Confessions and Blurts

Lately there have been a handful of topics strolling around my mind trying to become blog posts. Not a single one of them has, so far, made enough of a stink that I'd write a whole set of paragraphs with some relatively cohesive point about them. Today is my birthday. I'm 40 years old. This is the first time I've ever felt like a new label on my age makes any difference. It's not a bad difference, but it is a difference.

As a little birthday gift to myself I'm going to just write these confessions and blurts up and share them with you all. Unedited. No long-term consideration about the form or real point of it all. No Deck influence (a writing mentor who once said I should always be able to sum up an entire essay in one short sentence). Here goes.

• When you all said, "oh, is she your first?" when I was talking about parenting and then said, "it'll be different with the second one," I thought you were full of shit. I was wrong. Number two is an entirely different experience. I mean, well, duh, she's a different child. But, with Maya (#1) I'd stay home if she was sleeping and wouldn't make plans when I knew it was nap time. Althea doesn't get that kind of fancy treatment. Maya's got places to go, and on some level so do I, so when we have to go, we have to go. Whether this stresses out Althea, makes her a more flexible sleeper/baby, or works just swell with her natural rhythms, I have no idea. I don't get to decide, though. Just gotta get going when we gotta get going.
  
  
• If you're a Facebook friend of mine it's possible you'll see other FB friends writing things that will shock, frustrate, or even disgust you. I almost unfriended some FB friends because of things they've said. But, so far, an evaluation of the deeper relationships I have with some of these more radical sorts has me eating a little crow. The crow is really kind of disgusting tasting. But, it's something my older friends have said for ages (I've always had friends who were 10-20 years older than me, love 'em all). They've told me all along that some day I'll broaden my horizons in my friendships. I'll have friends with widely divergent socio-political views.
  
  Last year when a colleague of mine said something terribly racist I considered discontinuing our relationship. But, as I did then in that situation, I realize slamming the door on someone because some of their views are distasteful or even dangerous only burns bridges. If there are other qualities in those friends that I respect, if they are thoughtful about their views, maybe we can learn from each other.
  
  I mention the Facebook situation because recently a FB friend had a status update that quite literally made me want to throw up. It was so deeply hateful, it scared me. I then considered the range of views of my Facebook, Twitter, and offline friends. My online community is beautifully diverse in every meaning of the word. The socio-political spectrum is entirely covered (Doug Tarnopol and Deck Deckert on one end and "Asbestos Dust" on the other). I'm sure there are other people radical in their views on certain issues I could list here, too.
  
  So, dear older and most often wiser friends, you were right. Ack. I hate saying that. But, it's true. My life is richer having the variety of views around me, even when some of them make me afraid for the future of humanity.
  
  
• Just because I talk about it doesn't mean I'm complaining. Someone I know recently implied that by pointing out I have about zero True Free Time I was complaining about being a Mommy. In fact, I was only stating the truth. At any moment in my job as a Mommy, I could be interrupted. I have a 4 month old (naps are never predictable), I have a six year old (she plays independently, but it's not her strong suit, yet). There are about a gadgillion things going on at once in this job. So, stating a truth (I could always be interrupted so I stay in a sort of constant state of vigilance) I wasn't complaining.
  
  
• Just because I'm complaining doesn't mean I think things need to change, that I want someone to help, or that I wish things were different. Again, that same person gave me grief (said, basically, suck it up) for complaining. When I was a senior in college and went to the college counselor's office, I filled out some paperwork in the waiting room. When it asked, "Why are you here?" My answer was that I felt like I was a pressure cooker and if I let anything out at all I would explode. That was...wow... that was almost 20 years ago. I've had more than a decade of therapy, several 24 hours in recovery, and just through living in time I've learned a few things. One of the most dangerous things I can do is keep things in. Sure, I should let them out constructively. But, even if I have to let it out in a big messy sobbing brawl, it's better than keeping it in. So, to anyone who wishes I'd just suck it up and keep it to myself: move along. That part of me isn't likely to change.
  
  
• Parents need to lighten the hell up. None of us really knows what we're doing. When my outrageously well behaved six year old decides it's time to see what I'll do if she really disobeys, what the hell do I do? I want to smack the shit out of her, of course. Luckily for me, I realize that's just a reaction to my helplessness about the situation. But if I let loose a few GOD DAMMITs or scare the heck out of her with my rage or make some huge mistakes I'm forgetting about at this particular moment (I've made them, I'm sure), that's what I'll do. Recently a Facebook friend commented on the issue of "crying it out." This isn't a method of helping a child sleep I would choose. But, Jennifer noted that if letting her child cry alone in her crib was the worst damage she inflicted on her child she probably wasn't doing her job right. This made me chuckle, but it's actually true.
  
