I don’t want to play ‘beat the clock’ with the rest of my life. I don’t want to try so hard anymore. I don’t want to keep trying to keep up with all the people who have more than me. More trips, more money, more letters after their names. When a friend told me about 50 by 50, how she had made a list and done everything on it (50 things she wanted to do before turning 50); I thought it sounded like a cool idea, but I was also jealous, she had much more time and money than me, and I had already turned 51. Then the movie the Bucket List got big, again, there was that thing about the money and about running out of time. About doing really fabulous things before you die. Are all the things that we want to do about money? In this 'new' economy? Really?
I will admit, often for me, it seems that way. I want to go to Montreal. It seems impossible now, but not for people I work with, a couple of them have gone, a few times. I want to go to jazz concerts more often, they are happening around me all the time, maybe not quite so impossible. But I want to quit feeling like I’m missing out. I want to cherish what life I do have, so how to work towards Montreal and still be present now?
Last night I had more fun than I’d had in a long time, it took me by surprise. On Tuesdays, Kathleen drives up from Owatonna to teach a night class in the Twin Cities. My two tired grandsons, Max 8 and Elliot 12, were over for the evening. Midweek of spring break, and they’d both had sleepover friends the night before. These tired kids played video games with their aunt Megan, ran around in my small condo yard and shot off their nerf guns while I sat outside and watched them play. Megan made us all fettucine Alfredo and we ate at the table. Then afterwards, one by one they ended up on my big bed in my room, so I put my laptop away, and we started telling stories, singing songs, and eventually put on a hand shadow puppet show using a flashlight as a ‘stage.’
A lot of time went by this way. Soon Kathleen was here to take the boys home to Owatonna. I warmed her up a plate of fettucine. She had taught another night class, doing work she loves, Megan cooked some fabulous fettucine, and I got to spend time with people I love. Being present.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Having a Baby at Home
My middle daughter, Erin, is going to have a baby. She is going to have this baby her way and I am really proud of her. It is hard to tell all the dreams and wishes that I hold in my heart for my girls, there are many. Mostly, I hold out for them that they live life fearlessly, and when they do I cheer.
I was so psyched this fall when Erin and her boyfriend Andy were planning a trip to London. The airfare was a present to Erin from her dad and her Grandmother on finishing her four year degree. Andy had been working at a job in which one of the benefits was free hotel rooms, worldwide, so these two new college grads were on their way to a very cool vacation. They had both worked hard, working and going to school and living in (as they called it) their ‘crappy apartment.’ Before they were to go on their trip, they stopped over for dinner. A few weeks earlier, feeling generous, I’d given Erin a bottle of three buck chuck (Charles Shaw wine) from Trader Joe’s.
On her way in the door, Erin gave me the bottle of wine back, saying, “Here, I won’t be able to drink this now.” And I knew. I was totally surprised, but I knew. We screamed, and cheered and cherished the moment. I was in shock! This was my daughter who wanted to go to grad school, a doctoral program in psychology maybe. Now what? In our family, we have babies. It doesn’t stop us from the life we want to live, either.
They had a wonderful trip, and Erin has been fine, crabby and miserable sometimes, but nonetheless fine. They got over telling Andy’s parents, who are a bit more traditional than me. They got over Andy’s aunt being upset, since she’d just told her children that you have to be married to get pregnant. They thought about marriage, but long ago, Erin told me she didn’t want to get married and conform to social roles.
The baby is due in June. This week Erin and Andy are interviewing midwives, because Erin is having her baby at home. I was worried as she talked about it. How do you have your baby at home? Where do you have your baby at home? The idea wasn’t totally out there for me. My good friend Mary, nearly 30 years ago had her babies at home, in Seattle, with midwives, and I can still remember thinking how amazing she looked in the photos taken minutes after her babies were born. Still, this was my baby, having my grandbaby, and I had never been brave enough to have my babies at home, or even seriously consider it.
Erin knew I was worried, so she sent me a link to the website of one of the midwives she was interviewing; in typical Erin style, with the few words, “See Mom, it’s safe.” And what I read on this woman’s site was comforting and amazing, and it spoke of trusting the woman’s body. It was empowering and I’m likin these new brave mamas! I’m also seeing so much of how I was raised not to trust myself. And how learning to trust myself is bringing some sadness for all the years that I’ve made decisions without this ability. How can you make good decisions when part of the process is shut down?
