Ode to the Magic of Hitting Certain Sweet Spots

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As I think and reflect back on past relationships and friendships, I muse at the diversity of connections I’ve made throughout the years.  I look back with wonder at the many “me’s” I’ve evolved through; and the short and long term relationships that have accompanied me along the way.  I smile at the rights, and grimace with resignation at my wrongs.  But as I grow older, wiser and attempt to step more and more wholly into myself, I begin to realize that though I’ve had many connections, there is a certain magic in hitting certain sweet spots.

0DAF0E75-6D2C-4615-9841-3AB53F5E3D1FIt really takes a special type of man to love me.  It takes certain eyes to be able to really see me, and a certain kind of heart to be soft hearted to me.  It takes a certain kind of patience to make space for me, and a certain type of communication style and open mindedness to be able to meet me in conversation.  It takes a certain type of capacity to allow me to work through my issues and allow me to butterfly and stretch around as I need to.  It takes a certain type of security to respect my privacy and delicate boundaries.  A certain type of selflessness to be on ready for our friends and family in need.  It takes a certain type of loyalty and respect that I never feel unchosen in a room full of people.  It takes a certain type of independence and self assurance that isn’t threatened when I peacock and doesn’t try and harness or stifle my energy.  It takes a certain kind of man with a certain type of free spirit that is always open to new ideas and adventures.  But most importantly, it takes a certain type of man, offering a certain type of unconditional love that hasn’t fucked me up more, but has helped me to heal, blossom and grow instead.  Where I am at in my journey is truly a testament to who I have been supported by.  It’s easy day to day to take this for granted and forget how special it truly is. Thank God for J.

The same goes for friendships…it takes a special kind of magic to land us in the right places at the right times to connect with the right people.

I thought I had stopped believing in soul mates a million years ago.  We were messy human beings when we met and fell in love.  We weren’t put together and it sure wasn’t a fairytale.  It hasn’t been easy, and we’ve been through our share of ups, downs and sideways.  But despite the messiness, it’s so crazy to sit back and really reflect on these “certain kind of qualities” that J has, that has taken me and our relationship miles; I wouldn’t have known way back when what we would and could become.  I’m definitely not always deserving of such grace and wonder, but that’s the beauty of magic – it’s unexplainable; magical.

Because the truth is, any of us could be with or befriend anyone. Relationships and friendships are choices we make. I probably have the capacity on some level to make it work with anyone; befriend anyone and be close to anyone.  But all of the twisting and turning I would do to accommodate just anyone, would come with a lot of expense…a lot of inauthenticity, a lot of bending or breaking, not feeling good enough, feeling insecure or devalued or not feeling known or understood.  It’s very interesting how different people, and different styles can impact me; either, settle and nurture or trigger and spin out this one little ol me.  Anything can fit, but not everything is safe, and not everyone will serve or preserve our highest good; that’s a bitter pill to swallow sometimes, but it’s part of the process of trusting life and choosing all of our relationships and connections wisely.

So today I am glad for the magic that happens bringing extraordinary love and connection to my very ordinary days…there is nothing better than resting in these sweet spots. <3

Tenderize Your Pain

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I’ve recently picked up Meditation again. 

These times still feel strange – sort of closer to normal but definitely not quite normal yet.  These days are wearing.  Continuing to navigate through this drawn out period of polarization, division, seclusion, isolation, fear and restrictions certainly takes a toll on each of us in some way.  

A girlfriend of mine had previously directed me to the Insight Timer App which has a lot of great beginner level meditation lessons…I found a teacher, Sarah Blondin, whose poetic style really spoke to me.   Recently, I practiced one of her meditations wherein she coined the phrase, “tenderize your pain” and that spoke volumes to me and really had me examining the things I keep bundled up inside.

Tenderize your pain.

Don’t let it harden you.

Don’t let it create ridges between your dreams and experiences.

Don’t let it create breaks between your past and present.

Don’t let pain compartmentalize or divide your heart.

Don’t let it crystalize gaps between who you are and how you are.

Don’t resist it, don’t control it, don’t stop it, don’t run from it, don’t medicate or numb it.

Tenderize your pain.

Soften it, until it becomes malleable.

Soothe it, until it stops crying out.

Accept it so it doesn’t rage against you.

Let it breathe and float to the surface so it doesn’t bury itself within you.

Tend to it until it loosens, softens, and melts right off of you and away from you.

How?

