water is the oasis you have been dreaming of all this time and glug glug glug... or use a straw or buy a bottle you love (this battered Swell bottle is my constant companion, keeps things hot or cold for ages and it is really really sturdy. (I know because once I used it as a javelin off of my top balcony and it landed on my stone path and it's still being awesome). Anyway WATER. Drink more. Drink early and often. Life will get better for you. I promise.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOsRJKRcb-oUmmlps0152hyphenhyphen8sp0O88imL322OIyg-MBpdbSbXFqpQjo9NUPVExNv0Vs2maXYR9ipUwY3cVk3zo5PtYXgP_K9Cvb0QaVfGIu_JCVDl8Swg-YTwJvseLW2r7fwc7xvwbSLg/s1600/IMG_2690.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1445" data-original-width="1239" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOsRJKRcb-oUmmlps0152hyphenhyphen8sp0O88imL322OIyg-MBpdbSbXFqpQjo9NUPVExNv0Vs2maXYR9ipUwY3cVk3zo5PtYXgP_K9Cvb0QaVfGIu_JCVDl8Swg-YTwJvseLW2r7fwc7xvwbSLg/s320/IMG_2690.PNG" width="274" /></a></div>
<b>3. Do yoga.</b> Yoga is a brilliant way to wake your mind and body up because it involves stretching, breath awareness and focus on the present. I can't possibly go into how many ways yoga is beneficial, you have the internet, look it up! Literally everyone can do a little bit of SOME KIND OF yoga every day. There are so many different poses and adaptations within those poses. I like the little ritual of playing "Here Comes The Sun" to kick off my practice every day. I can't help but smile and feel comforted when I hear it. Even if you can only do one song's worth of yoga, you did it. It's so much better than nothing at all. I chose this of my many yoga pics to share because I'm throwing down in jeans, with my jacket and my sunglasses off to the side on the way out of the door. Yoga doesn't require lulelemon pants and a fancy studio or a "yoga body". Just strike some poses where and whenever you can. They add up. A few sun salutations are an excellent way to get some truly beneficial stretches in and start your day off perfectly.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3gz34CIpE6AVhIsEritdYP8M07n3S4o9BljBOHAwpfvPpKgHuaimWM44_b6nNzKW3W5aKUhs0tZT5NWVnx1QanjG88WXUGOUVrxLUl4DAUIImlcoYCN4o0qFMN28gsgIUzVs2R1YALf0/s1600/IMG_2691.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="1185" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3gz34CIpE6AVhIsEritdYP8M07n3S4o9BljBOHAwpfvPpKgHuaimWM44_b6nNzKW3W5aKUhs0tZT5NWVnx1QanjG88WXUGOUVrxLUl4DAUIImlcoYCN4o0qFMN28gsgIUzVs2R1YALf0/s320/IMG_2691.PNG" width="246" /></a><b>4. Meditate.</b> Over the summer I practiced the very basics of basic zen meditation but with the school year being so much more busy and the weather not being as conducive and inviting to long practices outside in lotus position I turned to apps for help and variety. Head Space and Simple Habits both have very generous free trials to get you on your way (Simple Habits is currently 50% off for the yearly subscription), and they show how easy and accessible meditation really is. It takes no skill whatsoever. Exciting news! YES YOU CAN MEDITATE. Trust me, if I can do it, literally anyone can. It's not about emptying your mind of thought and being some kind of levitating genius. Allow me to reiterate: Even I can do this. And I have the attention span of a gnat on crack ok? Meditation is not what you think it is, it really is a very simple process and what's more all the people you think are so amazing and calm and chill and accomplished probably do some form of meditation or another...try it out..it's powerful stuff, yo. I'm by no means a pro or an example to live by but when I found myself in profound distress on Monday I discovered my brain automatically switching over to some of the skills I have recently learned through meditation so...yes. It works.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigRHmK1q6bKLEd7Dn-AGAlFhH6kcNKztAlP_QXCGpWJmxQRXCWAKwFaoJxFUZJ_ZMFbPnBmpa3QysaWdTP289gg6a0M-gHw6QzyU5PnzkxFzBTD3yRT23RLAZeywN8LQWdSvN-pS4hGZc/s1600/IMG_2694.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1239" data-original-width="1242" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigRHmK1q6bKLEd7Dn-AGAlFhH6kcNKztAlP_QXCGpWJmxQRXCWAKwFaoJxFUZJ_ZMFbPnBmpa3QysaWdTP289gg6a0M-gHw6QzyU5PnzkxFzBTD3yRT23RLAZeywN8LQWdSvN-pS4hGZc/s320/IMG_2694.PNG" width="320" /></a><b>5.Write in a journal.</b> I write 3 pages in an A4 Moleskine journal with a lovely flowy pen every morning. Doesn't that sound so artistic and delicious? Ah, I love Beautiful rituals! Someone taught me this "morning pages" concept about a year ago. And it's such a cherished, satisfying ceremony for me. But then, I like to write, and I write quickly. If you don't you could maybe try to start with 5 things you are grateful for. Or write 2 intentions or top priorities for your day. Since I've got 3 pages to fill, I manage to cover thoughts that are floating around, gratitude and intentions most days. But really, just the act of taking a pen and ink and putting your thoughts to page is the goal..at least for me<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqkrbAU0vTs21VIYGBGC_zPALANjqZsHRj6SAwQcGk20QHbw2_lJJ_BnrawoE1Ka9v_5Xtq1Zf9uoWTVitQPvCBlEw9WdcQff8uy1yMfsjo_sAsqMem2zoSwQMq6bnERhAznYhGtSKbBk/s1600/IMG_2695.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1239" data-original-width="1242" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqkrbAU0vTs21VIYGBGC_zPALANjqZsHRj6SAwQcGk20QHbw2_lJJ_BnrawoE1Ka9v_5Xtq1Zf9uoWTVitQPvCBlEw9WdcQff8uy1yMfsjo_sAsqMem2zoSwQMq6bnERhAznYhGtSKbBk/s320/IMG_2695.PNG" width="320" /></a><b>6. Make my bed. </b>I choose to ignore that study about how it's better not to make your bed, but if you don't, there is nothing to stop you from smoothing your sheets, fluffing your pillow and pulling your covers back neatly so that you have an inviting place to return to at the end of the day. Creating order in the sacred space of our room (I do consider our bedroom a sacred little sanctuary and I try to keep it beautiful and tidy because of that) is a very self nurturing and controlled way to start your day before you walk out into the chaos of the world. It's such a small but deliberate act of discipline which will signals to me that I am in charge of my day and that I'm capable of creating order out of chaos. It's a little thing that can make a really big <br />
difference.<br />
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<b>7. Have a nutritious easy to prepare/eat breakfast. </b> I give so much credit to my husband for preparing overnight oats for me since this spring or early summer. He's perfected the recipe for me over time and it includes so many amazingly <br />
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healthy things while still being perfectly palatable and delicious. If I skip my oats and coffeeeeeeee, things fall apart predictably around 3pm every day. As I mentioned above, I am incredibly easily distracted, so having something pre-prepared, appetising, healthy and comforting to eat which will keep my blood sugar stable for many hours is a total game changer for me and probably for the rest of my family who don't have to deal with my irritability at 4pm when I realise I haven't eaten all day and suddenly am foraging for all the carbs, writing rants on facebook IN ALL CAPS and being super bitchy to all the people.<br />
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Well that's it for now. I actually have like 10 things but I'm out of time and the 7 seemed like a cool way to leverage off someone else's success so you get 7 ;) Tell me what your habits for being the competent pilot of your life are! I wanna knoooooowwww! Maybe I wanna copy them! Anything here you like that you think you might incorporate? Tell me that too. Tellllll meeeeeee!!!<br />
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You guys remember when I used to do Works for Me Wednesday?? Well it's Wednesday..these work for me! Ha! Nostalgia!<br />
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xox<br />
kKirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-86795450323682655662017-11-23T09:21:00.003-05:002017-11-23T09:29:53.569-05:00Letting It All Be.This morning I lay on the couch and I cuddled my precious little girl. Marveling at each of her delicate tiny features and listening to her carefully sounding out the words on her ipad to me and I realised. "She can read! She can really read. And she can write. She can express herself through the written word and she can read the communications of others. And that is a true miracle for any human being and it made me a little breathless. Just as it had when my mom pointed out that I could read when I sounded out "Hot Food" in the food court at Sandton City.<br />
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And then I watched as the glass window above the front door filled with a halo of white blonde hair and my youngest son, who is suddenly a man with a deep voice, hurried to pull it open and greet his oldest brother and I listened to them talk, they way men who are friends do. And I thrilled with joy when each of them came over to wish their little sister Happy Thanksgiving and listen to her with amused affection and leaned over to let me ruffle their hair which felt exactly the same as it had when they were 3,6, 10 years old. And I just soaked in their camaraderie as they laughed and exchanged stories and jokes about Thanksgiving morning football games they had participated in years gone by and I thought to myself. This is my family. And honestly looking at all these handsome grown men, I still feel like I'm playing a part of mom to teen-aged boys and a girl who has her boyfriend come over to help with the pies. I can't quite fathom that it's real. It feels like I dropped into a Folgers coffee Thanksgiving morning commercial to be honest.<br />
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I don't know if everyone feels like this or if it's because my life is so very white middle class TV-ad American and I'm still very South African. And I only saw scenes like these on TV rather than in real life? Or perhaps it's just because I'm still in denial that my son is older than I was when I got married and so none of this can possibly be because I'm still 19? I'm still 28 with 4 little children in matching outfits. Aren't I? And then my husband hands me a cup of coffee and he says, "you made all these people. Can you believe it?" And I'm like..."hey so did you and...nope."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO0oxRDpczzoMtCXDi364A0sjrwvxMGlX-sIz7utKaTF5KVBrC2-0v-N6EaTX6kWjjcgWWB1Lrz0SaC5DI_d_C3d67S1my1o2Xoi5ZeVi8sLGklHyAzcBP6_i6coIZ4vizLBggFGZGo-w/s1600/IMG_2150.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO0oxRDpczzoMtCXDi364A0sjrwvxMGlX-sIz7utKaTF5KVBrC2-0v-N6EaTX6kWjjcgWWB1Lrz0SaC5DI_d_C3d67S1my1o2Xoi5ZeVi8sLGklHyAzcBP6_i6coIZ4vizLBggFGZGo-w/s400/IMG_2150.HEIC" width="300" /></a>But instead of feeling weirded out or panicked or wistful or wishful, today I allow myself to soak it in completely. To observe it and feel absolute wonderment and gratitude and joy that this happy, peaceful scene of perfect abundance is mine. Is mine! Is of my making and of my good fortune and of my love and the love of those around me. And of the love and the goodness and the hard work and the faith and the commitment and the forgiveness and kindness of everyone in my family, and everyone who had a supportive role in my family over the years through all of our good times and our many struggles and our day to day conundrums of having too many places to take too many children. Someone always stepped in. The Universe has shown us a tremendous amount of grace and has never failed to channel love our way and I don't know why but I do know that this love is responsible for everything so precious and perfect in my tiny sunny living room. My tiny very humble living room with it's random assortment of donated and found furniture and the rug which is actually a big piece of fabric from a bolt I found for $5 at Goodwill and put on a rug mat I found at Big Lots and rejoiced because the widths matched EXACTLY, this morning and I feel purely and entirely thankful.<br />
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At the beginning of this month I was committed to posting something every day. I was derailed by PTSD. I kept writing but it was for me. And I had many other posts lined up in my drafts for today. But none of them wanted to be published. And long ago I decided that if my heart didn't beat a little bit more quickly when I considered publishing something I wrote, it was to stay in my personal folders until it did. But here's something I want you to read it's by Glennon Doyle and it was written last Thanksgiving Eve:<br />
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<b>Here's what we do tomorrow</b><br />
<b>We stop trying to be the director of the family show</b><br />
<b>and we just become an amused audience member</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>we jump on stage when it's our line</b><br />
<b>we let everybody in the family play their role</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>we stop fixing, cajoling, judging, and lobbying</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>we stop hoping so hard and start accepting</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><i>we let it all be.</i></b><br />
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And here's something I want you to know. I have a beautiful, blessed life. And I am thankful for it. And a good deal of the time I also struggle with feelings of great sadness and I struggle with them so that I can enjoy the abundance that is real. And I'm getting so much better at winning those struggles but less than 48 hours ago I lay sobbing like a very little girl in my bed, under my covers. Feeling very sad and very, very, very alone and scared and lonely. And I wished nothing more than that all the holidays would just disappear because they trigger my PTSD rather badly sometimes. But I also know that I have a family and I don't want their holiday legacy to be tainted by PTSD and so I figured out what would make this day the very easiest for me. And that meant deciding to cater in most of the Thanksgiving meal and handle only the parts that a very scared, overwhelmed little girl felt was doable. And once I made that decision I felt more and more like a functional adult. So if you are feeling very sad or very alone as you see pictures on social media of big happy families enjoying time together know that we all have our struggles. Everything is not as it seems. Be very, very kind to yourself. Do whatever you need to do to stay alive and to be present and to enjoy the abundance that is in front of you. Because it is present for all of us in some form or another. Even if it is just a comfortable place to sit, a hot cup of coffee, running water and a bed where we can rest undisturbed. Shelter from storms and from vermin. Somewhere we can go to get food. Whatever it is, recognize it and rest in that abundance and ask nothing else from yourself. And if you simply can't see any abundance because the sadness is just that overwhelming and the fear and panic feelings are just too real, withhold any judgment. Talk to yourself as if you would a small frightened precious child. Because that is who you are. And assure yourself that this too shall pass. And yes the feelings may come back over and over again but there will be breaks in the clouds and there will be sunshine and you only have to handle what is right in front of you on this day. And then find a distraction if you can. A friendly face, something to laugh at, something to do. Move your body. Get outside even if it is just to take the trash out. See if you can help a neighbour in any small way. All these things help. They helped me a lot in the last 48 hours. We can do this. I hope you can feel my love and my warmth and my reassurance because it's meant just for you dear reader.<br />
<br />
Much love.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
K</blockquote>
Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-40795921416006875192017-11-05T21:40:00.001-05:002017-11-05T23:52:00.442-05:00The Person Who Inspires Me MostYou guys, I'm kinda nailing this November blogging thing. I'm just saying.<br />
<br />
OK. SO:<br />
<br />
You know those people who don't get impressed by anything? Well that's not me. Life can be hard and people are amazing. There are so many people who leave me breathless with their resilience, brilliance, bravery, dedication, creativity, strength, willpower, patience, capacity to love. Over time, particularly in the last couple of years my inner circle has become extremely small and tight and there is not a single person inside of it who doesn't completely blow me away in some regard on a daily basis. I feel like that's a good rule of thumb for who you want in your inner circle. You want your inner circle to make you smile from the inside out, to light up your soul in some way. You want your chosen people to be the type of people who make you drift away for a moment when you are interacting with them because you are marveling over how incredibly lucky you are to have them in your life.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I will mention to a friend how I have replayed something they have said or done in my mind when the going gets tough and I need inspiration. Usually they have completely forgotten the incident they had a part in which was so inspiring to me (that's good to remember, you never know who you are inspiring and how).<br />
<br />
I am inspired by people I know and love also by people I don't know. Today, I watched the NYC marathon and got teary eyed along with everyone else as the female winner <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ESPN/?hc_ref=ARSW4Z566RN3vPZoYsEZHqxHxZy3FmsmHhgdhMZ_1mA8r0Qe_Yc8FwQsj-23FHgpWmc&pnref=story" target="_blank">pumped her fist in triumph when she realised she had won. </a>The first American woman in 40 years to do so.<br />
<br />
Ripped from the pages of my facebook feed:<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Her "FUCK YES </span><span class="_5mfr _47e3" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 0; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle;"><img alt="" class="img" height="16" role="presentation" src="https://www.facebook.com/images/emoji.php/v9/fe1/1.5/16/270a_1f3fb.png" style="border: 0px currentColor; vertical-align: -3px;" width="16" /><span class="_7oe" style="display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0px; width: 0px;">✊🏻</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">!!!!" as she sprinted at the line...gave me a total lump in my throat. So I pretty much always root for the African but it was so apparent that she was having that one in a million perfect dream come true when every oz of everything you have sacrificed and suffered comes through for you at just the right moment experience and that kind of magic...it's just an absolute privilege to watch. </span><br />
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Clearly, I can never relate to the thrill of being an elite major marathon winner, but I can most certainly relate to what it feels like when all the work pays off and you are also blessed with a good running day. Running is so unpredictable and in the course of 26.2 miles alongside thousands of other people, anything can happen to derail your dreams but today, it all fell into place for Shalane Flanagan and that was magical and so inspiring. Just the shot in the arm I needed as I have been struggling with a fearful and pessimistic mindset in my own marathon training. I want to feel some of that joy again. It's absolutely intoxicating. She was every little girl who had a dream's hero today.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_8gZpbJoTyiOcmTe7W6JcHp-Wq-l6lhDydUed_OLxJKrJm8YrDe_XxWkdqxMYhAnNqgnTNGxJBoa1K-mdRmSAJAA4amJeAvSe0vuC5Hyl7aHZ5KgzzgpatRhyphenhyphenGSPvDVMrRypVoFGZWg/s1600/IMG_9360.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1231" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_8gZpbJoTyiOcmTe7W6JcHp-Wq-l6lhDydUed_OLxJKrJm8YrDe_XxWkdqxMYhAnNqgnTNGxJBoa1K-mdRmSAJAA4amJeAvSe0vuC5Hyl7aHZ5KgzzgpatRhyphenhyphenGSPvDVMrRypVoFGZWg/s320/IMG_9360.JPG" width="280" /></a>But if you were to ask me which person I think of the most often when I am really at rock bottom, when the tank is empty, when I can't get out of bed, when I feel like the worst, most useless or ridiculous human being in the world and I really need to get over that and get on with it. The person who comes to mind is.....<br />
<br />
Me.<br />
<br />
Why? Because there is nobody I know more intimately. There is no one whose struggles I am more closely acquainted with. There is no struggle I can relate to better than my own. I know exactly what I have overcome, and how often I have triumphed in tiny and big ways. Sometimes it's as small as getting out of bed, and forcing myself to do some household chores before I collapse back into bed to sleep off the grips of a PTSD episode, sometimes it is taking my tired self out into the freezing cold to complete a difficult run, other times it' humbling myself on the mat as I get tossed around like a rag doll at jiu jitsu or being content to look completely inept at boxing, sometimes it's as big as giving birth or completing a 1/2 marathon or naming and facing my biggest demons, standing up to my abusers, walking away from things which are breaking me. But every time something hard comes along, and I fear I will not be able to handle it, the most powerful and effective thing I know to do is remembering all the times I did.<br />
<br />
Reminding myself that I have survived 100% of my worst most difficult days, and I will survive this too. Allowing myself permission to start over, to ask for forgiveness from others, to accept forgiveness from myself. Reminding myself that this too shall pass, like all the times it did before. Conjuring up memories of all the times I thought I was done for, when in fact I wasn't.<br />
<br />
Let me be very clear. I don't believe I'm any better than anyone else. But I know that my victories are hard won and I know they are legit.<br />
<br />
Which is why, as I get older and wiser, the days when I'm feeling ok or maybe even better than ok, I try to make hay while the sun shines. I try to do as much as I can. I try to stretch myself, move out of my comfort zone, face a fear, do something new, express my love and appreciation fearlessly. I try to deposit as much as I can into the Bank of Mama Said There Would Be Days Like This. <br />
<br />
So that when those rainy impossible days do come, I can make those withdrawals from my archives of badassery, and I can remind myself of how awesome I am and how brave and tough and strong and fierce I can be when I need to be.<br />
<br />
Here's my advice. Surround yourself with your heroes, always be looking for new ones, but most importantly, be your own.<br />
xoxo<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<span class="_5mfr _47e3" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 0; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle;"><span class="_7oe" style="display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0px; width: 0px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="_5mfr _47e3" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 0; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle;"><span class="_7oe" style="display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0px; width: 0px;"><br /></span></span>Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-40658955649198052912017-11-04T12:17:00.002-04:002017-11-04T13:17:36.444-04:00Saturday morning musings. Mormon Regrets? I have a few. Or do I?This morning as my husband brought me coffee in bed, I mapped out my running schedule for the weekend, knowing I had two full days at my disposal. He mentioned that he had bumped into a former member of our Mormon congregation at the coffee shop and their pleasant interaction, "Oh good for them! Enjoying that coffee life too!" I exclaimed as I sipped my fresh cup of happiness. And then of course, I commented to him for the millionth time how much more wonderful life is now....<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8vxsOOLf9H6SS4AbPG8KAWVkd3VHKMPx0-oBR6rET1VDakC1uJDX8Csm2TIsELGqcfp6G9pnkVD1JhaecYNYSt8YA0QmsYGp8eBlUU3LU4tJyzcBXfXaEQ8vRfUJef5QSYNyB5HSJ_s4/s1600/IMG_9726.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1389" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8vxsOOLf9H6SS4AbPG8KAWVkd3VHKMPx0-oBR6rET1VDakC1uJDX8Csm2TIsELGqcfp6G9pnkVD1JhaecYNYSt8YA0QmsYGp8eBlUU3LU4tJyzcBXfXaEQ8vRfUJef5QSYNyB5HSJ_s4/s320/IMG_9726.PNG" width="276" /></a>Once again my mind wandered back to a specific moment of one of the many, many times since childhood where I questioned the Mormon church. On this specific day, we had been dressed up in our Sunday best. But it wasn't a Sunday morning, it was a Saturday night. We were preparing to go to some church event, missing a community function we would have much preferred to be at, and we also had to do our grocery shopping before we left for the church function, because we knew we would be home late in the evening and we wouldn't be able to shop the next day, it being the Sabbath. I was stressed realizing that once again we had forgotten to get one of our son's new church shoes and he was going to be stuffing his feet into something 3 sizes too small. In my tired resigned state I remarked to my husband, "can you imagine how mad we are going to be when we get to the other side and realize that all of this was for nothing? It was all bullcrap?" (I swore significantly less in those days) He laughed and shrugged it off. This was a half serious joke I had made since childhood. My mom's answer for that was always, "so what if it is? Can you think of a better way you could have spent your life?"<br />
<br />
Um. Yes. Yes I could. The truth is, that I didn't. I was raised and I raised most of my children for a good portion of their lives in the Mormon church. It is what it is, for good and for ill. And there's a really good chance that a good portion of it was for good. But we will never know. I have at least one child who deals with a lot of emotional fallout from what I now realize was super inappropriate overreach, controlling, guilt inducing, toxic nonsense. And as a parent I take responsibility for allowing his exposure to that, even encouraging it. I give myself grace though because I was doing the best I knew at the time. I truly was. And so were the people in the church, and they still are. Still, it messed with my kid's mind to an extent that my kid has had a really tough time since. But that's ok because when we are supported through struggle we become powerful to help others in turn.<br />
<br />
Do I regret all the Sundays I spent stressed, miserable, triggered. Shooting dagger eyes at adorable normal little children we were forced to "sit and be reverent" for the lion's portion of 3 hours? Yes. I absolutely do. With all my heart I would like to go back, put those sweet precious little children in comfortable clothing and let them spend all sunday playing outside or going to a church where they learned only about a loving God who expected nothing from them but for them to love as fully and completely as their little hearts could muster. And that this love should start with loving themselves.<br />
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<br />
Do I regret the relationships they had with older people in lieu of geographically absent and disinterested grandparents ? No I don't . I am so grateful for every kind, invested, generous and loving older member of our church congregation who gave my children a sense of belonging, of inter-generational family. When Finny would cry because his best friend had two doting and geographically close grandma's and his grandma didn't even visit when his baby sister was born, I could point out all the people who did visit. Who did care. Who did love him and lived close enough to show him so. We formed those relationships through church, nurtured them through weekly attendance and miss them now. Those things were categorically good.<br />
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Would my children have been as well behaved, as driven, as responsible as kind to each other if we hadn't based our parenting on the very specific frameworks set up within the LDS church designed to keep families in touch with each other, high achieving and focused on a common purpose? We were pretty good at playing the Mormon game, I won't lie. And so I can't honestly say. I don't honestly know. I would like to believe that I would have been just as good and focused of a mom and I have a dreadful suspicion that I actually might have been a much <i>better </i>mom without all that pressure and with the assistance of coffee and the lack of permanent crippling guilt and strain of a hundred million expectations (as if raising 5 kids without any extended family assistance whatsoever, is not loaded enough). But I just cannot honestly say. I see our non-Mormon friends and their happy successful families, their kind, high achieving children, and it's hard to connect the dots from being a good Mo to having a good family, but truly. There is no way to know how it all might have turned out fo<i>r us ours</i> and since I feel really grateful for where we currently are as a family, I'm willing to give credit to the church if it's due.<br />
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Here's what I can say. I can say that life now is so damn good and that I might never have known and fully appreciated, no,<i> cherished </i>how unbelievably wonderful an ordinary life in its simplest form as an autonomous guilt-free adult can be.<br />
<br />
How incredibly pleasant it is to live free from the shackles of responsibilities that don't feel right, that don't make sense that feel controlling and nonsensical. How blissful it is to drink a hot black cup of coffee and feel nurtured, encouraged and enlivened by that. How fun it is to enjoy a couple of drinks with friends and feel truly relaxed and enjoy the fact that they too are feeling truly relaxed because life is bloody stressful sometimes and I've always said that I can party just as well sans alcohol and oh boy, can I! But not everybody is like me and I like to see others getting that little bit of assistance to have fun too. That's really fun for me.<br />
<br />
Without being a lifelong Mormon, I would never have known the pure and simple joy and elation it is to know on Saturday night that we have a full day on Sunday to work, or relax, or shop, or run. A whole extra day to spend enjoying each other instead of the tense mornings spent snapping at each other, getting to church late, being judged for getting to church late, spending 3 hours feeling miserable, hypocritical, judgmental, angry, guilty, bored stiff, exhausted, and being cut in half by control top hose . (I do miss the weekly opportunity to wear heels though). The relief of spending Sundays productive and happy at home rather than going home to a trashed home and a frantic feeding frenzy with a van load of irate, low blood sugared children. Sweet, impressionable, good kids who had not often, but definitely sometimes, been thoroughly mistreated by frustrated resentful exhausted teachers of their own, (or occasionally by completely deranged people who were allowed to teach kids when it was clear they were wrecking their own children in spectacular ways. UGHH. but those are few and mercifully, far between).<br />
