Sigh. I was feeling so good and hopeful for almost a week. I'm grateful that I had that, because I had been worrying that I no longer remembered how to experience joy.
For two months, my husband has been working for a security company. Early last week, he made a mistake. The security camera that was on him provided evidence of the mistake. He was suspended, and yesterday we found out that he'd lost his job. This time it wasn't the economy; it was poor judgment.
So here we go again, another job loss, another round of unemployment. At Christmas time. During my end-of-semester stress. I feel weary, and I feel numb. I'm surprised that I'm not feeling angry, because I worry that it means I've lost hope.
It would be different if there were any way we could make it on my salary. If we could cover house payment and basic bills and groceries, it would be okay. But we can't, so it isn't. We haven't even bought a single Christmas gift.
So I have to figure out how to handle it this time around. He has only about a month of unemployment benefits, so I think he will be job searching a bit differently than last time around. Oddly enough, although the new location he was about to be promoted to would pay a bit more than unemployment, his actual job didn't--so once unemployment benefits start to kick in (3 whole weeks--grr), we won't be any worse off than we are right this moment.
During the past two months, I've had a chance to reflect on my own experiences throughout the unemployment jungle. I've realized that I've started to become a bitter woman. When I watch TV or listen to colleagues talk about all the Christmas shopping they're doing, I find myself thinking things like "stop bragging," "you have no idea what it's like out here so stop talking about the economy wearing your designer clothes," or "you have no right to complain about your husband who won't wash dishes but provides for your family financially." Every time, I catch myself and try to regain perspective. I told my mom yesterday that my biggest fear is that I will change irreversibly and that I'll become someone I don't want to be.
And what do I need? I have no idea. Right now, I need to get through grading. I need for my husband to stop thinking he needs to be strong for me and be strong for himself. He's so worried about me sliding into a depression, and he doesn't realize that the thing that keeps me afloat is feeling understood and shared. I can't have him trying to put on a brave front, and I need to be able to express my fears and concerns without thinking he has to fix everything.
It's interesting. I do generally feel okay, even while I feel worn down. Naturally I'm worried about him finding another job before unemployment runs out, but financially, we won't be any worse off than we have been for a while. And my sweet, sweet son who started a new job last week came home from hanging out with his friends and said, "If you need anything, I'll help out." We've raised a good young man.
I'm on the verge of tears, not because I'm afraid as much as that I'm just feeling worn out and tired of dealing with this stuff.
So here we go again.....
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Saturday, December 4, 2010
2 cars in the garage
When I saw two cars parked in my garage today, tears came to my eyes.
This may seem silly. In fact, two years ago, I would have rolled my eyes at myself. Today, though, I am sure it is a good sign.
In April 2009 when my son totaled our family vehicle and my husband lost his job within two days of each other, the world came to a sudden halt. It launched a period of numbness for me. I don't know that I will ever be able to articulate what that time was like. We experienced what seemed like a series of losses or burdens, one after another after another. At times it was relentless. We would be reeling from one piece of news or difficult decision and then be smacked down by another one. Every time something would happen, I would find myself thinking, "Okay, and what's next?" And there would always be something.
Throughout this whole time, we had only one vehicle--and it wasn't even one that could comfortably fit our entire family. The few trips we made with all five of us were horrible, with all of us having cramped legs and squished shoulders. I thought about all the times I'd not bothered to be grateful for having had a vehicle that we could all enjoy being in. Since my husband wasn't working, it usually wasn't a problem to have just one vehicle, even though it was an inconvenience. In the back of my mind, though, I was concerned about what would happen if he was offered a job that wasn't close by. How would we manage? What if he had a job that took him away at times that didn't work for the rest of the family? I tried to think of that as a detail, but I often wondered how would we handle that even while praying for a job to come along so we could have that problem.
This spring saw a major financial decision that was very, very difficult for us even while it led to some relief. While we were still coming to terms with what that decision would mean for our lives, the spring on our garage door broke. This was one of those huge, huge springs that can kill people who try to install it on their own. So, on top of the fact that we had only one car, we were no longer able to pull it into our garage because we couldn't open the door.
So while our garage became a good place to store some boxes of various odds and ends, we parked our sole car in the driveway all summer. Every time I opened the door or drove somewhere, the lone car in the driveway reminded me that there was yet one more thing we couldn't afford to take care of. It became a symbol of all that we had lost--my husband's job, a major source of income, a comfortable vehicle, the ability to park privately and not advertise our presence or absence to the neighborhood. I came to hate that car so much, and I detested seeing it in the driveway.
Then one day I got a message from a friend at work who wanted me to call her. She needed to get rid of her van and wanted to offer it to me before she tried to sell it to anyone else. It's older and pretty bare-bones, but the price was right and it felt right to take her up on her offer.
The day we took possession, we all piled into the van and drove around a little bit. It felt so incredible to be to riding somewhere with my family and be comfortable. I was so grateful. Instead of feeling the loss of an SUV with creature comforts that included heated seats and a DVD player, I was able to feel thankful. (Okay, when I got in the cold van today to pick my son up, I really missed the heated seats.)
Every day when we had two vehicles in the driveway, I was still reminded of the fact that we couldn't afford to fix the garage door and that our presence at home was for public knowledge. Still, I was constantly grateful that we once again had two vehicles. My husband could be gone and I could still go to the grocery store. I could go to work and he could run errands. I felt so free!
And then, after seventeen months of unemployment, he got a job. And because we already had two vehicles, we were not in a situation to have to wonder how to handle the transportation. Finally--something we actually did NOT have to worry about! Woo-hoo!
A few weeks ago, were finally able to get the garage door spring replaced. And finally, the car could park in the garage. We still had some boxes out there and we don't yet have a garage door control to put in the van, so we weren't in a rush. But last night it snowed, and today my daughter was bored. While I was driving to pick up her brother from a lock-in, she moved the boxes and put the garbage and recycling containers where we used to keep them, back when life was normal, and when I came home, the garage door was open and welcoming and I drove right in.
When my husband came home from work, he, too, pulled into the garage. It has been a good week for us. He found out this week that he has been offered the change to move to a different work location--one that pays just a bit more and that gives him normal weekends. So today was his last Saturday. And I found out that some consultant work I do will provide me with some additional responsibilities that come with more compensation than I have been making. This doesn't fix everything. We still have financial challenges and will for a while. But this will allow me to breathe just a bit more easily.
I had tears in my eyes looking at our two vehicles--yes, I'm still grateful that we have two--parked in our garage, right where they belonged. It is sign, a symbol, that something in life is normal again--or at least that we're headed in that direction.
This may seem silly. In fact, two years ago, I would have rolled my eyes at myself. Today, though, I am sure it is a good sign.
In April 2009 when my son totaled our family vehicle and my husband lost his job within two days of each other, the world came to a sudden halt. It launched a period of numbness for me. I don't know that I will ever be able to articulate what that time was like. We experienced what seemed like a series of losses or burdens, one after another after another. At times it was relentless. We would be reeling from one piece of news or difficult decision and then be smacked down by another one. Every time something would happen, I would find myself thinking, "Okay, and what's next?" And there would always be something.
Throughout this whole time, we had only one vehicle--and it wasn't even one that could comfortably fit our entire family. The few trips we made with all five of us were horrible, with all of us having cramped legs and squished shoulders. I thought about all the times I'd not bothered to be grateful for having had a vehicle that we could all enjoy being in. Since my husband wasn't working, it usually wasn't a problem to have just one vehicle, even though it was an inconvenience. In the back of my mind, though, I was concerned about what would happen if he was offered a job that wasn't close by. How would we manage? What if he had a job that took him away at times that didn't work for the rest of the family? I tried to think of that as a detail, but I often wondered how would we handle that even while praying for a job to come along so we could have that problem.
This spring saw a major financial decision that was very, very difficult for us even while it led to some relief. While we were still coming to terms with what that decision would mean for our lives, the spring on our garage door broke. This was one of those huge, huge springs that can kill people who try to install it on their own. So, on top of the fact that we had only one car, we were no longer able to pull it into our garage because we couldn't open the door.
So while our garage became a good place to store some boxes of various odds and ends, we parked our sole car in the driveway all summer. Every time I opened the door or drove somewhere, the lone car in the driveway reminded me that there was yet one more thing we couldn't afford to take care of. It became a symbol of all that we had lost--my husband's job, a major source of income, a comfortable vehicle, the ability to park privately and not advertise our presence or absence to the neighborhood. I came to hate that car so much, and I detested seeing it in the driveway.
Then one day I got a message from a friend at work who wanted me to call her. She needed to get rid of her van and wanted to offer it to me before she tried to sell it to anyone else. It's older and pretty bare-bones, but the price was right and it felt right to take her up on her offer.
The day we took possession, we all piled into the van and drove around a little bit. It felt so incredible to be to riding somewhere with my family and be comfortable. I was so grateful. Instead of feeling the loss of an SUV with creature comforts that included heated seats and a DVD player, I was able to feel thankful. (Okay, when I got in the cold van today to pick my son up, I really missed the heated seats.)
Every day when we had two vehicles in the driveway, I was still reminded of the fact that we couldn't afford to fix the garage door and that our presence at home was for public knowledge. Still, I was constantly grateful that we once again had two vehicles. My husband could be gone and I could still go to the grocery store. I could go to work and he could run errands. I felt so free!
And then, after seventeen months of unemployment, he got a job. And because we already had two vehicles, we were not in a situation to have to wonder how to handle the transportation. Finally--something we actually did NOT have to worry about! Woo-hoo!
A few weeks ago, were finally able to get the garage door spring replaced. And finally, the car could park in the garage. We still had some boxes out there and we don't yet have a garage door control to put in the van, so we weren't in a rush. But last night it snowed, and today my daughter was bored. While I was driving to pick up her brother from a lock-in, she moved the boxes and put the garbage and recycling containers where we used to keep them, back when life was normal, and when I came home, the garage door was open and welcoming and I drove right in.
When my husband came home from work, he, too, pulled into the garage. It has been a good week for us. He found out this week that he has been offered the change to move to a different work location--one that pays just a bit more and that gives him normal weekends. So today was his last Saturday. And I found out that some consultant work I do will provide me with some additional responsibilities that come with more compensation than I have been making. This doesn't fix everything. We still have financial challenges and will for a while. But this will allow me to breathe just a bit more easily.
I had tears in my eyes looking at our two vehicles--yes, I'm still grateful that we have two--parked in our garage, right where they belonged. It is sign, a symbol, that something in life is normal again--or at least that we're headed in that direction.
Monday, November 22, 2010
making the boys cry
Wow, I have the touch these days. There are a lot of tense people on campus these days, and all the real-life stresses seem to be magnified at this time of the semester.
Within the past three days on campus, I have had three male students cry--one in the hall, one in my office, and one in class. Fortunately for them, I was the only witness that I could tell. And each of them had really good reasons for crying. (All were relationship-related, involving break-ups, cheating, and arguing.)
At the risk of sounding sexist, it is disconcerting to have a male student cry. When it's a young woman, I put my arm around her shoulder, hand her tissues, and offer her chocolate. Supporting other women is a natural thing for me, so it isn't something I even think about.
