This computer will automatically close all tabs and shut down in... (some amount of time)

Some mornings I get up and think I have nothing to say. Just the endless chatter in my head. I know I need to learn to write anyway. Write my way through the writer's block, if that's what it is. I think it is just that I forgot to close all the tabs before I went to bed and work up with 99 tabs open on my internal browser. And I keep getting a message that the storage is full and I need to upgrade. Am I alone in this? Memory is slow, but there's a lot to sort through, maybe that is why. I don't actually know how to upgrade my internal hard-drive or even access more storage. Maybe I'll try a reboot. A complete shutdown for the human life equivalent of a computer shutdown minute. So what does that mean? 24 hours? 48? And what exactly am I detoxing from? My computer? Any and all forms of electronics? Humankind? Well, humans these days are not super kind anyway. I am not sure I'll mind a human-unkind detox. Okay. For real. Help me formulate a plan for this. Will I magically heal and be ready for a reboot in two days? What else do I need to detox from? Prepared foods? Negative thoughts? I'm hopeful I can formulate a plan and then share my experience with all of you. You know, kind of like when your electronic browser says something like: "Computer will shut down in 60 seconds. Do you wish to save your work?" Or whatever. I am planning a shutdown. I can still cancel it or change the settings and save everything at this point. But once I shut 'er down, I may lose some data if it wasn't properly saved.

Turning a Corner

I grew up in a home where anger and rigidity ruled. Conformity was a necessity and essential to survival. I also spent a large part of my young and not-so-young adulthood feeling sorry for myself, building a wall of bitterness, calling out the people who I felt "wronged" me.

Not me. I'm not like them.

Except that I am. Because whatever I focus on, I become.  And I became angry, bitter, volatile, scared, angry, and pressurized. I wasted a lot of my adulthood pointing out my victimization and hurt instead of nurturing healing and forgiveness. I became the thing I hated. It is a sad fact. I regret this more than any other thing in my adult life.

The thing is, I am sad, and yes, angry, that I endured things in childhood that I shouldn't have. But holding that pain tight only hurt me more deeply. And in turn, it caused me to hurt the people I love.

Finally, finally, finally... I came to a place where the anger subsided. I could see. I could really see my family for just who they are. Flawed, broken people who were continuing to choose life in their own brokenness. Their own frailties. Their own lack of a better example. And the guilt and shame that those shortcomings carry with them.

I am awash with regret. With shame. with some emotion that I can't quite put my finger on. As this realization and reality washes over me, I am overcome with the knowledge that I perpetuated shame and sadness in the souls of those I love.

And yesterday. Yesterday I was offered a gift. I had both the opportunity and the right "mood" if you will, to offer an apology. I didn't offer an amend. Because when I offer an amend I ask how I make the situation right. And I didn't do that. But maybe, just maybe, by seeing life for what it really is, seeing others as beautiful souls, and offering kindness instead of judgment, I will be making some kind of an amend. Perhaps when I don't lie about my upbringing, but I don't get stuck on the violence and my own frailties, I will not cause more harm. Maybe. Just maybe.Yesterday I got to say with utmost sincerity, "I'm sorry I was so judgmental, so hard on you." And I also got the gift of being forgiven.

My 3 minute snaphot story

What's my story and am I really sticking to it?

I was born at the tail end of the 60's and went home to a house in a small town. When I was a mere 6 weeks old, we moved into the house that my Mom still lives in today.

My parents thought I was some kind of a genius. And they could be right. I have some of the traits that I notice in others that are of above average intelligence. Social awkwardness. Not really understanding the rules of society and socially acceptable behaviors... you know, I'm me and that's all I have, and I often don't know my thoughts, attitudes, and ideas are way out there until I'm knee deep in muck I have created in sharing my heart and soul with every passerby. Not everyone is my intimate friend. On some levels I get that. I mean, I REALLY get it. But on another level.... I give away trust like candy and usually to the people who should be regarded with skepticism. This is one area of my life where I have no filter. Zero. Zilch. For instance, I blog. I blog my pea-picking little heart out. I put it ALL out there for the world to see. Stupid? Quite possibly. Freeing? Most definitely. Because those thoughts are all trapped in my head and let's be honest, my heart, and pull me down and keep me from living until they are expelled. So... genius? Probably not. Socially-awkward, proficient in literary verbiage and so forth, no-filter, soul exposing, over-trusting, totally feeling, empath? yeah. Oh, and mouth of a sailor. I almost forgot one of my favorite qualities about myself. It's not pretty. But I get a foul-mouthed sense of superiority and sarcasm nearly every day. Some days more than others.

Story. Oh yeah. Easily-distracted. Sorry.

Anxiety started rearing it's ugly head at a young age. Fourth grade. My mom was called to school often as I remember it. And I had a special snack time and space for when I got stomachaches and headaches. And forgive me mother, but I kind of chalk that up to living with crazy people, living in a family setting with a crazy dynamic that was extremely dysfunctional and not really conducive to conformity of societal norms. But the latter part of that sentence could quite possibly be the biggie there. I was not a soul made to conform to the societal norm of the school setting and small town setting that I was living in.