Today when I spoke with Erin, she had interviewed 2 of the 4 midwives that she had contacted. When she told me why she preferred one over the other, it was fun to hear about. One is older, with more experience, but not licensed; Erin described it by saying, “She's not licensed on purpose, you know like, ‘stickin it to the man.’” Erin went on to say that she loved this woman’s passion and she said if she did have to be in the hospital she would want this woman to be her advocate. Erin, however, liked the other midwife better, because she was ‘more calm.’ Andy thought they were both hippies.
Erin’s phrase, that the first woman came across as wanting to ‘stick it to the man’ struck me, immensely. I have been having this huge inner debate about getting licensed in my field of family therapy. I weigh the odds of what it means to be licensed, against what it would mean to not be licensed, to prove that I don’t need this organization, with its patriarchal heritage. But the phrase Erin used, captures so much angst, so much pain, so much hurt, that I realized, I don’t want to stick it to the man. I want to practice therapy. I want to be a healer, I want to empower all people, not just women, to find what they want, to be ok with want they want, to look around the whole benevolent universe and to be able to say, ‘this is how I want to live my life.’
I am still practicing feeling my feelings, it is not coming easy, but it is different. I’m hoping to backlog through all my angst, and bitterness about only now learning how to harness my emotional power to direct me towards what is better for me. To know the difference between listening and letting a person own their own feelings and trying to take on someone else’s feelings and assuming responsibility for them to ‘feel better.’
I want to be a part of something bigger, and if it is the world of MFT’s even if I don’t like the phrase Marriage and Family Therapist, well then, I’ll hammer my sword into a plowshare. Maybe sometimes in conversation, or in politics, or on the page, it is ok to be angry and hurt, and filled with angst, but I’m thinking that as a therapist, I’m best off staying calm and getting licensed.
I was so psyched this fall when Erin and her boyfriend Andy were planning a trip to London. The airfare was a present to Erin from her dad and her Grandmother on finishing her four year degree. Andy had been working at a job in which one of the benefits was free hotel rooms, worldwide, so these two new college grads were on their way to a very cool vacation. They had both worked hard, working and going to school and living in (as they called it) their ‘crappy apartment.’ Before they were to go on their trip, they stopped over for dinner. A few weeks earlier, feeling generous, I’d given Erin a bottle of three buck chuck (Charles Shaw wine) from Trader Joe’s.
On her way in the door, Erin gave me the bottle of wine back, saying, “Here, I won’t be able to drink this now.” And I knew. I was totally surprised, but I knew. We screamed, and cheered and cherished the moment. I was in shock! This was my daughter who wanted to go to grad school, a doctoral program in psychology maybe. Now what? In our family, we have babies. It doesn’t stop us from the life we want to live, either.
They had a wonderful trip, and Erin has been fine, crabby and miserable sometimes, but nonetheless fine. They got over telling Andy’s parents, who are a bit more traditional than me. They got over Andy’s aunt being upset, since she’d just told her children that you have to be married to get pregnant. They thought about marriage, but long ago, Erin told me she didn’t want to get married and conform to social roles.
The baby is due in June. This week Erin and Andy are interviewing midwives, because Erin is having her baby at home. I was worried as she talked about it. How do you have your baby at home? Where do you have your baby at home? The idea wasn’t totally out there for me. My good friend Mary, nearly 30 years ago had her babies at home, in Seattle, with midwives, and I can still remember thinking how amazing she looked in the photos taken minutes after her babies were born. Still, this was my baby, having my grandbaby, and I had never been brave enough to have my babies at home, or even seriously consider it.
Erin knew I was worried, so she sent me a link to the website of one of the midwives she was interviewing; in typical Erin style, with the few words, “See Mom, it’s safe.” And what I read on this woman’s site was comforting and amazing, and it spoke of trusting the woman’s body. It was empowering and I’m likin these new brave mamas! I’m also seeing so much of how I was raised not to trust myself. And how learning to trust myself is bringing some sadness for all the years that I’ve made decisions without this ability. How can you make good decisions when part of the process is shut down?