With a man, however, I don't know what to do. I don't want to touch inappropriately (and why doesn't this cross my mind with a woman?), and the "chocolate will fix everything" line doesn't work quite the same way on guys. With my husband and sons, I can always put my arms around them, quietly hold them, and then, when they're ready, gently ask them, "What's your next step?" or "What do you need from me right now?"
I wish someone would hand me the rule book on dealing with male student tears. They don't teach that in graduate school.
Within the past three days on campus, I have had three male students cry--one in the hall, one in my office, and one in class. Fortunately for them, I was the only witness that I could tell. And each of them had really good reasons for crying. (All were relationship-related, involving break-ups, cheating, and arguing.)
At the risk of sounding sexist, it is disconcerting to have a male student cry. When it's a young woman, I put my arm around her shoulder, hand her tissues, and offer her chocolate. Supporting other women is a natural thing for me, so it isn't something I even think about.
With a man, however, I don't know what to do. I don't want to touch inappropriately (and why doesn't this cross my mind with a woman?), and the "chocolate will fix everything" line doesn't work quite the same way on guys. With my husband and sons, I can always put my arms around them, quietly hold them, and then, when they're ready, gently ask them, "What's your next step?" or "What do you need from me right now?"
I wish someone would hand me the rule book on dealing with male student tears. They don't teach that in graduate school.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
broken (not the same kind)
I got a call yesterday from the athletic trainer at high school telling me that my 15-year-old son took a bad fall at wrestling practice. A trip to the emergency room revealed a bad break.
I stayed home from school today to make phone calls and get my son into the doctor. I was fully expecting to be scheduling surgery or at least having him walk around with one of those figure-8 braces.
Instead, we are doing nothing. The clavicle has stem cells, and the bone can regrow all on its own. In fact, the doctor said that in a young person, you can completely remove the clavicle and stitch back up the tube where it had been. The stem cells in there will actually grow a completely new collarbone. I think my jaw dropped.
So my broken son will heal while wearing a sling. No brace, no cast, and no surgery. A sling will provide support while the body does what it is designed to do. He'll probably need some help getting dressed the next few days, but he'll even be able to take a shower and remove the sling at times. It makes me wonder how many things would be just as well if left alone.
I stayed home from school today to make phone calls and get my son into the doctor. I was fully expecting to be scheduling surgery or at least having him walk around with one of those figure-8 braces.
Instead, we are doing nothing. The clavicle has stem cells, and the bone can regrow all on its own. In fact, the doctor said that in a young person, you can completely remove the clavicle and stitch back up the tube where it had been. The stem cells in there will actually grow a completely new collarbone. I think my jaw dropped.
So my broken son will heal while wearing a sling. No brace, no cast, and no surgery. A sling will provide support while the body does what it is designed to do. He'll probably need some help getting dressed the next few days, but he'll even be able to take a shower and remove the sling at times. It makes me wonder how many things would be just as well if left alone.
Monday, November 15, 2010
blessings
Life balances.
I started off my day yesterday crying over my blog entry. (To be fair, I was crying anyway and the blogging was incidental.)
But then some lovely things happened.
When my husband got home, we had a real and good conversation about a "conversation" we'd had the evening before (which is probably what had set me off in the first place). I felt like he really heard me, and that mattered so much. I've been working hard at being respectful and not reactive for a while, and I felt like it was starting to make a difference. Things felt more relaxed with him than they have for a while, and I felt comforted.
Then I logged on today to see that my friend Rita wrote such a lovely and heartfelt comment about my post yesterday. She said some things that I really needed to be reminded of about my kids (thanks, Rita!).
I had come up early from school today, due to a combination sinus infection/tummy thing that caused me to let my last class go before it was scheduled to be over. I was feeling quite "blah." I just wanted someone to take care of me. I asked Child #1 if he would be willing to go to the store to get me some juice and a thermometer. Not only did he agree to do that, he offered to get things to make dinner for the family.
So this child I was worried about having ruined showed me that I hadn't broken my children after all. When the need was there, he stepped up to the plate, shouldered the responsibility, and took care of another human being.
My heart warmed, and I was once again reminded that God will do what He wants with my kids despite my efforts and errors. So all is well, and I am feeling blessed again today.
I started off my day yesterday crying over my blog entry. (To be fair, I was crying anyway and the blogging was incidental.)
But then some lovely things happened.
When my husband got home, we had a real and good conversation about a "conversation" we'd had the evening before (which is probably what had set me off in the first place). I felt like he really heard me, and that mattered so much. I've been working hard at being respectful and not reactive for a while, and I felt like it was starting to make a difference. Things felt more relaxed with him than they have for a while, and I felt comforted.
Then I logged on today to see that my friend Rita wrote such a lovely and heartfelt comment about my post yesterday. She said some things that I really needed to be reminded of about my kids (thanks, Rita!).
I had come up early from school today, due to a combination sinus infection/tummy thing that caused me to let my last class go before it was scheduled to be over. I was feeling quite "blah." I just wanted someone to take care of me. I asked Child #1 if he would be willing to go to the store to get me some juice and a thermometer. Not only did he agree to do that, he offered to get things to make dinner for the family.
So this child I was worried about having ruined showed me that I hadn't broken my children after all. When the need was there, he stepped up to the plate, shouldered the responsibility, and took care of another human being.
My heart warmed, and I was once again reminded that God will do what He wants with my kids despite my efforts and errors. So all is well, and I am feeling blessed again today.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
broken
I've been having a rough time. For the past ten years.
As I've been thinking about stress, depression, finances, faith, family dynamics, marriage, etc., etc., etc., I can't help but try to understand when problems started to happen and why some things got to where they did.
The fact that I'm finally trying to understand all this is a sign that I am genuinely doing better than I was, but it's hard. What keeps coming into my mind, though, is a whole conglomeration of stuff from the year we moved here. Yes, that was 2001. Yes, it was practically a decade ago. My husband wants to know why I can't let that stuff go. Well, no, he doesn't want to know why. He just wants me to do it. He thinks I'm broken (I am, just a bit), and he thinks that once I get fixed, everything in our lives will be better.
That is so simplistic. First, emotional brokenness is not something that can just go get fixed. Even depression that can be addressed medically leaves tracks in its wake. Everything exists within a context and is connected to many other things in my life and, therefore, in our lives. The process of "fixing" is one that will take time, understanding, and work. I will need support. That doesn't just mean applauding me when I accomplish something; it also means engaging in difficult conversations when needed and being quiet at other times--and accepting that sometimes the best thing to do is simply to ask what I need.
Second, The brokenness didn't happen overnight, and it didn't happen in isolation. It is the result of time after time of situations that didn't meet my needs. Patterns were laid down that have to be understood and acknowledged. Only then can the patterns be unwoven and rebuilt into better, healthier patterns. Furthermore, he has had his own difficult experiences, with a series of job losses and then an extended time of unemployment. I can hardly be the only one broken here, and it is unfair to put it all on me.
Third, and this is the part that I really struggle with with him, he is part of how this all built to where it is. I struggled greatly when we moved here, for various reasons, and he was not able to be there for me emotionally. Even then, I could understand why (mostly due to the demands of the job we moved here for him to do). Nonetheless, I was so vulnerable at that time, with absolutely no friends in my life other than him, that understanding his situation didn't erase the emotional needs I had and what I needed from him. Since then, we have developed the pattern where when I state something I need or ask a question, he perceives it as a challenge, a disrespect, or a blame on him. It doesn't mean anything is his fault. But how can I talk with him about anything relating to family life if he gets angry and thinks I'm accusing him of something every time I try to say how I feel? If I can't say it to the person who is supposed to be my best friend, then who do I have? And how am I supposed to respond when he tells me I'm the reason for the kids being x, y, or z?
How do we get out of this cycle? I am coming to realize that until recently, I have not grown emotionally since we moved here. I am stunted, still waiting now for what I needed then. And the longer I've gone without it, the more bitter and resentful I've become. My heart still hurts from that time. Nothing is going to make it magically unhurt. I wish it were as simple as letting it go. I sense I am approaching a point when I can let go of the things that happened (and didn't' happen) when we moved here. But that in itself won't undo a decade of patterns that grew out of those experiences.
I am working on acting in the way that I used to, in the way that the person I want to be would act. Sort of an "act like it's okay to make it start to feel okay" approach. To a certain extent, I think that is helpful already. I feel a lightening of the spirit in small ways. But it doesn't change the underlying feelings, and I still feel like I'm working on all this alone.
All of these patterns have damaged our marriage, our family, our children. I have to figure out how to live with the knowledge that I have not been the wife and mother that I should have been and that I yearned to be. Now, my kids are practically grown and I don't know if I can rebuild anything for them. These wonderful, beautiful souls have grown up as survivors in a broken family, with a broken mother, and nothing I can ever do will make up for that. I feel like I have ruined everything for these beautiful people.
Hmm. This is a depressing post. Not sure what's up with me today, although I think some of it is that I'm starting to be able to see some things more clearly and facing them is part of the work I have to do. How sucky for me.
As I've been thinking about stress, depression, finances, faith, family dynamics, marriage, etc., etc., etc., I can't help but try to understand when problems started to happen and why some things got to where they did.
The fact that I'm finally trying to understand all this is a sign that I am genuinely doing better than I was, but it's hard. What keeps coming into my mind, though, is a whole conglomeration of stuff from the year we moved here. Yes, that was 2001. Yes, it was practically a decade ago. My husband wants to know why I can't let that stuff go. Well, no, he doesn't want to know why. He just wants me to do it. He thinks I'm broken (I am, just a bit), and he thinks that once I get fixed, everything in our lives will be better.
That is so simplistic. First, emotional brokenness is not something that can just go get fixed. Even depression that can be addressed medically leaves tracks in its wake. Everything exists within a context and is connected to many other things in my life and, therefore, in our lives. The process of "fixing" is one that will take time, understanding, and work. I will need support. That doesn't just mean applauding me when I accomplish something; it also means engaging in difficult conversations when needed and being quiet at other times--and accepting that sometimes the best thing to do is simply to ask what I need.
Second, The brokenness didn't happen overnight, and it didn't happen in isolation. It is the result of time after time of situations that didn't meet my needs. Patterns were laid down that have to be understood and acknowledged. Only then can the patterns be unwoven and rebuilt into better, healthier patterns. Furthermore, he has had his own difficult experiences, with a series of job losses and then an extended time of unemployment. I can hardly be the only one broken here, and it is unfair to put it all on me.
Third, and this is the part that I really struggle with with him, he is part of how this all built to where it is. I struggled greatly when we moved here, for various reasons, and he was not able to be there for me emotionally. Even then, I could understand why (mostly due to the demands of the job we moved here for him to do). Nonetheless, I was so vulnerable at that time, with absolutely no friends in my life other than him, that understanding his situation didn't erase the emotional needs I had and what I needed from him. Since then, we have developed the pattern where when I state something I need or ask a question, he perceives it as a challenge, a disrespect, or a blame on him. It doesn't mean anything is his fault. But how can I talk with him about anything relating to family life if he gets angry and thinks I'm accusing him of something every time I try to say how I feel? If I can't say it to the person who is supposed to be my best friend, then who do I have? And how am I supposed to respond when he tells me I'm the reason for the kids being x, y, or z?
