Mist to Matter

 
Dreams that I held

Words that I hid
 
Desires denied
 
Manifesting

Mist to matter

I stand

The alchemist

In awe as

Boundary becomes

Boundless


 

Something to Cry About

I’m been thinking about this for a couple of days. Where can people go when they are hurting? Where can someone go when they need to cry? Where is a safe place for us to feel our pain? When I was a kid, I was sometimes told when I started to cry, “You want to cry? I’ll give you something to cry about.” It was scary, it was not a comforting thing to hear, and it made me angry. But if it wasn’t safe to cry; it wasn’t safe to get angry.

Sometimes I was told to “Go to your room if you’re gonna cry.” This was a little better, I could go to my room, cry and scream into my pillow and think about how much I hated my mom, who was usually the one I was angry at. When my older sister was mad or sad, and went into our room to cry, I’d try to comfort her, but she’d just yell at me to go away and leave her alone. It was that sad/mad combination.

When my kids got angry or sad, I’d try to ‘talk them down.’ I’d heard that if families just talk about things, things are OK. My kids didn’t buy into that for a minute and saw that it was my discomfort with their discomfort that drove me to try to insist that they talk about ‘it’ whatever it was.

They were right, I was totally uncomfortable with any of them feeling sad or being angry. I felt like I was a bad mom if my kids weren’t happy 24-7. And other people’s anger made me very anxious, as anger wasn’t dealt with very well in my family of origin. All kids, and all people feel sad and mad, not just happy and content. And they don’t necessarily need or want to talk about it, just then. Maybe they need to just feel the feeling(s) and process it themselves. Perhaps permission, by way of parental non overreaction would be best. I slowly learned to leave my kids alone to calm down and soothe themselves.

I’ve been thinking about this because a couple of days ago in my therapist’s office, he noted that I might have to feel the sadness of something that I’ve been hanging onto in order to get past it, and I told him flat out, “I don’t want to feel that.” And I didn’t and I don’t and furthermore, I’m not sure how or when to feel that. Seriously, I sat there in his office noticing that I had approximately 5-10 minutes of my session left and thought, “How in the hell can I feel sad for 5 minutes and then wrap it up, wipe off the tears and go back into the world and go to work?”

But I did feel sad for a bit, it welled up and I sat there and felt it. It was OK. I went into the ladies room down the hallway before I got into the elevator, wiped my face a bit, pinched my cheeks, smiled at myself in the mirror and walked to the elevator, down to the first floor and out into the world, nobody noticed that I had been sad for a bit.

In our busy lives, we have to find ways and make time to feel our feelings. Isn’t that what a kid having a temper tantrum is? Feeling his/her feelings-right there in front of God and everyone and it makes parents crazy. But it seems to make kids resilient. Maybe we can find a way legitimize temper tantrums, for all of us. Make it acceptable to carve some time into our lives for emotions. Find us all a safe place to go and cry, wipe our eyes, and come back out and face the world, a little more whole.

The Pernicious Evils of TV and Magazines or

Parents as Gatekeepers

In The Mommy Myth: The Idealization of Motherhood and How It Has Undermined Women, the authors talk about mothers as gatekeepers:
So mothers were in a bind- new multiple voices of authority were coming directly into the home, especially through women’s magazines and cable TV. Some of these voices mothers respected, and looked to for guidance, but other voices were suspect and not to be trusted. So there were more demanding gatekeeping functions imposed on mothers. (Douglas, S. & Michaels, M., 2004, p. 277)

The concept of parents as gatekeepers stood out for me, I think it's a good metaphor. Parents not as judges but as protectors, and I saw this not in the way that you don’t want your children corrupted by all the garbage that’s out there, somehow ranting, and taking a stand against the content, but instead, taking a stand to protect the sovereignty of your and your family’s time. Making your gate so strong, that nothing that will steal time from your precious home life will get inside.

So, ahem, a word then, if I may, to mothers and fathers. This is your home, this is your family, if you need someone’s advice or help, seek it out, don’t think it’s going to come to you in a magazine or on cable TV. Part of the process of finding solutions is in the seeking. Part of the solution is making phone calls, talking to people, gathering information. There are good sources of information, and their are poor sources of information, be wise. Not only are you finding (hopefully) some answers, but you are modeling problem-solving to your children.

