Don’t Be So Dramatic, Darling (Blog #581)

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It’s almost two in the morning, and I’m just sitting, well, lying down to blog; it’s been a full day. This afternoon I finally dropped my laptop off to be repaired. It was worth the wait; I was extremely pleased with the customer service I received and believe my liquid-damaged keyboard will be repaired as cheaply as possible. Plus, they said I should have it back within a week.

Afterwards I dropped my car off to have the oil changed. Touching on yesterday’s blog about listening to my gut or intuition, this is something my internal guidance has been nagging me about for weeks. Well, as it turns out, I needed new brake pads. Like, bad. And whereas I was initially bummed about dropping the extra cash, I’m now realize that I may have been spared further troubles down the road.

Get it, down the road?

But seriously, this is part of car ownership, and I want my brakes to work. In all things, having forward momentum is good, but so is being able to slow down, and so is being able to stop.

After the car thing, randomly–and I’m intentionally about to be vague–an acquaintance tried to shame me when they found out I made dinner (toast and peanut butter) for me and not my mom. “Shame on you,” they said. And whereas the old Marcus would have put up with this nonsense, the new Marcus put down his toast, straightened his shoulders, and said, “Don’t talk to me like that.” Then they said it again. “Shame on you.” So I looked them in the eyes and said, “I don’t accept shame from other people.”

I hate situations like this, when you’re just trying to eat a damn piece of toast and someone takes a swing at you. Not that I think this person was truly meaning to make me feel like a shit human being for not proactively offering to share my peanut butter with my mother, but words matter, carry intent, and have an impact, and a phase like “shame on you,” in my opinion, does nothing but belittle, disempower, and tear down. So despite the fact that I don’t relish confronting someone, I’m no longer willing to let another person use this phrase with me or otherwise dictate to me what my actions or emotions should be.

As the saying goes, we teach people how to treat us.

Phew.

This evening my friend Bonnie and I went to see Bohemian Rhapsody, the new biopic about Freddie Mercury, the lead singer of Queen. This is something I rarely do, see a film the night it’s released. But come on–it’s Freddie Mercury. Personally, I had a fabulous time, and when the movie was over, the entire theater clapped. Well, it’s possible that the guy who audibly groaned when Freddie kissed another guy (he was gay) didn’t clap, but still.

Also, don’t be surprised when a movie about a band named QUEEN shows two guys kissing.

After the movie, Bonnie and I hung out back at her house with her husband, Todd. As much as the movie was enjoyable, this was too, a relaxing evening of catch-up and friendship.

Now I’m ready to go to bed. Thinking about the day, it occurs to that I often make a big emotional production about everyday events. My laptop broke, I need new brakes, the sky is falling. But this is all part of life. As Freddie said in the movie tonight, “Don’t be so dramatic, darling.” Likewise, confrontation is part of life. Sometimes you have to put the brakes on. That’s enough. No matter. Eventually you move on down the road.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Whatever needs to happen, happens.

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One Little Thing (Blog #535)

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Last night while star-spotting, I found Coathanger for the first time. Coathanger is an asterism (a group of stars that only WISHES it were an official constellation) that looks like a coat hanger (duh). Only visible through binoculars, Coathanger is located between Altair and Vega, two of the three stars in the Summer Triangle, which is also an asterism. Anyway, after driving out-of-town to the darkest spot I could find and panning the Summer Triangle with my binoculars for a few minutes, I finally found it. There it was–clear as day.

Er–clear as night, I guess.

I can’t tell you how excited I was about finding Coathanger, despite the fact that it was the only new star arrangement I clearly identified last night. I actually squealed out loud. Sure–it was just one little thing, but it WAS one little thing.

In yesterday’s blog I mentioned that I was going to try to get to bed EARLIER, exercise MORE, and drink beer and coffee LESS. Well, it’s twenty-four hours later, and that’s what I’ve done. After stargazing last night, I gave myself a bedtime–lights out by one in the morning. Oh my gosh, y’all, I slept great and actually woke up with a “certain amount” of enthusiasm. When I came bounding into the kitchen at ten-thirty with a smile on my face, Dad said, “What are YOU doing up?”