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Without the Mormon church, I doubt I would be just coming into my own at age 40 and 41 when a lot of people are feeling as if they are fading. I don't understand that sense at all. I'm constantly thrilled at how much I feel in my prime at this age and I'm sure that having this huge weight lifted from my shoulders has been the most rejuvenating experience ever. I think it shows up in my face, in my attitude, in my energy level, in the way I feel about myself now, in the way I carry my body. I'm pretty sure that leaving the Mormon church has given me an an unusual new lease on life for a woman of my age or honestly, of any age. I may have more lines around my eyes now, but I'm almost sure they are from laughing more. Why do I feel such a huge sense of freedom and joie de vivre in my femininity suddenly? Well. For instance: Instead of wearing bizarre, uncomfortable and restrictive Mormon underwear dictating my fashion choices and reminding me that my sexuality and my body somehow doesn't quite belong to me. I am finally free to wear my own lingerie. And that feels pretty damn awesome. DO YOU REALISE THAT I WAS AN ADULT OF ALMOST 40 who did not have the option of wearing my own lingerie? Not if I wanted to be with my family forever? (Go ahead laugh out loud reading that because I'm with you but up until pretty recently, it was a life and eternal death matter, you guys!<br />
<br />
Do you understand how liberating it might feel to a woman to finally be able to pick out her own style of panties? Or to not have to worry about wearing anything to sleep in? Do you know that endowed, temple going (family forever brand Mormons) are required to wear long underwear day and night. Some members take it off for showering and sex only (and they put it right back on post-coital...fun times!!)<br />
<br />
I thank the Mormon church for the fact that after being required to wear garments both day and night, sleeping in nothing or next to nothing every night feels like the most luxurious thing of all time. No 800 thread count sheets required. No island vacation required. Every time I get into bed I feel the sublime joy and freedom of a kid skinny dipping in the moonlight. My husband certaintly isn't sad about it.<br />
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Without the Mormon church I don't think I would be as effective a mother to teenagers as I am today because I understand first hand in a very vivid and recent way that feeling controlled can be suffocating to a person. That extreme expectations do not help, they hurt. That hypocrites telling you want to do will only make you really really mad and extra rebellious. I have learned the great value in not preaching to kids, not trying to enforce a one size fits all morality on them. I have learned the value of allowing them to make mistakes and of helping them to know that mistakes do not make a man (or woman). I have learned how much better we do as a family when I do not sweat the small stuff. I have learned that a family can be even more united and loving without bringing them together in prayer, without forcing them to gather at inconvenient hours to read from ancient scriptures in language which rings and hollow and irrelevant to most children and teens but instead taking the time to laugh with them over the Office and agonize with them about their problems.<br />
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There are Mormon families who seem to have cracked the code. Who don't feel oppressed or stressed by the expectations. Who find comfort and guidance in the rules. Who have found the sweet spot where they feel all the love and none of the guilt and are able to help their kids find that sweet spot too. I rejoice for them. I do. I bear no ill will for Mormons just doing the best they can and not encroaching on the rights of others. None at all. I know so many women and wives who genuinely feel blessed by the opportunity to send their kids far away for 2 years with virtually no contact or to give up their husbands to church service for huge portions of their children's lives. It works for them. It breaks my heart to even contemplate but they seem genuinely happy. So..ok then. Thank god I only have to worry about living my own life. (That's new too ;)<br />
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And as for me and my house. It's the heathen life for us. We are delighting in the hedonistic pleasures of the living the "worldly" life which is somehow just suddenly so simple...and it actually feels more wholesome. It really and truly does. We delight in loving whomever we want to love and allowing others the unequivocal right to do the same. In speaking breathing and believing with no more cognitive dissonance. We are grateful for the lazy Sunday mornings together. We find tremendous joy in parenting our sons and daughters as young autonomous men and women without the expectation that they become missionaries and mothers. We are are basking in finally feeling fully free and alive. This works for us. The Mormons quote scripture very often referring to the beauty and necessity of Opposition in All Things. We have pain so that we may enjoy pleasure. Well said. Well said.<br />
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Regrets are more or less useless. And so, in the end I choose to dwell on none. I am grateful for my path and if it is grace that has led me to this place, it will lead me home too.<br />
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Amen, and amen. Happy Saturday<br />
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(this post counts for Friday, I bet I'll do another before the day is out because I said I was going to do a post a day and I mean what I say...until I get too tired and I want to lie in bed drinking wine and watching Riverdale.)Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-21645351630724644582017-11-03T01:19:00.000-04:002017-11-03T01:40:06.776-04:00On the road less traveled, 13 year old FBI agents and other stuff I'm happy about..<div>
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In <a href="http://www.momedysketch.com/2013/11/november-gratitudethe-first-25-days.html" target="_blank">past Novembers</a> I made a habit of posting 5 things I was grateful for every day of the month. This always made November my favourite blogging month because it's just so much fun to reflect on everything that is awesome about your life. </div>
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Lately, I've tried to make a habit of doing that when I wake up. I have an active and often difficult, troubling and disturbing dream life which means that I'm not always feeling swell when I first wake up. When I remember the dreams it's easy to start ruminating and getting lost in sadness or trauma and it's an awful way to start the day. I've actively started replacing negative thoughts with thoughts of people I love, funny interactions I have had, sweet little moments between my kids, whatever comes to mind when I direct my head in that direction. The more I do it, the more natural it becomes. But it's still so nice to have it on record and to share these things from time to time.</div>
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I''m not sure if I will do the 5 things on the blog every day of this month because I have so many other things I want to post about this month. We will see. But here are 5 things I'm grateful for today:</div>
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<b>People who love me at my worst. </b>This has been a tough week for me and I have had some truly monstrous moments. When I am experiencing a PTSD setback and I am triggered and act awful, nobody could hate me more than I hate myself. It's a terrible feeling and could easily spiral into a cycle of self loathing and hopelessness. But I am so incredibly lucky to have true blue, ride or die people in my life who are gracious enough to ride out the storm with me even when it's blowing straight into their faces. To be loved when you are being completely crazy and unlovable is the most healing thing I know of and is something I do not take for granted.</div>
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<b>Every time I take the road less traveled </b></div>
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I saw this scene in the woods when I went running yesterday. My run finally took place after an endless internal struggle followed by a comedy of errors, stomping around the house in trying to find all the gear I needed (it turned out I was wearing it all along) and the line from Robert Frost's poem immediately came to mind.</div>
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You guys, its so much easier not to do the hard things, not to stick with the program, to give up on on dreams because of the daily grind required to accomplish them. And every time time we do the harder thing we are taking the road less traveled and it really does make all the difference. I'm so grateful to be in a place where my choices are once again my own. That I have the power and strength to push through the resistance is such a huge gift, so hard won through such a hard fight by so many people on my behalf.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiysLh2yuozBNKQh0me4ZFmu9GtcsttFPY-l_8150jJQYkBxxN-A8RXLn_sHQ4EP0U2BHUh-PvUd4mQVvgXGsyE1RTS8QUe1AP0uDx2Acf_7L1erNs5U_rIar0wAqH13SqCJZ2rZa3a4Ic/s1600/IMG_1249.mov" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1136" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiysLh2yuozBNKQh0me4ZFmu9GtcsttFPY-l_8150jJQYkBxxN-A8RXLn_sHQ4EP0U2BHUh-PvUd4mQVvgXGsyE1RTS8QUe1AP0uDx2Acf_7L1erNs5U_rIar0wAqH13SqCJZ2rZa3a4Ic/s320/IMG_1249.mov" width="180" /></a><b>Magical little moments </b>when Ella brings me a book that she has written and put together regarding the joys of it being November 1st. There is just so much to love about this and it's hard to remember anything else not being completely perfect when I am present to this type of goodness.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4-naXdyBBHJL7WP-6o10z_NUse__H6EW0tOQpXrxfM3imZ8OxoVtbEQHTcoGZwb9CTNuVsYN4XiUpTfUzg5pm33fbilcFzWLlzeOTCxk7V60ctaORMg9WHCGf9-jYMaAm5efGq-YuPgU/s1600/IMG_1137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4-naXdyBBHJL7WP-6o10z_NUse__H6EW0tOQpXrxfM3imZ8OxoVtbEQHTcoGZwb9CTNuVsYN4XiUpTfUzg5pm33fbilcFzWLlzeOTCxk7V60ctaORMg9WHCGf9-jYMaAm5efGq-YuPgU/s320/IMG_1137.JPG" width="256" /></a><b>A 13 year old son</b> who took on a mammoth sink load of dirty dishes completely on his own initiative while I lay in bed sleeping off my body's attempt to get sick this afternoon. (I will not get sick because my 13 year old let me sleep and did the dishes and getting sick after that would be the epitome of ingratitude. Also, he had the best Halloween costume ever as an FBI agent making the type of arrest dreams are made of.</div>
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<b>Ongoing traditions and people to share them with.</b> As the kids get older, the traditions evolve slightly but it's a credit to the organizers of these events and the friendships we have formed that the seniors in high school show up to hang out and hand out candy just as predictably as they did when we were pulling them door to door in wagons. This is a beautiful thing and I am so grateful and moved that my kids have had the safe happy childhood that they have enjoyed thanks to this village.</div>
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Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-62611984558700376812017-11-01T00:00:00.000-04:002017-11-02T00:36:35.185-04:00Adventures in Float (Sensory Deprivation) Therapy. <br />
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It's November you guys and I'm totally back. I know that's my line but...hey..<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeXKk9AzA43Wg5zc95bRmwj0d2bSPww_cJTWOATZHtFzUloyaEAgHxmqjW9QeCOG7MwXyX0g9d1Uc7IWv1UmdaOgXbY8msHT557pwJ4qX8FYZ3f8ep3ncDpQSGlgZTF7iRuCE8Yfp00VE/s1600/IMG_1224.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeXKk9AzA43Wg5zc95bRmwj0d2bSPww_cJTWOATZHtFzUloyaEAgHxmqjW9QeCOG7MwXyX0g9d1Uc7IWv1UmdaOgXbY8msHT557pwJ4qX8FYZ3f8ep3ncDpQSGlgZTF7iRuCE8Yfp00VE/s400/IMG_1224.JPG" width="225" /></a>No seriously. This time it's going to stick. I have missed my blogging so terribly much. So. Terribly. Much. I have such a backlog of posts in drafts. I have been typing away like a fiend but for some reason I have had such a mental block about getting back in the blogging saddle. But here I am. I am here.<br />
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Several years ago somewhere on this blog (in a post far away which I cannot find) I waxed wishful and wistful about how desperately I would like to have the experience of floating in a sensory deprivation tank. And then.dreams came true and .<a href="https://www.truerest.com/locations/perrysburg/" target="_blank">.this marvelous place</a> opened not very far from my home right in time for my super intense adventures in PTSD. I had read quite a bit about the benefits of floating for PTSD and since I am all about getting that episode of my life dealt with as quickly and properly as possibly, I made an appointment with alacrity. True REST is the acronym representing Reduced Environment Stimulus Therapy which is somewhat different from the idea of total sensory deprivation. The pods offer lights, music and even iphone hook ups so you can listen to whatever you want. They are also equipped with a two way intercom so you are never without access to someone who can answer questions or help you out should you need them.<br />
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Just the aesthetics of the True REST float spa are enough to attract anyone looking for some calm and serenity. This glowing orb filled with warm water is nothing short of mesmerizing. MESMERIZING I SAY. But let's start at the beginning because the whole thing is An Experience.<br />
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When you check in, you trade in your shoes for flip flops, then you are escorted to the Oasis room where there is all manner of soothing stuff going on. Adult colouring books, soothing instrumentals, herbal tea, fireplace. It's the stuff overstimulated mom's dreams are made of. At the appointed time you are escorted back to your very own "suite". It's all very zen and minimalist. You shower with the provided shampoo, conditioner and soap, and then you slip into this womb like environment. The photos obviously show people wearing swimsuits but you are encouraged to float naked and since your room is completely private there is no reason not to.<br />
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I am horribly claustrophobic to the extent that I have made all of my loved ones promise that I will be buried attached to all sorts of bells and cell phones and shovels and such should it turn out that I was just in a deep coma so I was pretty skeptical as to how well I would cope with getting into a pod and closing the lid. Turns out it really isn't claustrophobic at all. If you want you can leave the lid open as much as you like (I didn't like because I didn't want to get chilly) You are free to push it open at any time. You can also control the lighting from blues, greens, reds or plunge yourself into total darkness, which I only managed to deal with for a few moments at a time. It's just SO dark. The pod itself is not small or confining you can float around in there very freely.<br />
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My first experience really surprised me because I relaxed and almost fell asleep almost immediately and I am the type of person who can only sleep in my own bed under optimal conditions, when thoroughly exhausted. Ugh so high maintenance. I felt incredibly relaxed after and the sensation lasted for days after but it wasn't a very intentional experience and by the time my hour was up that day I was more than ready to get out. I was just so unused to lying still without stimuli.<br />
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The next time I went I had the intention of dealing with an injury prior to a race. The extremely high salt content is recommended for athletes and I have had a lot of luck preventing injuries by taking regular Epsom salt baths. And this is way, way next level to that. I found that the nagging pain in my calf was markedly improved after the first float and so I made an appointment for one more the day before my race.<br />
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That's when the real magic happened. The float started out just as the others, I felt relaxed and delightfully weightless but this time I was able to truly meditate in preparation for my race. For a full hour I was able to really check in with each body part. I spent time visualizing each organ and limb functioning smoothly and healthily. I pictured my heart beating steadily and strong, my lungs expanding fully, I focused on each muscle, tendon, bone. I imagined them, strong and healthy, completing each mile effortlessly. Then I focused on my mind. I pictured myself feeling the great joy of having overcome so much in the last few years and over the course of my life. Going from completely broken and hopeless to going back to being able to complete goals that that required mental toughness, commitment and consistency. I pictured myself filled with joy and gratitude. At the end of my float I had some playful moments, doing the yoga poses of my dreams in the weightless environment. I felt so completely relaxed and rejuvenated and lo and behold. The pain I had been dealing with for weeks was gone. Entirely gone just in time for my race. I carried this sense of peaceful, calm confidence in my body and serenity and joy in my mind throughout next 24 hours and my race was truly the stuff that running dreams are made of. I felt so totally in synch with my body and completely joyful and pain free throughout. I had no anxiety, paced myself perfectly and felt truly triumphant and at peace from beginning to end.<br />
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I honestly cannot speak highly enough of the benefits of the float tank. The whole experience is so serene, nurturing, healing and uplifting. If you are dealing with excess stress physically, mentally, emotionally. If you are dealing with PTSD (the Perrysburg location offers special pricing packages for veterans), if you are an athlete trying to avoid or heal from injury, if you have a chronic condition or illness, this is for you. If you like time to yourself, would be interested in taking your meditation to the next level or are just curious as to what this otherworldly womb like state could do for your mind and body, this is for you. Did I mention that they have an oxygen bar that you can hook up to after your float session? And a beautiful, well appointed dressing room where you can dry your hair, reapply make up and gradually re-enter the real world? It has FLAVOURED oxygen. It's so incredibly Hollywood! For more pictures, locations close to you reviews and videos as well as to take advantage of the packages being offered this month be sure to check out their <a href="https://www.facebook.com/TrueRESTPerrysburg/" target="_blank">facebook page. </a><br />
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<i>**I was so impressed with my experience that I felt moved to reach out to True Rest to see if they would be interested in a collaboration to get the word out. While I have been compensated for this post, all of the opinions expressed are unsolicited and genuine. </i><br />
<br />Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-41985937910751792022017-09-03T14:20:00.000-04:002017-09-03T15:37:27.164-04:00Stuff I Learned By Going To Mexico With Internet Strangers. By Kirsty. Aged 41.<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR3RKo1Pe2Y76iEvtGtQmLK2by5MFKDQtWL73u7XPs7bMR8fRD_ZFItcSRBD_2SO6Ir-vTv3rutRjZ88V59v_l14inkcsoFTVAghOrGg3TBDk7i6E6BivdJ91E9vfLdM78abznrWfHDZA/s1600/IMG_6337.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR3RKo1Pe2Y76iEvtGtQmLK2by5MFKDQtWL73u7XPs7bMR8fRD_ZFItcSRBD_2SO6Ir-vTv3rutRjZ88V59v_l14inkcsoFTVAghOrGg3TBDk7i6E6BivdJ91E9vfLdM78abznrWfHDZA/s320/IMG_6337.JPG" width="180" id="id_f300_7c38_1b56_1085" style="width: 180px; height: auto;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgkDDegrR6kjaNzslko8D1ozeZj8_BjQXzMzzKNmVxz43opZIX5h6yDGmB80yvlCT_Rlc4LdDvUjQ5XcY_aefUD8M8LGxbUecbqzISBLGCtCXJyj-pFcUGwI5WBXN6TjuTxFZzoAf0KYw/s1600/IMG_6490.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgkDDegrR6kjaNzslko8D1ozeZj8_BjQXzMzzKNmVxz43opZIX5h6yDGmB80yvlCT_Rlc4LdDvUjQ5XcY_aefUD8M8LGxbUecbqzISBLGCtCXJyj-pFcUGwI5WBXN6TjuTxFZzoAf0KYw/s320/IMG_6490.JPG" width="320" id="id_209_481a_1fc8_9008" style="width: 320px; height: auto;"></a>I came across this passage recently and I thought about a recent experience which would make a real case for it being legit advice. Lots of people </div>
have asked for the story behind my trip to Mexico with internet strangers and so I figured it was time to tell you all about it.<br>
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A couple of months ago, I was feeling really angry and stuck in my life. I was feeling as though I had missed out on many opportunities through no true fault of my own. In short I was really focusing on my story of victim-hood and in a mental space of loss and scarcity and I was pouring a lot of energy into finding people to be mad at and things to blame for it. That's always a great use of one's time and it totally draws people to you, I highly recommend it if you wish to feel miserable, have toxic relationships and stop being invited to places.</div>
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Every so often though the Universe decides to give you just one more chance and in my fury (which by the way is perfectly justified and had been triggered by a perfectly valid thing and all of that blah blah blah.....for what all that is worth, WHICH IS LITERALLY NOTHING). One day I just reached overflowing with the pent up resentment and rage and to my surprise I verbalized what was<span> </span><i>really<span> </span></i>bothering me. Basically, I was mad that I hadn't seen more of the world. Because that's what I've wanted to do since I was a little tiny girl. I wanted to see a lot of the world. And so I said it. I wanted to travel, I needed more adventure in my life. I had the time, the health, the energy, but I didn't have the cash. I didn't just verbalize this to my therapist or in my journal. Oh no. I mused over this conundrum on Facebook. How does someone without much expendable income get to see the world? Putting stuff on Facebook is the equivalent of putting it out into the universe. Whether you have 4 friends or 4000 over there, recognize that what you put out into the world there carries weight and energy. This is something I often forget and I need to regroup and think about all the time. Because we do have a responsibility for our output of energy. More on that another time ;) </div>
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The response I got was quick and overwhelming. There were hundreds of options for someone in my position and most of them were actually smart and feasible. All of them required a little sacrifice of the comfort zone. That's the first secret about getting the stuff you think you want, moving to the reality you are dreaming about. It's only logical that it means sacrificing your current reality. And that's often a shock to people. They think they want stuff but when it comes down to it, they prefer to just be safe and want it from afar and think about reasons why they can't have it so they don't have to take responsibility for not getting it. I was coming up with all sorts of reasons why I couldn't do the things the people were suggesting and they were all lame but they suited me, because then I could stay bitter and in my comfort zone. </div>
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Then a message popped into my facebook messenger.</div>
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"OK Where do you want to go?" A friend I had met through the Nasty Women Project book. And look, honestly, I mean friend in really, the loosest sense of the word. I knew her name. And I knew she was funny and smart and forthright and I got the instinct that she was honest. We'd had a handful of conversations on facebook messenger before. I didn't know what she did for a living, I didn't know where she lived or whether she had a pet. I'm pretty sure I didn't know if she had kids. I have developed some really intimate online relationships over the years but that wasn't this. </div>
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So back to the question at hand. <strong>"So Where Do You Want To Go?"</strong> The Universe was answering my call with a direct question. <strong>It was calling my bluff.</strong> </div>
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Me: "Ummmm...lol?"</div>
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The Universe in the form of goddess new friend laid out her plan. She was going to Mexico in a few weeks for a week. Did I want to accompany her? I would have to pay an unthinkably small amount and she was even fronting the costs. I checked the flights to her hometown in Nevada. We'd be driving the rest of the way to Mexico together. Screaming deals. If I sacrificed a few personal things I had been budgeting for...I could make this happen. Within 10 mins I had confirmed with her. I didn't talk to anyone else about it. I just decided. This was happening. "Oh HELL YEAH, I'm in"</div>
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I typed back. I think we were both in total shock.</div>
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After she had booked my room she sent me a link to where we'd be staying. We would be in a timeshare resort on the Sea of Cortez. I screamed like a little girl. "THE SEA OF CORTEZ?"</div>
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When I was a little girl I had become captivated by a book called The Girl of the Sea of Cortez. I don't know why. It just spoke to me. That little girl was such a badass. She was so free and so capable and so strong. She discovered amazing things on her fishing adventures, all alone. When I read that book I could feel the sun on my back and smell the salty air. I have always been passionate about the ocean and while Lake Michigan offers beautiful beaches there is nothing like the wild ocean of my South African childhood to make me feel equal parts serene and excited. I even used to spit into my swimming goggles to keep them from clouding up because I read about her doing that in her diving mask. It seemed like a confirmation from Universe. </div>
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Go make your little girl dreams come true, chica.<strong> Do little Kirsty proud</strong>. So that's what I did.</div>
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<strong>Let's look at the excuses I had for not doing this thing:</strong></div>
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1. Um, strangers. Mexico. What? Who does that? It's irresponsible and dumb.</div>
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2. Um. You have five kids. One of them is starting first grade. Another is having a really tough summer. All of them would probably prefer you to be around as they start a new school year. Who abandons their kids to have fun in Mexico at the start of the school year? </div>
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Who does that? It's irresponsible and un-maternal.</div>
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3. Um. You are poor. Did you forget? You have like 5 kids and they need everything. Plus two of them have birthdays this month. This is the poorest time of year ever for you. You can barely pay for groceries so why don't you go buy a plane ticket right now? Who does that? It's irresponsible and crazy.</div>
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4. Um. You are married. Your husband works hard .This is so not fair to him to dump him with the burden of 5 kids getting ready for school and also the financial hardship of one more thing. </div>
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Who does that? It's irresponsible and selfish.</div>
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5. Um. If you don't mind me saying..you have a lot of issues. You are just finally getting to a really healthy place. What if this experience is terrible and triggering and you have a total spiral and lose all the great progress you've made and it's a nightmare for everyone. It's irresponsible and imma just throw in crazy because that's the word we've all been thinking this whole time.</div>
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So I wrestled with this nonsense for a couple of days. I embraced them in my go-to safe mode of "Be Self Destructive". Then I consulted with those I love and trust and got their full support and encouragement to say fuckit to my Safe/Self Destruct Mode. And this is what I came away with.</div>
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<strong>Reasons Why All Those Excuses Are Bullshit</strong></div>
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1. I have good instincts. If I feel unsafe in any way, I am capable of getting out of harms way.</div>
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2. My kids, particularly my daughters, need to see me doing the types of things I want them to feel free to do when and if they become mothers. Because moms who are martyrs do nobody any favours. Martyr moms are the worst and they won't see that bullshit modeled by me. </div>
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3. I must do this precisely<i><span> </span>because<span> </span></i>I am stretched thin financially, and the opportunity to go to Mexico for a week for this little financial outlay might well never present itself again.</div>
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4. My husband loves me and wants me to have a good time and is extraordinarily capable of holding down the fort and will only feel the brunt of my resentments if I don't do this. </div>
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5. I do have a lot of issues. And I've worked really hard to successfully overcome them. And if more issues result I have faith that I will do what I need to do to overcome those too.</div>
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At the end of the day, this is a simple trip to Mexico not Mars right? It's not a big deal But I see, so, so many people, women in particular being inclined to make doing anything for themselves into a great big fat impossible deal. And so they sit in their safety zone, or they make a martyr of themselves and they tell themselves they had no other choices. "Life is just like that." </div>
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When in fact they<em> made</em> life like that. </div>