Today when I spoke with Erin, she had interviewed 2 of the 4 midwives that she had contacted. When she told me why she preferred one over the other, it was fun to hear about. One is older, with more experience, but not licensed; Erin described it by saying, “She's not licensed on purpose, you know like, ‘stickin it to the man.’” Erin went on to say that she loved this woman’s passion and she said if she did have to be in the hospital she would want this woman to be her advocate. Erin, however, liked the other midwife better, because she was ‘more calm.’ Andy thought they were both hippies.
Erin’s phrase, that the first woman came across as wanting to ‘stick it to the man’ struck me, immensely. I have been having this huge inner debate about getting licensed in my field of family therapy. I weigh the odds of what it means to be licensed, against what it would mean to not be licensed, to prove that I don’t need this organization, with its patriarchal heritage. But the phrase Erin used, captures so much angst, so much pain, so much hurt, that I realized, I don’t want to stick it to the man. I want to practice therapy. I want to be a healer, I want to empower all people, not just women, to find what they want, to be ok with want they want, to look around the whole benevolent universe and to be able to say, ‘this is how I want to live my life.’
I am still practicing feeling my feelings, it is not coming easy, but it is different. I’m hoping to backlog through all my angst, and bitterness about only now learning how to harness my emotional power to direct me towards what is better for me. To know the difference between listening and letting a person own their own feelings and trying to take on someone else’s feelings and assuming responsibility for them to ‘feel better.’
I want to be a part of something bigger, and if it is the world of MFT’s even if I don’t like the phrase Marriage and Family Therapist, well then, I’ll hammer my sword into a plowshare. Maybe sometimes in conversation, or in politics, or on the page, it is ok to be angry and hurt, and filled with angst, but I’m thinking that as a therapist, I’m best off staying calm and getting licensed.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
March 27 2010
The date grounds me, the day we call today, this time, these hours, minutes, seconds from sunup to sundown.
The sun has not come up yet. It is 6:42 and the only glow outside are the lights that light the alley out my back door. A pretty cityscape scene of housetops black against the dark blue sky with dots of streetlight magic.
I came home last night to a phone message on my land line; the only messages I get on this phone are calls for anyone but me whose name starts with T and ends with Crawford, and my mother. My mom’s message tells me only that my brother is at the University hospital. I called her back to find out my brother has lung cancer and bone cancer.
My big brother, who threatened to beat up anyone who threatened me as a kid. My brother, the only one in the family with blue eyes like my dad, has cancer. This is the part of old I don’t want to get to.
My brother, father of three, grandfather of -is it 7 grandkids now? He was always inviting me to bring my grandkids up to his home up north on a lake, we’d take them out fishing. I was always too busy. Now, for a minute, time moves backward and then stands still.
The sun has not come up yet. It is 6:42 and the only glow outside are the lights that light the alley out my back door. A pretty cityscape scene of housetops black against the dark blue sky with dots of streetlight magic.
I came home last night to a phone message on my land line; the only messages I get on this phone are calls for anyone but me whose name starts with T and ends with Crawford, and my mother. My mom’s message tells me only that my brother is at the University hospital. I called her back to find out my brother has lung cancer and bone cancer.
My big brother, who threatened to beat up anyone who threatened me as a kid. My brother, the only one in the family with blue eyes like my dad, has cancer. This is the part of old I don’t want to get to.
My brother, father of three, grandfather of -is it 7 grandkids now? He was always inviting me to bring my grandkids up to his home up north on a lake, we’d take them out fishing. I was always too busy. Now, for a minute, time moves backward and then stands still.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Unfailing Love
Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, For I have put my trust in you. Show me the way I should go, For to you I lift up my soul. Rescue me from my enemies, O Lord, for I hide myself in you. Teach me to do your will, For you are my God; May your good spirit lead me on level ground. Psalm 143 v. 8-10
I want to find comfort in these words, but I’m not sure how God would show me the way to go. I’m not finding much direction anywhere these days. But I am finding a peace inside myself, in letting go of my past, of letting myself feel the pain of emptiness as I understand that all the stuff I’ve collected has somehow represented security to me. There is a certain peace in understanding there is no security, only life, only now. Pieces of the future fall into the present and I go with them, not entirely sure how or why, or if this is ‘right’ or even right for me.