At breakfast I gave myself another “boundary”–no coffee after noon–since I read in Why We Sleep that caffeine has a half-life of seven hours, meaning that seven hours after you consume caffeine, fifty percent of it is still in your system. (I also read that caffeine doesn’t tell your body to wake up, but rather blocks the receptor sites in your brain and body that receive a self-produced chemical that tells your body to go to sleep.) Anyway, science is science and facts are facts, and I’ve decided that in light of the science and facts with which I’ve been presented, it clearly won’t do to keep consuming pints of coffee at all hours of the afternoon and evening.

So wish me luck.

For exercise today, I went for a walk/jog. And whereas I got home and my stomach STILL looked the same as it did before I left, I’m telling myself that’s okay–my goal is to be in better shape by the spring. That’s two seasons or twenty-four weeks away, which I figure is plenty of time to see results if I simply make several small, positive changes and STICK TO THEM. I don’t know, we’ll see how it goes, but I usually have a sense of when I’m “serious” about things, and it feels like I am.

It’s time for something different.

Today I read that during NREM (non rapid eye movement) sleep, your brain decides what’s important– what to keep and what to throw or away, what to move from short-term to long-term memory. (REM sleep is when your brain INTEGRATES what’s kept with what’s already there.) So after reading about this throw-away/keep process, I applied it to my Amazon Wish List, the place that for the last eight years I’ve collected hundreds of titles of books that have peaked my interest. Come on, Marcus, I thought, there’s NO WAY you’re ever going to read all these things. (This is called being honest with yourself.) PLUS, dozens of them don’t even look interesting anymore. So I deleted maybe half of them, which still left me with more books than I could possibly read even if reading were my full-time occupation.

It’s effective because it’s consistent.

What I like about the way NREM sleep works is that–ideally–it happens EVERY DAY (er–night). Like brushing your teeth or taking the trash out, it’s effective not because it’s this HUGE thing, but rather because it’s consistent. So I’m telling myself that I can be consistent too–about taking simple healthy actions, about periodically getting rid of what’s no longer useful, beneficial, or interesting. And whereas the process of change is often overwhelming to me, I’m trying to approach it as I approach learning about the stars, asterisms, and constellations–one little thing at a time, one little thing at a time.

[Astronomy screenshots by the Stellarium app. In the first one, Coathanger is labeled along the line between Altair and Vega. In the second one, you can still see Altair on the left, then Coathanger (unlabeled) on the right. HINT: There’s a big red circle around it.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All great heroes, at some point, surrender to the unknown.

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Trying to Listen to Myself (Blog #522)

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When I went to bed last night I was in a bad mood, completely frustrated about everything. This sucks, that sucks–even my thinking sucks, I thought. Ick. My inner critic really can be relentless sometimes–so loud–such a bastard. Thankfully, a good night’s rest helped hush him up. This morning, after I scarfed down a decent breakfast and two cups of coffee, I felt much better.

Today itself–Labor Day–has gone well. For one thing, I took time to read. I love reading. For another thing, I washed the sheets on my bed, something I haven’t done in–well–months. Then I washed myself, something I haven’t done in–well–days. And that’s been it–just a simple day during which I took time to clean up a few things and get this and that in back in order.

A reset.

I suppose this is what sleep is–a reset–a basic cleaning-up of daily crap and emotions. The brain’s way of saying, let’s put this here and that there, and let’s throw this away. Of course, I’m grateful for this. I’m glad my attitude today has been better than my attitude last night. It’s nice to NOT want to put a pencil in the eye of everyone you come into contact with. That being said, I’m thinking more and more that my difficult thoughts and emotions are there for a reason, that they have something important to communicate to me, something I should LISTEN to.

I know I’ve shoved a lot down over the years. Something will upset me–like, someone will cross a boundary, let’s say–or my body will experience physical pain, and I’ll just “be nice,” ignore the problem, or otherwise grin and bear it. Having used this strategy consistently for the better part of three decades, I do NOT recommend it. Because it’s not the truth. THE TRUTH is that I’m frustrated, angry, and pissed off about a lot of things. Likewise, my body is stressed out, upset, and in pain in a number of places. And whereas my default response is to take a pill and keep on plugging, I’m TRYING to pay more attention and decipher the messages my body and soul are sending me.