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Ok if you are sick of reading already here's a spoiler alert: I ended up having the most sublime time. I connected with the two other woman with the greatest of joy and ease, before we even started driving to Mexico my abs were sore from laughing so hard, and I honestly see them as soul mates now. I could not have asked for more hilarious, kind, stimulating, accepting, fun travel mates. The goddess in the middle is the one who made it all happen. Don't hate her because she's beautiful as well as generous. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwi3MdITzLeteF7_wz9WwQe7HiIneXizQTzQGOH-ErsWeAuj2c2TEi2kNrTUPvAouud_hdJJWrqC4baI0TWdVswozTUirMc1dap2vEvbsMdEh_8P5oTntOz4en6vIkLtqDpUpOZCyukAE/s1600/IMG_6488.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1354" data-original-width="1600" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwi3MdITzLeteF7_wz9WwQe7HiIneXizQTzQGOH-ErsWeAuj2c2TEi2kNrTUPvAouud_hdJJWrqC4baI0TWdVswozTUirMc1dap2vEvbsMdEh_8P5oTntOz4en6vIkLtqDpUpOZCyukAE/s320/IMG_6488.JPG" style="cursor: move; width: 320px; height: auto;" width="320" id="id_b652_5f6d_5e78_e029"></a></div>
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I also connected with<em> myself</em>. One day I spent an hour running on the beach and another hour exploring it and all of it's thrilling offerings in total solitude. I felt the most simple, profound, uncomplicated child-like wonder and joy. My soul felt weighed down by <em>nothing</em>. I've never been under the influence of you know...fun drugs so if I sound high right now it's just on life. ;) </div>
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Here's the truth. Having achieved my childhood dream, I felt filled with nothing but clear, bright light. I was perfectly warm, felt perfectly safe, was perfectly at peace and one hundred percent in that moment. I will treasure that memory always and forever and I brought home an ember of it and the desire to stoke that feeling often.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD22nAAELMr2garY3e0gT34KEj7KRe_PTRtY3GX9eD6MKQ0rTMjRqT7WKbvGHwRaZTWW4qiyS8Ix8J2FWcL81u-97feROB3yWw5_wSYRu5BpZc2NWl0kMe0VR_t5sE-d4Dvs_cBwfT61E/s1600/IMG_6182.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD22nAAELMr2garY3e0gT34KEj7KRe_PTRtY3GX9eD6MKQ0rTMjRqT7WKbvGHwRaZTWW4qiyS8Ix8J2FWcL81u-97feROB3yWw5_wSYRu5BpZc2NWl0kMe0VR_t5sE-d4Dvs_cBwfT61E/s320/IMG_6182.JPG" style="cursor: move; width: 180px; height: auto;" width="180" id="id_f467_402f_b51a_8899"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj89rFN2814NxHcM_I07c_W-7nDItrha2ApgRaR6njE_XvU9PLzifxGSbSJClaOgEmJ8_yY_VGRM8_uwful3nVq76hr3WSv9czqloPNerEMpf09yMtzDblvSQ0cYgSBQ8aaw5WYFTmm7WM/s1600/IMG_6052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj89rFN2814NxHcM_I07c_W-7nDItrha2ApgRaR6njE_XvU9PLzifxGSbSJClaOgEmJ8_yY_VGRM8_uwful3nVq76hr3WSv9czqloPNerEMpf09yMtzDblvSQ0cYgSBQ8aaw5WYFTmm7WM/s320/IMG_6052.JPG" style="cursor: move; width: 180px; height: auto;" width="180" id="id_80bb_f083_38bf_d906"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNskBDw_RVFj5IvOvzLmcesSxyZXcRcXbtTXlP76aSmIUt8BkbSLsSNYVLO0CyiDyb-npee5DtiENVgPVMSM8tD9UKfgzm5djaNXAQl6OQbO8LUsrai8VXkvvdTCm4eGBL8jvq_hHdmCU/s1600/IMG_5997.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNskBDw_RVFj5IvOvzLmcesSxyZXcRcXbtTXlP76aSmIUt8BkbSLsSNYVLO0CyiDyb-npee5DtiENVgPVMSM8tD9UKfgzm5djaNXAQl6OQbO8LUsrai8VXkvvdTCm4eGBL8jvq_hHdmCU/s320/IMG_5997.JPG" style="cursor: move; width: 180px; height: auto;" width="180" id="id_a768_3c35_7486_a5be"></a></div>
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The far left picture was taken after my solo 10K run and subsequent exploration on the beach. The far right picture was taken after my first dip in the Sea of Cortez. It was at sunset and the sea was pink and the sky was pink and the sea FELT LIKE BATH WATER. And it was so calm. And I was talking to my new sisterfriends as we bobbed gently up and down in the pale pink swells and I was like, "is this real life?" Another moment I don't even want to forget.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheqrQa9SEgKGfCIyf533pb4KkzTXaVkuVZV9lLcm75SAIKMGXUpVGKmyEguJQM_BYiF8jzZ8aNbtRwimO7yUZHvYb0ZGWb93OorK0aoijLb0KGum7T2H7IW-OCGIIiyoGNUiKyyGq-jr0/s1600/IMG_6494.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGIEiakRW84hJamGB7yYvDVHsLqh_uo8t_q6YLf6A2CN9-5F2SIbLlKZZST9IJt6tTFRDHogVJRwiZrjgqDWW20k6t21VE9p4wx1Za_YaLcWg4O3Fx7bXCloJLGuVRBvTZzYjErLLT-UQ/s1600/IMG_6132.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGIEiakRW84hJamGB7yYvDVHsLqh_uo8t_q6YLf6A2CN9-5F2SIbLlKZZST9IJt6tTFRDHogVJRwiZrjgqDWW20k6t21VE9p4wx1Za_YaLcWg4O3Fx7bXCloJLGuVRBvTZzYjErLLT-UQ/s320/IMG_6132.JPG" style="cursor: move; width: 320px; height: auto;" width="320" id="id_c43_1b55_ea1c_447b"></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk1Bi1UnWAKJLpkzK1p6rYKjXkW2bWT65DQXUiECUvyfDrcEuw4coyHWGyN0M7sXomc9RUMhzN-kCvd5BfsLF_ccmemSBLUxz4UUP5WGsaxVLkr4f79-P0WFk5Q2lPg1YYU9IWtR-ewHc/s1600/IMG_6045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk1Bi1UnWAKJLpkzK1p6rYKjXkW2bWT65DQXUiECUvyfDrcEuw4coyHWGyN0M7sXomc9RUMhzN-kCvd5BfsLF_ccmemSBLUxz4UUP5WGsaxVLkr4f79-P0WFk5Q2lPg1YYU9IWtR-ewHc/s320/IMG_6045.JPG" style="cursor: move; width: 240px; height: auto;" width="240" id="id_ab68_ca8f_448d_912f"></a> As a child I remember telling someone that the only reason I could see for being wealthy would be to help people and to travel wherever you wanted whenever you wanted. I can't think of any better way to learn about yourself, spend your money or enliven your mind and soul. I can't wait to travel and travel and travel some more. My child-self knew what makes me tick. </div>
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I am so incredibly grateful for the generosity of an internet "stranger". It should also be noted that we <em>would never have connected were it not for difficulty, strife and trauma</em>. Were it not for shitty stuff in my past. Were it not for me addressing that shitty stuff to the extent that I could put it in its place and move forward. Were it not <em>for being willing to be uncomfortable and exposed and scared</em> and write about that shitty stuff and have it published in an effort to help others. Were it not for the horrible outcome of the election. Were it not for my frustration and anger the day I posted my "I want to travel but I have no money" post on facebook. <em>Were it not for me verbalizing what I wanted</em> from from my life. Were it not for <em>somebody following through on a kind instinct</em> to help me out. Were it not for a <em>leap of faith from all parties</em>. Were it not for the<em> kindness of my incredibly supportive "village" at home. Were it not for the friends who told me to get over myself and Just Do It.</em> This is how dreams are achieved. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBnrlA2fhlMdgzcvmLN42pcvuA_ziyGGxKMlLqRmGHzOv7809YUOS0cJBlDLGmGuLF80vCWVbZ34uCrum3yWnhQlRm9dRgtYxYQ_y47oXkA4L3afRKFZrVv4MASE7OUJWPHVZcmaedDgw/s1600/IMG_6495.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBnrlA2fhlMdgzcvmLN42pcvuA_ziyGGxKMlLqRmGHzOv7809YUOS0cJBlDLGmGuLF80vCWVbZ34uCrum3yWnhQlRm9dRgtYxYQ_y47oXkA4L3afRKFZrVv4MASE7OUJWPHVZcmaedDgw/s320/IMG_6495.JPG" style="cursor: move; width: 320px; height: auto;" width="320" id="id_eb8c_8a6e_6767_3346"></a>I know this is kinda a random selfie but it makes me smile all the way through me when I see it. I took this picture in the pitch dark with a flash as I was stargazing and laughing to tears with my friends on the beach one night. We saw so many constellations and shooting stars between our hysterical bouts of laughter. The last time I saw that many stars I was about 12 years old and I had woken up on a camping trip to see them blazing above me and I was in absolute awe. That night I felt the same awe and joy. And I love that this picture captures<span> </span><i>exactly</i><span> </span>how I felt.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-XEo8Pr9avJ3cezI3QH5GiqkZ7INXDcIuH9s3Azi6YeBDkXZcAhsLPy4oTsGqAezRuLnt9yHEt22YVDdhl3v9CPc06CiA9avrCqK2f5SzNVmvgdb5fN2WLLgMX2qy-92JrNstDjmUGg0/s1600/IMG_6456.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-XEo8Pr9avJ3cezI3QH5GiqkZ7INXDcIuH9s3Azi6YeBDkXZcAhsLPy4oTsGqAezRuLnt9yHEt22YVDdhl3v9CPc06CiA9avrCqK2f5SzNVmvgdb5fN2WLLgMX2qy-92JrNstDjmUGg0/s320/IMG_6456.JPG" style="cursor: move; width: 240px; height: auto;" width="240" id="id_cdd5_113e_88_faeb"></a>As always I overpacked. Drastically. And it made me so, so mad (more on that later. It's a Whole Thing with me). But I <em>intentionally</em> packed my orange stilettos because to me those shoes represent girls night out if a shoe ever did. And I knew that I needed a proper girls night out and that these shoes would insist to be worn on such. I shared this with my new friends and they committed to helping me to have a tangerine stiletto moment. I got to wear them on my last night, back in Phoenix. And after a week wearing nothing but flip flops, I needed assistance walking to and from the car in them. But I could not drag those damn things back home unworn. I Could Not. And I'm glad I didn't. Actually, I ended up leaving them for my friend to enjoy wearing all Arizona Winter long. The Sisterhood of the Traveling Stiletto. I do not recommend overpacking or bringing stilettos to Mexico, but if you do, make the best of it. Have your moment. </div>
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Hey did you know that we were celebrating the 50th birthday of that hottie in the front? Which is mesmerizing to me because she looks half my age. She's also the funniest, smartest. kindest most generous person ever. </div>
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Ok. Here's something else. Let's look past my gleaming forehead and talk about my dress. I LOVED this dress. It was so light and so comfortable and so fun to wear...and doesn't it look so Greek? That's because it was Made In Greece! Did you know I'm 1/4 Greek? So basically it was made in Greece For Kirsty. I found it at Goodwill just before I left, and I almost didn't buy it. Because you know, it was like a whole $5 and I was feeling strapped for cash so I wasn't sure about it. Sometimes I make really poor decisions in the name of frugality, I'm glad this dress wasn't one of them because I would have regretted it for a long time. That sort of silly self deprivation is called sabotage and I am resolved to stop giving into it because that's not virtuous, that's just sad. Enough of all that nonsense. Enough I say! When you find a beautiful comfortable Greek goddess dress from Greece? Buy the damn thing. Even if you aren't Greek and it doesn't cost $5. </div>
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O<span style="text-align: center;">ne more thing. I felt relaxed finally, on a cellular level in a way I think you can only be relaxed when you are truly accepting of your body and your right to adorn it or cover it however you truly feel most comfortable. Think about the way you would dress if you were totally alone on your private beach and the sun felt just perfectly right and you could feel it soaking up into your bloodstream and your bones making you feel stronger and happier by the second. Even though I'm naturally pretty uninhibited and fairly accepting regarding my body, and I wear as little clothing as possible in the comfort of my own space, I've lived most of my life in the confines of some pretty extreme ideas on modesty and no matter how silly you think those ideas are, they do tend to stick with you for a while. Add those to the typical western female body hangups and being in public in a swimsuit has felt<span> </span></span><i style="text-align: center;">really<span> </span></i><span style="text-align: center;">stressful and steeped in all sorts of self shaming for as long as I can remember. For. As. Long. As. I. Can. Remember. Seven years old? Yep.</span></div>
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What I discovered in Mexico is that when you add drinking alcohol to your swimsuit wearing experience, and stare out at the huge big beautiful ocean which has the magical power to make you feel infinite and your problems seem completely insignificant at the same time, you can finally feel totally comfortable and present with the pleasure of just being ALIVE. And you can just forget about how you look in your bikini. Even though you aren't at your goal weight, and even though you've had 5 kids and there are literally written rules about not wearing two piece swimsuits if you have had<span> </span><i>any<span> </span></i>kids, or if you are over a certain age (I'm not sure which age it is but I have strong suspicion it's long in my rear-view mirror) . </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl9y2qNBfcl0m7yI5_xdQP6eIB8HXZ8IUZ7F_omJz9s5eztN7-GvUxzv73158JwBXrBOCJ3kYk4KcZqNNrAihMPPbkCqnlWkW4XqJXRp0qSznGgwNVqhHO6ykCmeScTw_OXeu1ODfr22o/s1600/IMG_6272.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl9y2qNBfcl0m7yI5_xdQP6eIB8HXZ8IUZ7F_omJz9s5eztN7-GvUxzv73158JwBXrBOCJ3kYk4KcZqNNrAihMPPbkCqnlWkW4XqJXRp0qSznGgwNVqhHO6ykCmeScTw_OXeu1ODfr22o/s320/IMG_6272.JPG" style="cursor: move; width: 180px; height: auto;" width="180" id="id_d200_5abf_d52c_4759"></a>Staring down those ridiculous rules and then laughing happily in the sun in the face of them is a combination of factors which should be enjoyed by every woman at least once in their life. But preferably every day of their lives. So many women have no idea, have no concept, have no recollection as to what it is to just feel relaxed and happy to be alive and to have the sun on your skin. They have no idea how brilliant it feels to be giving absolutely zero effs or thought to who else might be watching, or what they may be thinking about your stomach roll or your thigh stretch marks or where the hell your boobs are and what they may be doing at any given time. You guys. That sense of freedom and acceptance. It's<em> sublime</em>. Please make it a goal to feel this way sometime soon. One thing: I guarantee you it won't come from reaching whatever weight it is you think you should weigh though. So don't even bother with that. You don't even have to be a Mormon first either. Just put on a swimsuit. Maybe a two piece. Whatever makes you feel natural and comfortable and sexy.. Hell, go nude if it's allowed. I would have if I'd found the right beach. And if at first you don't feel comfortable wearing that swimsuit, add alcohol until you do, and think about what a gift it is to have a body that can enjoy feeling the sun on it. And once that happens, take a selfie in the flattering light of the sunset and think to yourself, "this was an awesome day, I love being alive and I love the brave, hardworking amazing body I get to live inside of. Yay body, thanks for everything you do for me. You freakin rock ". </div>
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If that first attempt is a bust, keep practicing talking to your body kindly as often as you can (yes I know it's not easy, trust me I'm <em>constantly</em> talking about all the plastic surgery I want between being kind and affirming of myself. I'm really inconsistent with being nice to myself but I reset and try again every day. It's a process. We do our best. So keep trying. And then try again. I predict you will stop needing the alcohol really quickly once you get the hang of it. </div>
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Life is very short, my friends and in the words of Jack Kornfield: <br><span style="font-size: large;">"the trouble is, you think you have time".</span> None of us are guaranteed more than this day. So ask the Universe for what you want, grab onto it with both hands when it offers it up to you, love yourself, love your people, love your body, love your life. Be grateful. Let your spirit fly free. And if there's a big fat heavy rock sitting on the lid of your box of dreams and your ability to do any of these things, do the work to get it off. It's hard but it's worth it. Don't wait. There's no time for that. It's time to take off and fly babies. xoxoxo.</div>
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Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-8117266784989737172017-08-06T00:39:00.001-04:002017-08-06T11:08:49.513-04:00On Being Fiercely 40 (now that I'm 41)Darlings. Look at this! A blog post! I had to do it. For posterity. By the time I finish and publish this post I will be celebrating my<a href="http://www.momedysketch.com/2016/08/on-celebrating-40-state-of-wellbeing.html" target="_blank"> non-official</a> birthday and will have completed my 40th year on this mortal coil.<br>
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And what a year it was, yo.<br>
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Honestly? I have lost track of time and space this year. So much has happened it feels like at least 10. Which isn't a bad way to go when you are 40 and 40 happens to have been your favourite year so far.<br>
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I have always heard women proclaiming that their lives began at 40 and everything fell into place and it was the literal best and I was like..the lady doth protest too much, methinks. BUT I AM HERE TO TELL YOU IT IS ALL TRUE.<br>
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Which is not to say for a single second that 40 has been one big joyful skip in the meadow of serenity. Not so much. Not at all. I mean when I think back on the year I feel really happy and good about it but <em>apparently </em>lots of shit went down (which I know cognitively and I can even identify to be all too true for several moments like earlier today around 2pm as I sat in my empty bath, fully clothed texting "FML" messages to a friend). <br>
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HOWEVER. HOW.EVER my general sense is that this year has been awesome and that isn't because it has been easy because it hasn't all been easy. It's just that I feel like me. And I'm (finally) cool with who I am. All messy and twisty and volatile and angry and peaceful and kind and bitchy and hurt and healed and wise and ridiculous and immature and disciplined and driven and lazy and cool and sexy and dorky and insecure and confident and self loathing and confused and clear thinking. All of me. I'm down with it. I finally am who I am and I love this crazy broad I call Myself. Yes I do. And I make no apologies for whatever it is I am on any given day because...I am who I am. And that's what 40 looks like. That's the gift it's brought me. Accepting that I am who I am and working within that acceptance to be the best version of me that I can muster on any given day. And some days that looks like just getting out of bed (or getting into bed and staying away from the defenseless public).<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYssk6z8NV1AgoyIzGsesZie6EXN9lrAyyStDz1aNTd7jLh9Pu8woaY965keLckBsg6D3TBpY880YZu3iK-bS9-fs8jTZtTj1I79TL4fQtQ4Ypc6Bm25zcskW5VXN-eVgM2XkmYewMv04/s1600/IMG_4699.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1403" data-original-width="1403" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYssk6z8NV1AgoyIzGsesZie6EXN9lrAyyStDz1aNTd7jLh9Pu8woaY965keLckBsg6D3TBpY880YZu3iK-bS9-fs8jTZtTj1I79TL4fQtQ4Ypc6Bm25zcskW5VXN-eVgM2XkmYewMv04/s320/IMG_4699.JPG" width="320" id="id_6ad1_d923_8ebd_c7db" style="width: 320px; height: auto;"></a>Other stuff I love about being 40/41? I'm fortunate enough to be healthy and active and old enough to know how lucky I am to be healthy and active and experienced enough to be good to my body and treat it with the respect it deserves instead of doing crazy things to make it look a certain way I listen to it so that it can feel and function a certain way. I'm not even going to pretend that I don't care about how it looks. I want it to look as good as it feels, and when it doesn't I get frustrated and I'm not sorry about that either. I think enjoying the way we look and feeling confident in our skin is nothing to be ashamed of and certainly something to strive for. <div><br></div><div>I'm just not willing to do weird stupid things in the pursuit of appearance at the expense of being able to enjoy life. I have never enjoyed being inside of my body more than I have this year. And I know these are jinxing words and I know that this might sound braggy or insensitive to those who are struggling with health issues but please do know that I cherish every moment when I am challenging myself physically or just feeling relaxation or the good type of tired or pleasure in its many forms. I don't take it for granted. I have had long periods where I have struggled with considerable physical pain with illness and crushing fatigue, I know how soul destroying it is. Having a healthy, vital body to live inside of as I have continued the hard work of healing from PTSD has been a beautiful gift which I appreciate with a great sense of joy and wonder. This year I have done some sort of yoga almost every day, I have kept up with running and I feel like I'm the best runner I have ever been since I started running at age 17. </div><img id="id_f3f9_f1c0_be19_86d3" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Lwt7AyXDBew/WYcw_1_y8lI/AAAAAAABCY4/W4YkyrDpzRIoSoYAKZAEuwe6Iu851QY9gCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 233px; height: auto;"><br><div><br></div><div>I finally figured out good form. Seriously, how did I not know how to run properly all these years and miles later? A few months ago I started going to a mixed martial arts gym. A couple of years ago I would have laughed at the concept. It was so not me. But do you know what? I left my comfort zone and have discovered that Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and boxing have been the most fun, healing things I have done in a long time. But more on that later.<br>
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And as ever, the PTSD thing. Man alive that's a beast! Am I right? However, it's a beast that can be conquered. With patience and determination and education and support. It can absolutely be conquered. I still struggle mightily some days. Life has a way of just pulling the freaking rug out whenever you think you are nailing it. Life is a total bitch that way. But here's what's hopeful. I still get triggered from time to time and then I hate everything and it's the worst and I take a moment to do whatever just to stay alive and then...it passes. It. Passes. There have not been any major spirals into despair. There haven't been any more weeks/months lost to torturous pain or perhaps worse..total catatonic numbness. There have been excruciatingly painful, confusing, isolating horrible moments, hours, maybe a day or two and one month in particular this year <a href="http://www.momedysketch.com/search?updated-max=2017-05-22T11:31:00-04:00" target="_blank">was grueling</a>, but the reprieves have come quickly and regularly. This is profound progress. Darlings, please listen to me. If you are in the catatonic numbness or the greyness of the days when you wish you could just cease to exist...please know that this too shall pass and with the right help, you are going to experience those times less and less and even when you are in them the edge will not be quite as sharp and the despair will not be as enveloping and terrifying. It honestly does get better. And none of this is for naught. I have been so honoured to walk beside others on this journey. In places similar to where I am now, or further down or forward on the path of healing. As an ex-Mormon, a religion which finds meaning in everything and nothing, it was weird to suddenly find myself at a loose end. Having to define my own belief system. Weird is the wrong word. It was devastating and horrifying and terrifying but also liberating AF and ultimately it has brought me so much peace. My pain means something if I'm willing to use it to hold space for others who are experiencing their own. And that's enough for me. I need nothing else to find meaning in my life. I'm here to help with what I've learned through suffering. There's enough struggle and grief in the world to keep me occupied with that for the rest of my days. And they will be days well spent if I do.<br>
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Being 40 has given me focus. I have streamlined my life considerably in recent months. My circle is small and tight, my commitments are few and focused, my goals are reasonable and I am patiently tenacious about achieving them. "Patiently tenacious" means that I am learning to adapt when necessary but that I'm not just rambling around in the dark hoping to get shit down. That's another thing about being 40, there's definitely a sense of actually actively figuring out how to get shit down rather than just dreaming and hoping about that "one day" when it will all magically fall into place. I have checked a lot off the old bucket list this year. And once you get into that zone you find that it becomes easier and easier to do.<br>
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In summary this year I have loved my life (even when I've been cursing it) and I love my people. I am grateful to have lived another year of this brilliantly brutiful life. I have been incredibly fortunate in my circumstances and my relationships. I so hope that I can live many more just as eventful, exciting, growth filled, humbling, confusing and fully alive as this one. Thanks for being along for this ride, and for letting me be a part of yours. <br>
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And since I drink now (which by the way is really <em>most </em>enjoyable in moderation in case you were wondering), cheers and L'Chaim and bottoms up and all that! <br>
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Kisses,<br>
k<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNYGCRZl2VzWi5sfbchJSUk6u83WTwU48CuuhuEFW9V8ZdX-xUHipojRizadEbgv0_bYqj0o6xhZ_f8syHkL_1_7vIjifvFQfLnqC9rPAL6hi5G7SIeHiNSICxaWY8kAOaeIriaY_Kxag/s1600/IMG_4231.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNYGCRZl2VzWi5sfbchJSUk6u83WTwU48CuuhuEFW9V8ZdX-xUHipojRizadEbgv0_bYqj0o6xhZ_f8syHkL_1_7vIjifvFQfLnqC9rPAL6hi5G7SIeHiNSICxaWY8kAOaeIriaY_Kxag/s320/IMG_4231.JPG" width="320" id="id_4704_20e3_f594_409" style="width: 320px; height: auto;"></a></div>
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<br></div>Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-42367166718283528732017-05-23T18:31:00.000-04:002017-05-24T12:05:12.202-04:00The Fascination of Fixing your Flooded Basement<div><img id="id_c8bf_6925_3f1e_977c" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-boBYgrkSUZM/WSWvN7pE29I/AAAAAAAA2G0/CDlp02WAryMYuh4CkUSe1T77MdFy1KidQCHM/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>In keeping with the promise I made to use writing about my experience less as catharsis (which is fine but I do have a therapist and a private journal) and more in terms of offering help in practical portions, I want to cover one of the things that has been very useful to me in being on the path to overcoming my crippling PTSD relatively fast. And that has been to Stay Fascinated. <br>
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I am fortunate that the capabilities of the human body and mind are endlessly captivating to me, and while I used to know that there were definitely mind body connections, I had no idea how deeply and inextricably they run together. I had no idea of how layered and protective the human mind is. How brilliantly the webs of memory and trauma are woven to help us to cope in the short term.<br>
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Because I am prone to oversimplifications and analogies in my explanations, I will liken it to when your house is a DISASTER. It's the worst it's ever been and then suddenly you find out that you have overnight guests on the way. Maybe your in-laws. So what do you do? You deal with the mess but not in a way that is a long term resolution. You don't have time to sift through the crap and make decisions, you just need to create an appearance of not living in a slum and having your shit together.<br>
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Maybe you grab a bunch of bags in the method of "Stuff and Scream" I outlined sometime ago, whereupon you grab all the crap off all the surfaces you can see and scream at the family members to join you in stuffing it all into random bags which you will hide in the basement until such a time that the guests are gone and you can deal with it properly.<br>
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So that's what often happens with trauma. Childhood trauma particularly. Especially when it's dealt by people who are supposed to be safe and in charge. When trauma comes at you when you are a kid or a teenager or maybe just very overwhelmed and/or unsupported, you are like...Oh HELL no. I am a kid. I am not equipped for THIS. So you stuff it into all the bags and put it into the basement and pretend that everything is fine. <br>
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Now some people actually forget about all the crap in the basement but others are uncomfortably aware of the piles down there. And some forget about it for a while because life is full and busy and distracting, but then something reminds them and oh dear, what a bummer that is.<br>
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But regardless of how consciously unsettled you might be, having all your hastily grabbed, not properly filed or disposed of clutter randomly stuffed down in the basement, is going to wreak havoc on your life when bills go unpaid and permission slips are lost and people are crying about the precious artwork they created for you that you obviously don't care very much about....<br>
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And soon enough, if you don't get down there to sort stuff out, other guests come and you'll just keep piling more shit on top of the original chaos and and all the mess gets mixed up, and life will get messier and more chaotic, and more confusing, and if you leave it long enough eventually those piles..well they are going to start making sure that you deal with them. <br>
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Maybe you get a situation where your family just can't <i>even </i>with the fact that you don't have any idea where the passports are, or your wife is hella pissed because the basement is now essentially unusuable or omigod...maybe.... there is a flood down there. And then...well you are out of options. Time to face the music. Right? <br>
<br>When it comes to trauma believe this one truth if you don't believe anything else I ever tell you. You are going to have to get down there and sift through all that stuff at some time if you are going to have a fully functional, happy life with good, satisfying relationships, and if you don't, you are going to be consistently unhappy or anxious and weirdly triggered in ways that don't make any type of sense to anyone least of all you, and eventually you will just dismiss yourself as a horrible, worthless person. That happens a lot sadly, with predictably disastrous results.<br>
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Here's where Staying Fascinated is a life saver. Look. Friends. Nobody relishes the idea of going down into a nasty flooded basement full of soggy crap that you have convinced yourself you don't need anymore. I mean I guess some weirdos do. There's probably a show on TLC about that. I dunno. Back to <i>most </i>people though. This is why you have to find a positive motivation. Not just: "Omigod the house is going to literally fall down if we don't sort out the flooded basement."<br>