  Do you cloth diaper? I don't. Do you formula feed your baby? I don't. Do you let your toddler watch television? I didn't/won't. Do you let your child sleep in your bed? I do. There are so many, too many, places we can find we are different, parents. Please, please, please, let's just agree that we're all doing the best we can and making one choice over the other doesn't make either of us wrong. I don't care if there's scientific evidence supporting a choice. I don't care if there are stories going back to Biblical times showing a certain choice is best. I can't stand being afraid to mention some of my favorite parenting choices for fear someone who chose something else will think I am judging them harshly. Let's leave each other alone and agree to support each other no matter what, okay?
  
  
• Facebook is the new front porch. There's this mythical notion that people, human beings, used to be more personally interconnected. I'm not so sure I believe it. But, a lot of those older friends I told you about claim it's true. The scoffing people do about online communities (scoffing comes almost exclusively from those who don't participate themselves) is generally uninformed. I have never been more connected to more people in my whole life than I am at this point in time. I've got a handful of great offline friends, a handful of good online friends, and a massive assortment of people-I'm-getting-to-know online as well. This topic (Facebook/Twitter as valid social connections) is big enough for its own blog post, though I may never write it since I think the topic has already been drummed to death.
  
  
• Social expectations about what makes a relationship work are ridiculously limited. Somehow, somewhere, most of us developed a notion of what is supposed to be. I'm speaking now in particular about marriages and other deeply committed romantic relationships. This, too, could probably be a full blog post but because I myself am married I've gone back and forth about the appropriateness of sharing my personal opinions since it won't be clear just what place my own marriage takes in my views. And, frankly, that's none of your business. It's just that lately I've seen so many people with so many different "issues" in their marriages/commitments and almost all of them are stressed because they think they should be a certain way. Some flexibility in what works for each particular couple is in order.

Oh, I had so many other items for this list. But, it's 7:30 and I've got about 20 more minutes of time to myself. I could save and come back to this, but that's not what this is supposed to be. I'm going to publish this, warts and all.

Turning forty is a surprise. Not at all, obviously, that I didn't realize it was coming. But, it's causing a much deeper level of reflection than any birthday before. I don't mind getting older, as I've blogged about before. I do love my age. But it's no longer the case that I feel like a little kid. Of course I can feel like a little kid at times, but, what I realized today is enough time has passed in my life and I've had enough (repeating and repeating) lessons that the part of me that feels "grown up" is about as strong as the kid in me. Fascinating.

Some time I might come back and count the number of times I wrote "I think," or "it's my opinion that..." and such phrases. It's my opinion that this is the place where anything I say is by default what I think or opine. I delete those phrases as redundant. I do type them a lot, though.

If you are still reading, thanks so much for stopping by, for reading my words. In a way, you've just shared a part of my 40th birthday day. It's been a good one. It'll be even better after I take this very needed shower.


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Revisiting the cycle of abuse

Talking with a friend recently I recalled my experiences in abusive relationships. What struck me most wasn't that I had once again trapped myself in the insanity of that cycle, but how to this day I still feel the need to defend the abusers when I describe what happened.

The truth is, though, even the most controlling and abusive person does have good qualities. Even good intentions.

How does someone like me who prefers to see the good in people truly heal after escaping an abusive relationship?

Just like anyone else, I suppose. And, just like I, Heather, need to. Friends recommend: revenge fantasies, revenge acts, writing, talking, replacing, acceptance, and prayer.

Because the wounds from the experience now feel newly opened, I'm going to talk about them as if they are fresh. Years of therapy did bring a great deal of insight, but more recent experiences have taught me the seduction of the sickness remains.

There is a fine line between identifying my part in a harmful relationship and dismissing someone else's responsibility. In fact, I was just talking with a friend about how easy it is for some of us, once we experience the freedom that comes from identifying our own part in a relationship, to minimize or ignore actual wrongs done to us. In recovery it's essential that I don't harbor resentments. Resentments are what keep me sick. However, like my friend, sometimes it's so difficult to face the bad behavior of a loved one that I gloss over it and end up effectively blaming myself.

What was it like, being in this abuse cycle?

Intoxicating.

Passionate.

Exciting.