This, I think, is one of the benefits to being tired or sick–it gives all the stuff you’ve shoved down a chance to rise to the surface. And not that I want to run around emotionally vomiting on everyone I come in contact with, but I DO want to start honoring and giving voice to all those emotions that I’ve been ignoring for so long. For me this looks like listening to my gut and DOING something about it. For example, recently I had an experience with someone who was being passive aggressive (that is to say, aggressive), despite the fact that they said they weren’t. “No, I’m not upset,” they said. But clearly they were–so I confronted them. “I need you to be direct if you have a problem with me,” I said. And y’all, it was the weirdest thing. The words were coming out of my mouth, but it was like someone else–or at least another part of me– was saying them. I assume this odd sensation is because I’m so used to hearing myself “be nice.”

In addition to listening to my gut and DOING something about it, honoring myself also looks like listening to my body and TAKING CARE of it. For me this means that when my body hurts, I’m trying to not immediately shut it down, but rather go inside and try to give space for the pain to exist. Likewise, I’m trying to go inside and decipher the messages my body is sending me. Having lately tried a few “go inside” exercises that I picked up in a book about illness and healing–and having had good results–I’m convinced that our bodies are not only alive, but also intelligent, conscious, and capable of healing.

This idea–that my mind, body, and emotions are on my side, that we’re all in this together–has been a tough one for me to come around to. That being said, I like it a lot better than the opposite idea, the idea that my mind, body, and emotions are somehow “bad” or against me, something for me to suppress, repress, or overcome. Because I truly do believe there is wisdom here, not just deep down inside me, but throughout me–wisdom that is here to help, guide, and protect me. So I’m trying to listen to myself–I’m trying to finally listen to myself–to let all parts of me be heard.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Some things simply take time and often more than one trip to the hardware store.

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My Damn Opinion (Blog #316)

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This afternoon I dragged myself out of the house and went to a local bookstore/coffee shop, to work. For about three hours I poured caffeine down my throat (my heart is still pounding) and worked on marketing strategy for the swing dance event I’m now associated with. This project could take up every spare minute of my time if I let it, so I’m trying to set limits–boundaries!–for myself. To this end, after making a dozen social media posts, writing a promotional piece about one of the staff, and outlining the details for an upcoming email campaign, I thought, That’s enough for today and shut my laptop.

Leaving my man bag in the room where I was working, I explored the rest of the shop. Y’all, I could spend days in almost any bookstore–perusing, smelling–even if I don’t buy anything. Anyway, after forty-five minutes of looking around, I returned empty-handed to grab my bag and head out–like a caveman–in search of dinner. (Me hungry. Where buffalo?) Well, I started talking to a stranger. More accurately, a stranger started talking to me. At first it was a pleasant back-and-forth, like, “Here’s what I enjoy reading. What do YOU enjoy reading?” But then things quickly became one-sided. They were talking my ear off.

Perhaps this has happened to you.

Hold it right there.

Praise God and all the saints, their phone rang. Now’s my chance, I thought. I said, “Have a wonderful evening,” and started walking. But wouldn’t you know it, they got off their phone quicker than a frog gets off its lily pad. The next thing I knew they’d called me back over–reeled me in like some sort of fish–by asking my name. (Damn vanity gets me every time.) Of course, they began chatting again. As it turned out, we actually had several things in common, and I thought, I like this person. Maybe God brought us together. Fifteen minutes later, the shop owner was locking doors and turning off lights, and the person was still talking. They later admitted that their blood sugar was dropping, that they were getting “loopy.” My internal response: “Drink your juice, Shelby!” (That’s a quote from Steel Magnolias, Mom.) I kept thinking, How would my therapist get out of this?

I intend to ask her.

Situations like these really do stump me. For all the progress I’ve made on good boundaries, I still have a tough time drawing a line in the sand with “conversation hijackers.” It’s really difficult for me to interrupt someone and say, “Hold it right there. You’re wearing me out.” I have so much practice being “nice.” If you have any suggestions for being both kind and firm with “ramblers,” please leave them in the comments below. (The suggestions, not the ramblers.) In tonight’s situation, I did find an opportunity to say, “I have to go,” to which the person replied, “I’m so sorry.” This was actually their second apology for taking up my time, which tells me that they realized as much as I did that the conversation had become one-sided and unbalanced. Apparently neither of us knew how to stop it.