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But how about: "Ok so when we clean up the basement, I bet we are going to find so many cool things we have been looking for, and maybe we can even put in new flooring and make it super functional and cozy and have people over to play pool and chill on the yoga trapeze". <div><br></div><div>Is this analogy clear as mud? Yes? Ok: Working through PTSD in therapy is like that. You can look at it as a chore and a nightmare or you can approach it as a fascinating opportunity to understand so many amazing things about yourself and others and how to navigate a life that seemed like it was in charge of you rather than the other way around.<br>
Because honestly, it is.<br>
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I was reviewing a few blog posts from May's gone by and there is a clear pattern. First when I wasn't aware of my triggers, everything was just awful. Then I was aware of my triggers, but I was so upset that I was continuing to be triggered and I wasn't OVER IT already, so everything was even more awful. <br>
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Now I know what I'm dealing with. So everything is hard, like <i>really </i>hard but it's getting better. Slowly but surely, it is getting better. My therapist tells me that it's not even happening slowly but very fast actually. And when you consider that I'm working through decades of trauma over the course of a couple of years I must agree. But without her help and without what I understand now, well, you guys I just don't know. I might not be here. </div><div>Knowledge is power. Knowledge is fascinating.</div><div><br></div><div> Knowledge is healing.<br>
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I find that when I'm in a perpetually triggered state as I have been this last month I alternate between not sleeping and then falling into an exhausted catatonic sleep whereupon I have the most vivid often disturbing dreams which are always highly symbolic. That's draining and triggering in turn and so I resist sleeping or I wake up a lot and so the cycle continues. Today after several days of bad sleep I found myself having the deep sleep with hectic dreaming. None of it was pleasant. I was working through a ton of trauma in those dreams. At one point I actually woke myself up doing a jiu jitsu escape. It was jarring but also kind of cool. And while it was all rather harrowing I take it as a good sign that the basement purge is going well. <br>
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Where I used to wake up after these dreams, feeling a sense of dread and panic and anxiety and then spiral into a full fledged PTSD episode; I find that I am now at the point that I can wake up, feel a sense of dread and panic and anxiety, acknowledge my emotions, remind myself that they are stemming from my dreams and not reality, analyze the dreams, put them in their place and use them to solve puzzles. <br>
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Part of my dream today was about being very sick. I remembered that I always used to get very sick at this time of year. I very rarely get sick, but I can't remember a single late May until this year where I wasn't truly ill. This year I haven't been sick. That's not a coincidence. You have to get this trauma out of your cells or it will make you sick. </div><div>One way or another, the basement is going to need to be addressed.<br>
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I once read an article about experiencing physical pain as an interested observer instead of a victim. I have used that technique to successfully deal with physical discomfort and athletic challenges many times. And it works just as well with emotional pain. We can transfer ourselves from victim to survivor when we <i>choose to be interested</i> in this process. When we decide to take wisdom from it. When we look at it like a puzzle to be solved. When we anticipate what we will be able to do with the cleaned out basement. <br>
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Stay fascinated darlings. Life is about learning.<br>
xo<br>
k<br>
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<br></div>Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-65565845490472840322017-05-22T11:31:00.000-04:002017-05-23T00:29:37.363-04:00Do Whatever Just to Stay AliveIf you follow my Instagram story you will know that I have been outlining my practical strategies for coping with flare ups of post traumatic stress. This is partly in keeping with Instagram's May Mental health #hereforyou initiative, and partly to keep me accountable as I fight the <a href="http://www.momedysketch.com/2017/05/the-unbreakable-kirsty-sayer.html" target="_blank">demons of May in my own life. </a> One of my sanity saving go-to's is to go running in the woods and in the story I featured one of my favourite songs for running to and the mantra that I have taken from it. I'm sure I have mentioned "Stay Alive" from one of my fav movies, "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty". Not a difficult day goes by when I don't chant to myself over and over:<br>
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<b> Do Whatever Just To Stay Alive</b>.<br>
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<i><br></i>
<i>There is a truth and it's on our side, dawn is coming open your eyes...</i><br>
<i>Look into the sun as the new day's rise....</i><br>
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Deep within most of us on some level most times there is the hope for dawn. But that doesn't mean that the night isn't dark and frightening and how the hell are we supposed to survive that? <br>
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All weekend I have kept the monster manageably contained through feverish distraction. Yoga, jiu jitsu, boxing, some kicking (damn <i>that</i> felt good). Kids, shopping, going out, yoga trapeze! The monster was always right below the surface and that's not exactly my happiest place but doable.<br>
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But today is Monday and the house is quiet. And when you find that the brave Kimmie Schmidt in the drivers seat has been replaced by a frightened little girl who is feeling very threatened and alone that's not a good space to be. Mommy mode saves me until I drop Ella at school and then I sit in the car , swallowing the panic and assessing my options.<br>
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1.I can go home and get into bed and pray for the oblivion of sleep since I woke up 25x last night at least. Nope. That doesn't seem right. Day sleeping can spiral in a hurry.<br>
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2. I can get into the bath. It's warm and safe in the bath. But no. Too much stillness.. too much time to think and then I have to get out eventually. Plus my house is a mess. <br>
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3. Go for a run. Ok. Do that. I don't want to do that but it seems like a good choice.<br>
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I wandered into my room, looking for the last place I kicked off my running shoes. I spot a book I am half way through. It's Glennon Doyle's Love Warrior. G is my jam. She's messy. She speaks her truth and she is vulnerable and brave and raw and real. She gets me. She's been scared and sad and messed up and she figured out how to stay alive anyway. G is always a good choice for me. Running can wait for G.<br>
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I settle into reading about one of the worst moments of her life. A phrase she has used many times in the past pops out at me. Something like.."when you don't know what to do...just do the next right thing". Yes. Doable. Even a frightened little girl can follow these directions. Ok I need to clean the house. It's Monday. The house needs to be cleaned. But where do I start? I thought of a podcast I listened to recently, Jordan Peterson was talking about activism and trying to change the world being a bit of a stretch when we can't manage to keep our own rooms tidy. The man is abrasive in his manner but he has a solid point. We can start improving the world but sorting ourselves out first. There's no denying that truth.<br>
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Ok so I will start with my room. Smoothing the sheets, fluffing the pillows. To keep my panicky mind focused on the task at hand, I listen to my big sister Shona's voice telling me what to do next. Nobody can clean a room the way Shona can. My friend checks in with me to see how I'm doing with my "no sugar" pact. Sugar is a disaster for me and I only lasted an hour yesterday. I have asked him to be my sponsor. He is a sugar addict who has been in successful recovery for months. I tell him I'm good because I haven't eaten yet. This reminds me I haven't eaten yet. That might explain some of the sense of despair. Next right thing would be to eat. I open the fridge to see the overnight oats my sainted husband has prepared. Next right thing to do. Tell him thanks for that, check in on his day. Tell him I'm struggling. We talk about the next right thing to do....<br>
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This day will be difficult and at times maybe the emotional labour will begin to feel unbearable. But I will breathe through it. I will get some things done. Maybe not nearly as many things as I wish I could get done because it's hard to get a lot done when you are in labour. But some things, certainly. I will do Some of the Things. This day will be ordinary, and difficult and ultimately it will be triumphant. Because as hard as it will try to bury me and lie to me and tell me how terrifying and hopeless everything is, I will proceed in the truth which is that in reality everything is actually ok at this moment and that infinite hope lies ahead and I am loved.<br>
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And so are you.<br>
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If you are struggling, and going through your own emotional labour right now and you are not sure how you are going to survive it, may I suggest that you join me in just coming up with one right thing to do at this moment. It can be simple. Maybe brush your teeth. Unload the dishwasher, Empty the trash. Go to that appointment. Clean off your desk. Send a thank you note. Walk to the end of the block and back. Any of these are good things to do. There are any number of right things to do now. Just pick one, You can do that. Do it and then do the next right thing and together we will walk this day out and we will stay alive. (And kicking.)<br>
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Much love<br>
k<br>
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<br>Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-4269814070730450942017-05-19T15:02:00.003-04:002017-05-22T08:32:53.490-04:00The Unbreakable Kirsty SayerI knew from day 1 of May that it was going to be a doozy. It always has been, and in the last few years my complete short circuits occurred predictably on more or less the same day in May. Leading up to those days were a series of occasions and their accompanying triggers, slowly wearing away at the peace and serenity I work so hard to maintain. When I finally unpacked all of it in therapy this week, my therapist looked shocked. "You are not even kidding about May. Wow. And all that is <i>real.</i> It's not in your head. It's real stuff. May really is the worst for you!"<br>
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Um...<i>yes. May can die in a freaking fire.</i><br>
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At the end of our session yesterday she said, "I feel compelled to give you a hug. Would that be alright?" <br>
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I have many people in my life who say wonderful things to me all the time. I'm very lucky that way, to be surrounded by so many generous and kind people.. A couple of them are truly sincere about it too. They admire me without agenda. It makes me happy that I am a positive influence in their lives, but it doesn't tend to affect the way I see myself, one way or the other. My therapist however does not say much about me. Not one way or another. And when she does, I pay attention.<div><br>
Yesterday she said to me, in a neutral manner. "You are incredibly strong, maybe even too strong sometimes."</div><div><br></div><div>And it connected. <br>
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I looked up and said to her, "Apparently so. And I think it's time I really start seeing myself that way. It was the first time I was like. Yes. I am strong. Actually."<br>
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After I left, I felt ok. In as much as you can be ok and also be in terrible pain.<br>
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I felt like a healthy woman experiencing what I have coined as "emotional childbirth". I pushed through my good moments being who I needed to be, (a wife celebrating an anniversary, a mother celebrating her baby graduating kindergarten and her other children feeling the stressors of the end of the school year,) and then, I would feel it rise, an enormous measure of pain that washed over me. The contractions have been happening all month, periodically intensifying over the course of the week and the last few days I have been in real, active labour. The contractions.. </div><div><br></div><div>Like a tsunami wall of pain. Taking my breath away, nauseating me. Physical, excruciating pain. In my solar plexus all the way through to my back. Sometimes paralyzing my throat in spasms too. The throat spasms are not unusual in people who are recovering from the type of abuse and secret keeping that induced my PTSD. <br>
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When before I was sure it was killing me, and I just wanted to die, now I know what it's about. So I breathe through it. I do what I did when I experienced long and difficult labours without drugs and I told myself what to do when I helped others through long and difficult labours without drugs. I sought support from strategic, trusted sources. I allowed myself to alternate between distracting myself when I was able to and then breathing through it when I wasn't. Accepting the pain, moving with it. Knowing that it would pass. That every surge was bringing me closer to the reality of being healed and whole. A couple of nights ago, I lay in bed and quietly moaned to my husband that the pain was so terrible and profound that I could feel it in my muscles and my skin. His theory was that it had been inside of me for so long, hidden even deeper before and it was working it's way out. I agreed wholeheartedly. I do believe we hold psychological pain in our very cells and so this made sense to me. It didn't make the process any less painful but the understanding made it easier to bear.<br>
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In every labour there are pockets of time between the pain and intensity to catch ones breath. During these waves of intense pain I have had many moments when I felt that relief.<br>
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This morning I was looking at an ad for some silly not in any way particularly impressive little product on my phone and I heard my voice say out loud with such wonder and delight, "WOW! WHAT. <i>EVEN?!"</i> I immediately laughed at myself. Affectionately, actually. I reminded myself of Kimmie Schmidt.<br>
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If you haven't seen The Unbreakable Kimmie Schmidt series, I dunno...maybe you should. I rarely watch TV, but when I'm experiencing a post traumatic episode, I find it therapeutic. It doesn't seem like you should be able to make a comedy out of the kidnapping of a group of young women by a faux religious leader who kept them underground in bunker for years, brainwashing them to keep them there, raping them etc. But somehow they managed to do it. It's a totally silly show, but Kimmie herself is nothing short of a delight. Just seeing her face makes me giggle happily.<br>
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This morning as I felt myself still labouring through grief, I thought, "Yes! That's it! Kirsty!<br>
When you feel sad you must: CHANNEL KIMMIE".<br>
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Here's what I love about Kimmie :<br>
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<b>-Kimmie has seen some dark, dark shit. But she doesn't let it affect her sense of wonder.</b> Life is so unbelievably full of wonder,and beauty and joy and incredible things to learn and experience and see and hear about. The sheer amount of things that there are to LEARN makes me feel giddy with joy. Think about how happy babies are (with the exception of when they aren't). Do you know why? No men not <i>every</i> baby is breastfed, so it's not that. I'll tell you why. It's because literally <i>everything</i> is fascinating and new and <i>amazing</i> to them. That piece of paper they find under the couch. Totally awesome. The noise of it when they crumple it or bat at it, the way it feels in their hand, the way it tastes, the way it moves. That piece of paper is the best goddamn thing a baby has ever seen in their <i>LIFE</i> IS WHAT IT IS, and that's why when you yank it away from them it's completely tragic. You just took away the best.goddamn.thing.that.had.ever.happened.to.them, you monster. <br>
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But it's cool because in about 25 seconds they will discover something else that's also the newest most fascinating thing they have ever experienced. This is also why they need to sleep a lot. Their tiny minds are constantly being stimulated and BLOWN. It's exhausting. Babies are thoroughly alive and learning and experiencing all the time. And they are happy (except when they aren't).<br>
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Kimmie , oh how I love her, Kimmie captures that childlike wonder and joy. And in a lot of ways I'm like Kimmie. I am constantly amazed by like...everything. It pisses my kids off a little bit. They are like..."why is everything so exciting to you mom? Ugh!" Nobody is more cynical than a teenager. They'll get over it.<br>
Anyway I love this about Kimmie and I love it about me too. No apologies. And btw hell yes the fidget spinner is awesome, not just a fad and I will <i>fight</i> you if you try to steal mine. MOVING ON:<br>
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<b>-Kimmie is incredibly kind and generous and willing to help everyone. And she respects her own boundaries.</b><br>
I'm inclined to be kind and generous and to help people too. I'm wired that way and I feel happy about that. I'm really lucky that I am that way. A lot of people seem to have to work on it or they don't bother working on it and so they are bastards and they don't have a lot of people in their lives who think they are cool and that must suck. Anyway that's never been my problem. What<i> has</i> been my problem is that my kindness and wanting to help and take care of people means that<strike> shitty</strike> damaged people can take advantage of me and hurt me. I can be naïve about people sometimes. <br>
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Yeah, Kimmie had that problem too. We can tell by the fact that she was led into a bunker and stayed there for a lot of years when she could have easily escaped. (I'm hoping you see the parallels in my own life here without me getting out a pencil and a ruler and drawing them for you). Now, wandering around NYC, Kimmie is in peril of being taken advantage of all over again. Like every single day. Happily, Kimmie's not dumb though and she's also not weak. (Hey! Same here!) Soon enough, Kimmie figures out the joy and beauty of BOUNDARIES. Ah boundaries. <br>
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We watch as Kimmie figures out those boundaries. And you guys it's freaking inspiring. But why would that be inspiring. I WILL TELL YOU WHY!<br>
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Kimmie doesn't trade in her kindness or her childlike wonder and awe or stop believing life rocks and that most people are cool. She doesn't become a cynical, unhelpful, jaded bitch. Nope. She sets up her boundaries and they are rock solid. And it's not just good for Kimmie, it's great for her friends too. She has this one friend who is constantly using her at first and she's like this woman's unpaid Everything. At first, Kimmie runs herself ragged for this delusional wreck of a woman and then one day she loses her characteristic cheery shit, and digs in her heels. She decides enough, already and basically lays it all on the line. Tells the painful woman something like, "you are not paying me I am your FRIEND. So either start paying me or start treating me like an actual friend but you gotta pick one and they decide to go with the friend thing. Or the paid friend thing. I can't quite remember but it's all good. And Kimmie provides help but stops enabling, and the friend becomes more capable and confident and accesses her better self and starts treating Kimmie like a human being and in doing so she experiences what it is like to have a real friend for the first time in her life and it's awesome for them both.<br>
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So yeah, boundaries are the best. When I don't ask for what I need or I give more than I am able or if I let people treat me in a way that I know is disrespectful of my established expectations for relationships doesn't make me a chill, cool person....it makes me a person who is ignoring my own boundaries. I become angry and bitter and unkind. It doesn't me happy or anyone around me happy. We don't do people favours when we let them violate our boundaries. The reality is that sometimes the needs and boundaries of two people just aren't going to ever synch up. This part is important: <br>
<b>If your boundaries are healthy and reasonable</b> (and you might need to check in with an impartial third party on that from time to time to be sure, in fact I recommend it especially if you are still figuring this boundary shiz out) and they repeatedly show a disregard for those boundaries, then sadly they are showing a disregard for you as a person, and y'all don't need to keep hanging. I know babies, it's super sad and it's hard and it can be nothing less than heart breaking. But. To stay in that situation will ultimately be sadder and harder and more heart breaking. That's the truth.<br>
And it's better for everyone that way. Watch Kimmie. She's catching on fast that 'lil firecracker. <br>
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<b>-Kimmie doesn't feel sorry for herself. And she also doesn't pretend none of that shit happened to her.</b><br>
Kimmie has a <i>future,</i> she has a lot of lost time to make up for. She doesn't sit around all day thinking about the shitty thing the Reverend did to her all the time and after she got the Reverend properly sorted out and put in jail where he belongs she didn't revisit the bunker. (It's important to note that she DID go back to that traumatic place even though it was really hard for her when she needed to get information to put him away though. Again, do I have to haul out my protractor to show you where I'm going with this analogy? No? Great ok. I didn't think so)<br>
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So look Kimmie is also <i> real</i>. She's super matter of fact about her anger over the whole bunker experience, how jacked up it was and how she wishes it had never happened and that it sucked. (In real life, Kimmie would need a shit-ton of therapy and Kimmie is a smart strong cookie so I know that she would have no problem in seeking it out so she could move on.) But while she is real about how messed up and hateful the bunker was, she also acknowledges the survival skills she gained down there. For instance, Kimmie is hella strong from cranking the Reverends "wheel" (turns out it was to power the electricity for his TV in his hidden man cave). He lied to her and the other girls over that, and she was PISSED when she found out what all that cranking was really for, but now she enjoys the strength in her arms to do all sorts of crazy, fun, interesting and useful things.<br>
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And what of all the other chicks Kimmie was in the bunker with? Well this part is interesting. Kimmie being Kimmie, wants to help them as they too assimilate into post-bunker life, and she tries rather unsuccessfully, until she realizes that they want different things out of life than she does. One of them, for whom the bunker was a type of nirvana, essentially keeps trying to get kindnapped into new cults and Kimmie gets frustrated with her, until she figures out a way to work with this fetish of cult lovin lady, and helps her to become her own guru. (That's a bit sketchy when you think about it, but what do you want this isn't real life). Anyway! The point is that Kimmie recognizes that everyone is on their own path, and what works for her isn't necessarily the right answer for everyone. While she stays in touch with some of the girls, she doesn't seem to think that she has to stay close to them just because they were thrust into these circumstances together. They don't have a lot else in common. <div><br></div><div>I think a lot of us are loyal to groups and people that and whom we came to be friends with out of shared circumstances, and then we get all bent out of shape when those people don't fit or fulfill all of our emotional and intellectual needs. If Kimmie kept trying to hang with those chicks she would be severely limited and she would feel constantly nuts. Kind of like how I felt when I kept trying to be a good Mormon. It wasn't going to work. Those weren't (with <i>several notable exceptions</i>) my people, and that wasn't my scene. Some of them need to get the hell out like I did and others of them, eh it's working. They are happy. It's not my call to make. I hope I empower the ones who feel like I did to ditch. That's good enough for me.<br>
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So that's where I am at, darlings. I will resume my story when May isn't kicking my ass quite so hard and when I'm not so damn busy kicking it back. Because I don't go down with a fight. Never!<br>
I am after all,<br>
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The Unbreakable Kirsty Sayer...DAMMIT! ;) Love you all.<div><br></div><div><div><img id="id_1a98_9333_955a_338b" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Wywnh7jIbCs/WSLadPAROfI/AAAAAAAA1so/F8FBAEHFgFg1fjhuenM7wj3hbfRo6i62gCHM/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"> <br>
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<br></div></div></div></div>Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-49297619960662697272017-04-20T12:55:00.003-04:002017-05-19T15:50:26.340-04:00On Becoming: Ex-Mormon Girl Part 3 : PR Child Soldier<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Warning. This is going to be meandering both through time and in topic.</b> It seems that I was pretty triggered by the last couple of installments and I have been working on this one in fits and starts. It's not cohesive and if I try to make it that way it's never going to see the light of day so...yeah.<br />
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Before I continue I should note something. What I'm doing right now will be considered by many people as participating in "Anti-Mormon rhetoric". Growing up I was taught to fear and shun and flee from any hint of anti-Mormon rhetoric. It was literally the worst thing a person could do. Worse than "fornication" or murder in my mind. IT WAS TERRIBLE. **P.S: when I, as a totally "good Mormon" came out on this blog as being a Democrat years ago, I was accused as being a "wolf in sheep's clothing" so yeah, there are a ton of Mormons for whom what I am doing right now is the ultimate in rebellious sinfulness. They aren't even praying for a person like me at this point. I deserve whatever I get. That's the mentality. Carry on....:)<br />
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<i>When I was still in first or second grade</i> I think I was dimly aware of a lot of angst of the anti-Mormon movie "The God Makers" and I remember my aunt coming over to watch something on TV and being super stressed out about what people would say about it. I was warned never <i>ever </i>to watch anything like that. Don't read it, don't listen to people who say they know bad stuff about the church. They will only lead you astray.<br />
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<i>I was obsessively obedient to this instruction until one day around 17, I remember coming across a pamphlet in our kitchen</i>, Somebody must have come over and wanted to discuss it with my parents. I think it was an anti-Mormon pamphlet and it was about the sketchy past Mormons have had in terms of race. There were some deeply disturbing quotes in there by names I recognized as esteemed past (and possibly present) leaders of our church. At the time I was living in Swaziland, I was a definite minority as a white person and I was dating a really great Black South African guy. What's more, I was attending a school which had specifically been built as an educational shelter outside of Apartheid South Africa. I was attending it with Nelson Mandela's grandson and his stepdaughter. We had always been a really liberal family, racism was not considered in any way acceptable in our home. I remember my hand shaking violently as I read the pamphlet. I could not believe it. I knew that the church had not allowed Blacks to have the Priesthood until the late 70's and when I had asked why I had received vague answers about it being illegal or something. Seriously. I had heard all sorts of airy explanations which sounded plausible to my naive (brainwashed) childhood mind but this seemed extremely wrong, there was more to it than just not allowing Blacks to have the Priesthood, way more. I confronted my parents. I don't remember their explanations but it was tense and I remember feeling as though I was in the wrong somehow for questioning and asking I was on the defense here, not the Church.<br />
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This is how it always went when I brought up major concerns. When I brought up polygamy (which I was deeply, deeply troubled by) I was told to just relax, have faith, God would work it out. The doctrine I had learned implied that polygamy would actually be required in Heaven but lots of people assured me that only the most worthy people would be required to do that and they would be happy to do so. (Implying of course that either I wouldn't make it to that state or when I did I would be cool with it.) The inherent inequality of polygamy struck such a nerve with me, but I would swallow the apologists explanations of why it had happened too. <i>So</i> noble of those men to take in all those aging widows in the early church. There was never any discussion on why Joseph Smith saw fit to marry a 14 year old child. Which he did.<br />