Take a minute and ask yourself if you really need TV. Think about it, What need is this meeting in your own or in your family’s life? I cancelled cable when my children were school age and I think we’ve had it for one year (a few years ago when we were living in an apartment), since then. Instead of watching TV you can play games, go for walks, read books, read poetry or drama aloud, bake cakes or cookies or muffins, visit neighbors, well the list is endless and you’ll feel a lot better both during and after! You may be the nerd family in the neighborhood, but geez, be willing to stand up for yourself.

So, make your gate too narrow for much TV. We did have a television, and a DVD player, and when we did watch movies or TV on discs it was at our leisure, it was our choice of movie and time. It made us picky about what we would watch and that’s a good thing. Back in the day, it was a field trip of sorts to the grocery store/video store, Cashwise Video. The girls would be perusing the aisles, we’d try to find a movie that we all wanted to watch, and invariably there were negotiations and compromises. The time we spent looking and deciding was time well spent. We took our movie time seriously and we found each moment of our lives to be weighed against the time wasted in front of an unsatisfying TV show.

Magazines, really, do we need magazines? I’m not against them, and I’ve had a few subscriptions in my life, but the articles are pretty short, and often from one person’s point of view, and then there are those magazines like US that are definitely not like ME, that when I look over them in a salon or office, I feel a little creepy afterwards, like did I really want to know about some celebrity’s husband’s problems?

We get stuck in ruts, as people, and as parents. Children rarely get stuck in ruts, they still have this amazing energy inside of them that keeps them moving. They usually like change, but when they don’t get their way, they may whine, and they may cry, but you have to just take them aside and say, “Enough, this is how it is now, we’re going to have lives around here and I mean it.” Seriously, what is it saying if your kid can’t bear the thought of living without Sponge Bob? Time for a pet hamster maybe? Maybe if you cancel cable, you can afford a day trip to a stable and have your children ride a horse. Maybe if you all take a walk before you have kids do homework, they will feel like you’ve given them enough attention and settle down when you come home. Well, maybe....

I really don’t want to be a parenting expert, because I know how much parents will hate me when their kids still whine, kick, break things, and generally mess up, and they will. I know this. I have kids. So, these were just some thoughts, trying to shore up Mothers and Fathers in their general duties as gatekeepers of their own homes.

Garage Sale Jones

The days have been beautiful. Partly cloudy skies with the clouds skittering across shimmering blue. Breezes blowing softly, clean, pure and cool. People are cleaning house, sorting through basements and attics and getting new furniture, for inside and out. There are garage sales cropping up, and I want to stop. I see the cardboard signs and I start to think that maybe there’s something for me. Something like the plastic hose hang- up I found at a garage sale in Owatonna, when it was already on my ‘to buy’ list. I needed to tidy up the hose laying about the driveway. I may need some help to curb my impulse to go to garage sales. I don’t know exactly why I long to buy someone else’s junk for only 1 dollar. But I have gotten some mighty cool stuff at garage sales.

Like the amazing brass chandelier that I have hanging in my bedroom. Or the beautiful blue retro crystal necklace that was for sale on someone’s front lawn. I pondered for a while there, wondering whether or not I should spend 10 dollars on it. Wondering about whose mom or grandmother owned this, and was it precious to them? I brought it home and my daughters thought it was amazing! My best garage sale find? An LP by Bill Evans. That was a magical moment. I was looking through bins of LP’s (back when I still had a turntable and speakers). A stocky guy with a beard pulled a Bill Evans LP out of a box full and said, “Do you know Bill Evans?” I said, “Hmm, no,” wondering a bit who this weird guy was talking to me. He went on, “If you like jazz you have to listen to this. I have this already, but if you don’t want it, I’m going to buy it just to have another copy.” He was a good salesman, I bought it.