God bless.

This evening I finished reading two books. The first, Hug Your Customer by Jack Mitchell, I can’t recommend enough, especially if you’re at all interested in customer service and business marketing. The second, The Art of Memoir by Mary Karr, I can’t recommend (period). I didn’t think it was bad–I found a lot of jewels inside–but it didn’t grip me the way I hoped it would. (Damn expectations.) Karr teaches writing, and mostly I felt as if I were in one of her university classes. She used dozens of dozens of examples from famous memoirs, all of which I’ve never read or heard of before and therefore didn’t connect with. Also, she spoke a lot of poetry, which would’ve been fine had the book been called The Art of Poetry instead of The Art of Memoir. These criticisms aside, I loved the parts of the book in which Karr spoke of her own life, her own experiences and memories. I’ve never read any of her other works, but I adore her authentic voice and think we’d hit it off were we to ever have brunch together.

Gay guys like brunch, Mom. (I don’t know if Mary Karr likes brunch or not. You’d have to ask her.)

Okay, one more beef about The Art of Memoir. At the back of the book, Karr lists some of her favorite memoirs, which, I guess, is both normal and to be expected. But Karr’s list of memoirs boggles the mind at–approximately–200 books. (200!) Maybe you don’t see this as a problem, but Karr labels the list, “Required Reading.” REQUIRED! As in, “You have to–or else.” Y’all, required is not the right adjective to use with a rule-follower. I looked at that list and thought, I’ve only read five of these books. Talk about stressful. Seriously, how I’ve managed to make it this far in life without having read the other 195, I don’t know.

Required reading. Please. Why not just say, “If you’re getting your PhD in memoir writing or have ten lifetimes to spare and nothing better to do, consider reading these 200 books”?

I hope this post doesn’t come off as overly bitchy. A little bitchy–fine. I’m sure that on more than one occasion I’ve been the person to talk someone else’s ear off. Hell, I write a blog every day (every damn day) about myself. By anyone’s standards, this is a pretty one-sided conversation. Additionally, I’m sure another writer could come in and take me to task on a number of things I do here. For starters, I use the words okay, anyway, whatever, and realize way too often. (I realize this. Whatever.) I have my reasons for doing what I do and imagine Karr has her reasons for doing what she does.

This is major progress.

All this to say that I’m not saying, “I’m right.” What I am saying, however, is, “I’m right–for me.” What I mean is that five years ago I would have let a complete stranger talk to me for hours on end and not have thought a thing about it. I wouldn’t have seen a problem. Likewise, I would have read a book cover-to-cover and assumed every word was gospel because it was printed on nice paper. But now I can recognize when things are out of balance (for me) and when information resonates (with me) and when it doesn’t. This is major progress. As I told my therapist recently, “I’m beginning to have a damn opinion about things.”

Her response: “As well you should. As. Well. You. Should.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Each season has something to offer.

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No Goose Is Worth Chasing (Blog #226)

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Currently it’s 2:45 in the morning, which I guess means I met my goal of starting tonight’s blog before 3:00. As we speak, the house is cold, so I have a comforter wrapped around my shoulders like an old lady. I’m pretending the comforter is John Stamos. I’ve heard he likes to cuddle, and this is the perfect weather for it. Earlier I took a nap on the futon, and when I woke up, the television was screaming, the microwave was beeping, and Dad was belching. This is my life, I thought. Now the television is off, my parents are asleep, and all I can hear is the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the clacking of this keyboard. Silence never sounded so good.

Isn’t that right, John?

Yesterday I wrote about waking up on the wrong side of the bed and the fact that I was in a piss-poor mood all day. Well, today things have considerably improved. My body’s felt better all the way around, and I’ve actually been happy. This, I think, is one of the benefits to daily writing and self-reflection. It’s not that I don’t have “bad days” anymore, but fewer days get labeled that way (because they’re not “all bad”) and fewer bad days bleed over into the following days because they get analyzed and silver-lining-ed every night.

This afternoon I met my friend Lorena for coffee and watched her eat a cherry pastry while I ate a salad that tasted like air. Considering the salad was made of greens and grilled chicken and not a quarter pounder with cheese, it also wasn’t very filling. Plus, I’m pretty sure that half the salad got stuck in my teeth, so I basically spent eleven dollars to floss with kale and rinse my mouth out with hazelnut coffee. But perhaps all the dieting is worth it, since Lorena said my waistline looked fabulous.