The ups were so up it's hard to describe. The downs were so intense I can honestly liken it to the experience of the car crash I had. Entirely dazed and shocked and gazing down at the wound gouged in my gut (a little embellishment in the comparison) wondering how it got there and realizing it hurt more than I thought possible.

But, oh, the ups. The times his tender self appeared, when he seemed as genuine and gentle as a five year old that I just wanted to scoop him up and comfort him forever. If I were to try, though, I learned quickly, to even look tenderly in his direction during those sweet times it was a 3/97%* chance I'd get SLAMMED into a figurative brick wall with all the force he could muster. Skull cracking force.

For me, the appeal was a lot like the appeal of gambling. Even something as trite as a slot machine. In go the quarters (or, later in the evening, the dimes, then the nickles) into the machine, pull the lever (hate those push buttons, but maybe that's all there is anymore, I don't know), will I get a cup full of shiny money? Or will there be a stale and flat mismatched set of images on the machine? The downs of the slots weren't nearly as punishing as the downs of the relationship. But, it was the ups that got me, and I wanted more. More of the ups. More more more. The ups were so seductive and my need to see the good in people was so strong I almost immediately forgot the tears and helplessness I felt when there was no reward.

Isolate the good in the experience and to this day I will defend them as valid. To this day I will think of the abuser mostly focused on those qualities that are good. Perhaps that's a weakness in me, or perhaps it's a survival skill, or, perhaps it's because those parts were actually lovely at times. I'm eager for any opportunity to forgive and find peace.

What needs to change in me still, I realize, is that tendency to wash away all the bad acts just so I can see the good.

As I wrote emails about this experience to a couple different friends they each echo back what I'm saying (as the best friends always do, help me hear me): what he did hurt me, it doesn't matter why he did it. And, even more important (as we all hurt each other at times, it's the nature of being human), he would have kept hurting me in irrational, manipulative, and mindfucking ways if I stayed with him.

It didn't matter that he described himself as poison. It didn't matter that I know he didn't want to hurt me. It didn't matter that I could tell he really did care about me. It didn't matter that he knew I didn't deserve such bad treatment. Just because he struggled didn't make the end result something I should accept.

I'm surprised, honestly, that after 20 years I still haven't fully learned these lessons. I do know that learning for me is like a pendulum, ever swinging back and forth between excessively healthy and harmful, growing closer and closer to serenity and peace. It surprises me, though, when I discover the pendulum is still swinging so widely. When lessons I know I learned over a decade ago come back as fresh as if they were brand new and hurt as if I had never healed.



*In re-reading this post before publishing I started with a 15/85%, then changed it to 10/90, then 5/95, and now, the most accurate 3/97% (3% being the likelihood he'd respond kindly/well to my tender advances).


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God

An atheist friend of mine recently asked if I'd written about my idea of god. I suspect I have, but I don't know where those writings are. So, here I go.

As a child I believed in god by default. My parents believe in God, my father's a minister, we said grace at meals, sang the Doxology as our bedtime song. In debates with my best friend in preschool we would argue about what god was. She claimed god was in the moon. I believed god was everywhere. She pulled roots out of the ground better than I did, but I was better at the word contests. Just like most children, though, I didn't question much beyond figuring out what I was supposed to believe.

In high school I came up with an answer to the question of religion that I've often used since. I believe in church. I've seen people helped who have no other place to go. The institution itself can be a community of support unlike any other that I knew of at the time.

But as in high school, in college I made the mistake a lot of people (especially atheists and conservative fundamentalist religious people) make. I mixed up church and faith. I struggled with the fact that I never, ever wanted to go to church on Sunday mornings. Too hungover, of course, but, even when I wasn't, church wasn't a tempting option beyond the guilt of knowing my dad would like it if I went. I didn't think much about what I might believe in religious terms.

Fast forward to 1996 when I found myself facing my alcoholism. What worked for me, how I recovered from alcoholism, was realizing that staying sober wasn't up to me. My will power hadn't worked. "Wasn't up to me" meant there was something -- no idea what that "thing" was -- stronger than me, beyond me, where I'd get my strength.

Some people have spiritual experiences that are sudden and dramatic. Some have experiences of the "educational variety," where slowly, bit by bit, they change inside. Some think they've never had a spiritual experience (addressing this would be an entirely different blog post) at all.