Searching back to go forward. I am going backward, I am going forward. One thing my kids don’t understand is how strange it is to have so many years behind, so many thoughts I’ve thought, people I’ve known, places I’ve been. I could get lost in my past, like my mom does sometimes, telling stories about people I’ve never known, dead long before I was born. I want to stay present, in the present. Yet I’m drawn with a curiosity to understand the path behind me in a way that enlightens my future.
Right now I am going through what I think is the last of the ‘stuff.’ The last of the memories I’ve saved and books that I thought were important, but have just realized I will probably not get back to them, ever. I’m still trying to understand how the psalm above used to give me so much comfort, because I’ve lost that. I’m not sure how or why.
I will share one more thing, I think I am still pissed off at God, and here is why. In my aloneness of being a single mom, I had my parents, who, even when I was an adult, represented such security to me. Sometimes I worried that something might happen to one or both of them. But I consoled myself, I told myself that God would never let me lose a parent unless I had a partner to be by my side to bear the grief. This one small prayer not to be left alone, adrift, was not answered. My dad died of cancer, and my mom was left as alone as I was.
Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you.
I want to find comfort in these words, but I’m not sure how God would show me the way to go. I’m not finding much direction anywhere these days. But I am finding a peace inside myself, in letting go of my past, of letting myself feel the pain of emptiness as I understand that all the stuff I’ve collected has somehow represented security to me. There is a certain peace in understanding there is no security, only life, only now. Pieces of the future fall into the present and I go with them, not entirely sure how or why, or if this is ‘right’ or even right for me.
Searching back to go forward. I am going backward, I am going forward. One thing my kids don’t understand is how strange it is to have so many years behind, so many thoughts I’ve thought, people I’ve known, places I’ve been. I could get lost in my past, like my mom does sometimes, telling stories about people I’ve never known, dead long before I was born. I want to stay present, in the present. Yet I’m drawn with a curiosity to understand the path behind me in a way that enlightens my future.
Right now I am going through what I think is the last of the ‘stuff.’ The last of the memories I’ve saved and books that I thought were important, but have just realized I will probably not get back to them, ever. I’m still trying to understand how the psalm above used to give me so much comfort, because I’ve lost that. I’m not sure how or why.
I will share one more thing, I think I am still pissed off at God, and here is why. In my aloneness of being a single mom, I had my parents, who, even when I was an adult, represented such security to me. Sometimes I worried that something might happen to one or both of them. But I consoled myself, I told myself that God would never let me lose a parent unless I had a partner to be by my side to bear the grief. This one small prayer not to be left alone, adrift, was not answered. My dad died of cancer, and my mom was left as alone as I was.
Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Moving Blues
march 12 2010
I’ve had quite a morning already. The movers came to take my (Erin’s) piano to her new house at 7:25; I told Erin to make sure they knew to call first, since our doorbell is OOO. Instead they were banging!!! And my neighbor’s dog starts barking, and the lower level neighbor is at the door like ‘what the hell?’ I tell him, "It's OK, they're here for my piano." I ask the guys, "Didn't you get the message to call, that the doorbell is out of order?" One says, "We got a message to knock loudly." Alright then, right this way, here's the piano. And then 4 of these guys get the piano stuck in the stairway and I had already woken up with a horrid headache. So, I cry a little on the way to work….
march 14 2010
I wake up to my room rearranged by my sweet realtor and his partner and I know I am about to change buses, catch a train or walk out into a new part of my life, living somewhere else. It’s complicated. Yesterday Megan and I went though more stuff in storage, bits of pieces of poems I wrote, that I don’t want to throw away. Stacks of postcards that the girls’ dad lovingly wrote and sent them from all over the world.
Megan laughs, "Look" she says. Here's a postcard Steve sent to her when she was just a baby, getting teeth. I read, 'Dear Meggie, When I get home I am going to make you a big steak, now that you have teeth. Love, Daddy.'