Pick at it, prod at it and examine it.

Look at it, acknowledge it and sit with it.

Most of all, be okay with not being okay.

Recognize that pain is simply a call back to loving yourself.

Know that at the root of any experience of pain is a reminder for us to go back to ourselves for our true source of love, healing and wholeness.

Know that pain is part of the shared human condition and experience, that no one is exempt from its experience, but remember, it is temporary.

Pain will shift as our lens shifts, it will move as our focus moves and it will decrease as our awareness and space from it increases.

Pain can be a gift.

Pain reroutes us.

Pain makes us recreate, rebirth, reevaluate, remove and reinvest in ourselves when it causes us to pivot back to ourselves.

What is it teaching you? Why is it here? What can you do?

Tenderize your pain so that your spirit and your heart stay tender, and in staying tender you will remain in love… <3

 

And I said it didn’t feel very “Christmasey” this year….but Emmanuel

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My husband and I spent a much needed week in Huatulco and got back about a week ago. I had left all of our Christmas stuff (decorating and shopping) undone, to be accomplished when we got back.  Of course, things have felt like a whirlwind since getting back, and nothing has been wrapped, written or decorated.  It almost doesn’t feel worth it to try and catch up now. It’s been a tough year, and I know I’m not alone in this numb unChristmasey feeling this year.

As human beings, I know we start with the best of intentions.  We plan, make goals, and promises – we commit, we hope, we strive and we try to be good.  We scrape down our callouses and promise ourselves we will reset.  But we are human, flawed, imperfect and sinful.  And as much as we try to come from that good place, we act and operate from our dysfunctions.  And maybe that’s what we miss when we plan or set out our New Years resolutions.  We try and compartmentalize our good from our bad; as if they aren’t inherently intertwined together within us, making us exactly who we are…as if these parts of us don’t affect or infect each other.  So we keep cycling.  We keep picking ourselves up with new promises; tumbling down and getting back up…in such desperate need of a saving grace, asking for meaning and purpose to this circle of humanness we can’t free ourselves from…but then one night, a child was born, and they called him Emmanuel “God is with us”.  With Him came this promise that we wouldn’t be alone in our humanness, and none of our dysfunctions nor any of our promises would destroy or master us, because He would be greater than them all. He would come into our humanness and leave as our Saviour.

Until this very moment, I said I wasn’t feeling very Christmasey.  That it’s been a tough year, and I miss my Mom, that I’m upset and angry with life and feeling a little soul sick…but You come and remind me, this time isn’t about any feeling of Christmas, it’s the truth…and You call me to surrender all of these things: my intentions, my promises, my dysfunctions and feelings to the real truth of Christmas.  He is now with us.  Our tree isn’t up, the gifts aren’t wrapped nor our cards written…but what greater gift than this to go deeper than my humanness and save my soul sickness…that’s Hope…that’s Emmanuel.  <3

Conscious (un)-Coupling

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I remember when Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin were breaking up, the term “conscious uncoupling” came to light.  Conscious Uncoupling is as it sounds; a very intentional separation, a parting amicably if you will…which is interesting to me.  The concept of intentionality, purpose and care in detangling lives is definitely a far cry from my own experiences of break ups.  I’m more familiar with haphazard and abrupt endings.  But the respect and smoother transition that could come from more of a slower and thoughtful deconstruction of a relationship sounds easier and way healthier.

Last month, my husband Jason had gone to India by himself to take care of some outstanding family matters back home. Initially, I dreaded him leaving.  I dreaded being alone after becoming so accustomed to our normal (seemingly codependent!) everyday life together.  What would his absence look and feel like?  Our daily rhythm is full of shared time together – lots of morning coffees, workouts, walks, dinners together – pink and blue jobs where we divvy up household chores – we wake and sleep together…this daily rhythm is how we know each other, how we relate to each other and live together – in essence, this rhythm is how we love each other.  What would it look like I wondered to be alone?  It had been years since I had been alone, and quite frankly, I’m usually a scaredy cat on my own. (sigh)

Well despite bawling the entire way home from the airport after dropping him off – the days that followed turned out to be a HUGE SURPRISE!  What I thought would be lonely time, actually turned into beautiful time alone.  Unexpectedly, I slept well, I ate well, I relished in the alone time to journal or contentedly putz around the house.  I freely met with friends – but most of all, I had an energy that was reminiscent of my younger years (never mind eating like a teenager again by opting for cereal or oatmeal for dinners).  I felt a renewed sense of self, freedom and energy in a way I hadn’t experienced in a long time.  All of this time, I had assumed that my usual tiredness, lethargy and over eating was all just a natural product of aging.  But wow, it was pretty surreal to unexpectedly come alive again in a way I didn’t see coming AT ALL.  From 44 to 22 overnight.  It was magical.  Weird, because there was a time when I was in my twenties and thirties that I loathed being alone – silly girl.

