On Receiving (Blog #421)

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

There’s nothing wrong with taking a damn nap.

Shattered (Blog #410)

1 Comment May 14, 2018 CoCo

Last week I saw my therapist and we talked about money, a subject that almost always makes me twitchy. “It’s like your heart is in your throat,” she said. That night I went for a run to chill out, then wrote a blog in which I explored how my childhood feelings about money have apparently gotten all mixed up with my current feelings about money. You can read the blog here, but the big takeaway was that I was completely overwhelmed once as a teenager when I had to meet with our bank regarding our failure to make mortgage payments (since Mom was sick and Dad was in prison), and that feeling of “I’m in over my head when it comes to money” has never completely gone away.

Or gone away at all, really.

Of all the blogs I’ve written, that one about going to the bank as a teenager was perhaps the most emotional for me, meaning I broke down crying while writing it. Granted, I’ve cried plenty of times while blogging, but this was ugly crying, not movie-star crying. Serious boo-who-who-ing. Anyway, I saw my therapist this afternoon, and I read the blog to her and cried some more. “See, this–is–wha-what ha-ha-happens,” I said, adding that I hated the fact that I’m a thirty-seven-year-old man who feels like a teenager when it comes to anything financial. “I’m a fuh-fuh-fucking mess.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “Let it out.”

Later, when I was more calm, my therapist said, “You’ve never told me that story before. That was a big deal, and it makes absolute sense that you responded the way you did. Anyone in your circumstances would walk away from that experience thinking that money was scary, dirty, and hard to come by.”

“It’s not?” I said.

As we continued to flesh things out, I told my therapist that I’ve thought about that day at the bank a lot over the years. It’s not like I haven’t known “that was a bad day.” But seriously, until I broke down while blogging about it last week, I didn’t realize what a formative event it was for me, how intimidating and frightening it was. “You were acknowledging it in your head, but not in your heart,” my therapist said. “You normally don’t do a lot of crying in here, but the fact that you are now is a good thing. It means you’re ready to get this sorted out and heal. It means you’re ready to grieve for that teenager.”

I think that’s such a poignant word–grieve–since I don’t often fully acknowledge what all I lost when my dad went to prison. Obviously there was the childhood thing–I grew up way too fast. But then there were things I lost you might not think of, like my sense of power, my feeling of belonging in this world, my pride in my circumstances. Oh yeah, and that feeling I had when I was a kid about how money was exciting and fun, something to be enjoyed (and not overwhelmed by). Where did that part of me go?

Because I’d really like it back.

My therapist says that your past doesn’t determine your future, that just because things were shit when you were a teenager doesn’t mean they have to be shit forever. (God, I hope she’s right.) She also says that with everything that went on in my childhood, I could have EASILY ended up addicted to drugs, and the fact that I didn’t only goes to show how resilient I am. (So that’s something.) I hope my repeating this compliment doesn’t sound like bragging, since I’ve never once used the word resilient to describe myself (before now), and I didn’t plan it this way. It’s not like there was a moment in my childhood when I thought, Dad’s in prison and the bank is on our back, but I’m not going to shoot heroin up my arm–no, sir, not me–I’m going to be resilient!

No emotion is ever truly buried.

But seriously, I don’t know why one person who’s dealt a shit hand in life turns to drugs and another doesn’t. Likewise, I don’t know why my sister has always been one to cry about things in the moment and I’ve (apparently) always been one to bury my emotions for decades. But I do know from personal experience that no emotion is ever truly buried. You may keep it down for a while–fool yourself and others–but it’ll come up somehow. (Just you wait.) Also, getting back to that long list of things I lost when I was a child like my feeling of belonging and pride in my circumstances, I don’t think these things were ever truly lost. Separated, maybe. But surely I can reconnect with them. Surely anyone can reconnect with themselves. For what is resilience but this, the firm belief that all shattered things can somehow be put back together.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

None of us is ever really lost. At least we're never really alone. For always there is someone to help point your ship in the right direction, someone who sees you when you can't see yourself.

Totally Mixed Up (Blog #405)

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

Life proceeds at its own pace.

On Waiting for Answers (Blog #393)

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

Take your challenges and turn them into the source of your strengths.

A Form of Healing (Blog #391)

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"We all have inner wisdom. We all have true north."

Dealing with My Bullshit Thoughts (Blog #139)

1 Comment August 16, 2017 CoCo

The first day I went to therapy, I told my therapist about everything I could think of that might make a difference–the terrible relationship I was in, our house burning down when I was five, Mom being sick, Dad going to prison–every trauma I was aware of. And then I had to pee. Seriously. I remember standing in the bathroom thinking, Okay, there, I said it. I wonder what she’s going to say. Well, she was super professional, didn’t call me fucked up or anything. Rather, she said, “It sounds like you and your boyfriend have zero boundaries and that you have some family of origin issues [Who doesn’t?].” And that was that, end of session one.