As I make my coffee, Laura Nyro is singing, “I can’t see God smiling...I am the blues.” This song makes my heart soar, for as she is the blues, her voice captures the magnificence that makes the blues bearable. I think about Steve, and how I’ve never really stopped loving him. How I couldn’t live with him, but I can have a life large enough with love for him in it. I respect him, and I want this for his girls too, to love and respect their dad, not to ignore the hurts, not to not stand up for themselves, but I guess it is compassion, and more than compassion, maybe I will call it big love. Love that protects and there is still some left. Wide love.
For a long time, I too, have been the blues and I’m ready to walk away from that gig. I don’t know where we I am going to. Somewhere new.
march 17 2010
St. Patrick’s Day
This morning when I wake up I can remember all the St. Patrick’s day mornings, when I was a child. My mom made breakfast for my dad (half Irish) every morning. Seriously, every morning. He would come down the big wooden staircase, I’d hear his steps, he’d stop in the kitchen for his cup of coffee and then sit in the big breakfast room; a room as big as the dining room-but not as formal, and sit at the table and wait for my mom to serve him breakfast. Just sit there, smelling good, freshly shaved cheeks and clean ironed shirt. On St. Patrick’s day he’d have on a St. Paddy’s day tie and I’d know it was a special day. Sometimes, he’d have a furry shamrock for me to pin to my school uniform to wear to school that day. It was St. Paddy’s day and I was 1/4 Irish.
Almost there
You don’t hear much about the almost there
About the pause between not making it and making it
The chasm that seems to lie between oatmeal and oatmeal cookie
The story about how I was so excited to be working with my literary hero as my literary coach on my memoir, when all my time slipped away and then I finished my master’s degree and I was undecided still, as to which career path to follow, and then damn, my daughter’s health started taking a nosedive and soon it had been months, yes months since I’d worked on my memoir
And now I have this degree but it’s not about writing and I haven’t even read Nabokov, and I’m not sure how hip writers will think I am, if I ever get to hang out with them in real life
How do I get back into the slipstream of on my way to making it and not feeling like the tide has turned, the toast has burned and I will die unknown, a wanna be
Gotta stayed tuned to the almost there station, gotta remember what Downtown Browne says, “patience and persistance” when all I can say is, “Aren’t we there yet?” as I listen to the sound of time passing
I’ve had quite a morning already. The movers came to take my (Erin’s) piano to her new house at 7:25; I told Erin to make sure they knew to call first, since our doorbell is OOO. Instead they were banging!!! And my neighbor’s dog starts barking, and the lower level neighbor is at the door like ‘what the hell?’ I tell him, "It's OK, they're here for my piano." I ask the guys, "Didn't you get the message to call, that the doorbell is out of order?" One says, "We got a message to knock loudly." Alright then, right this way, here's the piano. And then 4 of these guys get the piano stuck in the stairway and I had already woken up with a horrid headache. So, I cry a little on the way to work….
march 14 2010
I wake up to my room rearranged by my sweet realtor and his partner and I know I am about to change buses, catch a train or walk out into a new part of my life, living somewhere else. It’s complicated. Yesterday Megan and I went though more stuff in storage, bits of pieces of poems I wrote, that I don’t want to throw away. Stacks of postcards that the girls’ dad lovingly wrote and sent them from all over the world.
Megan laughs, "Look" she says. Here's a postcard Steve sent to her when she was just a baby, getting teeth. I read, 'Dear Meggie, When I get home I am going to make you a big steak, now that you have teeth. Love, Daddy.'
As I make my coffee, Laura Nyro is singing, “I can’t see God smiling...I am the blues.” This song makes my heart soar, for as she is the blues, her voice captures the magnificence that makes the blues bearable. I think about Steve, and how I’ve never really stopped loving him. How I couldn’t live with him, but I can have a life large enough with love for him in it. I respect him, and I want this for his girls too, to love and respect their dad, not to ignore the hurts, not to not stand up for themselves, but I guess it is compassion, and more than compassion, maybe I will call it big love. Love that protects and there is still some left. Wide love.