And oh yeah–I almost forgot–I feel better too. (Yippee.)

For about three hours, Lorena and I did a lot of laughing. In an otherwise quiet restaurant, I’m pretty sure we were “those people.” When I told Lorena about a straight woman who used to have a crush on me (and pursued me even though she knew I was gay), Lorena said, “Did she think you were going to put your chocolate in her peanut butter?” Oh my gosh, y’all, I nearly died. Now all I can think about is peanut butter–but the real kind, not the euphemism. To be clear, I never think about the euphemism. (That’s what makes me gay.)

Lorena and I talked about this for a while–women who go after gay men. I mean, I get it–we talk about our feelings and like to go to the opera–some girls like that in a man–I know I do. But having had a woman pursue me more than once over the years, I can’t tell you how exhausting it is, since to me it always feels like, It’s never going to happen, Alice. Of course, if it’s exhausting for me, it’s got to be exhausting for the other person, to want something you can’t have. At least that’s been my experience, having several times crushed on gay and straight men who simply weren’t interested. So I have compassion for anyone whose heart leads them on a wild goose chase.

My friend George says crushes like these start off as fun, progress to fun with pain, then end with just pain. Think about it–how could they not? And anytime someone’s gotten carried away with me or I’ve carried away with someone else, the only answer that’s ever worked has been a boundary that looked like time and distance apart. It’s never been enough to say, “Cheryl, I’m gay,” or, “Marcus, he’s straight, can’t spell, and isn’t old enough to legally rent a car” then continue seeing the person as friends. I guess this is because feelings usually don’t respond to logic, especially when the object of their desire is paraded in front of them on a regular basis.

This is why I don’t keep cherry pastries around the house. My willpower is only so strong.

Of course, this is a lesson I’ve learned (and am learning) the hard way. I can’t tell you the number of female friendships I’ve had over the years that went south because attraction got involved and no one said anything until it was too late. In those situations, I almost always asked for time and space because it’s not fair to anyone for two people to be approaching a relationship of any kind with two different and opposite expectations. Likewise, in situations where I’ve been the infatuated person, I’ve had to either be shut down or shut myself down by stepping away from guys who–for one reason or another–weren’t good for me. Okay, Marcus, no texting, calling, or creeping on him, him, and (definitely not) him. John Stamos just doesn’t like you like that. Rules like this can be difficult to enforce, but I see them as acts of self-respect and self-care, since I know from experience that I’m protecting myself from further trouble and heartache down the road.

Often a little silence is all we need to bring ourselves back to balance.

I think what’s good about time and space is that they give you a perspective you simply can’t get when you’re too close to something or someone. We all like to think that we can see clearly a hundred percent of the time, but when our chocolate and peanut butter get involved, that’s obviously not the case. It’s like trying to think when your parents are awake and making noise–it ain’t gonna happen. Honestly, I think infatuations are a lot like addictions, little habits like smoking or junk-food eating we let ourselves slip into from time to time and think we can’t live without. So we get carried away. But (duh) we can live without those things, and often a little distance–a little silence–is all we need to bring ourselves back to balance, to remind us what we’re really looking for in ourselves and other people, and to remember that no goose is worth chasing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A friend’s laughter takes us backward and carries us forward simultaneously.

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Ready to Rumble (Blog #223)

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It’s 2:26 in the morning, and I’d rather be reading, which is what I’ve been doing all day. My friend Elisabeth recently told me I “had to read” Rising Strong by Brene Brown, and since Elisabeth was the one who told me about The Artist’s Way, the creativity workbook I wouldn’t shut up about for twelve weeks earlier this year, I bumped Brene’s book to the top of my reading list. Plus, it didn’t hurt that Elisabeth apologized for being bossy (without prompting) when she told me what to do. Anyway, I started Rising Strong today, and I’m currently about two-thirds of the way through it, which I guess means that I’m “reading strong.”

See what I did there?