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<b>Back to the present time.</b> When I began voicing public criticism of the church in the last couple of years (really gingerly at first, super vanilla stuff for the most part) I was unfriended on facebook in droves. I would go to see how this person or that person was doing, people who had been marvelously supportive and kind to me over the years, and find that we we weren't friends anymore. There usually hadn't been a big deal made of it, (Mormons aren't really ones for confrontation) and in fairness, when I first officially "outed" myself on Face-book in December last year, I had invited people who felt as if this gave them the obligation to gallop in and white-knight for the church to relieve themselves of that obligation by unfriending me. And many did. I get it. Completely. The shunning from most people didn't bother me at all, but the lack of acceptance from others was devastating. It hurt like hell, but I understood it. It is exhausting to feel that sense of obligation. To constantly be on the defensive. I know because that state of being pretty much defined my childhood and teenagehood as a Mormon. I was a soldier for the church. A PR soldier. If people say bad stuff, stand firm, deny, reframe it, shine it up, make it pretty, normalize. The Church is <i>always</i> right. The Church Leaders are ALWAYS <i>ALWAYS </i>right. And it is your sacred responsibility to not just believe that but make others believe it too.<br />
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Sadly, on top of all that crazy pressure, even the idea of the church just never was for me. It <i>always </i>felt wrong. From my youngest memories, the term, "The Only True Church" (often followed up with "on the face of the Earth, Mormons freaking <i>love </i>that expression) gave me the <i>cringiest </i>feeling. So exclusive. It was embarrassing to me in its hypocrisy. Here I was, a little girl, maybe 5 or 6 or 7 and I'm singing, "Jesus says love everyone" and being told about the Only True Church and referring to myself as a member (and others as "non-members"). And how about all the people all over the world who had no idea about this true church? Or who really believed in THEIR true church? And why did God even need people to be in churches, couldn't they just be nice to other people and love him?<br />
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Later, people would come at me with accusations of wanting to fit in, or be cool and politically correct. Please. I was freaking 5 years old and it wasn't adding up. What's more I felt like an outsider in my own community when I even thought this stuff. Like I'm some kind of cool 5 year old rebel without a cause? Don't be crazy.<br />
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<i>Straight up hellion right there.</i><br />
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<i>Easter. </i>I was probably eleven I remember sitting on my bed after eating way too much sugar on a day that should be joyful and carefree for kids but I was feverishly writing in my journal. Goals and gratitude. I was trying to pretend to be so spiritual and good. I had talked myself into believing that somehow Jesus was going to read this journal and totally forget my sinning ways. SPOILER ALERT: THERE WERE NO SINNING WAYS. I was a good kid. Like, a <i>really</i> good kid but I felt bad, dirty, sinful, unworthy and ashamed constantly. I own that this was partly because of my personality and partly because of the fact that I was sexually abused just as I entered puberty until I left home. That certainly didn't help, but I didn't ever factor that into the equation. I just knew that I was the worst, and I was frantic and scared about it. It just now struck me that if you read the early years of my blog you will see more of the same. Except by that point I wasn't aware that I was doing it to persuade God and myself, by then I had pushed that shit way down deep and I thought I was being 100% sincere in my gushings about the church and its teachings. I might be saddest about that stage of my life. I don't know.<br />
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<i>Being 13 or so</i>. A friend of mine teasing me in French class about the temple and how a "naked Mormon Priest jumps into a jacuzzi with some dead bodies and baptizes them". Ok THIS DOES NOT HAPPEN and he knew that too. He was being a 13 year old asshole and we are still friends and I think he still thinks its really funny but that was hella traumatic for me. The whole class laughing. Me trying to do damage control, trying to repair the church's image, wanting to die instead. I was 13 man. It sucks to be 13 without all the other shit I had to deal with. God. I could go back and slap him now and I probably should have, and told all those other laughing idiots where to get off too. Better yet I should have joined in and said, "well not<i> quite </i>but yeah, it's nucking futs can you even believe my life?!" Amazing how much clarity one has for one's 13 year old self at age 40. ;)<br />
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<i>My parents wouldn't let me date until I was 18.</i> This was 2 years ahead of the official Mormon dating age but they had read it differently. It was ridiculous. Ultimately I had plenty of boyfriends before age 18 and my parents were pretty lenient about it and boys were always welcome to chill at our house, But the whole not being officially allowed to date thing was awkward and embarrassing and weird as hell and there were plenty of times I just pretended not to like the guy rather than have to come clean with the real reason why he and I couldn't go to the movies alone together. The same issue arose with "modesty". Again my parents ended up being quite lenient in later years but god forbid I ever consider a bikini or a sleeveless formal dress. Oh hell to the <i>no</i>, man. All the same, none of this was terrible. Just stressful and like I said, being a teenager is just stressful as it is. Throw in being regularly abused and then being some kind of crazy Mormon freak who actually wasn't crazy or a freak and was trying to successfully straddle both worlds. It's a nightmare.<br />
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<i>When we lived in Swaziland the teasing and scrutiny regarding the church got even worse</i>. There were a bunch of Evangelical missionaries in the area and those guys are VICIOUS man. Turf War! My friends soon became aware of the fact that I was Mormon and some of them nudged me relentlessly about it. I don't remember them being overtly mean or disrespectful but I do remember every goddamn thing being attributed to our Mormon-ness and it made me mental. Once a national magazine came out with a cover story something along the lines of "A Mormon Temple Bride Tells All". Holy shit-balls. Panic Stations! This was BAD.<br />
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Look, let me explain something here. <i>I</i> didn't even know what went on for a Mormon Temple Bride. All I knew was the temple was awesome, I was going to have to be squeaky clean to go there, it was super risky dating non-Mormon dudes because there was every possibility that I would want to marry one and he wouldn't want to convert and then No temple marriage for ME and well then....it was an unthinkable tragedy. No eternal marriage, no eternal family. Generations would be lost to non-belief. It was UNTHINKABLE. All my non-Mormon boyfriends were immediately made aware that this thing would never go anywhere unless they converted. I'm sure they were all,..."haha, <i>FINE WITH ME</i>, escape route included!'' Anyway I remember hustling to the magazine stands at the store and hiding all the copies of that magazine. (Averting my eyes lest I inadvertently see some of the "SACRED NOT SECRET" (another one for the Mormon Phrase Manual), information included in this fallen girl's account. When you go to the Temple you make solemn convenants never reveal what you have seen or heard in there. Like on penalty of eternal damnation. Up <i>until not long before I first went to the Temple you even had to mime slitting your own throat and disembowling yourself should you ever do such a thing</i>. Holy shit. DOES THIS SOUND OK TO YOU? In fairness, apparently it didn't sit well with a lot of people 'cos they dropped that.<br />
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<i>And then came the Gay issue. </i>But that's for next installment because this one is already long and crazy enough and I gotta post this thing already. And here I go...editing be damned as I'm sure you have discovered by now ;)<br />
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<br />Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-18787417668354047992017-04-11T13:59:00.003-04:002017-04-11T14:05:59.128-04:00On Becoming Ex-Mormon Girl. Part 2 :"Born Into the Church"<br />
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I was as it is referred to in Mormon lingo, "born into the church" but not born "under the covenant" as my parents were not "sealed in the temple" for "time and all eternity". I'm giving you a crash course in Mormon lingo right there. You are welcome.<br />
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My newly divorced mother was raising me and my six year old sister alone and she maintained her stalwart activity in the church as she does to this day. I have never seen her doubt or falter. Never. She had converted to the church as an adult. I'm hazy on the details but I think my father joined shortly after her. I've heard he was pretty into it for a while but at some point he left. I have no idea why. Given the transgressions leading up to the divorce I would imagine that perhaps he was excommunicated unless he left of his own accord. I don't know, I'm sure I have heard the story but I forget the details. I never knew my father.<br />
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My mother remarried when I was 18 months old and my sister and I were adopted by my step-father. My stepfather sold his beloved car so that we could travel from South Africa to London, England. This was where the closest LDS (Mormon) temple was at the time. We went to the temple to be sealed to him and my mom and any subsequent children they might have together later (they would be "born under the covenant"). That was when I was about 2.5. I would never see my biological dad again. I have no memories of him in my life growing up except going through a phase of obsessively wondering about him and if I would know if he died. I had no idea what he looked like although sometimes my mom said that certain expressions I pulled reminded her of him. I was getting to know him over email as an adult when he died suddenly. But that's another story.<br />
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As a newborn infant, instead of being Christened, I was given what is known in the church as "a Name and a Blessing". A group of men, "Priesthood holders" from the family's inner circle, (other family members and close friends), come together into a circle. They each place their hands on the left shoulder of the man beside them, their right hand cradles the baby who they tend to bounce gently up and down. Usually the baby's father or grandfather offers the blessing on the infant and announces the name "by which they will be known on the records of the church". In my case, there was no suitable candidate. I was blessed by a family friend. My mom would often recount two things from the baby blessing which stood out to her. I would be "beautiful to behold" and "I would live to my full stature".<br />
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I would ask my mom what these things meant. "You will be pretty to look at and you will rise to your full height in life...". As a child who was terrified of <strike>pretty much everything</strike> many things including a pathological fear of dying I took comfort in these things. I took them totally literally. Ok! Check!<br />
I wasn't going to die as a child. I at least had a reprieve until I reached my full height. I hoped that wouldn't be too soon because death was beyond terrifying. And here's why. I knew I wasn't going to make it to the Celestial Kingdom. The Celestial Kingdom is the top tier of the three-tiered Mormon heaven, reserved for the people who did <i>all </i>the right things and got to be with their families and Jesus <i>and</i> God. First prize. I was failing dismally already even as a little girl. (Hold the phone for later when I would discover that the top tier was even further divided into three tiers of it's own....spoiler alert: there's not enough xanax in all of Beverly Hills for <i>that</i> discovery.)<br />
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Problem was, the assurance of not dying early got a little bit fuzzy for me when I didn't determine myself to be particularly beautiful (the other part of the blessing my mom had remembered). I didn't even think I was particularly pretty (inspection of childhood pics this afternoon confirms dark childhood suspicions). My mom had often explained (in line with the churches doctrine) that all blessings offered were contingent on the faith and righteousness of the recipient. So if I wasn't pretty then it must be because I wasn't living righteously enough which meant..dun...dun...dunnnnnnnn......<br />
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I remember vividly. having a quiet panic attack in the back of the dark car at the end of a long trip home from somewhere. I did the math. Yep. I was sure to die early. Damn. My poor mom, she had no idea her fond remembrances of my happy baby blessing day were going to be so twisted by the mind of her neurotic child.<br />
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<i>Here I am, around aged 6 I'd guess.. probably pondering my eternal damnation down a couple of Heaven levels from my family with only the odd mercy visits from Jesus.. WHEN HE FELT LIKE IT.</i></div>
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I remember when I was baptized at age 8. I determined ahead of time that this was<i> it. </i>I had heard often in church that everyone sins, but baptism washes our sins clean .No matter what we had done. Baptism meant it was all going to be gone. So this was IT. My second chance. I was going to NAIL THIS THING. PLAN OF ACTION:<br />
1. Get baptized. 2. Stay perfectly sinless unlike all the other losers I had heard about who messed this thing up after getting their second chance..wtf??? 3. GO TO CELESTIAL KINGDOM.<br />
Whew. Reprieve.<br />
<br />
Everything went according to plan. I remember dressing in my white baptism jump suit. I remember my stepfather saying the baptismal prayer, we practiced how I would plug my nose before he dipped me back and dunked me under the water, I remember an extra shove to make sure the job was done correctly. Baptism by immersion. If even a hair floated to the top it wouldn't take. I was super relieved when I felt that extra shove. Whew.<br />
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I remember my mom helping to dress me in my little navy blue and white dress in the bathroom adjacent to the baptismal font. (I'm so mad I can't find pictures of that day, I looked so happy for a change!) We were in a hurry so we could rejoin the program which had been planned especially for my special day. There was no sharing of baptismal thunder in South Africa. I had heard rumours that in America, a bunch of 8 year olds would get baptized on the same day. This did not appeal at all. Imagine sharing your BAPTISM DAY, in my mind it was akin to a Mass Wedding. Q'uelle Nightmare!<br />
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My mother was heavily pregnant with my little sister Thalia. My sodden wet jumpsuit which I had barely managed to drag out of the font behind my tiny self was now her problem to take care of. It was probably dripping everywhere, her back probably hurt as she bent over to help me fasten my buttons and tie my bow, with all the planning she was probably exhausted and over it. I remember looking up to her and saying with a radiant smile, "I feel something special mommy inside of me, it's warm, I think I feel the Spirit". "Don't be silly" she snapped. Typing this I am laughing out loud. That response is both so like and so unlike her, depending on the circumstances, and I am sure she would be mortified, but I remember it clearly. I was <i>deeply </i>wounded and embarrassed at the time but now I find it hysterical with a slight twinge of sympathy for my silly little eight year old self. I wanted so badly to feel the right things. This was my big chance after all. Wipe everything clean. Get the golden ticket so to speak. And now I had it. I was as clean as a whistle. My freshly purged eight year old soul was a one way ticket straight to the Celestial Kingdom when the time came. I would be able to chill with my peeps. No more worries.<br />
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I hadn't even left the building when I sinned. I was irritated by my brother pushing past me to get to the car first. I said a quick prayer to repent. I put it out of my mind, hoping it was a minor enough sin. Maybe none of the "angels keeping records" had caught that one.<br />
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The next morning my mom laid our cereal on a little table in the courtyard outside our kitchen for me and my brother. We were running late. I remember digging in. "Wow Kirsty, you didn't bless the food! You just got baptized last night and here you are, already being a heathen" my mom commented. She didn't make it into a huge deal but she wasn't kidding either. She was disappointed and I was devastated. I had blown my big chance. Now what. I was sunk. I was 8 years and one morning old and my eternal goose was cooked''.<br />
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<br />
To be continued.<br />
<a href="http://www.momedysketch.com/2017/04/becoming-ex-mormon-girl-part-1.html" target="_blank"><br /></a>
<a href="http://www.momedysketch.com/2017/04/becoming-ex-mormon-girl-part-1.html" target="_blank"><br /></a>
<a href="http://www.momedysketch.com/2017/04/becoming-ex-mormon-girl-part-1.html" target="_blank">Here's part 1 if you missed it.</a><br />
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<br />Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-80685525913248682962017-04-10T11:46:00.001-04:002017-04-10T16:32:21.070-04:00Becoming: Ex-Mormon Girl Part 1.The other day, I was regaling a friend with a story about an unfortunate family interaction with members of the church recently. (We had found it fairly amusing, given that we assumed they weren't trying to make sure that the family stayed away). After I wrapped it up I commented, "you know what? These guys have no idea what they are even doing wrong. Why people are leaving in droves. They put so much energy into getting them and then they lose them. And they don't seem to get it at all. I almost want to help them. Like, as a consultant. You know like how security companies interview burglers to improve their systems?" I warmed to my topic...<br />
<br />
"I could be EX-Mormon Girl. I could go around the country training LDS leaders."<br />
<br />
I was only half joking. "our stake president is actually a really cool guy, I bet he would let me get experience speaking to our stake for free".<br />
<br />
"No" said my friend. He knew I was mostly kidding but...."Don't do that. They are looking for a type. And you ain't it."<br />
<br />
Yeah. Good point. Ok I guess I will have to come up with another brilliant plan. But I think this conveys how complicated leaving this faith can be. How conflicted it is. How confusing it is.<br />
<br />
Here's the thing. The Mormons have been extraordinarily good to us.I have talked about it often on this very blog. Some of the people I most love in the world are active Mormons. They are good people. And there are some cool things about the Mormon church. I'm a confident public speaker in no small part due to them, I can conduct music in a rudimentary way. I've been in plenty of leadership positions even as a stay at home mom. When we moved to places where we knew nobody and had no family, we could always count on the church network. We always tended to gravitate to having more friends outside of the church than in it but everywhere we lived we have found a least one or two families to become close to and those relationships have been precious. Our children were given a great sense of intergenerational family thanks to the church, and the many kind and loving teachers and leaders they have had in it. And the church has helped us out tremendously in financial ways over a long period of unemployment and at another time when we were struggling very badly. In addition we have received a lot of service from members of the church. We have been beneficiaries of great good from the Mormon church. There is no escaping the truth of that and I would never want to downplay or deny those things which were absolutely saving graces at the time.<br />
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None of this is simple. Being a Mormon is difficult. Leaving the faith is very difficult. Life after leaving the faith is lonely and full of conflict. It's all just...difficult. But then it gets less and less so. In that regard anyway. Leaving the Mormon faith is a decision I am more grateful for every day. The Mormons warned me it would be though. They covered this contingency. "Little by little the Spirit will cease to strive with you, your heart will be hardened, Satan will have you in his grasp." And so still. To this day. I find myself second guessing my decision. There is a little part of me which probably always will. And everyone will have their opinion on why that is. The Mormons will say that my soul knows the church to be true and the Spirit is striving with me. My brain will say that the Mormons are very sophisticated in their brainwashing. I really believe that to be true.<br />
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"People can leave the church but they can't leave it alone" One of those catch phrases much beloved of Mormons. The truth is that they set it up that way. From the earliest ages you are taught to doubt your instincts if they are "leading you astray" or "causing you to doubt what you know to be true." Doctrinally they talk a really good game about examining your faith. "search, ponder and pray" is preached and sung about and urged. But there's a catch. Search, ponder, pray..but if those measures turn up short, and you don't find yourself embracing the faith, that's on you. You are wrong.You did it wrong. Keep trying. Sort yourself out. Figure out why. That's the only option available to you.<br />
<br />
There is this one "General Authority" (are you noting the weird lingo? This stuff never even struck me as off until very recently) who every Mormon I've ever talked to really digs. He's cool. He's chill. He's handsome. Ex-pilot. Cool accent. They call him "The Silver Fox". As an aside, the bar is set suuuuuper low for these dudes in terms of charisma. Poor sweet Mormons. Shit, that comes across so condescending and yeah, I guess it is. It's just that they ask for so little from these old guys. Everyone is so eager to laugh at the tiniest bit of levity. (That always <i>did </i>strike me as off. I remember rolling my eyes even as a young kid when one of the General Authorities would do something like pause, or raise eyebrows or make a vocal inflection that indicated he wasn't<i> quite</i> as serious as usual, and people would eagerly roar with laughter. It wasn't even funny you guys. And I found it sad. On that level I always knew what was up and I found it really demeaning.One could say it was a warning bell for me. When people are giving other people that much power that they will laugh at their unfunnies...something is off. I was growing up in an environment with an unhealthy power deferential and I was attuned to it.<br />
<br />
Anyway, so this guy is incredibly popular for the reasons I listed above but also because he generally preaches actual Christian tenets. Like loving and not judging and being accepting of where people are on their journey. He might be the only reason some Mormons hang in there. He imparts many beautiful quotable quotes, Many gems. Yet still, I would venture to say that his most pinterested quote is...waiiiit for it.<br />
<br />
"Doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith."<br />
<br />
How about this. How about faith and doubt coexisting?<br />
<br />
I know some highly intellectual Mormons. People who are more brilliant and more intellectually curious and more logical than I am or can ever hope to be. They are Mormons on their own terms. They sort through all this shit and make it work for them. I don't know how they do it but I believe that they do and more power to them. I think most of them figure out a version of Mormonism that they can handle and stay "active" for the sake of family and community. I don't think there are a lot of people I describe who are highly intellectually curious and don't see some fatal flaws in the doctrine. But hell, what do I know. I don't share my story for those folks. They will be just fine.<br />
<br />
I share for the ones like me. Smart, aware, tuned in to reality and themselves enough to question. Intellectually curious enough to say, "heeyyyy what about..." but for whatever reason not able to break free. Guilt, fear, self doubt. I don't know. But something is tying them down and if they are like me, they often aren't even able to articulate their truth and why this is not working for them. I listened to a podcast last week, Jordan Peterson was speaking and one phrase resonated so hard. I scribbled it on my kitchen blackboard. I'm in the zone now so I'm going to have to paraphrase but it was something like, "The ability to speak your truth will be a bulwark between you and hell".<br />
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Over the years I flirted with leaving the church. I had a handful of periods of inactivity. Once I remember being in the kitchen of friends and just freaking out. "How can you believe this shit?" I raged. "How can you believe in a God who is a literal terrorist? Who insists that you jump through a thousand hoops, that you participate in all sorts of crazy rituals, that you go to the temple, that you dress in weird clothes and memorize rhymes and riddles and secret handshakes to come into his presence?! And if you can't keep up, if you can't do "all that you can do" or hell maybe you just don't <i>want</i> to...he will take everything you hold most dear and separate you from it? Are you kidding me? He dangles your family, <i>being with your family for eternity</i> in front of you. THAT. IS. TERRORISM. Do what I say or risk losing your husband and children forever. Does THIS NOT STRIKE YOU PEOPLE AS MESSED UP?"<br />
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Everyone in the room told me that I needed to be on meds. They literally did. And I literally got on meds. And stayed on them for years. I did not need the meds. I needed the ability to speak my truth. Until I did, I was in hell.<br />
<br />
And yet. Even after articulating this rage, this fear, this rage from living with this fear, from never being able to keep up, from being so completely exhausted by the cognitive dissonance required for all of it, I took the dry blue pills. I went back. I kept going back. Even though I couldn't cut it. I couldn't do what I was supposed to do. I couldn't believe what I was supposed to believe. I was always so angry. But I went. Even though I would come home from church every.single.sunday seething. Even though every time my husband and I piled our 5 tired, disgruntled hungry children who had been made to to sit still and "be reverent" for 3 hours while dressed in their sunday best in the van and we drove home screeching at each other every Sunday. Miserable. Resentful. Drained. Even though with the barest examination this clearly wasn't bring my family closer to each other or to God. I went back. And I took my kids with me.<br />
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Ok so here is what. Since I was a little girl, I sensed I had a specific purpose. It was very clear that I was to help people. To comfort them in some way. I was so excited to discover that way was. Would I be a Dr? A psychologist? A lawyer fighting for their rights? Over the years I have been a doula, a personal trainer, a motivator...but still I waited for my real purpose so that I could settle into it and give it my all.<br />
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Yesterday I went for a really long run and as I ran and thought about conversations I have been having with people who have been reaching out to me lately, it finally became clear. It's not a big revelation, friends have been trying to tell me this. Family have assured me of it. Here's what is is. That mission? The purpose?<br />
You've been doing it.<br />
You. have. been. doing. it. for years.<br />
I'm a truth teller. I'm an oversharer. This is my job here. We all have a job. Mine is to tell my truth. Nobody else's. I speak from my soul, the truth of my experience. I speak to my tribe.<br />
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I don't think of myself as remarkable or unique. There are many of us with this purpose and I might not have anything new to say. I probably don't. But somebody reading this, might find something that they haven't read anywhere else which resonates with them. Something which makes them feel understood. Less alone. Less Other. Less of a failure, less of a freak. More emboldened to speak their own truth. To trust their doubts. To trust their faith. To trust their feelings.<br />
<br />
Yesterday we were driving to a party. Ella told me about a boy who had pointed out once that he could see her underwear when she was wearing a dress without leggings underneath.<br />
"It hurt my feelings mommy, and now I don't like to wear dresses anymore without pants."<br />
We talked about it. About other words for hurt feelings. Expanded her vocabularly into words like "embarrassed" and "self conscious" or "uncomfortable" or "defensive" or "exposed."<br />
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As the conversation wound down I said to her, "the important part is that you always listen to your feelings. Your feelings are real. Your feelings are smart. They might not always be telling you what they seem to be telling you right at first but it's important to pay attention to them. We can always look at them and try to figure out what they are saying and what to do with them but remember that you have smart feelings."<br />
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I'm going to post this before it gets too long and I overanalyse it to death. It's going to have typos, the editing has been minimal. I wrote it on a picnic table in the woods fresh from a run before the battery on my ancient laptop ran out. I have so much more to say but I'm starting here. I feel like I need to post this today and I have smart feelings.<br />
xox<br />
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<br />Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-57119586914564252722017-04-04T18:25:00.000-04:002017-04-04T22:08:48.178-04:00Hello. We should talk...It's been a while darlings and everything has changed.<br />