How do we get out of this cycle? I am coming to realize that until recently, I have not grown emotionally since we moved here. I am stunted, still waiting now for what I needed then. And the longer I've gone without it, the more bitter and resentful I've become. My heart still hurts from that time. Nothing is going to make it magically unhurt. I wish it were as simple as letting it go. I sense I am approaching a point when I can let go of the things that happened (and didn't' happen) when we moved here. But that in itself won't undo a decade of patterns that grew out of those experiences.
I am working on acting in the way that I used to, in the way that the person I want to be would act. Sort of an "act like it's okay to make it start to feel okay" approach. To a certain extent, I think that is helpful already. I feel a lightening of the spirit in small ways. But it doesn't change the underlying feelings, and I still feel like I'm working on all this alone.
All of these patterns have damaged our marriage, our family, our children. I have to figure out how to live with the knowledge that I have not been the wife and mother that I should have been and that I yearned to be. Now, my kids are practically grown and I don't know if I can rebuild anything for them. These wonderful, beautiful souls have grown up as survivors in a broken family, with a broken mother, and nothing I can ever do will make up for that. I feel like I have ruined everything for these beautiful people.
Hmm. This is a depressing post. Not sure what's up with me today, although I think some of it is that I'm starting to be able to see some things more clearly and facing them is part of the work I have to do. How sucky for me.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
the itsy bitsy spider goes to grad school
Today in class, we were having a good conversation about civil discourse. My students had just completed a writing and responding activity that allowed them to see layers of communication that can develop as a subject is publicly discussed, and they were able identify the mostly civil and few less-than-civil comments. We were connecting this to an article they had read and some issues on campus, and, well, the point is that we were immersed in a good class discussion.
And then it happened.
One group of students froze, all intellectual activity ceasing. A spider had appeared on the wall in front of them. As my entire class moved over to the other side of the room, I dealt with the spider. And it struck me how some moments shake the layers off us and make us simply humans, together in the same space.
When I was in graduate school, the conversations at grad student table were about posturing. People talked about which scholarly theories they were studying, how those theories informed their teaching decisions, which people around the table were most marginalized by society. (I was always assumed to lose that contest. I was straight, white, and engaged--nothing out of the ordinary about me at all--until I pointed out that at that particular table filled with people who identified as "other," with African-American, gay, divorced, and single, I was the one who was marginalized.) It was all about being perceived as intellectually worthy. Even talking about teaching issues that didn't incorporate theoretical persectives was considered mundane. When I mentioned that I was working with a student who was homesick or I could understand how some of our students embraced world views different from those of us around the table, I could see the eyes roll and hear the deliberate attempts to change conversation.
Then one day I was in the grocery store (how mundane of me!) and ran into a grad school colleague, one of the ones who was the least tolerant of non-intellectual talk at the grad table. And what do you know, we were both buying Lucky Charms! We ended up having our first real conversation, about concrete real life stuff, there in the cereal aisle, debating the merits of Lucky Charms vs. Count Chocula. Somehow, being in the grocery store acknowledged that no matter what our intellectual bent, we were still two humans in bodies that needed regular care and feeding. It was triumphant moment somehow.
Watching my students cling to each other with their feet curled up on their chairs this morning reminded me that sometimes we just need to let go of the layers and the artifice and remember that we're all in this together and that there is comfort in that.
And then it happened.
One group of students froze, all intellectual activity ceasing. A spider had appeared on the wall in front of them. As my entire class moved over to the other side of the room, I dealt with the spider. And it struck me how some moments shake the layers off us and make us simply humans, together in the same space.
When I was in graduate school, the conversations at grad student table were about posturing. People talked about which scholarly theories they were studying, how those theories informed their teaching decisions, which people around the table were most marginalized by society. (I was always assumed to lose that contest. I was straight, white, and engaged--nothing out of the ordinary about me at all--until I pointed out that at that particular table filled with people who identified as "other," with African-American, gay, divorced, and single, I was the one who was marginalized.) It was all about being perceived as intellectually worthy. Even talking about teaching issues that didn't incorporate theoretical persectives was considered mundane. When I mentioned that I was working with a student who was homesick or I could understand how some of our students embraced world views different from those of us around the table, I could see the eyes roll and hear the deliberate attempts to change conversation.
Then one day I was in the grocery store (how mundane of me!) and ran into a grad school colleague, one of the ones who was the least tolerant of non-intellectual talk at the grad table. And what do you know, we were both buying Lucky Charms! We ended up having our first real conversation, about concrete real life stuff, there in the cereal aisle, debating the merits of Lucky Charms vs. Count Chocula. Somehow, being in the grocery store acknowledged that no matter what our intellectual bent, we were still two humans in bodies that needed regular care and feeding. It was triumphant moment somehow.
Watching my students cling to each other with their feet curled up on their chairs this morning reminded me that sometimes we just need to let go of the layers and the artifice and remember that we're all in this together and that there is comfort in that.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
From the Heart of the Earth
Like much of the world, I have become captivated by the images of the Chilean miners being extracted from the mine where they have lived for two months. Like many, I have wondered about what is has been like for them to live in these close quarters with 32 companions and no sunlight. The community that has developed fascinates me. Many of them have taken on particular roles for the group—a spiritual leader, a joker, and entertainer, etc. They have developed common practices and habits based on the needs of the community.
What I’m curious about today, though, is what they are experiencing right now—individually and as a community.
During a trauma or disaster, although we have our individual experiences and perceptions, it is often the shared experience with our community that motivates us and gives us a sense of meaning and purpose. Even when there is an impending snowstorm, we all get caught up in the media coverage (When will it hit? How many inches will we get? Should we drive to work?) In our workplaces and schools and grocery stores, we connect with that shared experience by talking about the weather and asking things like, “Have you seen any snowflakes yet?”
The shared interested of the group dominates many of our individual actions and concerns. I cannot quite imagine how much more of a community has grown out of this shared experience for the miners.
But last night, everything changed. A rescuer joined them, and then a miner left. And then it became a different thing. In preparation for their extraction, the community had changed its habits—eating differently, packing up what they needed and wanted to take with them, putting clothes on. What the group had been doing changed in order to prepare the individuals for their ascent.
My guess is that the sense of community is still there, but the individual needs and perceptions are taking precedence again. What is it like for a miner who will be, say, #23 to be removed, to watch his companions leave, one by one? Is there sadness at the loss of what the group has shared? Is there loneliness? And what will it be like for #33, who waits with the rescuers to be the last of the miners to leave what has been their home?
Everything is on hold as they cease being a community, with actions based on what is best for everyone.
They have become, once again, just men—men who wait their turn for a 15-minute journey from the heart of the earth into the arms of their families and the eyes of the world
What I’m curious about today, though, is what they are experiencing right now—individually and as a community.
During a trauma or disaster, although we have our individual experiences and perceptions, it is often the shared experience with our community that motivates us and gives us a sense of meaning and purpose. Even when there is an impending snowstorm, we all get caught up in the media coverage (When will it hit? How many inches will we get? Should we drive to work?) In our workplaces and schools and grocery stores, we connect with that shared experience by talking about the weather and asking things like, “Have you seen any snowflakes yet?”
The shared interested of the group dominates many of our individual actions and concerns. I cannot quite imagine how much more of a community has grown out of this shared experience for the miners.
But last night, everything changed. A rescuer joined them, and then a miner left. And then it became a different thing. In preparation for their extraction, the community had changed its habits—eating differently, packing up what they needed and wanted to take with them, putting clothes on. What the group had been doing changed in order to prepare the individuals for their ascent.
My guess is that the sense of community is still there, but the individual needs and perceptions are taking precedence again. What is it like for a miner who will be, say, #23 to be removed, to watch his companions leave, one by one? Is there sadness at the loss of what the group has shared? Is there loneliness? And what will it be like for #33, who waits with the rescuers to be the last of the miners to leave what has been their home?
Everything is on hold as they cease being a community, with actions based on what is best for everyone.
They have become, once again, just men—men who wait their turn for a 15-minute journey from the heart of the earth into the arms of their families and the eyes of the world
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Healing Has Commenced
Over the past few days, I've found that I've been in a better mood than I've been in for a long, long time. It isn't that I suddenly feel positive and upbeat all the time. (Given my disposition, I doubt that's possible!) But I find myself amused rather than annoyed by normal things (like student issues in the classroom, dropping something on the floor, seeing dog fur on the floor). I am observing a sense of contentment in my heart at times. I am enjoying the beautiful fall weather.
These are signs to me that I will return to normal with time. And that in itself is so encouraging. Even with the finances, I'm feeling a new outlook. The amount of money will be no different, but having that money distributed every other week, in a larger amount, feels so different from literally going week-to-week, with obligatory reminders every Sunday to go online and submit the unemployment request. I'm not sure why, but it does--and it's such a treat to feel anything new that isn't difficult, and that in itself is encouraging.
For now, I'm watching Who Framed Roger Rabbit and Hook on this Saturday morning, while I'm enjoying my coffee and waiting for cinnamon rolls to come out of the oven. Today, life is good.
These are signs to me that I will return to normal with time. And that in itself is so encouraging. Even with the finances, I'm feeling a new outlook. The amount of money will be no different, but having that money distributed every other week, in a larger amount, feels so different from literally going week-to-week, with obligatory reminders every Sunday to go online and submit the unemployment request. I'm not sure why, but it does--and it's such a treat to feel anything new that isn't difficult, and that in itself is encouraging.
For now, I'm watching Who Framed Roger Rabbit and Hook on this Saturday morning, while I'm enjoying my coffee and waiting for cinnamon rolls to come out of the oven. Today, life is good.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Resume Breathing
My husband is at work right now. His first day on the job. I am not alone in my house, but oddly, the house feels like my home again.
I'm kind of numb. After 518 days of unemployment (truly, I didn't count until it was over), it's hard to know how to feel. My body and mind have experienced all the signs of chronic stress and burnout. While I want very much to believe things will begin to better now, it's hard to trust that maybe everything will start to feel okay.
But today, right at this moment, life has a sense of hope. The house is quiet, his laptop is closed, the TV is quiet, and the cat is purring on my husband's chair. I think I've taken my first real breath in nearly a year and a half. Healing will be a process, but now it can begin.
I'm kind of numb. After 518 days of unemployment (truly, I didn't count until it was over), it's hard to know how to feel. My body and mind have experienced all the signs of chronic stress and burnout. While I want very much to believe things will begin to better now, it's hard to trust that maybe everything will start to feel okay.