I took it home and put it on the turntable and I had no idea what I was in for. The name of the LP:You Must Believe in Spring. It made me believe in Spring and Bill Evans. I became a true believer, one listen, and I was hooked. Bill was one of the most amazing jazz pianists ever born. This garage sale changed my life, really. I sometimes wonder if the weird guy was an angel maybe. Just showing up there at this garage sale to turn me on to Bill Evans.

Thinking back, I got my turntable at a garage sale, too, another miracle of sorts. I was newly separated, and my heart was breaking. I’d been married for 15 years to someone I truly loved and it just wasn’t working. Back then, I was told that things my ex did were emotional abuse. I know now, that he never intended to hurt anyone, especially me, and it would be nice to blame someone for that ‘whole lotta hurtin’ but hurtin is an essential part of life. Who knew it would take me so much time to understand that sometimes relationships only last so long? And that that’s OK. No villains.

But back then, when I still married, and I wanted a turntable to go with our stereo receiver and the hardwood Jensen speakers, my husband said, “We don’t need a turntable, we have a CD player.” He just didn’t understand that I wanted to listen to my records. To look at their worn cardboard covers, to feel the paper, to glide the black disk out of the white paper liner and to place it on the turning table, to delight in the little pops and scratches. I wasn’t very good at sticking up for myself, for getting what I wanted. I’d back down way too easily, so when I did get something good, it seemed like a miracle.

The spring after my divorce, I was wandering about Owatonna with a broken heart and I found a turntable at a garage sale. A Pioneer, circa 1985, not in bad shape, the plastic cover was cracked. A minor cosmetic defect. My ex, Steve, had left me nearly everything in the house, including the stereo receiver and the hardwood Jensen speakers. I plugged everything in and it all worked. James Taylor, Sweet Baby James and Laura Nyro roared through the living room and my heart stopped hurting for a bit. I was newly single, and maybe I’d get through this just fine. Maybe I’d start getting to do what I wanted to do, without anyone to tell me ‘no’ anymore. Maybe being alone wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe I'd learn to believe in myself.

Becoming Codependent with Myself

I was raised to be codependent. There you have it. I was raised to not feel my own feelings and to take care of everyone and everything less capable of myself at the time. When my little brother overdosed on baby aspirin at age 2, and I was all of 4; my mother in her distress cried out, “Why weren’t you watching him?” When he nearly died, I was terrified, but my parents were too distraught over my brother being in the hospital to notice. They called the church, and the Nuns prayed. He lived, and 7 years later when he fell off the fishing dock into Lake Harriet, I jumped in after him and he nearly drowned me. We could both swim, I think we were just scared and overcome by the fact that the water was way over our heads. Fortunately some woman pulled us out and marched us home and asked my mother “Why weren’t you watching them?”

And so why ask why? Why with 8 children did you not know where they all were, all of the time? Do the math, 1 mom, 8 kids. Dad was at work. We lived all over the neighborhood and well, stuff happened. Kids in the neighborhood got into trouble and blew fingers off with fireworks. They were cautionary tales. Average people like us did not go to psychotherapy. We were supposed to learn lessons.

Some of these ‘lessons’ we internalized. Some of these lessons were subtly woven into our lives at school, at church and at our friend’s homes. Girls were supposed to nice, and help others, and serve others and be careful. Be quiet, and not complain. We didn’t talk about our feelings back then.

I also grew up believing that if I weren’t careful enough someone might die. When I was 12 and I started babysitting, I’d have nightmares that the babies would die. I still babysat, and no one ever died. I was a good babysitter. A bit tense, a bit worried, but reliable.

When I became an adult and got married and had children, I realized that I had to take care of these people. Feed them, listen to them, understand them. Keep them alive. I honestly came to a point where I didn’t feel like I knew what I was doing, but I had to keep going. When all my girls were little, I had this nagging thought, that if only I could start over I would be able to do it differently. Not really knowing what different was, but I was often overwhelmed by thinking that maybe I was doing it ‘wrong’ and that my kids weren’t getting everything they needed, emotionally. I thought if only I could be more organized!