Why was it so magical? Being alone was the immediate absence of any external stresses or pressures. There was no energy I was sitting with, other than my own.  It allowed me time to really check in with myself, in a way, I’m not normally attune to.  I was able to gauge where I’m really at, and I liked it all! I liked where I was at, what I was doing, how I was being and who I’ve become.  It was probably the first time in a long time that my own company felt like enough…it felt pretty complete.

So what does this all mean now that Jason is back home?

Now before people start to read into my marriage and begin to wonder if this post ends in an Conscious Uncoupling type of situation – rest assured it doesn’t.  The opposite is actually true, the need for conscious coupling.

It means that in our daily rhythm, we failed to continue evaluating and bettering our marriage and our life together by failing to take care of ourselves first too.  We forgot to keep track of ourselves as individuals before pouring into that rhythm of “us”.  At some point in our relationship, probably early on, between our shared responsibilities, we somehow assumed or absorbed so much of each other that we let go of ourselves in the process.  Maybe that’s what happens when people come together, but is that really the best and healthiest way to last?

Our partnership has been more than just supporting each other. Somewhere down the road, our edges blurred, we melded together and started to own and take on each other’s stuff.  Investing in “us” and wanting “us” to succeed and the different ways we approach that meant some level of conforming to each other’s expectations and standards.  Conforming until we found “middle ground”, until we found some workable and happy medium, ie) our daily rhythm that seemingly felt natural as far as “we” are both concerned, but maybe not so natural to us as individuals in this coupling that we have since LONG lost sight of anyway.

Daily rhythms are sneaky – they feel normal and “easy” because we become so accustomed to them – but what a grind they can be!  Stress, perfectionism, unbalanced roles, high expectations, performance, management, constantly consulting or seeking approval…all of these things can unknowingly creep into our daily activities with just minor discomforts at first.  I’m talking about that adrenaline first thing in the morning while we try and fight traffic to get to work on time, the stress that sits as tightness between our shoulder blades, that edge in our tones when we have to remind someone to do something we thought they would have already done, that tiredness and impatience in having to manage yet another task that could have been handled by the other without direction or consultation…all the while not realizing how unnecessarily attached we are becoming to what each other’s stuff is supposed to look like – having opinions when we wouldn’t have cared before. It’s this entanglement of unconscious coupling I am talking about, haphazard ways of being together and staying together without any real critical examination of what actually works and what doesn’t anymore.

Almost eleven years later, of course we aren’t the same exact human beings we were when we came into this partnership, so how have we not adjusted our roles and daily rhythms accordingly?  Well, it’s kinda my fault.  For majority of our relationship, I’ve been a bit of a control monster, stupidly convinced that there is the “right” way of doing things; and then the way Jason does things…(gulp).  While I was alone, without much to control but my cereal intake lol, I recognized how much energy I expend unnecessarily attached to things being done a certain way, looking a certain way or turning out a certain way.  It wasn’t until I was alone that I realized that seriously – DO I ACTUALLY CARE ABOUT ALL OF THESE THINGS??   Not really.  I’ve spent so much time caring, planning and pouring out that I was the reason I was in energy expenditure overload and J’s absence helped me realize that.

So what’s the solution? Conscious coupling with an eye on ourselves first.  I recognize our need to create new normals, to create more space in our everyday for ourselves – to allow for more independence and freedom in expressing ourselves, being ourselves and not losing ourselves while we are together.  Then coming together from that place.  It’s hard to change such engrained and default ways of engaging in “us”; but the goal in reaching forever isn’t about just getting there, it’s about getting there being happy, content, energized, whole and intact together. <3

 

Spiritual Warfare – Living with a Spirit of (Middle Age) Fear

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Life is a gift in some ways, joyous and full of beautiful surprises…but life can also be tragic and full of too many finalities and loss.  As I get older, I realize that I live somewhere in that tension between gratitude and agony; because I know better than not to.  I’ve learnt that life has these two polarized sides of complete joy and hell; and if I don’t stay on ready, I could be blindsided.  To me, this is a condition of middle age, this constant fear making me stay guarded.  Being “on ready” isn’t just awareness, it’s a state of mind/body/soul, it’s a tension that the back of my shoulders know well, a restlessness that interrupts my once full night sleeps, and a sort of resistance that tempers my once wildly open heart.