But today, right at this moment, life has a sense of hope. The house is quiet, his laptop is closed, the TV is quiet, and the cat is purring on my husband's chair. I think I've taken my first real breath in nearly a year and a half. Healing will be a process, but now it can begin.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
518 Days
It is always when a difficult situation begins to be over that I wish I had chronicled the entire saga. How better to communicate the gradual distress of dealing with something hard on a regular basis? Saying now, “a cloud settled over our family for a long time” doesn’t quite capture the way the cloud creeped in and took up residence, or the way we could barely recognize that there was a cloud, or the moments when we would see a glimmer of light, or the anguish when those glimmers would be extinguished and we would be still left in darkness.
After the fact, it is impossible to go back and capture the immediacy of the experience and re-chronicle the journey. Life must be written as it is lived, or the writing does not truly reflect life.
My husband lost his job on April 27, 2009. It was our 18th anniversary. This job loss was the 3rd such loss in 25 months. All three losses were due to an economic downturn in his industry. The previous two times, he had a job within just a couple weeks. When this journey began, we had no idea that it truly would be a journey rather than another blip. Other than short-term and part-time census work in late spring, he has stayed unemployed since then. I have been immersed in a morass of emotions, woes, crises, and unrealness; perhaps I will figure out how to write about them at some point. I couldn’t even write about them privately at the time because the expression of the words made the situation more real than my soul could bear.
So here I am, trying to figure out how to get out of the cloud. Yesterday, my husband was offered a job. The pay will be pretty much the same as he’s been getting for unemployment, so our short-term financial future has no improvement. Hopefully, we will soon be able to look at options like refinancing the mortgage that can make a financial difference in other ways. So, yes, this is a good thing—but it isn’t awesome. I’m not feeling the euphoria I’d thought I would feel. I’m the recipient of good wishes and congratulatory hugs, yet I feel kind of numb.
Yesterday, it was 17 months—to the day—since my husband had lost his job. It was 518 days. (No, I hadn’t been counting; it was only after it was over that I could bear to do so.) I don’t think it’s possible for someone to snap out of a 518-day experience immediately. I’m deeply grateful for my friends who are rejoicing for me. At some point, I will be able to rejoice with them. But for now, I’m still in the cloud—just a little closer to the lighter edge than I was on Day 517.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
healing is a process
Hmm. Reading my last blog post is kind of depressing, although it's nice, too, since I'm no longer feeling like I'm in such a funk.
I've continued to learn a lot about chronic stress and some of the symptoms I've been experiencing. Yesterday, I realized that one thing that's different about me now (as opposed to, say, two years ago), is my startle reflex. yes, the same startle reflex that babies get that we laughed at in our children. (Oops, does that make us bad parents?)
I've startled easily for years, but my family has pointed out recently that I'm much more sensitive than I used to be. When I hear the phone ring, my heart starts to beat fast and I feel panicky. If something unexpected happens, I feel anxious, like something bad is about to happen. I'm still looking for the right doctor to help me through all this, but my friend who was diagnosed with PTSD after a difficult medical diagnosis and surgery has pointed out that I have many of the symptoms of people with PTSD.
Here's what I'm finding really interesting, though, in all my reading about chronic stress and PTSD: the lists of thinks to do to help coping.
Here's a list I found at http://www.helpmewithanxiety.com/.
This list amazes me. Most of these items (yes, even the one about exercise-blech) are things I've yearned for during the past year. I've had some innate sense that I need to cut back on caffeine, that I missed the progressive relaxation exercises I learned in my college Neuromuscular Relaxation class years ago. I have missed music for years.
Even the last three items, which the website indicates should be done in conjunction with a psychiatrist, are things I've become more conscious of. In my mind, I've begun rehearsing how I could handle various scenarios that pop into my mind. I've thought a great deal about the behaviors I want to avoid, and I've made myself actually do some of the ones that have caused me trouble in the past.
Although my mind is struggling mightily right now, my body has seemed to just know the right things to do. Or maybe it's my subconscious. I realize, as I look at this list, that I have already started to do some of these things, without actively knowing that I needed to.
Still, yesterday was a difficult day. I taught four classes--two of them longer classes that were meeting for the first time, both meeting in the afternoon (not my good time of day). In between my morning classes and those two classes, I spent three hours working on Fall Fest on campus. By the time I got home, I felt completely drained. I had no energy, and I was back to being very emotionally fragile. I cried easily, I wrapped myself up in a blanket and lay on the couch, and finding the energy to even brush my teeth at bedtime was a chore. (In fact, I really wanted to go to bed at 5:30.)
At the same time, though, there was a healing element to yesterday. I was able to recognize that I was exhausted and that the exhaustion I was experiencing was temporary. I was able to say, "I've had a long day, and now I'm tired. My body just needs to replenish its stores. Don't expect too much of yourself. You're going to continue to have a few challenging days, even as you generally tend to feel better."
My awareness that this was a symptom of chronic stress did make it a bit easier for me to cope with it all. Even a month ago, the same experience would have had me in tears, for several hours, wondering what was wrong with me and whether I would ever be okay.
Today I didn't have class until 1. I woke up (too early, but that's a story for another time), and I was able to relax with the computer for a bit and then remembered to take lots of deep breaths. By the time I got home, I was still tired, but I had the mental energy to focus on some things I'd been neglecting for a while, and I realized I was feeling a bit more like "me" today.
It's hard to give myself permission to feel bad and to know that I have a long way to go before I feel healed again. We had too many things hit us at once a year and a half ago, and each of those things created long-lasting repercussions that are still difficult to live with. I shouldn't be surprised that my body has reacted to the mental stress of trying to be positive, hold a family together, keep my job, deal with hormonal changes, and worry about every phone call and every piece of mail, wondering what new crisis we will have to deal with.
This is what my life is right now. The trick is to remember to breathe and hope that one day, one night, I can dream again.
I've continued to learn a lot about chronic stress and some of the symptoms I've been experiencing. Yesterday, I realized that one thing that's different about me now (as opposed to, say, two years ago), is my startle reflex. yes, the same startle reflex that babies get that we laughed at in our children. (Oops, does that make us bad parents?)
I've startled easily for years, but my family has pointed out recently that I'm much more sensitive than I used to be. When I hear the phone ring, my heart starts to beat fast and I feel panicky. If something unexpected happens, I feel anxious, like something bad is about to happen. I'm still looking for the right doctor to help me through all this, but my friend who was diagnosed with PTSD after a difficult medical diagnosis and surgery has pointed out that I have many of the symptoms of people with PTSD.
Here's what I'm finding really interesting, though, in all my reading about chronic stress and PTSD: the lists of thinks to do to help coping.
Here's a list I found at http://www.helpmewithanxiety.com/.
Practicing some form of progressive muscle relaxation (PMR) on a daily basis
Aerobic exercise for 20-30 minutes daily
Learning how to budget time and plan ahead
Cut down on caffeine intake (preferably altogether)
Talking with someone – anyone- on a regular basis about one’s worries and concerns.
Meditation/Yoga
Listening to calming music
Directly addressing the thoughts ‘cognitions’ that are driving your anxiety engine
Directly confronting the behaviors one wants to avoid
Practicing and mastering how to respond to feared situations
This list amazes me. Most of these items (yes, even the one about exercise-blech) are things I've yearned for during the past year. I've had some innate sense that I need to cut back on caffeine, that I missed the progressive relaxation exercises I learned in my college Neuromuscular Relaxation class years ago. I have missed music for years.
Even the last three items, which the website indicates should be done in conjunction with a psychiatrist, are things I've become more conscious of. In my mind, I've begun rehearsing how I could handle various scenarios that pop into my mind. I've thought a great deal about the behaviors I want to avoid, and I've made myself actually do some of the ones that have caused me trouble in the past.
Although my mind is struggling mightily right now, my body has seemed to just know the right things to do. Or maybe it's my subconscious. I realize, as I look at this list, that I have already started to do some of these things, without actively knowing that I needed to.
Still, yesterday was a difficult day. I taught four classes--two of them longer classes that were meeting for the first time, both meeting in the afternoon (not my good time of day). In between my morning classes and those two classes, I spent three hours working on Fall Fest on campus. By the time I got home, I felt completely drained. I had no energy, and I was back to being very emotionally fragile. I cried easily, I wrapped myself up in a blanket and lay on the couch, and finding the energy to even brush my teeth at bedtime was a chore. (In fact, I really wanted to go to bed at 5:30.)
At the same time, though, there was a healing element to yesterday. I was able to recognize that I was exhausted and that the exhaustion I was experiencing was temporary. I was able to say, "I've had a long day, and now I'm tired. My body just needs to replenish its stores. Don't expect too much of yourself. You're going to continue to have a few challenging days, even as you generally tend to feel better."
My awareness that this was a symptom of chronic stress did make it a bit easier for me to cope with it all. Even a month ago, the same experience would have had me in tears, for several hours, wondering what was wrong with me and whether I would ever be okay.
Today I didn't have class until 1. I woke up (too early, but that's a story for another time), and I was able to relax with the computer for a bit and then remembered to take lots of deep breaths. By the time I got home, I was still tired, but I had the mental energy to focus on some things I'd been neglecting for a while, and I realized I was feeling a bit more like "me" today.
It's hard to give myself permission to feel bad and to know that I have a long way to go before I feel healed again. We had too many things hit us at once a year and a half ago, and each of those things created long-lasting repercussions that are still difficult to live with. I shouldn't be surprised that my body has reacted to the mental stress of trying to be positive, hold a family together, keep my job, deal with hormonal changes, and worry about every phone call and every piece of mail, wondering what new crisis we will have to deal with.
This is what my life is right now. The trick is to remember to breathe and hope that one day, one night, I can dream again.
Friday, August 27, 2010
everything is funky dory
I have been in a funk lately, and I just can't shake it.
Between a series of job losses for my husband, major and minor medical situations that have required decisions, parenting teenagers, some job stresses of my own, and our financial troubles--in addition to a multitude of other things that I don't know if I'll ever be able to write about--I've gotten just a bit stressed out.
I've always had times of stress, but the stress usually leaves after a while. For instance, the end of every semester is stressful. I grade and grade and do all that I have to do, and then I have time off and recuperate. The stress is short-term, and there's time to recover.
The kind of stress I've been experiencing, though, isn't this kind. It isn't short-term. There is daily stress. There's lots to worry about, from paying a bill to concern about an offspring's choices to wondering which creditor is calling (thank goodness that's over) to having too many professional tasks to handle in one day to seeing an unmown lawn in my back yard.
Worse, there has been no healing time. I am one who needs time alone to reconnect with myself and resume breathing. Since my husband lost his job 16 months ago, he has been here. Other than infrequent interviews and his trips to the gym, he is always here. Always in the same chair. Always on the computer. Always with the TV on. Not doing anything around the house other than cooking (which to be fair I appreciate a great deal). I get that he is experiencing his own brand of depression and trying to figure out what this all means for his life.
But I've been suffocating. I have no place, no time, that is mine.
The stress has beaten me down. It's the kind of stress that never goes away, not even for an hour, until the light that's inside you is burnt out. I feel completely worn down. I have nothing left inside me.
Now, I don't feel like that, empty, most of the time. There are times when I feel almost content, when I'm able to function. But there is some time on most days when I am feeling more fragile than I could have ever imagined.