For a long time, I too, have been the blues and I’m ready to walk away from that gig. I don’t know where we I am going to. Somewhere new.
march 17 2010
St. Patrick’s Day
This morning when I wake up I can remember all the St. Patrick’s day mornings, when I was a child. My mom made breakfast for my dad (half Irish) every morning. Seriously, every morning. He would come down the big wooden staircase, I’d hear his steps, he’d stop in the kitchen for his cup of coffee and then sit in the big breakfast room; a room as big as the dining room-but not as formal, and sit at the table and wait for my mom to serve him breakfast. Just sit there, smelling good, freshly shaved cheeks and clean ironed shirt. On St. Patrick’s day he’d have on a St. Paddy’s day tie and I’d know it was a special day. Sometimes, he’d have a furry shamrock for me to pin to my school uniform to wear to school that day. It was St. Paddy’s day and I was 1/4 Irish.
Almost there
You don’t hear much about the almost there
About the pause between not making it and making it
The chasm that seems to lie between oatmeal and oatmeal cookie
The story about how I was so excited to be working with my literary hero as my literary coach on my memoir, when all my time slipped away and then I finished my master’s degree and I was undecided still, as to which career path to follow, and then damn, my daughter’s health started taking a nosedive and soon it had been months, yes months since I’d worked on my memoir
And now I have this degree but it’s not about writing and I haven’t even read Nabokov, and I’m not sure how hip writers will think I am, if I ever get to hang out with them in real life
How do I get back into the slipstream of on my way to making it and not feeling like the tide has turned, the toast has burned and I will die unknown, a wanna be
Gotta stayed tuned to the almost there station, gotta remember what Downtown Browne says, “patience and persistance” when all I can say is, “Aren’t we there yet?” as I listen to the sound of time passing
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Simple Experiment
I am reading a new book. This is nothing new, I am reading a new book all the time. I’ve lost track of how much I read, I read a lot. I would be willing to read less in the future, when I find Mr. Right. I think I’m ready to spend nights at the orchestra, or in a jazz club, but for now, I go to bed early and read. (I know, I know, I’ve been told I will never find someone if I never go out, bad odds, eh?)
The past couple of years I have been reading about emotions. I guess this interest started more than a couple of years ago when I read a book by Paul Ekman, called Emotions Revealed: Recognizing Faces and Feelings to Improve Communication and Emotional Life. The first line of the introduction in this book says, “Emotions determine the quality of our lives.” This, I want to understand, how? How do emotions determine the quality of our lives?
By the time this book came out, I was ready to understand emotions. My youngest daughter, Megan, had finally been diagnosed with hypothyroid disease. For years, our family doctor, and the therapist I was taking her to were trying to understand why she was depressed. Depression is a common symptom of thyroid disease. A person with hypo-thyroid has depression due to a lack of hormones manufactured by the thyroid.
In 2001 we are seeing this therapist who suggested that my daughter is perhaps on the Asperger’s syndrome spectrum. In looking into what this is, I realize my daughter is the last person in the world to be on this spectrum. My daughter in fact, can read people like I’ve never seen. Honestly, I just thought my daughter had some amazing gift. I kinda thought she was magic. I could not read people the way she could, and she would talk to me about it. So, here’s this diagnosis thrown out there, which actually fits me more than my daughter. The therapist, after some discussion, had to agree. This was still before her thyroid disease was discovered.
So, then I wonder, “Is my daughter magic, how does she do it, and so I ask her about it. I ask her, “How do you do it? How do you know what people are thinking and feeling with just looking at them?” And she replies, “It’s easy mom, you look at their faces, at their eyes, at their body language.” I came away from these conversations with her wanting to learn how “emotions determine the quality of our lives.”
If my daughter knew more about emotions than I did, how was I to learn? And so I find Ekman’s book, and I see how this works, and realize my daughter is not magic, but extremely bright, and she is also able to articulate how she thinks. Why is this kid too tired to go to school and do her homework? The folks at school think I’m wonked, when I tell them how amazing she is, they are like, “Yeah, right.”
Ekman’s book was like a light bulb going on for me, I realized I was not taught to recognize emotions. This brought me to understand that I didn’t have a good grasp of emotions in myself and others. I realized that really, I wasn’t in touch with my emotions. So, how do I reconnect? How do I integrate this new emotional understanding into my life? Slowly, I guess.
Fast forward to this morning, reading The One Thing Holding You Back: Unleashing the Power of Emotional Connection by Raphael Cushnir. In this book, Cushnir walks you through feeling your feelings. Not judging yourself or your feelings, and not being afraid to feel feelings that you are afraid to feel. I am trying to do this; and it is work. I think I spent the first half of my life trying not to feel my feelings, ignoring them, trying to actually care about everyone else’s feelings. Being manipulated by this.