In my case I had a sudden and dramatic experience that made me understand that god is real. Very early in my sobriety I was walking around as an exposed nerve. An open wound. My feelings were overwhelming me, too raw, too much. I was convinced I was going insane. I even asked people I knew how I could tell if I might need to go to the emergency room to get checked in to a mental hospital or something. It's only in restrospect I know I was just feeling feelings. At the time I thought I was being taken over by a truly insane brain. One night it came to a crisis point. I was lying on the air mattress in my otherwise unfurnished apartment, curled in the fetal position. The room was dark. I had my arms wrapped around my shins. I was rocking back and forth. I was sure I couldn't get up. I was actually honestly totally sure I couldn't get up, that I was almost paralyzed (except for the rocking).

In these weeks where I thought I was losing my mind, I'd call a friend of mine who was helping me with the difficult days of early recovery from alcoholism. I'd call and ramble on about how miserable I was. She'd say, "did you pray about it?" I'd say, "no" and I'd be so pissed that she wasn't paying attention to what I was saying. "I don't believe in god," I'd say. "Pray for the willingness to believe," she'd say. INFURIATING. "I don't want to pray for the willingness!" I'd whine. "Pray for the willingness to pray for the willingness," she'd laugh. Why I kept calling this woman, I'll never know.

Anyway, the message that something more powerful than me, something spiritual, was an essential part of my recovery from alcoholism was definitely a recurring theme in my life those days. I wasn't a believer. I wasn't a prayer. I didn't think there was anything I could pray to. In fact, even in those times when I thought I did believe in God, I never believed in the concept of praying for something to happen and having that thing happen.

But, in this moment of darkness when I thought I might never move, when I thought if was finally able to move that I might need to kill myself to end this insanity, I said these words in my mind, "God, please help me." And I realize any atheist reading this or any person with logic as their guide can have other explanations for what happened next, but, the *instant* I said, "God, please help me" I found myself suddenly sitting up on that air mattress.

I said it again.

I reached over for the phone and called a friend. I explained I wasn't sure what I was going to do next, but that I had to do something.

Dazed, I went to be with other people just like me who were all looking for spiritual solutions for their alcoholism. I told everyone I talked to how I thought I might need to be checked in somewhere. (I had no sense of personal boundaries at the time.)

From the moment I burst into the sitting position, though, I've known -- and I mean known -- there is a power greater than I am that can help me through my most difficult times. I have no problem with you defining that experience differently that I do. I'd also be perfectly content with the description of that power coming from inside me, deeper than I'd ever reached. But, how I got to that power was something that came from outside of me. My own physical, emotional, and spiritual experience that is all the evidence I'll ever need.

This experience has repeated itself in milder forms over the last 13 years and it never, ever fails. When something is particularly difficult, let's say I've picked up some obsessive personal habit I want to change, all I have to do is ask god to help me and the problem disappears. Not immediately, in many cases. And some problems require more vigilant communication with god. The change for those most difficult situations never happen if I don't pray. If I try to force my will to be strong enough on its own with no prayer, I do the craziest things.

How do I describe this concept of god? First, and most important to me, is that I don't think there is one definition of god that is right for everyone. For me, god is an experience or essence, a power, rather than an entity. For ease of communication I do what so many do, refer to god as a thing. But god for me is more like the feeling of love. No descriptions will ever do it justice, though it's fun to try (more fun to read others trying).

Some say god is omipotent, and I'd almost agree with that. But, that word (all powerful) implies use of power. And for me god doesn't "use" power, but god is power.

Some say god is omniscient. This doesn't fit at all with my concept of god, though I don't mind if it fits with yours. My idea of god has nothing to do with an entity or even a power capable of knowledge or knowing. Though I suppose if I were to consider this as meaning the energy or power that exists within knowledge, maybe...?

Some say god is responsible for...you name it. Again, any time the word "responsible" is used the idea of god would have to be an entity capable of human like feelings or thoughts. Same goes for "what god wants." Doesn't apply. (That said, I do use the term "god's will" as a short hand way of saying that I mean tapping into that power to find my own personal solutions rather than trying to figure it out all by myself.)

How can god exist when there are so many horrible things in the world? My concept of god is unrelated to tragedies or beauty except that it's everywhere. It doesn't cause things. It only empowers or strengthens.

My favorite way of describing god is this. I can't make a squirrel. Sure, we can understand every single biological scientific step of how a squirrel comes into being. But, what makes that all happen? And, yes, again, there's science that explains it all. But, what's behind that? What makes that science? There's an essence, an energy, a something that powers it all. I recognize this is an argument that falls short for many of my atheist friends. That's fine. I have absolutely no need to convince anyone that god exists. I know it does. My experience provides more than enough evidence for me.