Two weeks ago I went to the doctor, hoping I could get some tweaks to my HRT and my anti-depressant to help me feel like I can cope better. Instead, the doctor told me I need to see a psychiatrist. My medication needs to be balanced by someone who is an expert in those meds. I get that, and I don't disagree with her. Ironically, hearing that I needed to see a psychiatrist made me feel, well, depressed. She said I was showing symptoms of chronic stress. That's so obvious. So why did it make me angry and hurt?
I came home and began to research chronic stress. After a few days, I began to feel liberated, like I had permission to feel what I'd been feeling all along.
I found a website that, while not medical or scholarly, stunned me: The Four Stages of Burnout. It's like this guy knew me. In my professional life, I had gone through every single one of the stages. I had said or thought every single thing he said there. It was amazing. I was thrilled to know that what I was going through made sense. It was, in a sense, a tribute to my strength that I had gotten as far as I had.
Fast forward to this week. I've been having some neurological troubles (mainly numbness in my lower limbs). I had an MRI last week to rule out Big Scary Stuff like a tumor or pinched something-or-other. This week, I got a call that I have arthritis. ARTHRITIS??!! I thought that was for old people.
Now I feel old and like I'm falling apart. So in response to my diagnosis (I'll see the doctor next week), I got angry and decided to show the arthritis who was boss. I proceeded to single-handedly rearrange my entire office at work--a full desk, two overflowing filing cabinets, and two seven-foot tall bookcases stacked with books and several years worth of scholarly journals. Yeah, I showed arthritis who was in charge, all right. And then yesterday, I had a full day of meetings an hour and a half away. I sat for hours on end. Aching. Sore.
Yeah, I know who's in charge, all right, and it isn't me.
So I'm on a journey to trying to do something to please me every day, to write, to find a way to spend time with myself, to mend and build on relationships that I need to support me. (More about that last one in another post, I think.)
I'm in a funk, but for the first time in a while I think I can understand why and I understand that it's normal and okay. I'm not broken, but I have much healing to do. My light has gone out, so I will try to relight it. I wonder what, phoenix-like, will emerge when I'm through?
Between a series of job losses for my husband, major and minor medical situations that have required decisions, parenting teenagers, some job stresses of my own, and our financial troubles--in addition to a multitude of other things that I don't know if I'll ever be able to write about--I've gotten just a bit stressed out.
I've always had times of stress, but the stress usually leaves after a while. For instance, the end of every semester is stressful. I grade and grade and do all that I have to do, and then I have time off and recuperate. The stress is short-term, and there's time to recover.
The kind of stress I've been experiencing, though, isn't this kind. It isn't short-term. There is daily stress. There's lots to worry about, from paying a bill to concern about an offspring's choices to wondering which creditor is calling (thank goodness that's over) to having too many professional tasks to handle in one day to seeing an unmown lawn in my back yard.
Worse, there has been no healing time. I am one who needs time alone to reconnect with myself and resume breathing. Since my husband lost his job 16 months ago, he has been here. Other than infrequent interviews and his trips to the gym, he is always here. Always in the same chair. Always on the computer. Always with the TV on. Not doing anything around the house other than cooking (which to be fair I appreciate a great deal). I get that he is experiencing his own brand of depression and trying to figure out what this all means for his life.
But I've been suffocating. I have no place, no time, that is mine.
The stress has beaten me down. It's the kind of stress that never goes away, not even for an hour, until the light that's inside you is burnt out. I feel completely worn down. I have nothing left inside me.
Now, I don't feel like that, empty, most of the time. There are times when I feel almost content, when I'm able to function. But there is some time on most days when I am feeling more fragile than I could have ever imagined.
Two weeks ago I went to the doctor, hoping I could get some tweaks to my HRT and my anti-depressant to help me feel like I can cope better. Instead, the doctor told me I need to see a psychiatrist. My medication needs to be balanced by someone who is an expert in those meds. I get that, and I don't disagree with her. Ironically, hearing that I needed to see a psychiatrist made me feel, well, depressed. She said I was showing symptoms of chronic stress. That's so obvious. So why did it make me angry and hurt?
I came home and began to research chronic stress. After a few days, I began to feel liberated, like I had permission to feel what I'd been feeling all along.
I found a website that, while not medical or scholarly, stunned me: The Four Stages of Burnout. It's like this guy knew me. In my professional life, I had gone through every single one of the stages. I had said or thought every single thing he said there. It was amazing. I was thrilled to know that what I was going through made sense. It was, in a sense, a tribute to my strength that I had gotten as far as I had.
Fast forward to this week. I've been having some neurological troubles (mainly numbness in my lower limbs). I had an MRI last week to rule out Big Scary Stuff like a tumor or pinched something-or-other. This week, I got a call that I have arthritis. ARTHRITIS??!! I thought that was for old people.
Now I feel old and like I'm falling apart. So in response to my diagnosis (I'll see the doctor next week), I got angry and decided to show the arthritis who was boss. I proceeded to single-handedly rearrange my entire office at work--a full desk, two overflowing filing cabinets, and two seven-foot tall bookcases stacked with books and several years worth of scholarly journals. Yeah, I showed arthritis who was in charge, all right. And then yesterday, I had a full day of meetings an hour and a half away. I sat for hours on end. Aching. Sore.
Yeah, I know who's in charge, all right, and it isn't me.
So I'm on a journey to trying to do something to please me every day, to write, to find a way to spend time with myself, to mend and build on relationships that I need to support me. (More about that last one in another post, I think.)
I'm in a funk, but for the first time in a while I think I can understand why and I understand that it's normal and okay. I'm not broken, but I have much healing to do. My light has gone out, so I will try to relight it. I wonder what, phoenix-like, will emerge when I'm through?
Sunday, July 25, 2010
responding to the unheard call
We missed church this morning, but I've been thinking about a sermon from two weeks ago in which we were challenged to think about what we are called to do. For my entire spiritual life, I've wondered about what I'm called to do and how I would know when it happens. Even at 45, I find that I still wonder, "What is my purpose on this earth, in this life?" On the way home from church, I realized that I do know what I was called to do--and that I've been doing it in ways for years. Even before I recognized the call, I had responded to it.
I thought about the things I have given my time to during my adult life. As a fairly young adult in grad school, I always made extra time for the young women in my classes when they alluded to abuse, rape, or assault. I provided chocolate and tissues and walked them to counselors' offices. Even before that, I sat with friends in high school and college and provided hugs, a shoulder to cry on, and an ear to listen. As a mom of young kids, I organized a group for working moms who needed support in their lives. I became a peer counselor for Sidelines to support women on bedrest with twin pregnancies. And now I'm part of Hystersisters. All of these things have given me a feeling of peace and rightness.
For more than 25 years, supporting women is the one thing I've made time for continuously. Other things have grabbed my attention for a few months or years. Then they passed out of my life. It is only now, as I am able to stand back and look at the tapestry of more than two decades, that I can see the pattern that has emerged.
I was called to minister to women--but I don't remember hearing any call at all. At what point did God say, "This is what thou shalt do?" At what point did I say, "Yes, I accept?" God called to my spirit, and it responded joyously, albeit somewhat obliviously. Did any of our Bible figures respond to a call with as much cluelessness as I did. Does it count as accepting the call when you don't know you've done so? I think so, but it's an odd feeling to know that I didn't recognize what life I've been living until I was halfway through it.
In other news, there's still no news on the unemployment front. Hubster still has no job and unemployment benefits run out soon. Lots of stress there. At the same time, though, it's a beautiful sunny day, and we have friends taking us out for a late brunch today at Thunder Bay Grille. We are so fortunate that the huge rain that hit Milwaukee and caused such horrible flooding didn't hit us. If our power had gone out for more than 10 second, we would have lost sump pumps and our messy cluttered basement would've been a disaster. Our basement is dry, our basement walls are intact, and the sun is shining.
I thought about the things I have given my time to during my adult life. As a fairly young adult in grad school, I always made extra time for the young women in my classes when they alluded to abuse, rape, or assault. I provided chocolate and tissues and walked them to counselors' offices. Even before that, I sat with friends in high school and college and provided hugs, a shoulder to cry on, and an ear to listen. As a mom of young kids, I organized a group for working moms who needed support in their lives. I became a peer counselor for Sidelines to support women on bedrest with twin pregnancies. And now I'm part of Hystersisters. All of these things have given me a feeling of peace and rightness.
For more than 25 years, supporting women is the one thing I've made time for continuously. Other things have grabbed my attention for a few months or years. Then they passed out of my life. It is only now, as I am able to stand back and look at the tapestry of more than two decades, that I can see the pattern that has emerged.
I was called to minister to women--but I don't remember hearing any call at all. At what point did God say, "This is what thou shalt do?" At what point did I say, "Yes, I accept?" God called to my spirit, and it responded joyously, albeit somewhat obliviously. Did any of our Bible figures respond to a call with as much cluelessness as I did. Does it count as accepting the call when you don't know you've done so? I think so, but it's an odd feeling to know that I didn't recognize what life I've been living until I was halfway through it.
In other news, there's still no news on the unemployment front. Hubster still has no job and unemployment benefits run out soon. Lots of stress there. At the same time, though, it's a beautiful sunny day, and we have friends taking us out for a late brunch today at Thunder Bay Grille. We are so fortunate that the huge rain that hit Milwaukee and caused such horrible flooding didn't hit us. If our power had gone out for more than 10 second, we would have lost sump pumps and our messy cluttered basement would've been a disaster. Our basement is dry, our basement walls are intact, and the sun is shining.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
it's my party and I'll cry if I want to
After 15 months, my husband is still unemployed. I find that I am really struggling with that right now--largely because of the money issue but also because I feel like I'm starting to lose my sense of self with him at home all the time.
God has placed some conversations into my life over the past couple days. One was with a woman I know through HysterSisters who has been dealing with similar issues with her own husband. I had forgotten how healing it was to know that there's at least one other person who understands how hard it is to try to be supportive of a man while trying to heal and deal with your own grief and anxiety. The other conversation was with my mother, who says things I don't like to hear but that I already know. These two very different conversations have allowed me to finally say,
It surprised me that I haven't actually been able to say these things until now. I'm so angry. There isn't a thing I can do to get my husband a job or to change how he approaches anything or get him to do more around the house or in the community.
What I've realized is that I have no place to be me. There is no "my place" anywhere. Everywhere in the house there are people and there are sounds. I'm going to end up tackling the basement--but there is so much crap down there that belongs to my husband that I know I'll be dealing with resentment there, too.
I don't see that I have any choice, though. It's an ugly and dark space that smells bad, and it's hardly a place I can consider a sanctuary for myself. But I am so craving alone time--to read, to write, to nap, to daydream.
Since my husband lost his job, the financial impact on our family has been horrific. But I am finally realizing that with him home all the time, I have been losing pieces of me as well. And I have to find them again and try to glue myself back together or the whole family will fall apart.
It's so hard to be the backbone of the family when all I want to do is melt into a ball and be taken care of myself.