If you’re familiar with Brene’s work, you know that she talks a lot about shame, vulnerability, authenticity, and boundaries. Well, in this book, she emphasizes the importance of being able to sit with and dig into your uncomfortable feelings and difficult circumstances, which (apparently), does not look like eating chocolate cake and watching pornography until you feel better or things improve. Rather, it involves something she calls “the rumble,” which she compares to the middle of a story or the second act in a three-act play. It’s the point at which the hero has already identified a problem but has yet to identify a solution, the period of time when things get worse before they get better, the dark before the dawn. In other words, the rumble is when the shit hits the fan. The rumble, of course, sucks. In order to avoid it, we’ll shut down, shut off, go out, light up, and overeat. But as I understand it, the rumble is absolutely necessary if a person wants to rise strong.

Think about it this way–you can’t get back up if you don’t get knocked down first.

Personally, I hate this. Having been emotionally knocked down on more than one occasion, I can say that a person’s “time on the ground” can last a while. When I started therapy three and a half years ago, I was in a terrible (horrible, no good, very bad) relationship and wouldn’t have known a boundary if it’d slapped me in the face. I hadn’t heard of the rumble back then, but I honestly thought I’d be back on my feet after six to eight therapy sessions.

Uh, try a hundred, Marcus.

Don’t bother–go bowling instead.

Actually, my therapist says that I’ve been “out of the woods” for a while now. Most of the major issues have been dealt with, or as she says, “done and dusted.” But for anyone really considering living an authentic lifestyle consisting of vulnerability, honesty, boundaries, and healthy relationships, I’d say, “Don’t bother–go bowling instead.” (Just kidding.) What I mean by this is that those things look really good on paper, but I’d be lying if I told you they were easy. (If it were easy, everyone would do it.) Rather, they’re a lot of hard work, work that takes time, makes you bleed, and turns your world upside down.

In my experience, it’s not just that rumbles–especially big rumbles like the one I went through–are difficult because you feel lonely, sad, or confused. They’re difficult because if you truly hang out with those emotions, you realize they’ve been around for a while and show up in a lot of different situations. Then what are you gonna do? When I broke up with my ex, I got that I didn’t have good boundaries with him, but what I didn’t get was that I didn’t have good boundaries with most people. What’s more, I didn’t get why, that the issue of boundaries ultimately had to do with my sense of self-worth, and that self-worth is a big truck to turn around.

Of course, when your self-esteem and self-confidence change, your entire world changes too. Think about it–it has to. If you let one person walk on you, you let all people walk on you. Likewise, if you decide you’re worth more in one relationship, you automatically have to be worth more in all relationships. This is the big truck I’m talking about. In my case, three and a half years after starting therapy, there’s not a relationship in my life that hasn’t been affected, changed, or even “deleted” as a result of my increase in self-worth and, therefore, desire for healthy boundaries. Ultimately, this is why I think we’re afraid of listening to our emotions–not just because they’re uncomfortable–but also because they have the power to uproot everything familiar in our lives when genuinely responded to.

Does anyone want an Oreo yet?

If you’re not living a fully authentic life, a part of you will never be satisfied.

I realize this may not sound like an encouragement, and I’m not saying that every difficult emotion or circumstance calls for completely remodeling your interior and exterior worlds. Sometimes all you need to do is change the curtains. (Of course, even this is a big deal–trust a gay man.) But either way, I do believe that if you’re not living a fully authentic life, a part of you will never be satisfied, and your emotions will continually let you know there’s a problem. And that’s the encouraging part. Being in the rumble may suck, but it’s more than worth it because that’s the place where you discover who you actually are. I can’t stand being alone–I’m terrified I’m not good enough–I deserve better than this. Whatever. After all the weeping and gnashing of teeth, there you are on the ground–naked, not faking it for once, finally real, and ready to stand up again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"There are a lot of benefits to being right here, right now."

I Heart Boundaries (Blog #156)

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If it’s not already obvious, my therapist has a huge hard on for boundaries. Like, a big one. I know this is going to sound like bumper sticker wisdom, but she says boundaries are bridges, boundaries make people feel safe, and boundaries are the holy grail in therapy. Honestly, it’s taken me a long time to digest and assimilate all this information, since I’ve always assumed I HAD boundaries. As it turns out, I didn’t. (Most people don’t.) But I’ve come to agree with my therapist. Of all the beneficial things I’ve learned in the last few years, nothing has been more important than boundaries.