I don’t feel limitless anymore. But having said that, I don’t feel as powerless as I use to.  I’m somewhere in between.  Maybe that is the irony of age.  When I was younger I felt limitless but believed I was powerless (whether it was lack of freedom, lack of resources, lack of capacity or lack of knowledge) – but now throughout my life, as I’ve aged, I’ve collected those things I once lacked and lost the things I once had…my wallet and schedule are full, but surely my dreams are much smaller.

I’ve heard people talk about midlife malaise.  I know some people experience that as a feeling of tiredness, defeat, or helplessness – while others mark this time with outrageous attempts to counter these feelings with a red convertible or young girlfriend to revive old bones.

For me though, midlife malaise can be best described as a kind of grief.  Grieving the things I once had and know I will no longer have or hold again.  You know grieving tangible things like my parents, or the good ol’ days of having my sister a drive away – or grieving intangible things like youthfulness and innocence.  As you get older, you learn how very little control you actually have over anything, how vulnerable we actually are to the different conditions of life and how  by our forties, we end up so far from where we began.

For me, midlife malaise is exactly this, being so far away from where I began, from home– and I don’t mean home as like a physical place.  I mean home as in that space in our souls that houses exactly who we are – being home was that time when I knew myself and experienced myself freely and authentically.  Well before my experiences perverted and changed my understanding of myself and the world.

Home for me, had once felt like safety and hope – an idealistic perception that things always worked out exactly as they were meant to and that love conquered all things.  Home, for me, was a taken for granted security in knowing who I was, what I loved and where I belonged.

But sure, life happens and the way we process those events, what they mean to us and how we digest them changes everything. Best case scenario is we grow, but really, who at a young age really understands and has the tools to properly process life, change and loss?  So instead of building, the experiences are diminishing.  That once taken for granted security and wholeness becomes super thin, fragmented and compartmentalized.  My coping mechanism and response to change or loss was to flee.  I found loss so devastating when I was emotionally immature, that when change or loss would come calling again throughout my life, I would run the other way.  I would barely pack and quickly bolt and seek refuge in other safe houses/friends/relationships/jobs/family members.  As a more sane and emotionally mature adult, I look back and can see how my patterns and default reactions to loss have morphed – I might run or I might snap into survival mode – I might try and be in control, control the narrative, or if I wasn’t in control douse the issue with gas and start a bonfire – I’d make the loss justifiable, or appear, even if only to myself, like I chose it or was better off for it… But if all that failed, I would run, pack my bags and flee again – replant elsewhere or wander until I could find a place to rest.

And this all has somewhat worked for me throughout my life – until last year.  And it’s funny how orchestrated life can be when we look back; the string of events that happened in such a way that brought a very particular outcome and understanding – a meant to be’ish kinda thing.

Recently a girlfriend off the cuff mentioned how “resistant” I can be to things…and that resonated with me at the time, even though I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.  What was I resistant to?

Resistance for me, and the way it shows up in my life – is being wishy washy- sorta in, sorta out – I sorta love people then I sorta don’t –  non committal – lack of diving in – lots of maybes and kind ofs, lack of allowing people into my depths, or engage too much – instead I straddle the lines – spread my eggs amoungst different baskets – options, versatility, outs…resistance for me then isn’t actually resistance, it’s more of keeping a safe distance – self protecting by staying on the fray of things. (and don’t get me wrong, of course there are people who have mined their way through my barriers to really connect with me but those are the exception not the rule).

I wasn’t really aware of this resistance or keeping a safe distance until I lost my Mom last year.  Even though I don’t realize I’m choosing it, I see where I shut down, how I try and flee and how hard it is for me to let people into it.  To date, following her funeral, I have not yet been back to the grave site.   Even though I wouldn’t look at why I wasn’t going back,  I know, deep down inside, is that belief, that the loss will be something I won’t be able to cope with because intuitively I know that my usual antics of dealing with loss won’t work in that moment of seeing her precious name etched onto a head stone…where could I possibly run, what home could I even attempt to recreate or seek refuge in that could shelter me from her absence? Even still, I know I am getting tired of running.