Fast forward three years and about a hundred sessions later, and my therapist has never once said, “Tell me about your father,” or, “Let’s talk about that kid that used to beat you up.” She said once that she believes when the subconscious is ready to deal with something (to heal), the topic will come up on its own. So far, she’s been right. At one point or another, we’ve returned to all those initial traumas, even some other ones. We’ve talked about everything.

Well, almost everything.

Today we talked about–money. There, I said it. The topic came up because I mentioned the dream board I’m working on, and it would appear that dreams cost money (if you want them to come true). As the conversation went on, I shared an exercise I did recently where I listed my knee-jerk thoughts about money. Two things–it wasn’t pretty–and my therapist said knee-jerk thoughts (like my mother-in-law is _________) tell us how we really feel about something. To summarize, most of my thoughts about money are negative.

There’s not enough money. Money causes arguments. Money isn’t spiritual.

After I read the list, my therapist said, “That was intense.” I said, “That was intense to say out loud.” Honestly, it felt like throwing up in the backseat of your friend’s new car, like, I feel better, but now what do we do? Well, once again, my therapist didn’t freak out or say that I had an insurmountable problem. Instead, she started by reminding me where my beliefs came from. We talked about my childhood and all the bullshit that went on, the cars that were repossessed when Dad went to prison, the box from the Baptist church full of charity food that sat in a corner and silently proclaimed, “We can’t afford to eat.”

“It’s completely understandable that you’d have issues with scarcity and abundance. You had some bad programming,” she said.

Then she added, “And ninety percent of that list is BULLSHIT,” at which point she took out a pink highlighter and marked the two thoughts about money that I’m apparently allowed to keep because they’re actually true–1) money is freedom (of choice) and 2) money is fun. But the thought that I’d have more money if I were smarter? That one has to go. She said, “Do you know anyone with a lot of money that’s NOT as smart as you are?”

“Well yeah.”

“Okay then.”

The rest of today, I pretty much felt like shit, which I’m assuming is because we poked the bear, stirred up a bunch of junk that’s been sitting around for a while. On top of that, my initial response whenever I realize there’s serious work to do is to get overwhelmed. Oh my god, how am I going to stop believing all these things I’ve been believing for my entire life? Well, after I taught a dance lesson this evening, I finally had an idea.

Village Inn has free pie on Wednesdays. (As my friend Kara says, “It’s hard not to eat your feelings. They taste so good.”)

Really, I spent a good portion of the evening trying to figure out how I could blog about something else tonight. I swear, this vulnerability and honesty shit is for the birds. I mean, I don’t LOVE talking on the internet about my general fears and insecurities, and I certainly don’t LOVE talking on the internet about my specific fears and insecurities (money, money, my education, my body, my talent, and money–and also money). Part of me would just prefer not to do it. There may be some pride involved. But when I checked out at Village Inn tonight, the lady at the register started talking to me about an employee she’d just got off the phone with. She said, “She hasn’t worked in a month. She’s been on vacation in Spain.”

I thought, Now why do I give a shit?

But I said, “Oh that’s nice.”

Then the manager jumped in and said, “I’d love to go to Spain,” so I said, “Do it!” But then she said, “I don’t have enough money, I can’t afford it,” which is honestly my first thought lately whenever someone suggests seeing a play, going to dinner, or riding the train at Creekmore Park for a quarter. Then I figured if the Village Inn lady and I have this issue around scarcity, that’s at least two of us, and maybe there are others. So–in an effort to be real–I’m talking about it.

Sometimes when I think about the road that lies ahead and turning my scarcity truck into an abundance mobile, it feels impossible. But this evening I’ve reminded myself that I’ve tackled a lot of big issues over the last several years. I’ve come a long way with a lot of excellent help. So I have to trust that this too is an issue that’s come up at the right time, that it’s only rocking my emotional boat now because it’s time for it to heal.

Let’s do this shit.

As always, I’ll let you know how it goes.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"It's never a minor thing to take better care of yourself."

The Bumper Sticker Was Right (Blog #135)

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"It's really good news to find out that the world isn't as scary as you thought it was."

Searching for Abundance (Blog #128)

2 Comments August 5, 2017 CoCo

For at least ten years there’s been a candlestick knitted out of yarn that’s hung on the doorknob in our kitchen. Green and white, it’s meant to be holiday decor and stand upright when you put a cardboard toilet paper roll inside it.