God has placed some conversations into my life over the past couple days. One was with a woman I know through HysterSisters who has been dealing with similar issues with her own husband. I had forgotten how healing it was to know that there's at least one other person who understands how hard it is to try to be supportive of a man while trying to heal and deal with your own grief and anxiety. The other conversation was with my mother, who says things I don't like to hear but that I already know. These two very different conversations have allowed me to finally say,
- "I'm stressed."
- "I feel resentful."
- "I don't know how much longer I can live like this."
- "Is there another line of work I am qualified for that would pay more?"
It surprised me that I haven't actually been able to say these things until now. I'm so angry. There isn't a thing I can do to get my husband a job or to change how he approaches anything or get him to do more around the house or in the community.
What I've realized is that I have no place to be me. There is no "my place" anywhere. Everywhere in the house there are people and there are sounds. I'm going to end up tackling the basement--but there is so much crap down there that belongs to my husband that I know I'll be dealing with resentment there, too.
I don't see that I have any choice, though. It's an ugly and dark space that smells bad, and it's hardly a place I can consider a sanctuary for myself. But I am so craving alone time--to read, to write, to nap, to daydream.
Since my husband lost his job, the financial impact on our family has been horrific. But I am finally realizing that with him home all the time, I have been losing pieces of me as well. And I have to find them again and try to glue myself back together or the whole family will fall apart.
It's so hard to be the backbone of the family when all I want to do is melt into a ball and be taken care of myself.
Friday, June 25, 2010
just a second....
This video is amazing. First, it's just adorable, with these cute little girls giggling about clean underwear and repeating all the things they (and we) have heard as women.
Second, it's a project that has such an amazing message: GET A SECOND OPINION! I will always be grateful that my former gynecologist was opposed to doing hysterectomies unless they were truly necessary. She gave me many things to think about and pointed out that a uterus does so much more than grow babies. Having this to think about for two years prepared me to to ask questions and learn what was best for me when my gynecological problems resumed. I was opposed to a hysterectomy, but knowing what options were available helped me determine that it was the best option for me.
This video is part of a website that promotes the importance of women getting second opinions and being their own health advocates. You can find the site at www.givemeasecond.com.
Aren't you worth a second?
where have all my marbles gone?
This year is the Year of Getting My Shit Together, or, the Year of Finding My Lost Marbles.
I remember one time when the kids were little, and I made one of my regular pilgrimages to the grocery store. One of the bags had developed a rip when I put it in the trunk of the car. When I got home, I was trying to carry in all of the bags at once. (Yes, Mom, you're right. Sometimes it IS best to take two or three trips.) As I walked into the house, the bag spilled little jars of expensive baby food. In my panic about the loss of the food and money and time it would take to replace them, I lost my grip on another bag and ended up with a big pile of flour in the driveway, mixed in with the baby food. And by the time I finally got to the door, I was so upset that I dropped the bags and dented every can I had bought. I sat down right in the middle of the living room and bawled for a while.
I've been thinking about that day a lot this past year. It seems that we've had a series of unfortunate events, with each one overlapping on or two others. I will still be recuperating from dealing with one issue when another one jumps in full-force, only to be followed by another. Boom boom boom. No time for breathing. This is the case in every area of my life. It's particularly upsetting with the professional aspect of my life, as that has always been my safe haven for when things are rough in my personal life. It has been my stability, my place where I feel accomplished and in control. Lately, not so much.
I've decided to do what I did with my groceries. First, try not to get as much stuff in the first place. Instead of buying expensive glass jars of baby food, I began making my own baby food. It actually was easier, and I felt better about myself for doing the healthier thing for my babies. Second, I determined that if it would take me a bit longer to accomplish a task (as in, take two or three trips), I should. Seriously--how much time did I really think I was saving? It was maybe one or two minutes. Third, accept the fact that sometimes life just bites and you have to do the best you can. Finally, if you get to the end of a rough patch and need to cry, that's okay--as long as when you're done you carry on.
I remember one time when the kids were little, and I made one of my regular pilgrimages to the grocery store. One of the bags had developed a rip when I put it in the trunk of the car. When I got home, I was trying to carry in all of the bags at once. (Yes, Mom, you're right. Sometimes it IS best to take two or three trips.) As I walked into the house, the bag spilled little jars of expensive baby food. In my panic about the loss of the food and money and time it would take to replace them, I lost my grip on another bag and ended up with a big pile of flour in the driveway, mixed in with the baby food. And by the time I finally got to the door, I was so upset that I dropped the bags and dented every can I had bought. I sat down right in the middle of the living room and bawled for a while.
I've been thinking about that day a lot this past year. It seems that we've had a series of unfortunate events, with each one overlapping on or two others. I will still be recuperating from dealing with one issue when another one jumps in full-force, only to be followed by another. Boom boom boom. No time for breathing. This is the case in every area of my life. It's particularly upsetting with the professional aspect of my life, as that has always been my safe haven for when things are rough in my personal life. It has been my stability, my place where I feel accomplished and in control. Lately, not so much.
I've decided to do what I did with my groceries. First, try not to get as much stuff in the first place. Instead of buying expensive glass jars of baby food, I began making my own baby food. It actually was easier, and I felt better about myself for doing the healthier thing for my babies. Second, I determined that if it would take me a bit longer to accomplish a task (as in, take two or three trips), I should. Seriously--how much time did I really think I was saving? It was maybe one or two minutes. Third, accept the fact that sometimes life just bites and you have to do the best you can. Finally, if you get to the end of a rough patch and need to cry, that's okay--as long as when you're done you carry on.
- Have less stuff to deal with. I'm returning to teaching--no more administrative work for me. As much as I loved pieces of it, I did not do well with juggling two totally different sets of rhythms. I never had down time. During the times I had always refreshed myself from the semester's work, I would have an increase of administrative work to do. I had non-stop work, and no time to prepare for or recover from the busy times. Although my return to teaching will have some financial implications for my family, I feel so much at peace about it. I find that I am getting excited about teaching writing again, and I'm already regaining my focus. I'm a teacher again, with no split professional identity. The energy for that is slowly starting to recharge.
- Take the time to do the job right. I am learning to discipline myself to sit in front of the pile of papers or the computer when necessary, even when I don't feel like it. I constantly remind myself that it's always the first couple of papers that take the longest, as I get into the swing of the assignment. I told my students I would have feedback on drafts posted today, and while I had wanted to have it done earlier today, I am plugging away, making a genuine effort. In fact, writing this blog entry was one of my rewards for getting through a certain number of drafts. Putting the time in will pay off.
- Suck it up, buttercup. Okay, I admit that teaching in the summer would not be my preference. If it weren't for the fact that we so desperately needed the money, I would be lounging around in the pool or napping right now. But this is what it is, and I'll be okay. I'm remembering to be grateful that I am able to have some income during the summer at all. And I'm also very grateful that teaching one course in the summer will allow me to practice doing a better job now, so I'm prepared for it in the fall.
- If I need to cry, I will do so. It also means that if I need support, I will ask for it. In fact, in anticipation of this, I have already requested regular meetings with a couple of my colleagues to help me develop a different sense of accountability and on-going professional development/re-energization.
Monday, June 21, 2010
we are angels in each other's lives
I often wonder about all the ways we make a difference in the lives of others, even though we may not know we have done so. God may use us in many ways without our knowledge.
There have been some times, though, when I have sensed that I was a tool. Yesterday was one of those days. I have been following the blog of a woman whose husband is dealing with a urinary tract cancer. Her husband is a now-retired former colleague, one with whom I did not work closely, but he always struck me as a good and wise human being, and I was sad to hear he had cancer. I've never even met his wife.
As I have followed her blog, I have been struck by her honesty and engaging writing style as she has tried to make sense of this journey they are now on.
After many times of feeling a desire to write her an encouraging email, yesterday I felt a strong call to do so. She had written about her mother telling her to "get over" the cancer and that cancer was no excuse for feeling depressed and wanting sympathy.
Here's part of the email I wrote:
Two hours later, I received an email--from her husband. It said this:
There have been some times, though, when I have sensed that I was a tool. Yesterday was one of those days. I have been following the blog of a woman whose husband is dealing with a urinary tract cancer. Her husband is a now-retired former colleague, one with whom I did not work closely, but he always struck me as a good and wise human being, and I was sad to hear he had cancer. I've never even met his wife.
As I have followed her blog, I have been struck by her honesty and engaging writing style as she has tried to make sense of this journey they are now on.
After many times of feeling a desire to write her an encouraging email, yesterday I felt a strong call to do so. She had written about her mother telling her to "get over" the cancer and that cancer was no excuse for feeling depressed and wanting sympathy.
Here's part of the email I wrote:
You have a right to feel however you feel, and don’t let anyone make you question that. You do what you need to do in order to get through each day, each night, and each week. It would be a shock if you didn’t experience some depression or post-traumatic stress. In fact, I have a friend who was diagnosed with early-stage endometrial cancer a year and a half ago. The cancer was treated completely by a hysterectomy, and she has no gynecological cancer risk remaining. And still, she has been in treatment for PTSD for over a year and just now is starting to feel whole again.
Cancer doesn’t just eat away at the body, piece by piece. It also eats away at the minds and souls and lives of everyone close to it. It consumes your life and takes it over. For those not living with it and sleeping with it and laying it all open for the doctors to figure out, life goes on as usual and cancer is just a blip. Those people can’t understand why you act like life is so different now; they don’t understand that your life truly is different. The time between appointments and treatments is, to them, what “normal” is. For you, it isn’t even an oasis. Although you may have more time to take care of some daily tasks, your mind is still on what came before and what comes next. Everything else is just going through the motions. To others, a doctor’s appointment is just an appointment. To you, a doctor’s appointment is fraught with fear, anxiety, caretaking, preparation, and the unknown. Each appointment is a distillation of all of life’s biggest challenges. Add days and months of appointments to each other, and it’s a miracle that you’re still here, still thinking and feeling, still managing to get to those appointments. And there are daily miracles in the midst of all of this, when you manage to shower, accomplish laundry, and see to the feeding and care of your own body—not to mention that of your husband’s.
Right now, your own daily survival is a monumental accomplishment. You have no obligation to put on a happy face for the benefit of anyone else. Right now should be about you and your husband. And if you find the energy to speak up and talk back, well, you are not at your best right now, and no one should expect you to be. And anyone who can't handle that is welcome to go make hotel arrangements or take over the cooking and cleaning for you.
No matter the outcome of anyone’s cancer diagnosis, there is a period of time when you must simultaneously prepare for the worst while hoping for the best. How can one mind, one heart, contain those two contradictory tasks without being bruised?I sent it, along with a request that she not even reply because she has enough on her to-do list and I just wanted her to know she was in my prayers. I had a strong feeling that it was the right thing for me to do, sending the email, and when I clicked on Send I figured that was that. I felt a sense of peace at having sent the email, and that was how I knew it was a God-thing. Or so I thought.