It might be the strangest time in anyone's life. Or it might not be. For me, it's definitely up there.<br />
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I last wrote <a href="http://www.momedysketch.com/2016/08/on-celebrating-40-state-of-wellbeing.html" target="_blank">when I turned 40 on my own terms.</a><br />
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<i><b><span style="font-size: large;">When I turned 40 I found my voice.</span></b></i> It's been there all along of course, and from time to time it squeaked out and said tiny bits of what I was really thinking but most of the time it was strangled. As long as I can remember there have been nightmares of calling for help on the phone and not being able to talk. Or not being able to see the numbers to dial for help.<br />
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And then the truth, as it always does, set me free. It wasn't a pretty process, the birthing of the truth. Kind of grisly actually. Lots of stitches, lots of scars. Still in the recovery process. Hell of a ride. But so worth it. As birth always is.<br />
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Mostly those nightmares have gone away. I don't feel strangled or stifled anymore. I'm no longer aware of that constant lump in my throat of that brick like weight in my solar plexus, almost literally physically holding me back from...wherever it is I'm going or whatever it is I want to say whoever it is I am going to be. Now it's just actual real life, irritating logistics that get in my way but those are a lot easier to work through. I can see the numbers to dial now and my voice works just fine.<br />
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Let's talk briefly about that cringey "Letter to my formerly depressed self"</span></i></b> about a year ago. I'm not even going to link to it. I am not. Ugh. don't remind me. No seriously you guys need to stop referring to that shit every time I get low. Real talk: I hate that letter so much. I have thought of deleting it, but I'm not going to because it's part of the record of my process. Depression doesn't just go away. It never becomes "Former". Neither does trauma. It circles you down the drain either forward or in reverse. That's the quickest analogy I can come up with. At your worst, when you are trying to go it alone, you are right around the grungy hole of the drain, the abyss is echoing, you might have one leg and one arm already being sucked down into it. Maybe you are ever looking into the black nothingness of it with something like longing and relief.<br />
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Getting help pulls you back from the grungy hole, drags you away from the sewer system..the great unknown. Once you get help and while you work at it, the circumference of the swirls get bigger and further away from the black hole, but the black hole is there. It is always there. If you neglect the things keeping that force field in place the swirling suction starts to feel stronger.<br />
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Sometimes it has nothing at all to neglecting your self care. You can do everything right but life just sucks. I don't know about every type of depression. I deal with PTSD and that can be fixed but it takes time. I'm really happy with my progress. I'm cruising along really well supposedly. Still. Triggers just happen, shit comes to the surface at unexpected times. It can suck but I'm learning to sit with that. Life is hard for everyone. Everyone has some sort of damage, some sort of battle. This thing is my basket of deplorable (to coin a phrase). I deal with it, I hope to deal with it less and less over time but I can do this. I got this. I don't like it, but I got this. Probably. I hate to tempt blog fate. Blog fate can be such a little bitch. There are days when I definitely don't got this. I get by with a lot of help from my friends. Moving on. Because enough already.<br />
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Ok wait. I have to make just more than a glancing reference to the Ultimate Shit Show.</span></i></b><br />
So. Donald Mothereffin Trump won the election. It's a total shock to the system on a daily basis. Honestly I still can't quite grasp it. And most of you can't either. There's no big revelation here.<br />
But what I do find fascinating is that in such a short time it has really had a part to play in reshaping my outlook, how I spend my time, who I spend it with. Which brings me to:<br />
<br />
Hey! I was published<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Nasty-Women-Project-Voices-Resistance/dp/1619846462/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1491340369&sr=8-1&keywords=the+nasty+woman+project" target="_blank"> in a book.</a> Over the years, I have been published in magazines and newspapers, I used to have a paid column on a major internet network when that was still a really big deal. I've been paid for my writing here on and off over the years, but seeing my name in print between hard covers. For a book that mattered. Telling a story that I thought I might never acknowledge even to myself?<br />
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That feels..like an accomplishment. That felt good. I almost didn't do it. And the fact that I pushed through and did do it feels even better.<br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></b>
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Now. It's not my book. It's a collaboration of stories.</span></i></b> We all met in the aftermath of aforementioned Shit Show and as women do, we came together, freaked the fuck out, then poured all that angst into something major and created a miracle. In three months, thanks to the grit and tenacity of a few and the bravery and love of all, 80 women from across the country had written a raw, an honest an often untold story of what the election of The Creature meant to them. For many it was a similar process as what it was for me...first the bad, ofttimes the pain, the trauma, the hurt and the unwanted feelings...and then came the fire, The resolve, the fight. Cliff notes: As women we have unified. This is our moment. This is our time. This is our movement and because we aren't going down with the biggest, screamiest fight of our lives, we will ensure that future belongs to our daughters. It's their turn. Our sons will be just fine.<br />
<br />
I would not have survived the days since November 8th 2016 nearly as well without my new posse of fierce, funny, brave and brilliant friends and even so, it's been a struggle for us all. But struggle is life. And life has been not boring. That is one thing I can heartily attest to. I hate boring and life...is. not. boring. in, 2017. I wish it were exciting in a less terrifying and disappointing way but the sparks of light and love that shoot up to the surface of this horrifying garbage heap do inspire and invigorate me. Every penny of that book goes to help other women. You should get it. We didn't have a cent for marketing and that thing is holding it's own. That book is a Nasty Woman.<br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></b>
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">So that's good. That's really good. But I sometimes miss my old life</span></i></b>. This one is really noisy. I asked my friend if he thought things would ever go back to the way they were and he said no. I believe him and that makes me sad. I miss when I had more intimate relationships with the people on my facebook page. I miss the mundane silly things. I miss the friends I have become estranged from since the election and since I left the Mormon faith because I have spoken out about things. Sometimes with too much anger and too little measure. I have hurt people. That makes me sad.I don't know if I regret it though. I can't honestly say I do. I regret losing people I love but I don't regret saying what I needed to say. Even if it was in a messy angry way. I used to say that above all else I didn't want to hurt people. But now I'm different. I'm a bit darker or maybe more honest. Maybe I'm moving through something to get to the other side. And here's the truth. I avoid hurting people. I actively dislike hurting people even if they deserve it and I <i>abhor </i>hurting those who don't. But here's what else. I am through with allowing myself to be the collateral damage in that goal. First do no harm. To Oneself. I'm on the list now. It was about time.<br />
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And sometimes, like maybe yesterday, I take a tiny bit of guilty pleasure (ok make that a lot) in the possibility of inflicting discomfort on someone who has done me wrong. But this is not about that either.<br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></b>
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">I find myself composing essays lately. </span></i></b>As I run the wonky trails in the woods, I will have a big idea for one, it makes me quicken my step, catching a tiny little of air as I skip down the tiny hill. They come to me as I drive, turning the radio down as a thought carries me away and blooms into a topic. Then there is an essay, a series of essays. It won't all fit...that's going to have to be a book...<br />
<br />
As I go through the motions of washing dishes, as I watch the morning's wasted cereal being sucked away by the garbage disposal. As I methodically sweep the floor and push the broom into those weird little cracks between appliances to get the tortilla chip my youngest son leaves as his calling card every morning, I am far away lost in questions and words and ideas.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I sit immobilized on my couch in my silent house gazing across the living room at my laptop, paralyzed with the agony of all I want to say and wondering how to say it all. All the questions I want answers to. I want to record things, I want to ask things, I want to explore things. And my process for doing that is by writing about them. I need to write about the things which shaped me as a girl, and a woman and a mother. About the community I walked away from, about the friends I have lost. About the friends I have gained. About the strange awkward numbness of estrangement and the unbreakable threads of enduring love between families devastated by lies and sickness and secrets. About when it's better to forgive and work through things and when it's better to let go so that you really can.<br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">About how weird this idea of aging is.</span></i></b> If the beauty industry didn't tell us that we needed to start looking out for "seven signs of aging" would we notice it when we were in our 30's or only when we were much older? In some ways I guess it's good. To become acutely aware of your own mortality. So that you can stop wasting time. I want to talk to other women about how 40 has made me love being in my own skin. About how there are moments when I hate looking in the mirror. How can I feel feel so healthy and strong, probably physically better than I have ever felt before yet look like the crypt keeper. What the ACTUAL HELL?! And then there is another moment when I am laughing and unconscious of myself and I look up into the mirror visor in my car and am surprised to be staring into the eyes of a woman with a such a confident and lively expression on her face. How for the first time I see a woman who I would like to be friends with. A woman who looks..well like a <i>woman</i>, not a little girl. I love that look. It's a subtle change. I don't know if it's a change in facial structure or something less concrete but I've seen it more and more over the last year and I do believe that it's my favourite look. Even if it does come with "fine lines and wrinkles". Why is there this this incredible shift at around 40. When we suddenly own it .Hormones, experience? It's magic is what it is.<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>And sex! I want to explore why so many people think</b></i></span> most women don't like or want sex after they have kids. And why for some reason everyone is down with that. It's a total crisis when a guy stops wanting sex or can't make it happen but women...well they are so tired after all. What the hell? Sex is awesome. It's really awesome and I think women should be enjoying it until they die or are close to dying just like it seems that men do. I mean. What on earth not? We have all that equipment designed<i> solely</i> for enjoyment y'know? Seems like a terrible thing to waste. Not just sex. Pleasure in general. Why are women so afraid of pleasure. Why are they so into self deprivation? What's in it for them?<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>I want to talk about friendships. </b></i></span>The ones we have from cradle to grave, the ones we have for certain seasons, the ones we have that fulfill just about every emotional and intellectual need and the ones that fill only the shallowest of them. Why some of the most intense and lovely ones can just fade away after time and why that can be ok sometimes and why some that shouldn't die do, and how sad that is and maybe what we can do to rekindle them.<br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">I want to talk about parenting relationships and the weird social constructs</span></i></b> we have imposed on those. The ideas of how we should be communicating with our kids, or not. The limits we should supposedly be imposing on them. How I have defined my role as a mother and how I don't actually give a damn about what people think about me in that regard anymore and how much it is has improved my relationships with my children. (OR HAS IT? I want to talk about that!)<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>I want to talk about why I left the Mormon faith.</b></i></span> Because sometimes even I get confused regarding the reasons. I want to talk about why life is so much better for me and my family since leaving. (OR IS IT??? I want to write about that!)<br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">I want to talk about how much I hate where I live and how much I love it</span></i></b>. I want to talk about how I have grieved and celebrated the circumstances of my life and my fantasies for the future. <br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><i>But I don't want to just talk about all these things with reference to myself. I want to talk about them with other people. I want to have conversation</i></span></b>s. I have gravitated to facebook because it is a place for conversations. But there are so many limits. Today I wrote something that had come up in the LDS General Conference. It made me mad as so many things regarding the LDS corporation do. Somebody I have known for many years responded. I feel her. It's something I might have done from her side of the fence not long ago and I respect her for it. I think it took a courage of convictions and I admire her calm confidence. She prempted by saying she knew she would be ridiculed and torn apart on my page for expressing herself. Initially I found that fairly irritating and I resented the accusation. I don't allow bullying. I <i>do </i>allow vigorous debate with a no nonsense style. I accept that tensions get high and people aren't careful about feelings. I'm pretty comfortable with that in a debate scenario. But it doesn't mean that everyone else is. I have lost many familiar and cherished faces from my facebook page. I know they think I have become a dark and cynical person. They would rather not deal with my brand of..whatever. I get it. And if things are going to turn ugly and personal I do think it's best that they keep their distance. And yet.<br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></b>
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">I know that if they heard my voice and they heard me discussing these things with other people though, they would probably get a different sense</span></i></b>. I am endlessly curious about the human condition.About how other people see the world. What makes them tick. I miss the diversity. I miss having people who are brave enough or thick skinned enough or to coin a Mormon phrase, contentious enough to come to my page and challenge me. I want them to change my mind as often as they reinforce my confidence in my own choices. But the written word has limitations.<br />
<br />
Today I thought about doing a podcast. It seemed like the natural easiest solution. I even researched it a little bit. Logistics and technology are not my bag. I can't think of anything I have less interest in. If you want someone to come up with content, to be engaged and engaging, to keep the conversation going though, I'm your girl. I think that's going to be the next move for the blog but I need logistics people. And I need people who are willing to talk about stuff with me. And maybe we have 3 listeners. And they will be our tribe.And that will be enough. And that's what I want to do.<br />
<br />
So. What do you all think about that? <br />
<br />
Well I'm out of time.<br />
So ends the longest blog post of all time. Is anyone still out there? It's ok if you aren't. I understand. This is not a blog post I might want to read on someone else's blog either. Or maybe I would?<br />
<br />
Either way, I am satisfied. Satiated for now. Because I scratched an itch. I filled my craving. My craving takes many forms and today was a day to indulge. In the grey light of this morning I snuck out of bed and sat cross legged and started writing as a new friend recently suggested that I should. I hand wrote, stream of consciousness in a beautiful grey Moleskine journal. I don't remember what I wrote but I remember that it flowed and that it was delicious.<br />
<br />
I bought a pack of six of those journals last night. Tonight I will go back and buy 6 more and I will fill them all because that's another craving I have denied for a very long time now, and indulging it felt sublime.. And perhaps I will end up with 12 journals filled with nothing of any type of substance but they will be meaningful to me.<br />
<br />
Because I am a writer and I won't pretend any longer that I am anything less.<br />
<br />
Thank you for being my reader.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-57130196481877498482016-08-29T13:21:00.002-04:002016-08-29T13:25:54.063-04:00I Remember WhenI've been working on another blog post but the theme of change has been thick in the air today and late this morning a friend of mine asked a question which triggered some memories. So I thought I would jump in....many prompts late with the <a href="http://anndeeellis.com/" target="_blank">8 minute memoir project a couple of my most admired bloggers are doing right now.</a> I hope that's ok. Even if it's not. I'm doing it. Because that's the kind of crazy maverick I am you guys. ;)<br />
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<br />
I remember when everything started to really change for me. When things started shifting in a solid way. I had never been comfortable or satisfied with the status quo. Never. Even as a child. But I remember when I started to feel it in my chest. And then in my throat. I remember when it would start making my pulse quicken and my stomach feel hollow with it. When the whole natural universe seemed poised to squeeze it out of me and to hold me up while it did. A little bit more every day, it built and built and built. It actually felt like it was seeping into my bones, making me stronger until I was ready to pour what was left of it out. <br />
<br />
I remember running that summer. In the woods and on the beach. Running, listening to music. Always the way in which I find clarity, the way I meet with myself. Two memories in particular stand out to me that summer. Running along the beach . The shore was narrow and uneven where the waves of the lake broke and scattered across it. My left leg was lower than my right on the sand. It was awkward but I was determined. I had to struggle to find every foot hold and my bare feet made light circles as they displaced the water in the sand. My music was telling me that I had to be braver. That my voice was worthy of being heard. That yes it was uncomfortable but it was ok. No it wasn't wrong .Yes. ok. More than ok. Needed. Desperately needed. A sense of triumph and resolve started to grow inside of me. <br />
<br />
I remember running in the woods, wanting to please the God that I had grown up with. Pleading for things that made sense to my kind and inclusive heart to synch up with what I heard when I sat on the soft upholstered wooden benches and the cold metal chairs. The way they seemed to for all the other peaceful looking people there. Pleading for my kind and inclusive heart to stop warring with my rebellious, impetuous soul. <br />
<br />
I remember the moment the music went quiet. The notes of the music melded with the notes of the birds in the woods. I remember that I saw a lovely doe. It looked at me expectantly but fearlessly and suddenly there was absolutely no doubt. None whatsoever. Just love. My kind and inclusive heart and my rebellious soul were one and they were perfectly in synch. And my voice was strong and brave and needed to be heard.<br />
<br />
I still haven't made my voice heard on the issues I was wrestling with regarding my religion and faith in the way I envisaged and I will know when the time is right for it. If ever.<br />
<br />
But I made my voice heard in my own personal life. The courage I took from those moments. The peaceful confirmation of myself as a wise and valued member of the universe taken from those sacred moments, offered to me by the sand and the water and the soft forest floor and the birds and the butterflies and the doe and the sun filtered through the green of the trees. That acceptance and courage allowed me to confront ugly truths and damaging people when I least expected to have to. And that confrontation was painful and dark at times and took almost everything I had to offer. But I never regretted it. Not even for one moment. <br />
<br />
I will never swallow or doubt my kind and inclusive heart or my rebellious soul when they clamor urgently for my voice to be heard again. And the knowledge of that feels like the sun rising inside of me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-57580199911931882122016-08-05T12:10:00.003-04:002016-08-05T12:33:24.792-04:00On Celebrating 40: A State of Wellbeing AddressHello fellow Being Alivers<br />
<br />
Tomorrow I will celebrate being on this mortal coil for 40 years. 6 months ago I promised myself I would write a blog post today and this is that post.<br />
<br />
Since February 6th I get the odd pal texting to say, "hey wasn't your birthday February? It says August on Facebook. I could have sworn it was February?"<br />
"Long story", I always laugh. Here's that story:<br />
<br />
When I think back on mid January 2016 I picture myself sitting in my car in a deserted parking lot at 10pm. The engine is off, it is freezing outside. I'm sitting in a fetal position in my front seat sobbing hysterically. I am a small child. Feeling terrified. Completely terrified. Alone and terrified. I have just received devastating news from my good kind completely innocent husband which has triggered this reaction inside my brain. It goes from being news which cannot in reality threaten my safety or wellbeing in any way to something that is<em> happening to me</em>. Something which is a clear and present danger. I cannot ever see myself feeling safe or whole again. That is last Winter's defining memory. Winter ended. That dark night ended. A friend came to my rescue, that night, tucked me into bed in her guestroom. My sweet husband went shopping with me the next day for new curtains, we changed the furniture around so that my home, the place where I got that news could feel safe again.<br />
<br />
That night was the last in a series of triggers that left me very broken. And then came putting the fractured pieces back together. Good, GOOD in every sense of the word, oh I'm choking back tears now thinking about JUST HOW GOOD they are, people sit vigil with me. In person, over the phone, reaching out late, late at night through text messages, they sent me funny memes, beautiful playlists, sent me endless patience, endless love, constant reassurance that the dawn will come, that I'm worth fighting for. <br />
<br />
Expecting nothing, wanting nothing in return but for me to believe that. <br />
<br />
I started seeing my blessed therapist regularly. I told her that how triggering my birthday has always been for me. What a struggle it is. How I have always actually looked forward to turning 40 but not this way. Not this way. I didn't want to feel like a frightened damaged child. I wanted it to be a celebration of the woman I am. <br />
<br />
A woman who clawed her way through 30 years of PTSD, incorrectly labeled as depression, without having a clue of what she was fighting. A woman who nonetheless passionately raised 5 beautiful amazing children far from her home country, far from family support. Who moved across the country heavily pregnant with small children in tow, not once but twice and started all over again. A woman who finished her business degree with honours, with 4 small children and a couple of side jobs. Who achieved many things. Created businesses. Has a good heart. Helped people. Created a peaceful happy safe fun home. Was a supportive loving wife for 20 years. Was a loyal friend. Contributed to her community. Loves and looks for beauty every day. Laughs easily, loves music, loves to dance. Loves life.<br />
<br />
I told her that I didn't want to feel as though 40 was something that happened to me against my will. I wanted to welcome it and celebrate it for the huge privilege it is. I told her that I had an idea. I would celebrate it on August 6th. A historically happy day. The day my cherished little brother's first son was born. Also my "1/2 birthday". It would be in the summer! It would be a date for me to work towards. And I would even change it on facebook to make it official. "It's brilliant!" she laughed. All friends and family who knew, were forbade from acknowledging February 6th as my birthday. And I went to work.<br />
<br />
I went to work. I went to therapy, I ran, I did yoga. I started to eat better. To avoid sugar and other foods which made me feel sick or sluggish. I read all I could on PTSD. I tried to be more disciplined about rest. I started to come alive. I started to feel whole again.<br />
<br />
And then I made a big mistake. I stopped therapy for a while. I'm not exactly sure why. Then a slow, slow Spring arrived and with it the perfect storm of triggers. The terrible, frightening feelings rushed back. The PTSD went through what I now recognize as its predictable cycle of shutting me down. But this time it was extra devastating. This time it arrived with a chilling message: I would never be ok. I thought I would but here I was, right back where I started. I couldn't keep doing this I could not. I couldn't do this to my family, to my children. I tried so hard to explain to my inner circle why it was better that I didn't. They told me I was wrong. That I was entirely wrong. That the PTSD was full of bullshit and lies. That I would beat it. They rallied again. AGAIN. They doubled down on love, reassurance, they sent more music, more funny texts morning, midday and night. One friend divided up a book he had written and sent me it to me in daily postcards. A book! Into DAILY POSTCARDS. A friend called when I told her via text that I wasn't ok but no, I wouldn't be able to talk. She said, "but can you just listen, baby?" I could listen. I did listen. By the end of the conversation I was laughing. Of course. Laughter always saves me. Laughter and love. <br />
<br />
My siblings rallied with comfort and advice at all hours. My sister was ready and willing to fly me to her in South Africa on a day's notice. Research on how to help me was made on my behalf. Texts flurried back and forth between my girlfriends and my husband. I was given the message that all that was expected of me was to heal. Other friends quietly, practically and faithfully did everything they could to keep things on an even non-stressful keel for the family. Kids were ferried to and fro without me even having to ask. My husband was both mother and father. So many huge and small but always quiet acts of service and love were performed for my children on my behalf that I may never know but that I will always, always feel unspeakable gratitude for. Thank you. So much. This human connection gave me the faith and hope that life wasn't just a ridiculous cycle of marking time until death.<br />
<br />
Once early in the year I lay under my covers, a dark safe cave. Listening to music. I had just listened to a song by the Verve that had been recommended by my friend, one of my lifelines with whom I was texting, as he described the bright future he felt was definitely ahead of me. As I read the hopeful reassuring words, the next track, <em>One Day</em> by the Verve came on. It was what I call a movie soundtrack moment. Reiterating all that was being said. All the things that had been said. Nothing can really penetrate a message into my soul the way music and nature can.<br />
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Whenever I feel low or I feel that I need the reminder to be disciplined about doing the work I run in the woods and listen to this song. And whenever I do, I think about paying it forward. I send my love out to all the people I know who are walking in pain and all the people I don't know who are walking in pain. With every footstep on soft forest floor and with every heartbeat I send this message to those beautiful people as the message was sent to me<br />
<br />
<strong><em>"You've got to tie yourself to the mast my friend and the storm will end."</em></strong><br />
<br />
Tomorrow I'm going to celebrate the privilege of being alive. In all its ugly glory. And then I'm going to get back to work. On myself and on paying it forward. I have taken many notes along this journey and it's time to share them in a more practical accessible way than I've been doing up to now. This blog has taken on many incarnations through its lifetime and I hope that this one will be its most valuable. That it will serve and help and comfort. That it can be added to the sea of voices that are out there to remind us that the fight is worth fighting. Even if you don't understand it, even when it seems pointless and ridiculous. <br />
<br />
This week I went see Coldplay (again) with my oldest son who is starting college in a couple of weeks. We experienced a pretty intense range of emotions that night from euphoria to flat out fear when our attempts to get home were more complicated than anticipated. Honestly I'm still recovering. Some of it was amazing and some of it was terrible but I wouldn't trade that night for all the world. Ending up at 3am in a hotel room with my son laughing hysterically over the events of the evening. Feeling that connection. Feeling so much love and pride in this amazing human being and so much privilege in sharing this connection. That's life. Sometimes it's wonderful and often it's terrible but it's a privilege and it's meant to be done together. If you're not feeling it right now, you will. Just tie yourself to the mast, my friend, this storm will end. And then another will come. But that too will end. And through it all we will have each other. xoxoxoxox<br />