The spiritual condition of my forties is the grief I feel in knowing that I have unknowingly travelled a long way from my home.  But throughout this last year and through my Mom’s death, I recognize how I long to reclaim that sense of home again.  I will know that feeling of familiarity, comfort, security, hope and peace within myself because I knew it so intimately before – I will recognize the old pictures I once hung and will dust off those treasured valuables again – midlife for me isn’t going to be malaise – midlife for me is going to be spiritual warfare – battling against living in this spirit of fear I’ve grown so accustomed to and revisiting the way I’ve dealt with loss throughout my life and what loss actually means.  I will deconstruct it all.

Loss devastated me a million years ago, and since then, I believed it always would.  But then my Mom taught me better with her death.  Truthfully, I would experience losing her a thousand times if it meant experiencing the richness of her relationship a thousand times.  No wonder cliches like “it’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all” exist.  I’m obviously not reinventing the wheel, but for the first time I really get it.  The love and joy I felt for my Mom is like nothing I could have ever manufactured or imagined.  My life was richer because of my Mom, and because of her life, her example and her sickness, I honestly became a better version of myself without my own construct or doing – she happened to me and bettered me…and though I lost her, I can’t deny how impacted I am by her in such positive ways.  How crazy is it, that even though “loss” sounds like loss, it can actually provide our greatest gains?  Maybe my lesson is not to fear loss or live in this spirit of fear but to trust life and God instead.  We never stop learning.  What seems definable and plain can take on such new meaning when we readjust the way we look at it, and thank God for the things that hone our eyesight or shift our lens.  I guess such is the mystery, irony and beauty of life whatever age we are at. <3

A Good Kind of PTSD

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Collage of Mom Mom's Funeral

That night you left will forever be etched into my mind.
That feeling of deep loss will always be indescribable.
I can’t focus on it too long because I’m scared the reality of your loss might be unbearable too.

But I wonder, where did you go?
Did you know you were leaving? Could you hear us that last night?
Was it peace that allowed you to take that last breath and slip away?

What do we do when our loved ones leave?
Life is supposed to just go on they say.
We should be able to adjust.
God won’t give you more than you can handle, they say.

I really miss your presence.
Your absence is greater than the sum of all of our parts.
I miss the way you completed our family,
the way you filled that fourth chair at our dinner table on Wednesdays.
I miss the comfort and taken for granted security I had in knowing;
I was yours and you were mine.

I love the example of your life.
I love the way you found deep joy and purpose in the home you created.
I admire the peace and comfort you found in being at home, and find myself feeling that same way.
I love the way you decorated your life with the things you cherished the most.
And that too reminds me to do the same.

I miss the way you loved and supported me.
Who will care for me the way that you did?
Who will call me the way that you did?
Who will light up for me the way that you did?

But still, life is supposed to go on.
I should be able to adjust,
without your smile and without your warmth.
Strange that I can barely remember anything we fought about.
I barely remember your short comings.
Your humanity is what stays anchored deep down inside of me.
My mind understands it was time. I can rationalize that “why’.
I too wouldn’t want to suffer the way that you were.
But honestly, I just wasn’t ready for you to slip away.
and had you asked, I would have asked you to stay, preferably forever.

Thank God, that even though I sit here in loss, regret or words left unsaid don’t sit with me or crowd me.
There is a lot of space here for me to breathe and grieve.
Between us, it felt complete.
Because of you, I will live better, and want to mirror your charity and humanity.

I will try to pour love into those places dry and thirsty since you left.

Maybe at the end of life, all that matters is what we’ve done and who we’ve loved.
Maybe we are only judged by our own actions and deeds.
We are remembered for the imprints we leave.
So if that is the lesson, wherever you are, bloom where you are planted.
If you are a daughter, be the best daughter you can be.
Be the best wife, the best student, the best teacher, the best friend.
Be the best you can be to all of those around you,
Leave them imprinted, like you did me.
After experiencing your loss, I know there is nothing I can do BUT honour your life and legacy by honouring your life with mine.
It’s the only way I can keep you still close to me, since you’ve gone so far away.
Let me be judged by my actions and deeds.
Let me live intentionally and purposefully.
Let everyone know that I am who I am, and do all that I do because of a mother’s love…
My Mother’s Love.

<3 rest in peace my beloved.