I realize this could quickly turn into a commercial.

Years before therapy, my Reiki teacher gave me a list entitled “Signs of Unhealthy Boundaries.” I’d be glad to send you the entire list if you’d like, but a few items that still grab my attention are: 1) Talking at an intimate level on the first meeting, 2) Being overwhelmed by a person, 3) Accepting gifts or touch you don’t want, 4) Letting others direct your life, and 5) Food abuse. Looking back, I’m surprised I didn’t look at the list and say, “Houston, we have a problem.” But I guess I wasn’t ready for the information or ready to make changes in my relationships, since boundaries always equal changes. (Damn it.) Now I’m proud to say I’ve come a long way, first in setting and maintaining my own boundaries, and second in recognizing both good and not-so-good boundaries in others.

Today I got a t-shirt in the mail that says, “I (Heart) Boundaries.” I ordered it a few weeks ago because–well–I do. Plus, I imagine it will be a good conversation starter. Maybe someone will say, “Hey man, what’s your shirt all about?” and I can say, “Whoa mister, don’t stand so close to me. I don’t even know you.” Anyway, it’s a long story, but I ended up with an extra shirt that I would love to give away, especially if you (heart) boundaries too. It’s a men’s medium, American Apparel, and runs a bit tight. So basically–it’ll fit perfectly if you’re Justin Bieber, a teenage lesbian, or a twink. (A twink is a young, smooth, skinny, attractive homosexual, Mom.)

If this sounds like you, the shirt is yours. Just HMU (hit me up).

This week I read in The Artist’s Way that a boundary is essentially your bottom line. Bottom line, I won’t cheat on my husband. Bottom line, I won’t work for less than I’m worth. The book makes the point that often we use food, drugs, sex, money, friends/family, and work (my big one is work) to distract or soothe ourselves when we are creatively blocked. Better said, those are our creative blocks–not in and of themselves, but when they are abused. So it’s suggested that we give ourselves a bottom line, a boundary, to help get ourselves back on track. Bottom line, I won’t bring work home from the office. Bottom line, I won’t eat chocolate cake when crying or having a confrontation would be more honest.

Boundaries aren’t something you knock out of the park every time.

My therapist says that boundaries are ever-evolving. It’s not that you’re all wishy-washy, but what works in one relationship, may not work in the next. Personally, I don’t like when people pick lint off my shirt, and I HATE IT when someone punches me in the arm. I don’t think it’s funny or appropriate. That being said, there are certain people I gladly allow in my space, either to pick lint off my shirt or just pat my shoulder. It’s just a case-by-case basis. Also–and I kind of hate this–boundaries aren’t something you knock out of the park every time. I remember for a while I was doing well with boundaries in MOST of my friendships, but there were a couple in particular in which I was sucking it up royally. (Or rather, we were.) In both situations, things are stellar now, but it simply took time to get here.

Tonight I signed up for some online yoga classes through Codyapp. Maybe I’m just a sucker for Facebook ads, but these classes deal specifically with flexibility and fascial stretching, two things that I’ve been rather obsessed with lately. At first I didn’t want to spend the money, but I decided that because my insurance is paying for all my treatment since the car accident, the least I can do is support my body at home. One of the boundaries I’m setting for myself is less time on Facebook (and zero Facebook on Mondays–eek–except to share the blog), so along with that I’ve decided to use the extra time on yoga. Bottom line, my physical body is more important than fake news and pictures of your cat. (Sorry, KiKi.)

Earlier tonight I went for a walk and listened to an interview with the guy who started and runs Humans of New York. He said that as creative people we can’t control how many people like our Facebook page, but we can control what we do with our time. We can write one hour a day. We can do yoga for thirty minutes. Whatever. As I think about it now, this seems like another way of talking about boundaries and bottom lines–basically rules and priorities we set for our lives. My blog is important to me, nothing stops me from doing it every day, every damn day. I want others to treat me well, so I have to treat them well, treat myself well.

Earlier I said that boundaries are bridges. I think this is important to remember, since it’s easy to think of them as fences between neighbors or lines drawn in the sand. And whereas boundaries do let you know where not to go and what’s not okay, they also let you know how to interact with a person and what the rules of engagement are. That’s why boundaries make people feel safe. You trust someone because they have good boundaries. You know they’re not going to sleep with your husband, kidnap your child, or sell your secrets to a supermarket tabloid. The way I see it, boundaries are just another way to respect and take better care of ourselves–and each other.