Doesn’t that sound cute? (And by cute I mean something a straight person would think of?)

Well, this morning my aunt Donna Kay (my dad’s sister) dropped by the house and noticed the knitted candlestick for the first time, I guess because it was off the door handle and on the kitchen table. Holding it up, she said, “What’s this?”

“It’s a penis warmer,” I said.

Then my aunt started laughing and said, “Wow. I’ve never seen one that big before.”

Welcome to my family.

Dad told my aunt that my grandma–their mother–had made the knitted candle/penis warmer, that she must have given it to us as a gift before she died. My aunt said, “Why?”

Good question.

As I recall, Grandma was a terrible gift-giver. Maybe I’ve just forgotten the good ones. But I remember once when I was in high school (high school!) having a birthday and getting a Nike t-shirt from her. I realize that actually sounds pretty cool for a grandma, but I’m pretty sure it was a knock-off that came from a second-hand store. Even before I put it on, the seams were unraveling. But Grandma was so proud because it had been a bargain. There I was reaching into the sack, sifting through the tissue paper, and she was saying, “Marcus, I paid five dollars for that.”

Uh, thanks, Grandma.

I think that was the same year I also got a pair of tennis shoes from her. They were cheap, thinner than cardboard, solid white except for the fact they had a hint of green in them. It’s hard to explain, but they had–a patina. They almost glowed. Oh, and another thing–they had velcro straps–the kind used for toddlers and old people. And here’s the kicker–she’s actually bought the shoes (out of a magazine, I think) for my grandpa, EXCEPT HE DIDN’T WANT THEM.

So she gave them to me, her grandson.

Well I guess I could mow the lawn in them. What could it hurt? I’m already a virgin. I might as well stay one.

Maybe it sounds critical, but it’s not meant that way. This is just who Grandma was. Constantly ill, she rarely wore anything other than her nightgown and only used her bra and teeth for special occasions. She passed away when I was in college, and this is the stuff I remember about her. She couldn’t keep a secret–no way. Every Christmas one of us family members would be mid-way through getting a package open, and she’d say, “That’s a pair of underwear. Incase they don’t fit, I put the receipt in the box–they cost eight dollars.” Then she’d add–

“Save that bow, I can reuse it.”

Honestly, I don’t think it’s a stretch to say my issues with scarcity and abundance go back a LONG way. I mean, couldn’t we afford new bows, shoes without velcro straps?

This afternoon, as part of my creativity and abundance homework, I had to find five interesting rocks (I’m not kidding), so I went to Creekmore Park. Well, I discovered pretty quickly that rocks are EVERYWHERE, which I guess was the point of the exercise. There is natural abundance all around us.

The first interesting rock I found was in a dried-up creek bed, hiding amongst the mosquitoes. (Nice try, rock.) It was shaped basically like the state of Arkansas and because it was painted red and said “Go Hogs,” I assumed it had been both tampered with and placed there by human hands. For a moment I thought I should leave the rock where I found it, as it was probably part of some geocaching game (hide something and leave clues online as to where its hidden). But having just spent thirty minutes trying to find ONE INTERESTING ROCK, I decided the universe had left it there specifically for me, so I snatched it right up.

Finding the other four rocks took about an hour and was harder than I thought because–to quote my therapist–I’m picky as a motherfucker. (This should come as no surprise.) Considering this fact, I could definitely cut Grandma some slack. I mean, she didn’t know that I was a budding homosexual with high standards. That being said, I’m sure there were clues–this photo, for example.

How I didn’t come out sooner, I don’t exactly know.

This evening I filled my car up with gas and was all “crap, that’s a lot” when I saw the total. This is pretty much my reaction to buying anything lately, since my income arrives in fits and starts. Honestly, I don’t like that reaction, but I know it’s been there on some level for quite a long time. What? You paid more than five dollars for a t-shirt? You think you’re BETTER THAN ME because your shoes have LACES? So I appreciate the exercise of really seeing ALL the rocks in nature, coming around to the idea of abundance bit by bit. Even though I only took home five rocks, there were SO MANY. They were everywhere, and I’d just never really recognized them before.

Now as I remember Grandma, I don’t think the best gifts she gave us were physical objects. No, definitely not physical objects. Rather, I think her best gifts were the endless stories we now have to share, the things we’re still bitching and laughing about all these years later (penis warmer!). This fact reminds me that abundance truly does comes in many forms–in rocks, in stories, in a family’s laughter–all of which, like a good Christmas bow, can be saved for later and used over and over again.