Your Alzheimer’s and the Gift of Grace

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It’s crazy how terrible your diagnosis initially was and it’s been terrible to see what it is doing to you….but in some ways, it’s crazy how much of a gift it has turned out to be too.

From where I am standing, your Alzheimer’s healed the brokenness in our relationship and has made it feel whole again. Finally, after years of you sacrificing for me, I was able to pour back into you.  Alzheimer’s made you vulnerable in a way I don’t think  I would have otherwise known or ever seen.  It chipped away at your high wall of accumulated stuff – the cynicism, the bitterness, those hard edges, and piece by piece gave you back a childlike innocence I bet you didn’t think you’d ever feel again.  Your Alzheimer’s pruned off some deep rooted branches of resentment.  It has protected you and covered you from the sting of some past memories best forgotten.  Instead, you wake to each moment light and present.  Your graciousness, your kindness, your innocence…the way your eyes light up when I see you, humbles me and touches me in ways I will forever be grateful for.

You almost seem content in your stillness and space now….unburdened almost.  You finally put down that heavy load you’ve carried for as long as I can remember.  That powerhouse workhorse you had always been….from working those night shifts only to come home and work tirelessly for us.  You seemed weary so long ago but you always forced yourself up and powered through.  Alzheimer’s made you finally rest.

It’s funny, how even in the worst situations, Grace always finds us…I am scared shitless of what is to come and where we will go, and it breaks my heart to accept our best days are behind us… but tonight and in these past months I’m coming to learn that having our hearts broken can create space inside of ourselves to feel and experience love in ways we would never have otherwise felt…I guess that’s the irony and beauty of Grace…the Gift of Grace.

I love you Mom. <3

 

 

Our “Dirty Little Secret”

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A few years ago, a friend of mine that I met through our small group prayed for me. I don’t remember her exact words but the essence of her prayer was that I would experience the role of mothering in my life despite us not having our own children. I  remember that prayer touching me and providing me with renewed hope that yes, there could be unconventional opportunities in my life for me to care for, provide for or extend my maternal instincts …and it would be those opportunities I would seek and embrace….oh the mysteriousness of life, God and prayer….the last thing I ever expected was the way in which this prayer comes full circle now. The last thing I expected was becoming a mother to my mother.

My mom was diagnosed with Alzheimers a couple of years ago. Deep breath.  There, I’ve said it.  Our ‘dirty little secret’. Culturally, outside of my own friends and family, we don’t ever share the not so pretty part of our lives.  We don’t talk about our illnesses or our weaknesses.   Instead we pretend,  despite seeing people diminish around us, that everyone is coping and managing just fine. It’s a ruse….like the new generation complaint that social media is just the highlight reel of people’s lives….maybe malayalees were the original creators of the ‘highlight reel’ notion….hiding realities behind veiled excuses like “oh she’s not feeling well” or “he’s still sleeping”. It’s okay for us to swap stories of back aches or knee replacements but heaven forbid we share the burden of real painful experiences like living through mental health issues, diminished capacity or depression. But I truly believe the things we suppress or repress only make us sicker. Maybe there is healing in pulling off the bandaid and letting these experiences breathe.

What did her diagnosis mean for us?  Well, outside of creating a lot of fear around the unknown future, admittedly, it finally characterized some of her behaviours in a more understandable and digestible way…the label finally gave a name, a connecting of the dots like oooooohhhhhh THAT’S why she was saying that or doing this.  But the downside to labelling?  Well it’s like any label really, like divorce or death…once we call a fish a fish, we stop believing it will fly.

This season of life is terrifying, is exhausting, is humbling and challenging.  The irony is the rollercoaster isn’t always about my Mom.  It has been blindsiding to experience the different ways each of us process her changes and transitions, and the way our different responses and personalities collide into each other and combust.  But sure, we each have our own mental and physical capacities to see these changes, accept them, impact them and move forward with them.  Although it would make life so much easier if we could all walk at the same pace; that’s just not the reality of this experience.  So I guess, it is what it is, and the most we can do, is just what we’re able to.  Outwardly, “the most we can do” will look so different from one to another so I guess the leap of faith is not relying on appearances and trusting each other’s insides instead.