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<br />
<div class="b_paractl">
One day maybe we will dance again<br />
Under fiery skies<br />
One day maybe you will love again<br />
Love that never dies</div>
<div class="b_paractl">
One day maybe you will see the land<br />
Touch skin with sand<br />
You've been swimming in the lonely sea<br />
With no company</div>
<div class="b_paractl">
Oh, don't you want to find?<br />
Can't you hear this beauty in life?<br />
The roads, the highs, breaking up your life</div>
<div class="b_paractl">
Can't you hear this beauty in life?</div>
<div class="b_paractl">
One day maybe you will cry again<br />
Just like a child<br />
You've gotta tie yourself to the mast my friend<br />
And the storm will end</div>
<div class="b_paractl">
Oh, don't you want to find?<br />
Can't you hear this beauty in life?<br />
The times, the highs, breaking up your mind<br />
Can't you hear this beauty in life?</div>
<div class="b_paractl">
Oh, you're too afraid to touch</div>
Too afraid you'll like it too much<br />
The roads, the times, breaking up your mind<br />
Can't you hear this beauty in life?<br />
<div class="b_paractl">
One day maybe I will dance again<br />
One day maybe I will love again<br />
One day maybe we will dance again<br />
You know you've gotta<br />
Tie yourself to the mast my friend<br />
And the storm will end<br />
One day maybe you will love again<br />
You've gotta tie yourself to the mast my friend<br />
And the storm will end</div>
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Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-43801119276812887892016-05-24T12:45:00.001-04:002016-05-24T13:07:05.337-04:00How Does It End When the War that you're in is Just You Against You Against You?Hello darlings<br />
<br />
How are you?<br />
Me. Such a mess! A mess! Of note!<br />
I can't contribute much to this world and that's a frustration, but transparency about my struggles is something I am committed to. For whatever it is worth. I hope it is indeed worth something to someone.<br />
<br />
Life is great though. I mean it really is. I have no complaints. Everyone is healthy. I'm healthy. Everyone seems happy enough. Everyone seems to be doing what they are supposed to be doing. It's not Winter anymore. The sun shines from time to time. The dog is still alive. I have a family who are incomparable. I can't describe their wonders, their support. Living in my pretty little doll house is easy. It's small but it's chill. There's minimal conflict at any given time, the people who live here are all very awesome. It's a safe, happy fun place to be. Messy a good deal of the time, but nurturing. I have friends. They are kind and good and true. Generous, caring, selfless and loving beyond words. There are no real worries. No true problems. Cute white picket fence town. Everything is provided for. Couldn't be easier.<br />
<br />
But my life does not seem valuable. It does not seem worthwhile. It does not seem helpful. It does not seem to be worth the pain of living it. The world in my head is often very dark and sad. My dreams are dreadful. Every night. The hardest part right now is that it's back. The darkness. C-PTSD is the name for what plagues me. Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.<br />
<br />
Last May I was practically catatonic but it was to be expected. The things that I had been through in the months just prior to that were a culmination of many many many many years of suppressed trauma and had been cataclysmic in many ways It was really the first time I was addressing my trauma. This May is pretty chill. Nothing is going down other than the good stuff. Awesome handsome, cool fun, overachiever first kid graduating with honours and a full college scholarship. Four other awesome fun etc kids. Booyah. Mother's Day. (omigod Mother's Day can we please please please just dispense of the horror of mother's day trust me when I tell you it does more harm than good to more people than not. I'm just saying.) Actually, my own Mother's Day brought every reason for gratitude and oh grateful I was. It was delightful and I was Over the top grateful. Triggered? That too. The whole week leading up to it maybe a couple of weeks. So bad. All the bad, bad feelings.<br />
<br />
Honestly, the last six months have been full of triggers. And some of the time I was a trooper through those triggers and faced them like a little champion and some of the time I did all the wrong things and pretended none of it was happening to me...lalalalalalallaaaaaaa.. After a while I "had to take a break" from therapy. I just couldn't keep digging. I felt the need for emotional independence. I just wanted to be normal, carefree, in the present. Apparently breaks are ok. They happen. I took way too long of a break. My bad. You don't quit therapy. That's a luxury that is not afforded to those who are in the early stages of dealing with unresolved C-PTSD.<br />
<br />
You guys, I don't know much about freaking anything but one thing I have learned and I know and I live every day is that TRAUMA WILL OUT. You can't DIY yourself out of it, regardless of how smart and resilient you may think you are. That MOFO will insist on being heard and the way it can be heard if you don't know what is going on is confusing and weird and insidious and very damaging to the soul. So you won't necessarily act up in the way one might expect you to. You may go about your day and be the freaking life of the freaking party all the damn time. You might smile and hold down a job and laugh a lot and throw lovely parties for your lovely children. And show up and do the things you say you will do, and run and do yoga and seem like you have it all together. More than all together. But those observing closely will sense the cracks in the facade, they will see that you aren't ok and then one day one of them will show up at your workplace and ask you with a kind and worried face how you are because they are truly worried and then maybe the dam will break and you will sob and you will sob and you will sob. Openly. Just as you have been doing as you hide in your car, the storeroom at work, the bathroom before you wash your face and touch up your makeup and go back to being "on". And then you will realize that your cover is blown. And you will wonder why you bothered with the cover at all. And then the old question that you have fought against since you were 11 or 12 years old will rise to the surface again and will coldly, boldly ask you <i>why you bother with life? </i>You are so stupid and so weak and worthless, so ridiculous and generally just so very useless. You are taking up space, and air. And time and other people's worry. Wouldn't everyone just be so much better off not having to worry about you? What a burden you are.<br />
<br />
It will tell you that in all likelihood you are much too broken to fix. The patch job that you've been doing all your life, the one that you used to reel in all these kind and unsuspecting people who unwittingly have grown to like or even love you...it's wearing off it's falling apart and there's no way to fix what has been revealed and soon they will ALL ABANDON YOU. Total abandonment is inevitable! Why wouldn't it be? Why would people stand by you while you muddle your way through this shit? To fix you will take resources, and time and concern. Which could be so much more easily channeled into so many more worthy causes. More worthy uncomplicated, undamaged people. Right? Quit while you are ahead. There's no hope. Do it to be <i>kind. </i>Do it to be kind to all the unwitting people who you cunningly made care about and now are saddled and burdened with you. Right?<br />
<br />
They tell me wrong. They tell me I'm wrong. They keep saying I'm wrong. There's a part of me that believes them.<br />
<br />
<i>Yet.</i><br />
<br />
All my life I have been motivated by being kind. I recognize that about myself. I am kind. I like that about myself. I value kindness above any other quality. Being kind is good. I'm not always kind, not by any stretch of the imagination, but ultimately, I try very hard to be. I really do. I want everyone around me, whether they love or like or even know me to be ok. I want the world to be ok. I don't want other people to feel pain or suffering. If you make kindness your primary motivation in life you can live to have a very valuable life. See Mother Theresa. You can also become very neurotic and allow yourself to become very hurt. See me. I know that. I've lived that. I've been somewhat successful in my kindness I think. I believe I have raised kind children.. But I haven't successfully extended the kindness to myself on any consistent basis.<br />
<br />
The same friend who showed up at my workplace and watched me cry and cry and cry later sent me a text with a link to a song. It had been a horrific day. Horrific.Worst of the worst. I was out of options. I was in the lowest of low places. I didn't want to listen to it. I knew that she has a very simple and very profound faith in a God that I do not have a simple faith in. I do not have good connotations with that God and I really didn't want to have anything to do with anything that would remind me of Him at that time. But! If a friend takes enough time out of their day to think of me, and send me a kind wish and then goes so far as to look up a link and send it to me in an effort to help me, well then dammit the least I can do is listen. That's just good manners. Suicidal depression aside. Good manners trumps all. I lay in my bed under my covers and listened. The song was short, it was tender and the message was simple. There was an oblique reference to God but I inserted my kind friend's face in there instead. Actually the faces of many kind people in my life flashed before me one by one.<br />
<br />
And then one line broke through the stoic ice cold numbness I had summoned to protect my fragile heart and broke it:<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">....you can't expect to be perfect, it's a fight you have to forfeit so</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">lay down your weapon, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>darling take a deep breath and believe that I love you.</i> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Be kind to yourself. Be kind to yourself.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">You've got to learn to love your enemies too.</span><br />
<br />
My breath caught. The tender nurturing simplicity of the injunction broke through my cold self loathing determination and I sobbed again. Just for a moment. I'm sorry to say that crying doesn't come easily to me because I think it can be very cathartic. I wish I cried more easily. But it was enough. Enough to break the cold clinical devastating spell of what I thought I should do and had to find the courage to do to make everything ok for everyone else.<br />
<br />
Later by some miracle, I managed to go for a run, the song rolled around on my playlist and again that same line emerged, I felt my step quicken so that I could keep my composure but again it broke me. As I ran I sobbed and sobbed. I felt humanity. I felt a tiny shred of kindness toward myself, the self that was also the enemy. Maybe not something not quite as powerful as kindness but an acknowledgment at least, that the light within me deserved to you know...not be snuffed out..... I'm not sure, to be honest how to explain how I felt. But it was something. Enough to get me through the day.<br />
<br />
Since then, I'm getting through the day. Sometimes one minute at a time, sometimes hours flow fairly effortlessly by. Generally it's a minute by minute thing.<br />
<br />
You guys I wish I had a happy spin or pretty bow for this story. I do. It seems like that would be the kind way to end this. But another line from the song, the title of this blog post which asks, "how does it end?" This war in my head. Just me against me against me?<br />
<br />
And I can't tell you. I just can't.<br />
<br />
I can tell you that:<br />
I've overcome a lot to be where I am, however tenuous that place might be I've had a part in bringing about some truly nice people into the world. And I do remember even as a young child experiencing trauma confidently innately believing that all would be well, if it had to happen to someone I was glad it was me because I'd be ok. I knew I was strong and I knew I could make bad things turn out to be good lessons. I knew it would make me kind and more compassionate.<br />
<br />
But it would appear that I forgot about myself. Compassion is supposed to be turned inwards too. I talk a pretty good game about that. But when it comes to me, I don't feel it. I don't see the point in it. I don't see much value in me. Keeping it real. Right now I see myself as infinitely disposal and dispensable, completely replaceable. But I also tell myself that while I may be dispensable, first do no harm. First be kind. Be kind where you can and give what you have. Right now, I don't have much to give. But I do know that sharing my pain in the past has been kind. People have told me it has helped them. And so I hope it does.<br />
<br />
If you can; be kind to yourself today. If you can take a deep breath darling, and lay down your weapon and just be kind to yourself today. I hope you will.<br />
xoxo<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/sYiM-sOC6nE" width="560"></iframe>Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-50780518332243323892016-04-24T20:10:00.000-04:002016-04-24T20:10:39.862-04:00Soft earth. On Being Alive.You guys, I'm alive. I mean you knew that. But here's the thing. I'm ALIVE. This is wonderful, this is exciting, this is painful, this is frightening, this is overwhelming, this is hard.<br />
<br />
Being comfortably numb (with apologies to Pink Floyd) has its benefits. It is by its very definition, comfortable. One only has to have dental work without full anesthesia to know that numbness can be a very desirable thing. It has its place. But it is no way to live.<br />
<br />
Life is really intense lately, it's been truly uncomfortable. Sometimes barely tolerable. But there have been some freaking excellent highs sprinkled in there on a consistent basis too. Having experienced comfortably numb, uncomfortably numb and flat despair. I feel privileged to feel the burn of being alive.<br />
<br />
Last night I was at a birthday party for an awesome friend. I was surrounded by wonderful friends. Life was good. There was laughing and dancing and happiness. This morning the demons woke me up. Problems seemed insurmountable and all consuming. I felt trapped and overwhelmed. I felt the numbness creeping in. I pictured soft earth, burrowing myself into it, curling up fetal, shutting it all out. No decisions to make, no dilemmas to solve, no painful conversations to have, no uncertainty, no anger, no insecurity, no more questions, no more feelings. Appealing. Bury it. Shut it all down.<br />
<br />
A run was in order. I knew it. The weather is impeccable. Had to happen. But I weighed 10,000 lbs and the weakness in my limbs was profound . Extreme emotional exhaustion was my self diagnosis. It's more draining than the longest run I've ever done. I sat at the entrance to the woods willing myself to get out of the car and run. But I just felt heavier and heavier and more and more tired, the soft earth fantasy was more and more appealing. I pictured myself going home, going up to my room. pulling the blankets over my head and falling asleep. But sleep is never really a great escape for me. I dream constantly and vividly. So that kind of sucks. I feel myself detaching watching myself slipping back into the place I have clawed my way out of. <br />
<br />
Defeated, I put my car into reverse and started backing out. I saw another car waiting to get out, so pulled forward again. I caught sight of the driver. It was a young guy, he smiled and gave me a friendly wave. He looked alive and happy, he had just been in the woods, in the fresh air and sunshine. I wanted to feel like that. I didn't want the soft earth to cover me. I pulled back into my parking spot. I made a playlist. I named it Kirsty Kicks Ass.<br />
<br />
I dragged my 10,000 lb body out of the car, my weak limbs trailed along behind me. I cranked up my music. I told my legs to run. I thought about the conversations I have had this weekend. I thought about the friends I have.<br />
<br />
I thought of my beautiful brave friend who has endured more shit than anyone deserves to, who encourages me even as she struggles. I thought of her echoing my question emphatically, "why is it so hard to LIVE?". How validated I felt at that moment. I thought of my friend who always reminds me that I'm in charge of my own life, who says, "I get it" and 100% does. I thought of my friend who is going through the hardest time of her life and continues to be a rock. I thought of the friends who freely express confidence in me and love for me. I thought of my son who told me<br />"mom you are so awesome" as I left the house. My pace increases. The limbs stop feeling weak. I think about how hard life is for every single person I know, how we are all connected in suffering. Health problems, money problems, kid problems, lonely marriages, unrequited love, insecurities, feelings we are not at liberty to express, I think about how good it feels to laugh, I think about how lucky I am to have people in my life who make me laugh every day. As I run I feel the soft earth under my feet. It is springy, it launches me forward. It is good to be alive,<br />
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<br />Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-91391726317131101722016-03-21T12:21:00.002-04:002016-03-21T15:42:09.501-04:00An Open Letter To My Formerly Depressed SelfSo it’s been a while since I posted here and recently I’ve had several
queries regarding getting back to it. I didn’t feel a pressing need for some
reason, I didn’t feel I had a lot to say and thought maybe the blog had finally
reached it’s natural and final resting place. But over the weekend a friend of
mine who has been valiantly fighting (and winning) a battle against depression
mentioned to me that seeing my progress back into a happy and functional life as
snippets on social media has been inspiring and comforting. <br />
I came back to the blog and saw where I left off and felt like it definitely
warranted an addendum. Time is of the essence and I’m trying to beat my “if I
can’t do this perfectly I won’t do it at all” tendencies so this update won’t be
a literary masterpiece but I’m hoping that it will be of some small glimmer of
hope to anyone swirling around the hideous abyss right now. Much love and
strength being sent from me to you.<br />
<br />
Without further ado (actually I’m coming back to this more than a week later
so I guess there was indeed further ado…oh well!)<br />
Hey K<br />
So it’s a few months in the future and I’m writing this from the very spot
where you lie now. Omigosh, NO! Sorry! Sorry! Didn’t mean to alarm! No, no,
don’t end it all. JUST KEEP READING goshdammit! I have the best news!<br />
Here it is.<br />
It’s late March 2016 and I’m not the hollow eyed staring blankly at the wall
shell of the person you feel like now. I haven’t been for quite some time now.
Like months and months! It gets better you poor little thing. I promise.
<em>Promise.</em> No, no, I’m not being condescending. I truly feel so, so
tender toward you, you are going through <em>hell </em>right now and you have
been there and back countless times before but this time is different I think we
both know. This time was a watershed hellacious event for you. And…drumroll
please….I’m so excited and proud to tell you that even though you don’t feel
remotely like a trooper, you <em>totally</em> are, and you are closer than you
know to digging yourself out of that awful dark place you have every right to be
in. You should know that. You have earned this breakdown that you are having.
Every bit of it. Feel not one ounce of shame about it. It’s not your fault. You
don’t deserve it at all but the fact that you have shut everything down for a
season is hundreds. It’s a good thing you have done. Coming from a brain and a
body that is wiser than you know and finally decided that enough was enough. And
it is totally necessary to the process of putting you back together again.<br />
<br />
And darling, when that happens? It’s going to be fabulous. Read on, read
on.<br />
.<br />
So here’s the scenario since you like to be able to picture future events
with solid clarity:<br />
I’m dressed in my running clothes. I just dropped Ella at school. On the way
there we sang at the top of our voices and laughed and laughed. Every morning I
let her pick a song for us to sing on the way to school. Do you remember when it
just used to summon every ounce of strength you had to get her there. It’s
totally no big deal now. We dance and laugh through the morning routine. She
even dresses herself now! You totally aren’t stressed about stuff like
socks matching and this just so and that so. You’re almost normal now in fact.
And good news is she’s knocking it out of the park. Mostly. When we got there we
raced to her locker and giggled. On the way out of the door to the car, we
stopped and gasped in delight at the little blue flowers that are making their
way up through the flower beds on our pretty front path. I felt giddy joy at
the warmth of the air and the daffodils just beginning to sprout. Spring. It
eventually comes every time. (And then of course it bloody well snows on the
daffodils but let’s not dwell on that right now…moving on)<br />
<br />
Look baby shoes, I know you feel like you have no future. That you will never
have the strength to do anything but lie in that bed, ever again but it’s not
true! I do all kinds of things now. I went for a long run in the rain
yesterday. It was fun and easy. I love running again. I love yoga, my body
feels like mine again. (I’m sorry to inform you that we’re even training for a
marathon, I know. I know. But we must. It’s good for us to have challenges. Ok
we will talk more about that later. Shhhhhhh….shhhhhh….just keep reading.)<br />
I know you feel like you will never be able to do anything meaningful or
productive again, that you have no stamina, no staying power, there is no way
for you to know how you will feel from one moment to the next so you can’t
commit to anything. You can’t be relied upon. You have nothing to
contribute. It’s totally okay that you feel like that right now because this is
the time for you to just heal and focus on you. You are right. You
absolutely don’t have anything to contribute to the rest of the world at this
moment in time because the job that you are doing is immense and mammoth and
incredibly hard. But you are actually nailing it, just lying there in bed,
dragging yourself to stupid freaking therapy which feels like the biggest waste
of time and money ever (it’s not by the way, just keep going, therapy is going
to change everything for you).<br />
Ok so I know this is totally going to be hard to swallow but it’s just a few
months later, and we are firing on all cylinders. I have a job that is fun and
meaningful to me . I get out of bed and I go to it just like normal people do.
Even when I don’t particularly feel like it. You have bad days and good days,
let’s keep it real here. There have been a couple of seriously triggering events
that have unraveled me for a few hours but not rendered me dysfunctional for
days. I have had plenty of flashes of huge rage, innumerable moments of
crushing grief, thoughts of “what if and if only” pangs of regret, and
just..pure sadness but they don’t envelop me anymore, I don’t spiral down into
them when they arrive. I acknowledge them and think about them, often I talk
about them to trusted loved ones, and then I get on with my day and focus on my
life now and in the future.<br />
Oh honey. I know. Your sweet kids, thinking about them right now fills you
with a sense of shame and guilt. You feel like a terrible, terrible mother! What
are you doing to them? They are going to be so scarred and damaged seeing you
like this. You are so useless and so empty. You love them with everything in
your broken self, but you can’t bear to be with their high energy for more than
a few minutes at time. They are like a bright light shining directly in your
eyes in the middle of the night. It’s too much. You physically can’t deal with
the demands of motherhood that used to come completely naturally and without
thought. The job you were born to do feels like it has been taken away from
you and there’s nothing you can do to stop it happening. But none of that is
true. Oh I know you are so, so sad. You believe that things will never be the
same between you and them. It’s just not true.<br />
<br />
I’m thrilled to inform you that the kids are fine! Better than fine. The
kids are actually fantastic (right now that is, you know how I feel about
jinxing these things.) But seriously girl, you totally need to give them more
credit. Those kids have coping mad coping skillz ! Consider your own! (Trust
me, I know this is virtually impossible to believe, but in time you’re actually
going to realize that you have been pretty amazing in the coping skills
department all your life, why shouldn’t they be too?) And as you know, they’ve
got some solid stuff from their dad too. They are pretty resilient kids. It’s
all good. Once I started getting better I had lots of frank talks with them.
They each told me in their own way and without mincing words how much it sucked
when I was sick. How worried they were. I felt so honoured that they would
share that pain with me. So relieved. I said I was really sorry about how it
made them feel. That I had been worried about them too. I told them that it
wasn’t their fault. I told them that it wasn’t my/your fault either. I told them
what I had learned. I asked them what they had learned. I realized that all
of us had come away with an increase in compassion and a decrease in judgment.
Now they come to me when they are concerned about their friends. They ask me to
help them. They know the signs of depression, they know how scary it is, they
know it can be beaten. When they are anxious or sad I feel so much better
equipped to help them. You thought you were aces at that before. Not to be
mean sweetie, but actually you kind of sucked. You/I am much better at it now
though. Still far from perfect. I screw up all the time. But there’s a
hugely improved sense of gauging how much to intervene, what to say, when to
insist they push themselves harder, when to be a soft place to land when to just
shut the hell up for a change. I’m a much more confident mother than I was
before. A much less controlling mother. I trust and respect them to be able to
handle their lives because I trust myself so much more. Everyone is a lot
happier with the dynamics. Being with my kids is mostly just about having fun
again. We have our moments but they are few and far between. It’s easy. We’re
in another one of those Golden Ages you love so much. Lots of laughing, joking,
loud music, dancing. Being with them and their friends is a blast. I love every
moment of it. It’s still like the bright sun but you won’t have to shield your
eyes from that anymore, you’ll be shining too.<br />
<br />
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<i>(I love you Gracie I just can't get the pic of you and me to post ;) </i><br />
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<br />
Speaking of trust. I know that right now the world seems like a dark and
terrifying place. That almost nobody cares about you, only a tiny percentage of
the people you know can be trusted and you are pretty sure they are going to let
you down and abandon you at any moment. You don’t want to be with people, you
don’t want to interact. For one thing, everybody sucks. Also, it all seems so
pointless. Such a sham. Friendships are shallow and meaningless. When the chips
are down people will ditch you. <br />
But here we are and they are still there for you. And they were all along.
Some of the people you expected to step up, didn’t. Maybe they were scared,
maybe it was too close for home for them, maybe they were just overwhelmed with
their own shit. Life is hard sometimes for everyone. Maybe they were really
agonizing for you but had no idea what to say and were frightened of making it
worse. Maybe they really didn’t give you a passing thought. None of that matters
much to you now. But in a good way. I’m learning to manage my expectations of
other people. To realize that not everything is about me. I know that sounds
harsh but I mean it is in the kindest way. Truly. It’s made you me infinitely
happier and quite a bit more chill. It’s true what you always tell your kids.
People really aren’t as interested in you as you seem to think they are. But
they do care, they have good intentions. Sometimes people are just busy or
insensitive, just like you are. We’re all doing our best. It’s cool. It’s all
good. <br />
Here’s what you are <em>never</em> going to believe. You will<em> love</em>
people again! Soon! (Ok, let’s be real..I love <em>most </em>of them. Ok let’s
be more real. I love <em>plenty</em> of them. Some of them I just can’t figure
the hell out as hard as I try and others are Donald Trump, bless his disturbed
heart. Our whole zen and compassion for all mankind thing is still very much a
work in progress. But mostly? I can’t get enough of people. We give parties, we
go to parties, we go out all the time. In the last several months we have made
plenty of new friends and reconnected with old ones. You will cherish and enjoy
your existing friends more than you ever did. I don’t have time to worry or
invest energy agonizing about the relationships that aren’t healthy or
satisfying. Life is full and and busy and some days are just crap. Plenty of
moments are total effing crap. But overall it’s fun. And often when it’s not
fun I successfully find ways to make it more fun. Remember? You are
actually really good at figuring out how to have fun, bringing a sense of
occasion to the mix, helping others to have fun. That’s one of your best
things, your defining traits, and it’s alive and kicking again for the first
time in…wow….quite a long, long while! You are going to love it when you see
that part of you again.<br />
I still enjoy being alone and gain strength and energy from that time but
it’s not like a 99% alone to 1% interactive critical need anymore. Maybe an
80/20 in favour of actually being with people. Can you even imagine that? I
know. Hard to fathom. It’s true though.<br />
Oh and speaking of fun you’re going to love this one. <br />
You spend an inordinate amount of time laughing again. Laughing! Your
favourite! Wait, do you even remember what laughing feels like? No? Oh honey.
I’m so sorry. Well I’ll remind you…because that’s coming back again soon and
it’s so great. It comes bubbling up through your whole body and comes bursting
out through your mouth and makes you feel warm and tingly and happy. Genuine
laughter feels like the sun rising deep inside of you and its rays spreading out
to surround every part of you inside and out. Laughing along with other people?