Two hours later, I received an email--from her husband. It said this:
I'm filled with gratitude; words fail. Thank you for being a quite literal angel for my beloved [wife] during a particularly rough patch for her. Your wise, humane, and loving words constitute an inexpressible comfort.I was (actually, I still am) touched. There have been many times when I have followed through with something I have felt called to do. Most of the time, I am filled with a sense of peace and rightness. Every so often, though, I am given a reminder of what my purpose is in this life and that in small ways, every now and then, I am fulfilling that purpose. Despite all the roughness of the past year for myself, this man has now served as an angel in return, to let me know that I still have something to offer, that I can still make a difference.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
EMG update
Well, that test pretty much sucked. I told the doctor that I hoped he got lots of useful information, because I'm never doing that test again unless margaritas are involved.
Electrified Porcupine
I am having an electromyogram this (EMG) morning. Until last week, I had never even heard of this test. Basically, the doctor will stick a bunch of needles into me and then send electricity into me through the needles. I'm such a baby when it comes to pain, and people I respect have said it was horrible. One person said it was okay and just a bit tingly. I'm really, really hoping that's the experience I have--but I'm not counting on it.
Since the beginning of March, I've been experiencing some numbness in my feet and lower legs--not all the time, but it's something I'd never experienced before. A few weeks ago, I realized that while I was shaving my legs, I couldn't even feel the razor. Also, I was experiencing occasional mild tremors in my left hand. So, early last week, I dragged myself to the doctor, convinced I must have multiple sclerosis.
The doctor was not particularly concerned about the hand tremor, since that happened after I had started a new medication with that as a side effect. She did some initial neurological screening, and I was relieved that she was pretty sure I didn't have a central nervous system disorder. Still, she referred me to a neurologist, and that's where I'm headed today.
I would have put off making the appointment indefinitely, but Thursday afternoon I began experiencing sudden and overwhelming weakness in my legs. And then I started feeling the numbness (is that even possible, to feel numbness?) up to my hips. Two days ago, I was scratching my right calf (I have to watch myself scratch, just to be sure I don't draw blood) and I discovered that I was feeling the sensation after all--in my ankle, of all places.
The hubster will have the car today for a job interview--which means that I not only can't drive myself, he won't be with me at all. Fortunately, his BFF is available and will be driving me and waiting for me. It's a good thing I like this BFF, because I may come out feeling fairly traumatized.
Monday, April 26, 2010
American Dream
I was at the US Federal Courthouse in Milwaukee last week. My first impression (while standing in the security line with my shoes in hand) was of great detail and beauty. The building reminded me of a state capitol buildling, albeit with skylights instead of a dome.
As I walked through the atrium and found my way to my destination, I was struck my the old-ness of the building. Modern buildings are all metal and fabric and simplicity, with restrooms in places that are easy to find and designs that are based on cost-savings. The Federal Courthous is clearly not modern. It is all marble and wood and detail, with restrooms that are behind wooden doors that look no different from all the other doors in the hallway. The building was built for beauty and permanence.
At the time I was there, two main activities were taking place: third floor, Naturalization Ceremony, 4th floor, bankruptcy hearings. Two faces of the American dream, one floor apart. Standing in the security line, I could see the faces--the exuberant faces of families and children tehre to celebrate a decision, an accomplishment, an opportunity. And I saw the subdued faces and bowed shoulders of those there with the burdens of financial failure. It was a stark contrast, to be sure.
As my business concluded, I was able to take my time in meandering my way out of the building. I saw many other pieces of the American dream--a senator's office, people working to earn money for their families and contribute to the grandness of the building, and even a display on crime in Wisconsin. As I looked through the display materials on identify theft and rape, it occurred to me that part of the American dream was about many opportunities--the opportunity to succeed financially, the opportunity to publicly and legally acknowledge one's self as an American, the opportunity to pursue justice, and the opportunity to try again.
Going into the US Federal Courthouse, I saw two faces of the American dream. Leaving, I saw the beautiful old building as a symbol of endurance and strength. Just one American dream after all, as strong and enduring and beautiful as ever.
As I walked through the atrium and found my way to my destination, I was struck my the old-ness of the building. Modern buildings are all metal and fabric and simplicity, with restrooms in places that are easy to find and designs that are based on cost-savings. The Federal Courthous is clearly not modern. It is all marble and wood and detail, with restrooms that are behind wooden doors that look no different from all the other doors in the hallway. The building was built for beauty and permanence.
At the time I was there, two main activities were taking place: third floor, Naturalization Ceremony, 4th floor, bankruptcy hearings. Two faces of the American dream, one floor apart. Standing in the security line, I could see the faces--the exuberant faces of families and children tehre to celebrate a decision, an accomplishment, an opportunity. And I saw the subdued faces and bowed shoulders of those there with the burdens of financial failure. It was a stark contrast, to be sure.
As my business concluded, I was able to take my time in meandering my way out of the building. I saw many other pieces of the American dream--a senator's office, people working to earn money for their families and contribute to the grandness of the building, and even a display on crime in Wisconsin. As I looked through the display materials on identify theft and rape, it occurred to me that part of the American dream was about many opportunities--the opportunity to succeed financially, the opportunity to publicly and legally acknowledge one's self as an American, the opportunity to pursue justice, and the opportunity to try again.
Going into the US Federal Courthouse, I saw two faces of the American dream. Leaving, I saw the beautiful old building as a symbol of endurance and strength. Just one American dream after all, as strong and enduring and beautiful as ever.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
what women do
For some time, I have been thinking about the way women connect with each other. Several episodes come to mind, and I wish I could find a perfect metaphor for these connections.
becoming a woman
When my daughter was in fifth or sixth grade, her friend's dad died after a painful battle against cancer. This wasn't a particularly close friend at the time, but my daughter had lost an aunt to cancer and felt a connection of support. All the girls in the girl scout troop went to the funeral, girls in one row and most of the moms together in the row behind them. We watched our daughters be women that day. During the service, the girls cried at the appropriate times while their mothers cried behind them and patted their shoulders.
After the service, when it was time for everyone to walk by and hug the family members, I watched an amazing thing happen. The girls would surround Friend BT, giving individual hugs to her and to each other and then engaging in a group hug and crying together. Then, the girls would all wander off to the ladies' room, talking about why they cried while hugging and crying again, and then they'd head back to Friend BT to do it all over again.
They were all caught up in this shared experience, but these pre-teen girls were doing what women do--supporting, hugging, crying, and sharing each other's sorrow.
women supporting women
My time on www.hystersisters.com has shown me a great deal of what women do so well--share their experiences to provide support and encouragement for each other. In my time as a hostess, I've seen this work even more deeply. I am often logged into AIM in order to be able to stay in touch with my sister hostesses. The conversations I've had with these wonderful women have taught me so much about relationships. There are several women I chat with on a regular basis. Most of the time, we are conducting some business--Could you check out this thread? Did I explain myself clearly? How should we promote this feature? How should I handle this situation? Yet, as women do, in the midst of the "getting things done" is the "getting to know you better." I have chatted about faith, religion, abortion, husbands, sex toys, lubricants, children, and more--and while we are chatting about these very personal things, we are circling back to the work of the website. We know each other because we have a shared work-"place," and our work becomes more enjoyable and more meaningful because we know each other as sisters, not just as colleagues.
When I moved offices this year, I found that the most difficult change was not that I was losing my window or having to change my patterns (such as having to park in a different lot and using a different bathroom). It was that I ceased to be part of the daily lives of my colleagues. It used to be that every day included brief moments of sharing the joys and frustrations of our lives--the kids, the spouses, the commute, the price of milk or gas, or the student who came late to class every day. Now, instead of the rich texture that this daily sharing wove together, when I see these colleagues and friends, we have time only for the highlights, and our relationships seem much more tenuous somehow. Whereas I used to see one woman three mornings a week and could find out quickly which kid had been sick the night before, now I see her once a month, and not in the comfortable way of stopping in each other's offices on the way to the bathroom or the way back from class.
When I left the school where I began my career, my heart ached that I wouldn't be able to see what became of my colleagues' lives and families. What did Sean (or Shawn--I can't even remember) end up doing after high school? Did Tina become a grandmother? Is Jan still alive? Did Barb and Wayne get married? To this day, that is still what I treasure hearing about. The women who supported me as I finished my master's thesis, got married, had children, earned tenure, spent 3 1/2 months on bedrest, and juggled three little ones under the age of three are still part of my heart even though not part of my life.
drop and run
On Christmas Day, my daughter received a phone call shortly before we were about to sit down to Christmas dinner. It was her friend, ET, who was having a difficult day with her relatives, who were teasing her about her piercing choices. My daughter dropped everything to run--literally, to ET's grandma's house a block away. She stayed long enough to listen, give hugs, get ET to laugh, and then she headed back home.
Several weeks ago, I got a message from one of my life-long friends that she was worried about her marriage. So, I met her on Facebook chat to "listen" to her concerns about her husband, her job, her marriage, and her life. We were online together for well over an hour. It reminded me of the way we used to talk on the phone for more than an hour in high school. We could have just seen each other an hour before, but we had to connect--to make sure the other one was completely up-to-the-minute on our other conversations, our mean parents who made us do an unpleasant chore, our feelings about something. It wasn't so much that we set aside what was going on in life as much as that we recognized how much this relationship WAS our life (or at least an important part of it).
To see my daughter drop everything and run to her friend's side was heart-warming. It reminded me that this is what women do, and the fact that she was the one who was called said so much about the depth of the young woman she is. Just last week, she was texting after midnight with BT, on the anniversary of her father's death. Together, they marked the anniversary of a sad, sad time in BT's life. To me, it was the anniversary of the moment my daughter became a woman.
becoming a woman
When my daughter was in fifth or sixth grade, her friend's dad died after a painful battle against cancer. This wasn't a particularly close friend at the time, but my daughter had lost an aunt to cancer and felt a connection of support. All the girls in the girl scout troop went to the funeral, girls in one row and most of the moms together in the row behind them. We watched our daughters be women that day. During the service, the girls cried at the appropriate times while their mothers cried behind them and patted their shoulders.
After the service, when it was time for everyone to walk by and hug the family members, I watched an amazing thing happen. The girls would surround Friend BT, giving individual hugs to her and to each other and then engaging in a group hug and crying together. Then, the girls would all wander off to the ladies' room, talking about why they cried while hugging and crying again, and then they'd head back to Friend BT to do it all over again.
They were all caught up in this shared experience, but these pre-teen girls were doing what women do--supporting, hugging, crying, and sharing each other's sorrow.
women supporting women
My time on www.hystersisters.com has shown me a great deal of what women do so well--share their experiences to provide support and encouragement for each other. In my time as a hostess, I've seen this work even more deeply. I am often logged into AIM in order to be able to stay in touch with my sister hostesses. The conversations I've had with these wonderful women have taught me so much about relationships. There are several women I chat with on a regular basis. Most of the time, we are conducting some business--Could you check out this thread? Did I explain myself clearly? How should we promote this feature? How should I handle this situation? Yet, as women do, in the midst of the "getting things done" is the "getting to know you better." I have chatted about faith, religion, abortion, husbands, sex toys, lubricants, children, and more--and while we are chatting about these very personal things, we are circling back to the work of the website. We know each other because we have a shared work-"place," and our work becomes more enjoyable and more meaningful because we know each other as sisters, not just as colleagues.