I was that kid. The one that everyone treats like they stink, even when they don't. My teacher would hug me looking the other way and reaching out as far as possible in order not to let my skin get too close to her skin. That's real. That really happened.

I know today that addiction comes from growing up in survival mode (fight, flight, freeze). I know that my brain was wired to make me vulnerable to the escape offered in the way of alcohol, drugs, and sexual encounters.

I know today that I can re-wire my brain. But I'm also aware that I'll probably always be awkward. I can wire my brain to be grateful even though I'm still filter-deficient and socially awkward. Seriously. I am so grateful for my life today in all its awkward glory.

I also know today that I cannot make these changes alone. I cannot rewire my brain left in my own stinking thinking. I need a power greater than myself. A spirit. A deity. God. Okay, it's God. I need God today. Or good. I need good energy and good forces to live out in my life today in order to wire my brain from poor-carrie-lets-run-away-atleast-in-my-head-and-escape-this-shit-reality. I need to see the good, inhale the good, focus on it. I need to be willing to consider that my shattered kaleidoscope lens may not be the most effective way of looking at life. I need to be willing to get a new lens.

That's not my whole story. That is not even my entire three-minutes-to-tell-you-who-I-am-to-hook-you-in-and-make-you-want-more story. But I'm done. I guess I've revealed enough today. I feel exhausted and raw.

Namaste.

The Beast

Today I was ambling around in the grocery store, trying to get the bulk of what we need on the small amount of money I had. But I was stopped dead in my tracks. I thought for a moment that my shopping excursion might come to sudden halt. Maybe I should just stop and walk away. Or stop and pull over. Or... I don't really know. But I was struck with an intense sense of missing my Dad and wondering how I will go on now that he's gone. And I almost teared up and bawled in the store. Right frickin' there in the store, walking from the flour aisle to the milk shelves.

I'm sure it happens. Because grief is a strange beast. It is always with me and yet sometimes I am functional and sometimes it washes over me like I've never felt it before. I don't think this is unique to me. I think it is probably a natural part of the process. Except that I believe that in grief perhaps there is no process. Like a sullen, spoiled child, it just does it wants, when it wants, wreaking havoc on those it comes in contact with, leaving them in chaos and despair. We are victims of her heartlessness.

Oh Daddy, if only you were here to help me navigate this. This hollow, empty place. That slaps me upside the head in the grocery store, leaving me reeling and nearly succumbing to the tears. Dad, this grief is suffocating today. I can't believe you left me. I'm sad, I'm flustered. I'm disbelieving. I needed you, and left me. I feel guilty letting that thought go from head to my typing fingertips. I know you didn't leave by choice. I know you knew how devastated we would be. You had some insane sense of the depth of our need for your wisdom, your intuition, your skills.

But moreover, our need of your determination, your unfailing love, your father's heart. This is what I cannot seem to navigate my world without.

Tomorrow may be warmer, sunnier, in my soul. But today I will allow the blackness of my grief to wash over me and leave me out in the cold. Though I know I always have a choice, today it feels as if I have no choice.

Grateful, Not Hateful?

I found this quote this morning. I love it. Immensely.

 

But it also sparked my curiosity. I mean.... am I? Not hateful? The honest truth is that I have to process things first. The stages that I seem to go through as I process are: submissive; submissive-resentful; resentful-rebellious; Fuckyoualltohell; honest assessment; self-reflection; some amount of shame and repentance; one small grateful thought; choosing to see gratitude in a situation; much gratitude for things that once pained me. 

Two thoughts about the submissiveness phase: self-doubt makes me think your assassination of my character is true; and my first approach to situations tends to be-- be willing to learn, do things someone elses way, look for ways to acquiesce. 

As time wears on, my spirit wears down. And from the ground looking up I can see the good I've done, I can see that the burden is not entirely mine. I'm still submissive and trying to live up to the expectation or situation, but I am starting to hate what I'm doing. I feel trapped. I feel fraudulent, I feel manipulated. So I am still trying to be or do whatever is put onto me, but the smoke is starting to roll out of my ears. 

What generally happens next is a "What happens in *wherever*, stays in *wherever*." (That is a fill in the blank: the classroom, the school building, my home, my car, the company of friends....). At this point I am still saying yes, even though I mean no. Even though I am gritting my teeth at each new ridiculous requirement placed before me, and occasionally even baring my teeth and letting out a growl of protest. This is not really conducive to relationship building or gaining respect of those in positions of authority. And there is generally push back.

What happens when there is push back? I fly the big FU bird. Sometimes double-handed. Yep. The Fuckitalltohell stage. I will do what I want, when I want, how I want. This is the bridge-burning phase. When this phase ends, there is plenty to learn through reflection and self-assessment. Because I have most likely burned the situation, relationship, friendship, JOB, committee, responsibility, (whatever), to the ground. 

Now I have room and time to reflect. Honestly. To look at my part. To look at what it was that caused the burr in my saddle. Why did I go to the bridge-burning stage? What happened? And what was my part.