Re-reading this as I go I can just imagine my father saying something about the post-modern perspective, or something else about individuals and disconnection or something. It makes me consider the question of whether the fact that I'm comfortable with my own concept of god being entirely personal to me means we're all alone in our search for god. I don't often go to the Bible for spiritual sustenance, but I do really like the idea that "where two of you are gathered, I am there." Or whatever that actual line is. It fits perfectly with my notion of god. If I'm alone I may or may not be able to make contact with that power greater than I am that I call god. But, if I'm with someone, that power is already there. Almost like a cartoon character having lightening bolts going in between the two people. Even if the two people hate each other. Two people together brings that power up stronger. Or, being out in nature can do the same thing. A group of people being together in nature is also seriously intense in how easy it is to connect to what I call god.

So, god can help change the world and solve the world's problems only when people get together to do the work. But, when people get together to do the work, they're more likely to tap into that power I call god. This is why church or any other group activity focused on centering ourselves can fit with my idea of god.

If that squirrel analogy or anything else I've said doesn't work to explain that something I call god, that's fine with me. And, if you would rather describe how I find that strength I need to do things I can't do on my own in some other way (my will power, my inner strength, etc.), that's fine, too. I know the strength to tap into that greater power within me comes from outside me. And, I know that I call that experience "god."



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ModerInternetation

Not too long ago I found myself sitting in a position similar to the one I'm in now: on the bed, Althea next to me, the glow of the laptop casting a strange blue-grey glow over my hands and front. It wasn't too long ago because, actually, it was three days ago on Tuesday.

Some of you may have experienced what I'm now calling excessive-compulsive computernettering.

As I look inward on this very special day (13 years sober), I'm touched by the knowledge that my compulsive self is still alive and, um... well? It's so easy for me to overdo *anything.* It's not a big deal, really, until it is.

On Tuesday I found myself crossing over the line with my 'net usage. If you are reading this it's likely you've seen the ebb and flow of this relationship of mine. I've made some grand sweeping statements, swearing off Facebook, or other online forums, then creeping back or exploding back on the scene.

My point? It's simple. Just like I've done with lots of other mediums in my life, I can take something and overuse it and overdo it until I've pummeled it into nothing. When I start writing things like this about misusing or correctly using distractions, I know I'm reaching the edge.

Sure signs I've reached the over-doing it with my online life:

• I bring the laptop to bed with me even when it's about time for me to sleep.
• I suggest Josh drives to or from Boston (even though I like driving) when we go because I know I'll get to use his iPhone "just to check" Twitter and/or Facebook.
• My fingertips start to feel as if they've endured electric shock from being on the keyboard and/or track pad for so long.
• I "miss" my daughters even though I've been in their physical presence all day long.
• When I'm away from the computer I'm thinking about something from my online life and letting my offline life slide in some way.
• I turn off the machine for just a few hours and I miss it, or I notice the dramatically fresh breath of sanity and space that so quickly returns.

So, yeah, that was on Tuesday that I realized I'd pushed myself well over the limit of sanity in my online use. The beautiful thing about being in recovery, though, is how quickly serenity returns. Instead of spending days full of guilt, shame, and remorse, I do a quick little prayer, "god, help me," and WHAP! I'm free. Balance returns almost immediately. Joy does, too.

And now I'm sitting in that same weird blue-grey glow of the monitor typing away (and checking Facebook and watching tweets roll in and playing with the most excellent feedly). But, I'm about to finish up this blog post and turn off the computer without even a twinge of "just one more." It won't cause me any anxiety to shut it off, and I won't feel the need to check in when I first wake up. I've been reminded of the proper use of this online life. Distractions are fine, in moderation. Playing around is fine, in moderation. Ice cream, cheesecake, and deep fried foods are fine, in moderation. You name the vice, and they are *all* fine, in moderation (except for drugs/alcohol, for me, because my body reacts differently than you normies out there).

I wanted to post this little blurp of a blog post because I know I'm not the only one who overdoes the online life. It's something a lot of people won't admit to because, like any misuse of distractions, it might imply weakness of will or character. Because it's something a lot of people don't like talking about, I feel compelled (in a good way) to talk about it. If you know what I'm talking about, if you've found yourself staring at the screen feeling there's nothing more it can give you but you need to check for more anyway, you are not the only one. You are not alone. I've been there and I'll be there again. And then it'll get better. It always, always, always gets better.




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