I think now, that not being allowed to feel my own feelings, and not really understanding how emotions work to help us, kept me from feeling competent. From feeling safe and like I was doing a good job. I ended up growing to need affirmation, often. I wanted to be assured I was ok and that everyone else was ok. I couldn’t trust my feelings, this might have helped me gauge the “ok-ness.” Instead, because I couldn’t feel, sort and label them, my feelings often overwhelmed me. I was often in a state of being worried about being blamed and scared that something really terrible might happen.

Well, sometimes terrible things did happen and we survived. Mostly. We all have our psychic scars. We have our wounds that still hurt. And, we still have the rest of our lives to recover. So how do I recover from my codependent traits? It helps to have your children all grow up. It helps to have them tell you directly that they want to have nothing to do with you wanting to get your needs met by helping them.

I have slowly started to notice when I want to give in to people, just to keep peace. I’m noticing when I tell someone, “Really, it’s fine,” when it’s not. I’m trying to own it, and accept it too. I’m noticing my feelings and letting myself feel them. I’m thinking about what I want, what I need. I’m spending more time with friends, making time to have fun, to do want I want. I’m taking the words of my daughter, Erin, to heart. She said, “Mom, now you’ll just have to be codependent with yourself.”


This is what Wikipedia says, (take heart): Some believe that codependency is not a negative trait, and does not need to be treated, as it is more likely a healthy personality trait taken to excess. Codependency in nonclinical populations has some links with favorable characteristics of family functioning.
The language of symptoms of and treatment for codependence derive from the medical model suggesting a disease process underlies the behavior. There is no evidence that codependence is caused by a disease process, communicable or otherwise.

walking in between time

it is 5/4/10 it is 7:38 it is Tuesday and I am 51

I am trying for an optimal life. I took a walk, for the minimal 1/2 an hour. I had my cell phone with me. I took walks as a child, and never took a phone with, never ran into too much trouble and I always made it home. As I walked I thought, “This is the next part of my life.” My youngest turned 21 yesterday and so I guess she’s grown now. And now I need to figure out what it is that I want.

I get out of my car, parked by Lake Harriet. I walk for just a bit, and my eyes catch sight of a man with something nearby on the grass. Little pictures, and a sign that says, “Buy Art.” I look up, I see a shock of white hair and the most beautiful blue eyes. He smiles and says, “Hello.” I say, “Hello” back. I keep walking, fast, thinking about his eyes.

The sky was grey, cloudy, it was windy. Thought it might rain. The lake looked like gray swirling magic. The green trees danced in the wind. The clouds raced around the sky, thinking, “Should we stop and rain here or just blow on by?”

I walked by the Lake, and imagined that maybe one day I’d live by the sea. And then wondered what was I thinking? Why being here, at the lake wasn't good enough, beautiful enough? Why was it so hard for me to be present in the present? But it was. I just don’t know how sometimes it just seems that I am stuck in this place in between time. Trying to untangle the past, to see how it is impacting my present, maybe change, and change how it impacts the future. Trying for something better. And in the trying, it seems I lose my footing on today.

My therapist says I’ve been through a lot, that it was hard. It was. So, it goes without saying I am looking for not so hard in the future, not so alone. But how? I am making new friends. I’m finding people to spend time with besides my children. I am deciding to quit trying to fit into my family of origin, it’s too late anyhow, the window has closed and they have locked the door.

We have grown into the future. I walk around Lake Harriet, and I remember that my older brothers would let me tag along sometimes to go ice skating while they played hockey when the lake was frozen. My mom made me take swimming lessons in the cold mornings of early summer. Little kids with goosebumps, teeth chattering. I learned to swim. Swim into the future, right through the present when things are hard. Swim, swim to tomorrow.

Wondering, and asking myself, “What is it you want?” I once told my dad what I wanted. It was in high school, my senior year, and he asked, “Well, what do you want to do next year?”
“I want to go to Paris, Dad, and learn to be a pastry chef.”
His response? “Well, that doesn’t seem like a very good idea.”
Hmm, not such a good idea. That was the past. I still want to go to Paris, but not to learn to bake. I just want to go and take walks and drink cafe au lait. In my reality, in my real life, in the present, I go home, write, and go to bed; then I will wake up, go to work. I prayed to the wind as it blew across the lake, blow something new into my life.