The "oh yuck" and puke-sick part of this is owning my part. I honestly hate this part so much. I'd much rather just point the finger and remain indignant. The self-reflection part sucks donkeys. blech. But if I want to continue to grow, I have to do it. I have to eat humble pie (think 2-slice Hilly), and be willing to make the changes in my life, behavior, attitudes. I have to be willing to say, "I am sorry that...." and then not just turn it into "I'm sorry that... you're such an asshole that I blew my top." 

It's at this humble stage where I get the privilege of growing. This growth is otherwise known as eating humble (shit) pie. It is here that one tiny seed of gratitude comes in. And I can find a reason to be grateful for the situation or at the least, for one tiny part, action, scenario within the situation. At this time, even though I am now enlightened to my part, I am generally still indignant. I'm like.... "I think you (not always a person, but for convenience sake...) are a stupid, selfish ass-wipe of an individual, but I'm so grateful that *this* happened to me because now I can see that (again, filling the blank)." 

At some future point I am able to look back and see that if this *horrible thing* had never happened, these many brilliant and joyful things would never have happened, and I am flooded with gratitude. Over-whelming, joyful tears kind of gratitude. And at this point in time, is where I reach the "not hateful" part. So... depending on how humble I actually got, you may or may not see me as grateful, not hateful. But I always get there. It just takes a few sullen, angry and humble processes first.

Roller Coaster Ride

I have been reading all sorts of things about May. About Mother's Day. About Father's Day. Tomorrow is mother's day. And I miss my dad more than ever. I think that it may just be an ache and desolation that never leaves.

My parents and I have had somewhat of a rocky relationship. On and off. I have had a long road to forgiveness for things that both were and were not their fault(s). I have idolized them. And I have knocked them off their pedestals. Today I am a puddle of mixed emotion.

A Poem Yet Unnamed

I have not been the pristine daughter.
I have been a rebel,
a fighter,
a hard case.

I have been an accuser
a hornet
an aggressor.

I have been broken,
abandoned,
crushed.

I have lost my parents,
over and over.
To my mind,
my emotions,
my defenses.

I have been indignant,
I have been unrepentant,
unforgiving.

I have been inconsolable.
Broken.
overwhelmed with sadness.

I have made amends
I have let go,
I have forgiven.
I have been forgiven.

I have been up.
I have been down.

Today, thinking about Mother's day,
I am sad.
I miss my Dad.
I miss a fairytale idea of family.
I love my realization of my strange,
weird and funny family.
I accept the bad.
The good.
The ugly.

I am sad.
I miss my Dad.
My defender,
the one who saw the good,
when no one else could.

Grief or Gratitude

I hate Mother's day. with a passion. Started long ago. The real, true loathing came that first year after you were born. Born on the 3rd of the same month, gone from me, living in your "real" home, with your "real" family. And it just kept on. Soon enough I was a step-mom. And they made gifts for their Mom and I helped them create and present and mail and all that jazz. And I sulked. And moped. and mourned. Mourned the loss of a child who wasn't dead. Mourned the loss of the dream of what I thought motherhood should look like. Mourned the marriage that did not honor me or any of my sacrifices. I had this idea in my head that mother's day should play out like a fairy tale. All happiness and glitter and and rainbows and shit. But it didn't. And I couldn't see that this was simply reality. Not some secret plot to destroy me. Accept it they say. It will get better they say. But it didn't. Get better. and I didn't. accept it.

And then YOU came along. And I tried to let go of all the sorrow I held for soooo long. The deeper than melancholy ache that robbed Mother's Day of any form of joy or gratitude for what I had. But it still held fast. Don't get me wrong. EVER. Your entry into my world was joy. The purest of joy. Okay, what do I know about purity or pure love or pure motivation. But joy. You brought joy. You beautiful little bundle. Joy.

But the emptiness of a Hallmark Holiday stayed. And every year I grieve. For a fairytale that didn't ever appear, for my own selfishness and that I couldn't somehow just love the children in my life without the intense jealousy of their parents. Their parents! Who in the hell does that?! Lives with a jealousy for a child's mother? or father? I could simply offer my children my love and accept them and cheer them on and help them design gifts for their Mom, and that should reward me. Because that is real love. I was able to put through for the most part, but to actually just be blessed in helping them? I chose grief over gratitude.

Today I live with more gratitude than I ever have before. But the stench of a holiday that is celebrated in such a fake way, such a middle-class, keep-up-with-the-joneses kind of way, that stink is still in my nose. It is still there. Rotting away in my nostrils, and stinking out the sweet, fragrant smell of appreciation and love for all I DO have.

And a little bit of redneck showing here.... When I think of mother's day, I think of two things:

My friend Gene saying "Happy mother's day to all the Moms, and to the rest of you mothers, have a happy day."

And that red neck song about "...up against the wall you redneck mothers..."

I will leave you with those thoughts. Once again, like impending doom, Mother's day is on the horizon. I can chose gratitude or grief.