In many ways it’s an honour to care for my Mom reminiscently in ways she cared for me as a child. I was deeply touched to see her finally trust me with her vulnerabilities and come to rely on me to fill in her gaps of capacity.  But in other ways it’s crumbling to witness and participate in this role reversal. Alzeimers feels like quick sand; like the more I want to artificially create and manage life for her, the deeper she sinks into losing her own motivation or will to thrive….and the soul battle is seeking meaning in this meaningless toil.  But the trick to survival seems like doing more and feeling less, because the “feeling” or analyzing might be another deep pit of quicksand I can’t afford to get stuck in.  But of course there is a danger in doing too much and feeling too less because the things we suppress or repress only make us sicker….another full circle…so I guess what I will try to keep doing, is pulling off the bandaids, and letting these experiences breathe as I move through them. <3

IMG_17355 20141129_181711IMG_1147 The Fam

Fencing Happiness In

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I was recently talking to a friend from work and our conversation had me comparing my life to his.  Comparison is definitely the thief of happiness, but sure enough, it can be a great teacher too.

Initially I criticized his overly structured almost militaristic approach to life.  He has a very particular way of doing  things and rarely strays from that structure.  From the same meals he packs for work each day, to the predictable ways he spends his evening hours with his family, to praying at night before he goes to bed…everything is planned; like clock work.  Certain hours are allotted to particular tv shows, a family bike ride while walking the dog is always an hour, and social visits have to be planned well in advance.  In his world, everything has it’s place.  Teetering off course for him, is rarely an option.  Maybe this sort of planning and structure is a natural by product of having a family with children?  Maybe children need that routine, but do adults?  This sort of structure naturally makes me cringe.  A rigid and ritualistic approach to life seemingly feels flat, boring and burdensome…but the more we talked, the more I started to see it’s value. 

Comparatively, he seems “happier” than me.  He goes to sleep each night having checked the boxes he easily accomplished for the day.  He doesn’t have the same, “What is the purpose of my life” kinda questions that I often grapple with…He’s in more of a “this is my life” kinda place, which is really just an accumulation of all of his checks… It seems that his commitment to his daily life routines actually creates the conditions in which he can be most satisfied and happy.  Maybe his boundaries, actually work like fencing; harnessing and penning in blessings, satisfaction and happiness in a way he can easily count, engage with and grasp?

For some reason, I’ve always believed that freedom and choice are important in life.  I couldn’t wait for those opportunities of free expression and unlimited choice growing up.  I believed that having lots of room to move and tons of blank space would create more possibility for creativity, dreams and unpredictability.  But is idle time the “Devil’s workshop”?   I’ve always rebelled against too many rules, believing them to be limiting.  I mean, I don’t naturally want to commit and fill my days with particular structure, because what if I don’t feel like doing that tomorrow? What if  I change my mind? What if I’d rather do something different?  Yes I am a creature of habit and have certain routines that I prefer, but nothing is written in stone.  In my plan is always the option of choosing something different. 

The last time I lived under a particular set of rules was probably back when I was a kid living in my parent’s house; when I had to follow what they prescribed as the “right” way to do things and laid out the expectations I had to heed.  But as an adult I don’t think I’ve ever really established my own life’s rule and expectations… and maybe it’s that absence which lends to me not being able to identify future goals and purpose –  I can’t check off the boxes I haven’t already identified.

Quite frankly, I’ve always just done what I felt.  My underline drive isn’t commitment or discipline, it’s emotion.   And maybe that’s the fallacy of adulthood, this freedom of choice to do whatever I want?  Could this abundance of choice and my non committal approach actually be causing  dissatisfaction? Could the rules I’ve been rebelling against actually be the secret to success and true freedom; because isn’t there more freedom in satisfaction and daily arrival than constantly searching, striving and journeying?

Maybe.

But having said all this, what does that even mean?  What does it look like to create structure and discipline in life? How do families create that structure when they don’t have children forcing them into it?  And what steadfast principles do you choose and base your daily life rules on,  were we suppose to just build off of the ones we grew up with, or do we choose them as adults?  Do I have the tools to build my own version of fencing when there isn’t really anything marking our property lines of where the posts are supposed to be put in?

I don’t know…(insert confused, hands up in the air shrug emoji here)….maybe.

 

Owning My Story Piece Meal…..

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Thank God for girlfriends!

Aside from my usual right arms, I’m in a bookclub with four amazing women, helping me navigate through another edition of Brenee Brown’s instructions on wholehearted living, “The Gifts of Imperfection”.  If anyone is ever interested, I’d highly recommend getting a bunch of gals together, ones you trust and can be open with; and dive into a Brenee Brown book.  There is nothing more enlightening than unpacking one’s life baggage with fellow women warriors, willing to talk out the weight of our lives in a safe space of trust and honesty.  In our last meeting, I was struggling with the concept of “owning one’s story”.  It sounded like a mythical concept, of course a super productive one…but practically speaking, how does one ACTUALLY accomplish that?  One friend asked me how I knew I hadn’t yet….good question! 