I was trying to think my way through life, trying to read every book I could find that might show me how life works, cerebrally. Now I am trying really hard to become a more integrated person, and it is like the pieces are not quite in place, but moving towards a more complete picture. I really do want to spend evenings at the orchestra, I really do want to see an opera, I really do want to have a wider range of emotions and experiences, but I am afraid. I have to work through not being afraid of being afraid.
I still haven’t finished reading Healing Through the Dark Emotions: The Wisdom of Grief, Fear and Despair, by Miriam Greenspan. This is an amazing and spiritual book I bought last year. I have Emotional Freedom, by Judith Orloff out from the library, (probably will have to take it back before I finish-so it’s added to my wish list). Add to the mix, neuroscience, The Healing Power of Emotion: Affective Neuroscience, Development & Clinical Practice (Norton Series on Interpersonal Neurobiology), by Diana Foshe, et al.; which is showing me that the things I knew intuitively have been pretty sound. (Not as wonked as all the those school folks thought.) I’m also working my way through The Spiritual Anatomy of Emotion: How Feelings Link the Brain, the Body, and the Sixth Sense by Michael A. Jawer. These last two books I bought myself with birthday money-yoohoo; so I can take my time.
Perhaps this is not a simple experiment, perhaps integrating my learning into my own understanding of my emotions and feelings; and being able to use this in the practice of therapy is a complex experiment after all. I might just need some time to understand and integrate all this. I continued this conversation with Megan just today, and she explained to me, “Reading facial expressions is not necessarily about emotions. It is about what wants to be expressed. The thought, or the idea that the person wants to act on. The things or thoughts that are being held back.” I thought about this and said, “Maybe right now our understanding of emotions is so basic, that there are things we have no words for yet. Maybe facial expressions are about emotions, and intellect and words and communication, and maybe they intersect to produce something even more complex.” Hmm, maybe we’re on to something.
The past couple of years I have been reading about emotions. I guess this interest started more than a couple of years ago when I read a book by Paul Ekman, called Emotions Revealed: Recognizing Faces and Feelings to Improve Communication and Emotional Life. The first line of the introduction in this book says, “Emotions determine the quality of our lives.” This, I want to understand, how? How do emotions determine the quality of our lives?
By the time this book came out, I was ready to understand emotions. My youngest daughter, Megan, had finally been diagnosed with hypothyroid disease. For years, our family doctor, and the therapist I was taking her to were trying to understand why she was depressed. Depression is a common symptom of thyroid disease. A person with hypo-thyroid has depression due to a lack of hormones manufactured by the thyroid.
In 2001 we are seeing this therapist who suggested that my daughter is perhaps on the Asperger’s syndrome spectrum. In looking into what this is, I realize my daughter is the last person in the world to be on this spectrum. My daughter in fact, can read people like I’ve never seen. Honestly, I just thought my daughter had some amazing gift. I kinda thought she was magic. I could not read people the way she could, and she would talk to me about it. So, here’s this diagnosis thrown out there, which actually fits me more than my daughter. The therapist, after some discussion, had to agree. This was still before her thyroid disease was discovered.
So, then I wonder, “Is my daughter magic, how does she do it, and so I ask her about it. I ask her, “How do you do it? How do you know what people are thinking and feeling with just looking at them?” And she replies, “It’s easy mom, you look at their faces, at their eyes, at their body language.” I came away from these conversations with her wanting to learn how “emotions determine the quality of our lives.”
If my daughter knew more about emotions than I did, how was I to learn? And so I find Ekman’s book, and I see how this works, and realize my daughter is not magic, but extremely bright, and she is also able to articulate how she thinks. Why is this kid too tired to go to school and do her homework? The folks at school think I’m wonked, when I tell them how amazing she is, they are like, “Yeah, right.”
Ekman’s book was like a light bulb going on for me, I realized I was not taught to recognize emotions. This brought me to understand that I didn’t have a good grasp of emotions in myself and others. I realized that really, I wasn’t in touch with my emotions. So, how do I reconnect? How do I integrate this new emotional understanding into my life? Slowly, I guess.