Now <em>there’s</em> pure magic! There are so many things to laugh about. I
mean like a never-ending supply of funny things. You have<em> incredibly</em>
funny friends and family. You are so lucky. In fact, you spend a lot of time
trying <em>not</em> to laugh at inappropriate moments as you remember some of
those funny things. Your brain is no longer wired to ruminate on frightening or
traumatic events. It’s not in a constant state of fight or flight anymore. It’s
freed up to enjoy life a lot more. It’s rediscovering it’s natural wiring for
love and generosity and music and fun, connections with others, humour and
pleasure. Doesn’t that sound kind of fabulous? It is. It so is. Life is
actually beautiful. (And ugly and hard but also beautiful, always. You’ll
see.)<br />
Thanks for hanging in there girl, it’s almost over. I owe you big.<br />
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox<br />
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<br />Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-43614199736375671972015-11-16T17:38:00.001-05:002015-11-16T18:58:03.003-05:00Swimming to the other side. A brief update on surviving PTSD and an invitation to hear me ramble.<p><a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-3nbsWM4lcN0/VkpayDWSWGI/AAAAAAAAg5Q/TNDhjTaEb4A/s1600-h/IMG_7758%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_7758" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline" border="0" alt="IMG_7758" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-EILC7h_qkQo/VkpayxGNNUI/AAAAAAAAg5U/FVAulJGtXLo/IMG_7758_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="594" height="594" /></a> <a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-kAOK474W-P8/VkpazIio2hI/AAAAAAAAg5c/s-xg_I4tlrw/s1600-h/IMG_7769%25255B6%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_7769" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline" border="0" alt="IMG_7769" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Pr9fuWDlZj4/Vkpazz_P2dI/AAAAAAAAg5k/7HBnKPAgwM4/IMG_7769_thumb%25255B4%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="600" height="600" /></a>    </p> <p>Friends! <a href="http://www.momedysketch.com/2015/09/the-post-i-am-now-posting.html" target="_blank">I promised the “I’m not suicidal anymore” update</a> quite some time ago. In fact I promised it by days end of that very day in September. And I <em>dutifully</em> and <em>feverishly</em> wrote it that very day in September. And then I presented it to my husband with a flourish, and he got that expression he gets when he desperately wants to be supportive but he has <em>reservations.</em> His expression and his carefully weighed words basically said to me, “honey you may feel better but you are coming across as pretty whack right now and your tome is confusing as hell”. </p> <p>So I decided to sleep on it…for like a month. I reread it today and I still think there’s some good stuff but it’s just so jolly LONG. I need to edit. Edit I must. But that takes time and I’m chronically short of that stuff!</p> <p>However! HOWEVER. Here’s something! This Thursday I will be <em>talking</em> about it online for anyone who wants to listen. One of my oldest and dearest friends, the famous and esteemed <a href="http://heathermadder.com/" target="_blank">Heather Madder</a> has invited me to chat a bit about my story, about how I got from there to here. (Here is really good. I’m liking here.  Life is definitely worth living at this juncture.)  Heather reached out to me in a big way during the very depths of my darkness. She understood it from first hand experience and shared such wise and tender advice. She helped me more than she will ever know. </p> <p>When I was emerging from the darkness I commented on how much I had learned from this experience to which she responded:</p> <p>“You learn a lot about life from the dark underbelly of it, pain is the price but it’s high-quality learning.”</p> <p>Aint that the truth baby, ‘aint that the truth. </p> <p>Anyway this Thursday at 2pm EST we will be chatting about my journey and the vast arsenal of tools I have been using to get through it.  I want to chat a bit about my experience with how trauma was affecting my day to day life for decades (without me having a clue), those insidious emotional triggers which mess everything up until you figure out what they are, and how I’m learning to leave the past behind and live my happy life now. (Hooray!)</p> <p><a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-xLSQeerpGdM/Vkpa0XYYWrI/AAAAAAAAg5s/36sS1HT2_OU/s1600-h/IMG_7776%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_7776" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline" border="0" alt="IMG_7776" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-RvgUihO7SOk/Vkpa05-zZvI/AAAAAAAAg50/ccHnVxhaqek/IMG_7776_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="676" height="676" /></a></p> <p>As well as being one of the wisest and kindest and bravest survivors ever, Heather is the queen of essential oils, (like she’s a bona fide oil celeb) and since using essential oils has been a large (and psychiatrist encouraged) part of my recovery, she is going to be throwing in some freebies to listeners. She’s incredibly generous and genuine this friend of mine, so if listening to my dulcet tones (with more South African accent than usual thanks to my sister’s recent visit) and Heather’s infectious laugh (it’s like aural prozac) isn’t enough of an incentive, I invite you to join us for the freebies, she’ll even tailor them for your particular issues.   </p> <p><strong>Please note though: This chat <em>won’t </em>be an informational session re: essential oils but if you are interested in them she can give you all the info and help you with all you could possibly need afterwards</strong>. </p> <p><strong>Click on the link below to register to join us.</strong> I have a feeling it’s going to be fairly hilarious despite the heavy subject matter. </p> <p><a title="https://www.anymeeting.com/AccountManager/RegEv.aspx?PIID=EC52DC86824E3D" href="https://www.anymeeting.com/AccountManager/RegEv.aspx?PIID=EC52DC86824E3D"><strong>https://www.anymeeting.com/AccountManager/RegEv.aspx?PIID=EC52DC86824E3D</strong></a></p> <p>* The title of this post alludes to a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HzSOGubomXs" target="_blank">song</a> I heard this Spring which is very meaningful to me. </p> <p>** The pictures refer to the song and were taken in Cape Town, South Africa, my all time happy place and they feature some of my all time fav people swimming to the other side, and helping each other along the way.  I was just looking through my files for a pretty uplifting pic and came upon these almost immediately. Could it be more perfect?! I think not. </p> <p>***Now I’ve ruined it by being all obvious about it and explaining stuff. I just can’t help myself. </p> <p>See (hear?) you soon I hope! Kisses..</p> Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-25754110537504899962015-09-30T10:10:00.001-04:002015-09-30T12:11:25.034-04:00The Post I am Now PostingA while ago I <a href="http://www.momedysketch.com/2015/09/about-post-im-not-postingyet.html" target="_blank">posted About the Post I was not yet Posting</a>. I decided to not to hit publish then, because as I explained, I was still far too close to those feelings for comfort, and I wanted to protect my kids from reading about them on some rando mom blog (that would be mine, by the way, not some grandiose idea of this going viral haha- but I’m pretty sure that’s how they view what I do here, which is totally ok by me). <br />
I was also taking into account the wisdom of my therapist who knew I had the coping resources of a freshly skinned newborn kitten and would not necessarily be up for the wisdom of the internet when it came as it so often does, in the guise of passive aggressive or even openly aggressive, bullshit. <br />
However today is not that day. Today is Sept 30th, the last day of September which is also the last day of <a href="https://www.nami.org/suicideawarenessmonth/hp" target="_blank">Suicide Prevention Awareness Month</a> (as if that month shouldn’t be every month but let’s pretend that focusing on saving people’s lives should be relegated into months as we do, and move along here). Some people whom I hold to be my most wise and trusted friends, those who have lived through the feelings I have described either themselves or as a partner to someone who has, read my unsanitized version of my blog (or what I am about to post) and felt strongly that it should see the light of day. They felt that someone would be helped by it. I sent it out to a few folk who personally asked and their feedback indicated the same. <br />
In the last month I have been seen to by a highly skilled psychiatrist who did a slew of bloodwork and genetic testing and came up with a suitable medication for my brain and body chemistry. I have continued to see my excellent therapist twice a week. I have had the energy (thanks to the medication) to practice self care through exercise of various kinds and meditation of various kids and I am in a completely different place. I have been bursting to write about that part of my journey and today is the day. It hasn’t all been wine and roses by any means but it’s been good and it’s a ****must read sequel to this part***. Especially if you’re in the dark place right now, friend. I’ll have that part up by the end of the day. Please be sure to read it.<br />
And here's the Post I'm Now Posting.<br />
Originally titled: My Sucky Summer. Or Living with PTSD Part 1 or Why I wish I Had Cancer. By Kirsty, aged 39 and a bunch of months. * who forewarned, now swears like a sailor on the blog too, not just in front of everyone in real life.<br />
Oh hey, how are you? Me? Oh pretty much suicidal most days. No I’m not exaggerating. Almost every day I feel like ending it all. I consider it in detail most days. Do a little research regarding methods on the internet. Then I realize that I have 5 kids who are working their asses off to have awesome futures, and a husband and I’m really freaked out by the idea of giving them PTSD, or being a vegetable in a hospital for them to take care of and that I’m basically a chicken. I tell you what, a good clean suicide is a lot harder to pull of than you’d think. Especially without a gun in the house. <br />
So yeah. Turns out I’ve been living with PTSD for oh probably about 30 years. It got really bad about 20 years ago when I was forced to come to terms with the significant trauma I had experienced at the worst possible time to do so. That in itself was really traumatic and things really snowballed. But all things considered I’ve done pretty well of playing the part of a semi functional person. From time to time it flares up so that it’s super obvious that I’m dealing with something serious and the symptoms are clear to anyone with any type of psych background. The rest of the time I’m just uptight, neurotic, cranky or just “crazy” enough to make other people feel better about themselves and roll their eyes and say “oh good god here she goes again” on their group texts. At those times I seem really thin-skinned or I freak out when I perceive that my kids are being left out of stuff or slighted in any way. I seem to be easily offended and hyper-sensitive when in fact I’m just revisiting (totally out of context which is the confusing part) the traumas that left me with major abandonment issues. Funnily, I have never recognized any of my “sensitivity” as abandonment issues at all until recently. Thanks therapy.) Until recently I just thought I was a fuck up. Now I know that I am <em>indeed</em> a fuck up but that I have good reason to be. It’s not entirely comforting actually. Read: in no way is it comforting. ( It is comforting IN NO WAY).<br />
So! I have so much to tell you about what it’s like to live with this shit and realize that your whole life has pretty much been limited and compromised because of the “bad choices” of other people, but the part that inspired me to fire up the old Lenova with the broken hinges (thanks kids) today is this. A conversation with my friend about Why I Wish I had Cancer. Said friend’s dad recently died of cancer and she was like, “yeah I’m pretty sure you don’t” and so then I explained why she was wrong, and how oh indeed I did.<br />
Before I go any further I’ll mention that I’m closing comments on this one because honestly I have no emotional reserves for haters and morons, so if you or your loved one has/had cancer let me just say, I’m so sorry. I think that sucks rocks. Worse than rocks. Boulders. Fuck that. I hate it for you. Also while I spent some a brief but devastating time nursing my dear mother in law when she had terminal cancer, I’ve never had cancer myself, so yes I’m talking out of my ass here but in the never-ending suicidal fantasy that is my life<em> this</em> is why I currently wish I had cancer.<br />
1. When you have cancer you can talk about it openly. When people you don’t know particularly well but well enough say, “how are you?” you can say, “oh didn’t you hear, I have cancer! So basically I’m shitty! The fact that I’m here at work shows that I’m a real little hero actually. Yes, I know, thanks.<br />
When you have mental illness you don’t get to be that candid. You need to take into account whether or not the person you are talking to will judge you for such a disclosure. Are they from a generation that discounts mental illness as being a whiny little pansy, are they freaked out to let you care for their kids if they find out you’d rather be dead…if your kids knew you were telling this particular person about your struggles would they be embarrassed or ashamed.<br />
2. You generally get prompt care. I’ve been suicidal pretty much every day since May. I finally get to see a psychiatrist this Thursday. I’m lucky that my insurance covers a psychiatrist.<br />
3. When you have cancer and you lie in bed all day and you can’t do stuff like talk to other people or even have the TV on or even have your bedroom door open, you can tell your kids the sad news and they know the fact that you lie in bed all day and can’t do stuff like you used to (like be in the same room as them), is not because you don’t love them but because you are super sick. <br />
4. When you have cancer I imagine your community rallies around you. If you are a mom with many kids and stuff there’s a good chance you have meal trains going and such. When you have mental illness the few friends you confide in assume you want to keep that shit in the inner circle (because often you do) so they are left running ragged trying to support you all by their lonesomes. In time most of them will stop checking in with you very often because listening to your endless flow of negativity is depressing/draining/scary/boring as hell. Also because they can see that you have the coping skills of a maimed bunny, your friends stop telling you about their lives and problems, which makes you acutely aware of how useless and ridiculous you are, and since the whole point of friendship is the reciprocal sharing of lives and problems they find new friends who aren’t you.<br />
Ok so yeah. I imagine that there is a good chance that most of your friendships deteriorate or end when you have cancer too. Like I say, I’ve never had it but I’d imagine that it happens for the same reasons listed above. However since there is not shame/stigma/people calling what you are going through your own fault (that’s a whole other post) or just plain bullshit, involved, the community part keeps the logistical wheels on so that your spouse and one or two remaining friends aren’t drowning in trying to keep you from killing yourself as well as getting your millions of kids to soccer practice on time.<br />
5. When you have cancer, I’m pretty sure nobody tells you that you’d be a lot better off if you’d just learn to let the anger go, if you stopped wasting your energy on feeling betrayed by your body. Ok wait, I bet there are plenty of assholes who tell people with cancer that shit. Screw ‘em. <br />
When you’re dealing with my shit though most (not all) but most people, even the most kind and enlightened of them, even those who have dealt with depression but just a different kind or aren’t currently dealing with depression..think that what you are dealing with is somehow a tiny bit within your control and that your attitude has a part to play in the whole thing. I mean they are all for counseling and meds and stuff but they also think you should be fighting harder or differently.<br />
To which I say, bull fucking shit. <br />
Every single day of the last 4 months I have meant to contact a friend I had who was going through an epic depressive event a couple of years ago to tell her how sorry I am for what I did to her. During her hideous battle I was really “there” for her. I spent hours texting with her, often neglecting meals or family in order to “help” her. I gave her all kinds of advice and pep talks. I was totally in her corner. If I could go back in time I would punch my lights out and once I was down, I’d kick myself in the boobs. I was a stupid bitch. <br />
I have no doubt that I made her feel worse about herself more than I made her feel better. Instead of just saying, “I am so sorry, what can I do?” or just showing up with a treat or to hold her hand, I gave her pious little pep talks. I made her go for walks with me even though she didn’t want to. I constantly chronicled her blessings, explained how much worse off she could be. I impatiently exhorted her to get therapy even though she had no insurance and she’d had a terrible experience with therapy. When she went off her drugs I got mad at her and made no bones about it. Eventually our relationship grew distant. I think we were mutually burned out by each other. I bet she felt 1000 Percent better without me in her life. Me, the chronically depressed person who was also getting her masters in mental health counseling. Me who of anybody SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER. In the words of Sarah Bareilles, I was “so busy making maps with (her) name on it in all caps, (I) had the talking down, just not the listening”. I’m sorry friend. I sucked. I hope you are much better.<br />
6. I imagine that when you have cancer it’s easier to accept help. This one is linked to the community support thing listed above but it’s coming from the other angle. When you are drained from chemo you <em>know</em> that you have just had deadly chemicals pumped into your body until you are mostly dead and that you can’t deal with your preschooler without some help and there’s no shame in taking friends up on their offers to help. <br />
When you have mental illness and your nerves literally feel like they are on the outside of your skin and the sound of your preschooler or anybody else really is like being tazered, you don’t feel as entitled to relief. So you turn down offers of help from sensitive friends, your kid watches a lot of TV. Your family eats a lot of take out. <br />
My therapist asked me if I found it easier to accept help when I was physically ill and I looked at her like, “er YEAH”. She prescribed solitude and rest several times a day and it was such a relief to have a professional say that’s what I needed but it still didn’t empower me to call friends and say, “so yeah, I need to take to my bed for my “nerves” several times a day like some fucking Jane Austen character, do you think you could take on my kid for the next month or so on top of your own stressful life?”<br />
6. Cancer often ends in death and when it does, nobody talks about how selfish and cowardly you were and your family doesn’t have to go around feeling angry, ashamed, defensive, abandoned and betrayed as well as grief stricken. I’ll probably end up being the most dysfunctional 100 year old who ever lived.Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-10521103532117545562015-09-11T15:05:00.001-04:002015-09-11T15:14:46.533-04:00Goodbye Bummer Summer or Living with PTSD Part 2 (The Rage Stage)Thank you so much for the really kind feedback re: <a href="http://www.momedysketch.com/2015/09/about-post-im-not-postingyet.html" target="_blank">part 1.</a>  To those who asked for the the “raw and unedited” version, I’m pretty sure I got it to you all but if you asked and I didn’t send please let me know. <br />It’s hurt my heart to learn how many of us are suffering in so many different but very real ways,  but your stories and your courage have made me feel so much less alone and that’s a gift I can’t even begin to express adequate thanks for. Thank you for your trust and your honesty. I’m rooting for you more than you know. <br />Labour day has come and gone and as everyone starts contemplating the change of season and all the excitement that it brings, I can’t help but be transported in very surreal way to last year this time when we were preparing to leave Ohio, “for good” (in both senses of that phrase).  It seems like yesterday and a hundred years ago.  Holy smokes, what a year it has been.  I remember driving around town last year as the trees changed and the light changed, as November 1st approached.. being in a constant state of panic and excitement and dread and thrill.  But at the foundation of it  all was a resolute sense that I was doing what needed to be done. <br />It’s impossible to explain the emotional intensity and enormity of this past year and the cataclysmic impact it has made on every facet of my life.  It would take days to even begin to describe the harrowing that has been going on, the depth of the toxic soil that has been turned over and  the healing that has begun, the perspectives that have changed, the bridges that have been built.. and burned.  <br />I have wondered time and again whether the whole South Africa thing was the most epic mistake I’ve ever made (since I drove the bus on this decision for our family) or the most vital and wise thing I have ever done for myself and my family.   I wonder if it’s going too far to imagine that I knew somewhere deep in my sub-conscious what would result in my personal life from that adventure? I don’t know. The more I learn about our brilliant brains the more I’m struck by how little we give them credit for. <br />Honestly? The person I was a year ago would have recoiled in absolute horror at the outcome, at the suffering that has resulted for me personally, my family and my closest friends.  What I pictured happening has become in reality the polar opposite. The person I was then would have aborted mission for sure. <br />But if I had to do it all again as the person I am now,  I’d still flinch but I’d like to believe that I’d set my teeth and go through with it.  The person I am now is  Cameron in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, sitting in his car, realizing that resistance is futile, punching the seat saying, “I’ll go…I’ll go, I’ll go….<em>SHIT!”  </em> <br /><iframe height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/rIqWSPUh2rY" frameborder="0" width="420" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen"></iframe> <br /> <br />As shitty and angry and  incredibly painful and messed up as life has been for the last many months, I’ve been promised (and I’m getting closer to believing)  that it’s like when you have to make a huge mess of your bedroom to clean out your cupboards.  It sucks for a while and you can’t find your bed and you wish you’d never even opened the closet doors at all but deep down you know that it will be a lot nicer once the dust settles and all the clothes have been weeded through, some discarded, the others properly folded. Or something like that. As a disciple of <a href="http://tidyingup.com/" target="_blank">KonMari</a> this is the analogy I’m working with right now. <br />Speaking of cleaning up the mess. I got to see a psychiatrist last week. Finally. That was enlightening to say the least. I’ve always understood the role of the psychiatrist and how much it differs from the psychologist but I was unprepared for how much clinical information I would glean and gosh, I found it fascinating.  Oh if only I were (much, much, <em>much)</em> smarter I would be a psychiatrist.  He explained to me how my brain  has been rewired by trauma, how the neurotransmitters have been jacked up, how this affects my core endocrine system. How my body is programmed to stay awake and alert. How random little things are perceived as an “attack” how this affects me on every level, biologically, emotionally, socially even mentally. How the myriad of disorders, symptoms and problems I have dealt with most of my life are not as they would seem,  and how all of them can quite directly be linked back to and covered by the umbrella of PTSD. This of course was in many ways, a relief.  And in other ways it caused me blinding rage. Let’s just say I entered the “anger” phase of my grief cycle this week. My sweet husband barely remembers a time when I didn’t express myself almost solely in expletives.  In the last week my heart has shrunk three sizes and I’ve become cold and ruthless. For sure the anger has been a nice change from the depression, it will get a girl out of bed but it’s not without its drawbacks. It’s not like the girl is particularly happy to be out of bed, or much fun to be around, ya know? <br />Dr. Psych also prescribed a med. My situation is complicated because the one med I could <em>really</em> use for my emotions is not going to play nicely with my jacked up body which my emotions probably messed up in the first place. Gah. Is that irony? I never know.  In lieu of such a med he prescribed yoga twice a day. For the rest of my life. He’s pretty adamant that we will see appreciable changes in my blood work from a strict yoga protocol.  He was also hugely supportive of using essential oils.   So we’ve got all our bases covered. I liked that. <br />The one med he did give me though is no joke. It makes me sick and spacey,  but most importantly people…..it’s also making me even FATTER THAN I ALREADY AM from the ineffective meds I’ve been taking! That’s a big disappointment because these meds aren’t supposed to cause weight gain. But it’s like when I’m pregnant and I can’t stop puking ,but I also can’t stop eating because it sort of helps with the pukiness.  And again…cue…..RAGE.  I AM SICK OF BEING FAT.  I don’t want to be on drugs! But I’m even more sick of being depressed and completely useless so I guess fat it is. #alltheswearwords.   PS: All this fussing over weight may sound shallow to you but the weight gain over the course of this last year has been a real blow to my sense of identity and disassociation with life right now.  This is not about vanity it’s about the fact that I don’t feel like <em>me.</em> <br />Here’s a few links for stuff that I am finding helpful through this journey. <br />A very easy to read article explaining <a href="http://www.pete-walker.com/flashbackManagement.htm" target="_blank">Complex PTSD and Emotional Flashbacks</a> shared with me by a dear friend who is also psychologist. I can’t begin to explain how helpful this has been in identifying my triggers and working through them. <br />Said friend also highly recommends <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Healing-Trauma-Survivors-Understanding-Reclaiming/dp/1600940617/ref=sr_1_8?ie=UTF8&qid=1441996994&sr=8-8&keywords=ptsd" target="_blank">this book</a> which I have bought but not yet read so I can’t vouch for the book but I can vouch for the wisdom of the friend. <br />I only did this <a href="https://youtu.be/8axJiJSVwjA" target="_blank">yoga for PTSD routine</a> once but it was good.  Very intense but good. I feel like I need the discipline of a time and a place to go and do yoga but maybe as my motivation and willpower grows I will be able to force myself to do this in between those times. <br />I use <a href="http://sleepstream.explosiveapps.com/" target="_blank">this app</a> to help me to sleep and wake up. I notice a big difference in my ability to fall and stay asleep when I use it versus when I don’t.  It also has beats for mood lifting, relaxation, meditation, learning, energy etc. I don’t know how legit it is but it helps me to sleep for sure. I used to see getting enough sleep as a luxury and did not place much of a priority on it at all but now I take sleep extremely seriously. I will do/cancel/take whatever I need to do to get enough of it or I’m sunk.  When I think about it, that’s some major progress in self-care and I’m going to give myself props for it. Friends, if nothing else, make sleep a priority. Life is just too hard to do sleep deprived. <br />I want to end this with a rallying cry or a word of hope and optimism but that just seems disingenuous right now. I will say that I’m feeling better. There’s definite progress. I can almost feel little frissons of excitement for stuff. Not quite but almost. I’m cautiously and curiously optimistic. I am hanging in to see how things progress. Love to you all. Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-33634394557074136962015-09-02T21:44:00.001-04:002015-09-02T21:49:27.569-04:00About the Post I’m Not Posting…yet<p>Hello gentle readers. It’s been a while. At least on screen. I’ve been very prolific though. Since the last time I have posted, I have written a blog post almost every day. In my head. Every time I went for a run, I composed at least 3 of them. Finally this week a conversation I had with a friend motivated me to crack open the latest incarnation of Frankenputer (have I mentioned that my kids destroy computers with annoying regularity and I don’t like it?) Anyway I cobbled my laptop together and out came flowing a blog post. It felt good. It felt concrete, purposeful and powerful.  Three feelings I haven’t felt in rather a while.</p> <p>I gave the draft to Aaron to read. He had scanned the page for less than three seconds when he remarked, quite neutrally, as Aaron does, “Oh! Tourettes!”  The post I wrote was, shall we say, <em>raw. </em></p> <p>I was all set to send that sucker live, consequences be damned,  but contrary to my contrary nature of late, I  had abided by the advice my therapist had given me to “maybe keep any blog posts of that nature in the a drafts folder until you stabilize or at least until you sleep on it”.  </p> <p>By the cold light of morning I <em>still </em>wanted to hit publish, I honestly think that post could help a lot of people. There wasn’t a big airing of dirty laundry or anything particularly juicy or radical. But it was written from a place of pure emotion. Fearlessly, totally uncensored and from a rational yet deep and dark place of pain and suffering and hopelessness.  </p> <p>Because I believe that our honesty in suffering is the greatest gift we can give each other, I decided this one was not going to languish in drafts.  People going through what I’m going through (Complex PTSD) need to know that they aren’t alone in that, and those who are living with people going through it need to better understand what they are going through so that they can help and also protect themselves from utter annihilation in the process.   </p> <p>This is not that post though.</p> <p>I will say that it has been an exceedingly grueling time for me (and my loved ones) since May. Well actually for the last 30 years or so (on the bright side we’re finally confronting what’s been ailing me all this time in the batshit crazy department) but in May, the batshit hit the fan in a major <em>major </em>way.  The post I wrote talked a little bit about my day to day experience since May, mostly in point form as to why I wished I had cancer instead.  Yeah, I know. That’s not nice! That’s not uplifting or sensitive to those who actually <em>do </em>have cancer. Yucky. </p> <p>Whatever concerns I might have had about how that would make people feel about me because that post was yucky are long gone now, for reasons which aren’t about being liberated and confident (much as that would be a happy tale to tell). But I am still a mom who loves her kids fiercely and while my kids are not dumb and know that all has not been even close to well in my world, they don’t need to be reading about how truly dark things have been until things are stabilized for a good long while.  As much as hopelessness is a very real part of almost every day for me,  part of me hopes that one day the chubby phoenix will rise from the ashes…(or at least that sometime in the not too distant future I will feel up to touching up my grey roots on a more regular basis) and <em>then </em>I can publish the uncensored chronicles of “this is how it felt when….” </p> <p>However, still I feel compelled to say that if you or a loved one is struggling with Complex PTSD or chronic depression and you would like to read my entirely personal and non-expert take on the whole scene so far,  send me an instant message and I will shoot it your way.  Please don’t be an ass and ask just because you are a rubber necking nosy parker though.  Seriously, there are so many cat videos on youtube.  Here are the disclaimers: There is a lot of swearing. I swear a lot in life too. I didn’t hold back even a little bit.  If it’s going to upset you that I’m comparing mental illness or conditions related to trauma to a terminal illness in any way just save us both the irritation/pain.  Finally, if  you feel even<em> remotely</em> inclined to encourage me to count my blessings..just..don’t. I’m super aware of my blessings, thanks.</p> <p>And now for something completely different.</p> <p>I have this little job as a playground monitor. It suits me just fine right now. There are two particular little fellows I have befriended. They have been having issues in the bromance department.  We’ve been working through it.  Anyway so today the one little fella  is sitting in a chair in front of me soaking up my attention and I’m feeling moved to be a guru from my world weary and wizened place. And so I clear my throat and tell him in my most impassioned yet gentle tones about how when other people hurt us it’s only because something inside of them is missing or hurt or broken. It’s not about us at all. And that life is generally easier the sooner we realize that and believe it. (PS: Hypocrite Alert!  I hate all the people and they must all suffer..Forever!  But you know…do as I say….not as I do..) Anyway, this kid is just taking it all in, his head is cocked to the side and I feel like our souls are connecting and I’m thinking,  “I may not have much to offer this shitty world, but by Jove, I think I just changed this kid’s life forever!” Finally, he says thoughtfully, “you know what I think?” “What?” I eagerly ask with a wise and benevolent smile. “I think that when it rains, it’s because God is sweating a lot”.</p> <p>It’s possible I could have saved a lot of money on therapy if I’d met this kid sooner.</p> <p>Don’t sweat the small stuff guys. Ha.</p> Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7790681802174869726.post-86359376545793513882015-04-20T14:17:00.001-04:002015-04-20T14:22:20.232-04:00A note to my kids..<a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-L6a8psVvEoo/VTVCwloAK0I/AAAAAAAAgwY/2gdiJmlBp4g/s1600-h/IMG_5109%25255B6%25255D.jpg"><img alt="IMG_5109" border="0" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Rgk_pa3Ww3s/VTVCxC385nI/AAAAAAAAgwg/_ha5pMWSP7c/IMG_5109_thumb%25255B4%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="493" style="border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline;" title="IMG_5109" width="493" /></a> <br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Hi my babies, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As you well know, sometimes I have random thoughts that I am compelled to share with you before they get lost in the mess of mind and today I was having a few of them. Here they are.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Today I told one of you something I wish I had told you or even understood for myself a long time ago but I’m a slow learner. That’s ok. I get there eventually. Here’s the thing:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><strong>It’s not your job to make me or your father (or anyone other than yourself) proud</strong>. Whether we are proud of you or not is <em>irrelevant.</em> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><em><br /></em>
Once when you guys were really little I remember Benj saying to me, “Wow mommy, you really care about the way things look”. That was a major knife in the heart for me because it was true. I put a lot of energy into the way things looked. Maybe more energy into things looking good than things feeling good. That was a big mistake. The way things look is irrelevant. That’s something I still have to work on every day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We put a lot of emphasis in our culture on being <em>proud </em>of our kids. Sometimes we think we are being awesome parents when we tell our kids how proud we are of them. #proudmom</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But it’s not our job to be proud of them. Our pride is irrelevant.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Here’s my job: To love you unconditionally and to support you in your journey through life as best as I can. Sometimes I will fail horribly but I will always try and I will always do my best. Sometimes my best will not be good enough. When I know better, I will do better and I will never give up. This is my job and I promise to do it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Here’s your job: to learn and to grow and to live your life as well and as honestly as you can. This means that you will make a lot of mistakes. You might have some great successes and we’ll celebrate those, but I can guarantee your mistakes because mistakes are how we learn and we are here to learn. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The knowledge and growth we gain through learning is awesome but the mistakes that lead to learning are often awful and painful and sometimes really awkward and embarrassing. Your mistakes may embarrass me or make me mad or both. My mistakes may embarrass you and make you mad. At times your mistakes will break my heart and my mistakes might break yours. Here’s the scary part: your guides (that’s me and your dad ) are still learning too. We’ve figured some stuff out but we don’t know everything. Here’s the comforting part: When I screw up I promise to tell you and to do my best to do better. When I screw up I won’t pretend that I didn’t. I want you to be able to trust that I am doing my best by you at all times and your wellbeing will always come above my need to seem like I know what I’m doing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The problem with putting too much emphasis on the whole “I’m proud of you” thing is that apart from being irrelevant, I think sometimes it really creates a barrier in us doing our jobs properly. I can’t help you or guide or support you properly if I don’t know what is going on with you. And you might not want me to know what is going on with you if you think it might make me less proud of you. Can you see how this might create problems? If that happens, I’m not doing my job of supporting you because I don’t know what type of support you need, and you’re not doing your job of growing and living because you’re so busy worrying about how things look. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Here’s what I know. Life is so messy and ugly sometimes. It just is. It just<em> is. </em>Here’s what else I know. If things look good but feel bad, they are bad. I would much, <em>much</em> rather see the ugly, <em>real</em> stuff and live it with you than let you live through the ugly stuff on your own. I would much, <em>much</em> rather be <em>there </em>for you, than proud of a less than honest version of you. Every time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I captioned the picture I took above as “Life” because to me, it’s the perfect visual metaphor for it. Sometimes the sun shines warmly and beautifully and brightly but the clouds are pretty much always around, waiting to waft in. Clouds aren’t a sign that you are doing anything wrong, they are just part of the design. Sometimes the clouds are thin and we can see the sun through them, things aren’t perfect but they are just fine and we know things will be just fine, sometimes the clouds are really heavy and dark, and they get locked in for days or weeks, sometimes there is no sign of the sun whatsoever and we are pretty sure life is going to be dark and grey or even black and stormy forever. But the sun is always there and it will eventually always come out again. There will always be another sunny day as hard as it is to believe sometimes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Here’s another way of looking at my job. I’m here to help you to deal with the weather. I am here to remind you that the dark days, the stormy black days are not the end of the world, and that the sun will shine again because yeah, you might <em>know</em> that but sometimes in the thick of it is almost <em>impossible</em> to<em> believe</em> that. Again, I can’t be there to help you remember or believe if you don’t share the weather report with me regularly. If I don’t know your weather I can’t offer you an umbrella when it’s raining, or a coat when it’s freezing, and I can’t remind you to put on sunscreen when it’s sunny and awesome and you think nothing can hurt you. I know you hate it when I do that, but it’s my job and I promise you’ll thank me for that one later. I promise.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And yes, it’s nicer for all of us when the weather is mild and lovely and so you might feel tempted to try to make me believe it’s sunny to save me from being sad or disappointed but again, I’d much rather you just help me to do my job. Let’s recap: my job is to be your guide and support and to love you. Your job: to live your life, to learn, to make mistakes and to grow from them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I’ll love you forever. No Matter What.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Mom</span>Kirstyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06544339613243174396noreply@blogger.com2