The need to own my story resonated with me the minute I read it.  I couldn’t describe why, other than knowing intuitively I just haven’t yet. 

I’ve felt like I have been existing in some tense place of unacceptance and resistance, without really knowing where that’s coming from.  As if some of the fun stuff we do with friends and family, have been like a welcomed surface level distraction from the well of stuff brewing beneath the good times.  Like an underline current I don’t know how to throw a line into and dissect…less it pull me in.

But in our first meeting, my friends highlighted the caution Brenee Brown gives, the safety net.  We would never talk to our friends, the way we talk to ourselves. We would nneeeevvvveerr let our friends drown in their disappointments without hope and encouragement, so why then do we so readily accept our own?  I’m HUGE on supporting those around me, encouraging friends and talking through stuff until we come to a better place together….so why then hadn’t I ever applied that same level of care and support to my own thoughts I wonder?  With that in mind and with the hope of understanding what parts of my own story I hadn’t yet owned, I pulled out my trusty journal.

I started with gross honesty.  Ugly things I had been telling myself without ever confessing them out loud.  Really negative things I hadn’t admitted before.  And after that vomit dump of heavy emotion and pages and pages later…I made a bullet list of my complaints…ooooohhhhh – thhooossee are the things I am struggling with – those are the things that are muddying up my waters, parts of me and my story I wasn’t acknowledging or looking at…So true to their caution, I consciously decided to respond to these complaints as if it were a girlfriend saying these things to me about herself.  I actually wrote down a couple of friends’ names to center and really evoke the care I would feel if someone precious to me was struggling like this –  so I continued to write…I wrote how I would respond to her…knowing that I deeply needed to feed myself truth over these ridiculous lies that had been festering for God knows how long. 

It was cathartic…freeing in ways I would never have imagined.   I wasn’t expecting God’s grace and presence there in that yuck – I wasn’t expecting freedom in confessing….so I want to share pieces of what I was struggling with, in case it lands somewhere helpful…the realizations were long winded and oh so personal – so maybe I’ll just share a bit….bits and pieces…peaces….over the next while. Bear with me… <3

#1 Complaint – I feel like I keep letting my parents down.  I feel like I am trying and trying to do right by them, but always wind up short.  It’s one thing to cook for them or help them with things like cleaning, appointments and errands – but I don’t feel like I am providing for them on a deeper level. But with the things that I do, do; I don’t feel they fully recognize or value the effort or care I take.  I don’t feel appreciated for the way I bend for them, the yes’ I say or the miles I run sometimes.  I constantly feel stressed and frustrated trying to provide what they need and inevitably feel like it’s never enough.  Our time together is filled  with just their “I needs, I wants” and never feels like soul connecting time anymore.  I feel like our relationship is constantly tense and full of unnecessary stress that I always hope to change….without ever feeling like it does.

My Advice:

Relationships with parents are tough.  They inevitably come with a lot of baggage – and dealing with aging parents is tougher because there is a feeling of helplessness everyone brings to the table in this difficult season of life.  While their needs go up, you get pulled in a million directions – and to boot, there are a million communication breakdowns which create huge barriers between you guys.  You feel responsible to them and for them, but it is impossible to always want to say “yes”.  You are not perfect.  Their holes will always be deeper than what you can fill, because they won’t ever be able to truly communicate what they actually need.  They don’t come from a culture of self awareness and reflection, so you’ll never be able to provide what you don’t know is missing.  Whatever culture of shame, fear or privacy they come from will never allow you guys to ever connect on that emotional level you wish for and have always being holding out for.  None of you will ever be truly known or understood by each other.  But that doesn’t mean it’s not love.  Between your version of love, and their version of love, is an exchange of love.  Accept their love as that provisional and transactional love that didn’t express itself in words but in actions of care, you intimately knew and relied on while growing up.  And in return, let yourself do what you can with a heart that knows it’s good intentions.  It’s not just their limited capacity in this season of life, it’s yours too; and we are all just human, imperfect human beings.

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Rest instead knowing that you are a daughter of the Most High – already fully known, fully loved, understood, created and loved.