When I moved offices this year, I found that the most difficult change was not that I was losing my window or having to change my patterns (such as having to park in a different lot and using a different bathroom). It was that I ceased to be part of the daily lives of my colleagues. It used to be that every day included brief moments of sharing the joys and frustrations of our lives--the kids, the spouses, the commute, the price of milk or gas, or the student who came late to class every day. Now, instead of the rich texture that this daily sharing wove together, when I see these colleagues and friends, we have time only for the highlights, and our relationships seem much more tenuous somehow. Whereas I used to see one woman three mornings a week and could find out quickly which kid had been sick the night before, now I see her once a month, and not in the comfortable way of stopping in each other's offices on the way to the bathroom or the way back from class.
When I left the school where I began my career, my heart ached that I wouldn't be able to see what became of my colleagues' lives and families. What did Sean (or Shawn--I can't even remember) end up doing after high school? Did Tina become a grandmother? Is Jan still alive? Did Barb and Wayne get married? To this day, that is still what I treasure hearing about. The women who supported me as I finished my master's thesis, got married, had children, earned tenure, spent 3 1/2 months on bedrest, and juggled three little ones under the age of three are still part of my heart even though not part of my life.
drop and run
On Christmas Day, my daughter received a phone call shortly before we were about to sit down to Christmas dinner. It was her friend, ET, who was having a difficult day with her relatives, who were teasing her about her piercing choices. My daughter dropped everything to run--literally, to ET's grandma's house a block away. She stayed long enough to listen, give hugs, get ET to laugh, and then she headed back home.
Several weeks ago, I got a message from one of my life-long friends that she was worried about her marriage. So, I met her on Facebook chat to "listen" to her concerns about her husband, her job, her marriage, and her life. We were online together for well over an hour. It reminded me of the way we used to talk on the phone for more than an hour in high school. We could have just seen each other an hour before, but we had to connect--to make sure the other one was completely up-to-the-minute on our other conversations, our mean parents who made us do an unpleasant chore, our feelings about something. It wasn't so much that we set aside what was going on in life as much as that we recognized how much this relationship WAS our life (or at least an important part of it).
To see my daughter drop everything and run to her friend's side was heart-warming. It reminded me that this is what women do, and the fact that she was the one who was called said so much about the depth of the young woman she is. Just last week, she was texting after midnight with BT, on the anniversary of her father's death. Together, they marked the anniversary of a sad, sad time in BT's life. To me, it was the anniversary of the moment my daughter became a woman.
Monday, March 15, 2010
time passages
My son is a high school senior, thinking about college and the future. I can't help but think about how I felt about my life when I was that age--so grown up, with the whole world ahead of me, wanting to make my own life and home. How is it possible that my baby, this little creature who so totally transformed my life and made me a mommy, is at that same point? I blinked, and now he's about to leave my nest. I wonder if I captured enough moments in my mind and heart to keep a piece of him with me always. I worry that I didn't create enough such moments for him to carry with him as he moves forward. And I see his brother and sister, three years behind him on the same path, and I just can't believe we're already here, where we are in this life.
My life hasn't at all turned out the way I wanted it to. By the time I was 30, I thought it had. I had my master's degree, I had a husband who made me laugh, I had tenure at a job I loved, and I had my three little babies. My life looked like it was going to be just what I wanted. But then, well, life happened. For the sake of my husband's career, we left a community we loved and I left my job to move to where we are. The move was so challenging that I'm still not sure we've completed the transition. As it turned out, the job that brought us here didn't last very long. In order to stay with his organization, we would've had to uproot our family every three to four years. We wouldn't be able to bear that, so my husband completely switched fields.
Then began the changing years. We faced health challenges, money problems, unemployment, our kids' early teens, my gynecological problems, my husband's weight and heart problems. Somehow we had started a downward spiral that completely changed the path we were on. I'm not sure what to call this place where we are now. The excitement of our future got buried in arguments, anxiety, depression, and I feel like I'm just now starting to wake up. I don't recognize this place or my own reflection most days. The kids are wonderful human beings, and I have no idea how they got to be that way.
I wonder about trying to get back to who I am, but I'm not sure if that person is there anymore. I worry about becoming bitter and too cynical. Outwardly, I'm amazed by how well I present myself to the world. But inside, I'm not that person most of the time. This life has been really, really hard. The financial challenges we've faced during the past few years and especially the past few months were exacerbated by my husband's most recent unemployment (11 months already--what is with this?) have been overwhelming. I have experienced constant daily stress. I have worried about losing everything, including my mind. We have had to make some difficult choices, and our ability to put our wonderful children through college has completely evaporated. This is not the life I wanted for myself, and it certainly isn't the life I wanted to provide for my children.
How can I get up and do the best I can every day when I'm worried that I've damaged our lives beyond repair by not figuring out how to cope with the crap years ago? With all of it right now, I'm facing daily decisions. Every single day, I have to decide to sit down and deal with finances, pick up some things around the house, get off the computer, live a real life. But every day, I do.
As I've been connecting with more high school classmates on Facebook, I find myself drawn to their pictures. I graduated more than 25 years ago. My classmates and I have all built lives of our own. I think back to the conversations we had back then about our futures, and I wonder how many of us are where we thought we would be when we were this age. Their pictures tell stories of smiling happy lives, beautiful homes, fun and relaxing vacations, cute pets who never shed or pee on the carpet or yack up hairballs. Part of me wants to call "do-over" so I can make the right decisions, the ones that won't lead to where I am at this very moment.
But then I also see behind their smiles and know that life can hurt us all, just as it can heal us. The pictures we choose to put on Facebook are the ones where we are smiling. We don't take pictures of the tears, we clean up the part that is the backdrop of the photo, we keep the scars and bruises of life's journey outside the frame of the picture. And I yearn to reconnect with these people. They are the ones who knew me when I most felt like me, when I had not yet experienced the joys and burdens of my life. I want to tell them that I got over being so shy all the time, that my life does too revolve around writing (just not in the way that I thought), that I've somehow grown up. I doubt that any of us knew that we would be where we are in life right now, but part of my identity is caught up in those conversations waiting for the school doors to open and wearing those dumb blue striped zip-up gym suits and working on the school paper and getting ready for musical performances. I know that so many of these people are part of my heart, and I want to know that I am part of theirs as well.
And there goes my son, off to build his life. I watch him, and I suddenly feel so old. And so young again.
My life hasn't at all turned out the way I wanted it to. By the time I was 30, I thought it had. I had my master's degree, I had a husband who made me laugh, I had tenure at a job I loved, and I had my three little babies. My life looked like it was going to be just what I wanted. But then, well, life happened. For the sake of my husband's career, we left a community we loved and I left my job to move to where we are. The move was so challenging that I'm still not sure we've completed the transition. As it turned out, the job that brought us here didn't last very long. In order to stay with his organization, we would've had to uproot our family every three to four years. We wouldn't be able to bear that, so my husband completely switched fields.
Then began the changing years. We faced health challenges, money problems, unemployment, our kids' early teens, my gynecological problems, my husband's weight and heart problems. Somehow we had started a downward spiral that completely changed the path we were on. I'm not sure what to call this place where we are now. The excitement of our future got buried in arguments, anxiety, depression, and I feel like I'm just now starting to wake up. I don't recognize this place or my own reflection most days. The kids are wonderful human beings, and I have no idea how they got to be that way.
I wonder about trying to get back to who I am, but I'm not sure if that person is there anymore. I worry about becoming bitter and too cynical. Outwardly, I'm amazed by how well I present myself to the world. But inside, I'm not that person most of the time. This life has been really, really hard. The financial challenges we've faced during the past few years and especially the past few months were exacerbated by my husband's most recent unemployment (11 months already--what is with this?) have been overwhelming. I have experienced constant daily stress. I have worried about losing everything, including my mind. We have had to make some difficult choices, and our ability to put our wonderful children through college has completely evaporated. This is not the life I wanted for myself, and it certainly isn't the life I wanted to provide for my children.
How can I get up and do the best I can every day when I'm worried that I've damaged our lives beyond repair by not figuring out how to cope with the crap years ago? With all of it right now, I'm facing daily decisions. Every single day, I have to decide to sit down and deal with finances, pick up some things around the house, get off the computer, live a real life. But every day, I do.
As I've been connecting with more high school classmates on Facebook, I find myself drawn to their pictures. I graduated more than 25 years ago. My classmates and I have all built lives of our own. I think back to the conversations we had back then about our futures, and I wonder how many of us are where we thought we would be when we were this age. Their pictures tell stories of smiling happy lives, beautiful homes, fun and relaxing vacations, cute pets who never shed or pee on the carpet or yack up hairballs. Part of me wants to call "do-over" so I can make the right decisions, the ones that won't lead to where I am at this very moment.
But then I also see behind their smiles and know that life can hurt us all, just as it can heal us. The pictures we choose to put on Facebook are the ones where we are smiling. We don't take pictures of the tears, we clean up the part that is the backdrop of the photo, we keep the scars and bruises of life's journey outside the frame of the picture. And I yearn to reconnect with these people. They are the ones who knew me when I most felt like me, when I had not yet experienced the joys and burdens of my life. I want to tell them that I got over being so shy all the time, that my life does too revolve around writing (just not in the way that I thought), that I've somehow grown up. I doubt that any of us knew that we would be where we are in life right now, but part of my identity is caught up in those conversations waiting for the school doors to open and wearing those dumb blue striped zip-up gym suits and working on the school paper and getting ready for musical performances. I know that so many of these people are part of my heart, and I want to know that I am part of theirs as well.
And there goes my son, off to build his life. I watch him, and I suddenly feel so old. And so young again.
the times, they are a-changin'
Is there really a point to daylight savings time anymore? Okay, I know it has something to do with energy consumption and providing more daylight so people use less energy to light their homes. Seriously? If it's such a great idea, why aren't we doing it year-round? I remember doing that once as a kid and walking to school in the dark.
Twice a year, I go through nearly a week of feeling jet-lagged as I try to shift my rhythms. In addition to feeling a bit disoriented throughout the day, my eating habits change and I just feel yucky all day. At the very least, no one should have to go to school or work on the day after the time change.
Man, am I whiny today.
Twice a year, I go through nearly a week of feeling jet-lagged as I try to shift my rhythms. In addition to feeling a bit disoriented throughout the day, my eating habits change and I just feel yucky all day. At the very least, no one should have to go to school or work on the day after the time change.
Man, am I whiny today.
Monday, March 1, 2010
the marriage ref?
Please--a show with celebrities making marriage decisions for others? And they're deciding whether a couple should get a stripper pole in the bedroom? I'm wondering--if a couple agrees to be on the show, are they obligated to follow the celebrity vote?
I really don't get most of the reality shows. I only like the ones where there is time for people to develop relationships and have a chance to grow and develop in some way.
I really don't get most of the reality shows. I only like the ones where there is time for people to develop relationships and have a chance to grow and develop in some way.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Flashlight Worthy Book Lists
the newest lists of book recommendationsthe best book recommendations are found at Flashlight Worthy
add this widget to your blog