Fast forward to this morning, reading The One Thing Holding You Back: Unleashing the Power of Emotional Connection by Raphael Cushnir. In this book, Cushnir walks you through feeling your feelings. Not judging yourself or your feelings, and not being afraid to feel feelings that you are afraid to feel. I am trying to do this; and it is work. I think I spent the first half of my life trying not to feel my feelings, ignoring them, trying to actually care about everyone else’s feelings. Being manipulated by this.
I was trying to think my way through life, trying to read every book I could find that might show me how life works, cerebrally. Now I am trying really hard to become a more integrated person, and it is like the pieces are not quite in place, but moving towards a more complete picture. I really do want to spend evenings at the orchestra, I really do want to see an opera, I really do want to have a wider range of emotions and experiences, but I am afraid. I have to work through not being afraid of being afraid.
I still haven’t finished reading Healing Through the Dark Emotions: The Wisdom of Grief, Fear and Despair, by Miriam Greenspan. This is an amazing and spiritual book I bought last year. I have Emotional Freedom, by Judith Orloff out from the library, (probably will have to take it back before I finish-so it’s added to my wish list). Add to the mix, neuroscience, The Healing Power of Emotion: Affective Neuroscience, Development & Clinical Practice (Norton Series on Interpersonal Neurobiology), by Diana Foshe, et al.; which is showing me that the things I knew intuitively have been pretty sound. (Not as wonked as all the those school folks thought.) I’m also working my way through The Spiritual Anatomy of Emotion: How Feelings Link the Brain, the Body, and the Sixth Sense by Michael A. Jawer. These last two books I bought myself with birthday money-yoohoo; so I can take my time.
Perhaps this is not a simple experiment, perhaps integrating my learning into my own understanding of my emotions and feelings; and being able to use this in the practice of therapy is a complex experiment after all. I might just need some time to understand and integrate all this. I continued this conversation with Megan just today, and she explained to me, “Reading facial expressions is not necessarily about emotions. It is about what wants to be expressed. The thought, or the idea that the person wants to act on. The things or thoughts that are being held back.” I thought about this and said, “Maybe right now our understanding of emotions is so basic, that there are things we have no words for yet. Maybe facial expressions are about emotions, and intellect and words and communication, and maybe they intersect to produce something even more complex.” Hmm, maybe we’re on to something.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Goddess of Yes
I read this poem at a Mamapalooza festival that my oldest daughter organized last year. When I introduced this poem, I told the story of the Baptist mom who called my house one time, enraged that our school aged daughters were not getting along, and then when she ran out of things to be angry about, just started shouting, “Anything goes at your house, doesn’t it? Just anything goes!” I and told her calmly yes, “Anything goes.”
And so I write this in response to all those white male parenting gurus who extort all good parents to just say “No.”
I say no to no because
I am the goddess of yes
Yes to more
Yes to it all
The goddess of yes
Trying to suppress the darkness of less
The darkness of no
The darkness of not enough
Sometimes I am gentle,
Sometimes I play rough
I can be generous
Because I know there is always enough
I am the goddess of love
Love to one
Love to all
Love to conquer the fear and the fall
The fear and the fall which tears us apart
The fear and the fall which trembles our heart
Sometimes I am strong,
Sometimes I am soft,
I open my arms to embrace the lost
I am the goddess of yes to all of the no’s
The goddess who loves you from your head to your toes
The goddess who knows the good that you hold
The goddess who spins your pain into gold
And so I write this in response to all those white male parenting gurus who extort all good parents to just say “No.”
I say no to no because
I am the goddess of yes
Yes to more
Yes to it all
The goddess of yes
Trying to suppress the darkness of less
The darkness of no
The darkness of not enough
Sometimes I am gentle,
Sometimes I play rough
I can be generous
Because I know there is always enough
I am the goddess of love
Love to one
Love to all
Love to conquer the fear and the fall
The fear and the fall which tears us apart
The fear and the fall which trembles our heart
Sometimes I am strong,
Sometimes I am soft,
I open my arms to embrace the lost
I am the goddess of yes to all of the no’s
The goddess who loves you from your head to your toes
The goddess who knows the good that you hold
The goddess who spins your pain into gold
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
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