[Honestly–and no one is paying me to say this–I’m impressed with Codyapp so far, especially the classes with Dylan Werner. (He seems really smart and is also nice to look at.) If you’re interested in joining, use this link, and we’ll both get 50 percent off a class.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Authenticity is worth all the hard work. Being real is its own reward."

On Boundaries and Self-Care (Blog #152)

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Today I went to therapy, and the lights were turned down low–I guess because the sun was coming in the windows or whatever. Honestly, it felt like womb, maybe a good place to take a nap. But I guess somebody could have taken it as scary or even romantic, since my therapist said, “Does it creep you out that the lights are off?”

“Please. I don’t give a shit.” (This is how we talk to each other.)

Today we talked about boundaries (we always talk about boundaries), and we both agreed that whereas necessary, setting them can be tiring. In my case, I went so long without having any (I thought I had them, but I didn’t), that figuring out what I’ll accept and what I won’t accept has felt like a full-time job the last few years. Naturally, a number of friendships and relationships have shifted since I got some standards. Maybe that’s really the tiring part, watching people you care about walk away when the rules change. Granted, it’s empowering to say, “No, I won’t lower my price,” “No, it’s not okay to manipulate me,” or, “No, you can’t touch my ass,” but as Caroline Myss points out, few people are willing to celebrate your personal empowerment. I mean, when was the last time someone looked at you and said, “Yay–you don’t need me”?

Of course, I think a good therapist is anything but codependent and will celebrate your victories. Mine says her goal is to work herself out of a job. Personally, I guess I like that idea, although I don’t see it materializing as long as I’m living with my parents and spending part of every afternoon watching Days of Our Lives.

About mid-session, I told my therapist that this last week has been pretty emotional, probably because I’ve been go-go-going, Mom’s cancer has taken an emotional toll, and my life has been in such a state of flux for a while now. (She said flux was “good,” but I’m still chewing on that idea.) Then I said that rather than taking my stress as an opportunity to slow down and practice self-care (take a nap, ask for a hug), I tell myself I should be doing better or should be “further along.” In short, I self-flagellate.

“Yeah, you’re REAL good at that,” she said.

“Why, thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

Before tonight, I’d planned to go out-of-town tomorrow to hear an author speak. I’d planned to go, spend the night, and take my time coming back on Thursday. Then I realized that wouldn’t work because I have an appointment Thursday morning. Oh well, I thought, I can still go and come back in one night, stay up to write the blog, and still make the appointment. (If you’re wondering who lit the other end of this candle, it was obviously me.) Well, today I decided I could practice self-care by NOT going, by basically setting a boundary for–myself.

Stop, Marcus. Just stop.

Personally, I don’t consider this a big revelation. It’s not the first time I’ve put myself on a diet, stopped smoking, or decided to stay home to rest. But I do think it’s interesting that I’m able to mostly navigate boundaries with others and my physical world, but sometimes less so with my internal. Maybe our thoughts and emotions are tougher to work with, but I’m thinking it’s time to set some limits for myself, since the truth is that I wouldn’t let anyone else tell me I’m not good enough, or listen to them go on and on (and on) about how it’s not okay to feel overwhelmed for more than fifteen minutes at a time or how no one will love me unless I stop eating white bread for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

And sometimes for a snack.

When I put my self-talk on paper, it sounds pretty ridiculous. But I guess our thoughts are sort of like broken records that just keep playing over and over (and over) again until you finally say, “Wait a damn minute, I don’t like this music,” and put on something different. Of course, I don’t expect things to change overnight, and it’s not like I haven’t been working on this for a while–I have. It’s better up there than it used to be. But my therapist says boundaries are always being reevaluated as new information comes along, so it’s probably just time for a personal check-in. Ultimately, I believe good boundaries come from a strong sense of self-worth, so if I wouldn’t let anyone else treat or talk to me poorly, why would I let myself get away with the same bad behavior?

Why would anyone?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Sometimes we move with grace and sometimes we move with struggle. But at some point, standing still is no longer good enough.

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My Authentic Response to Criticism (Blog #145)

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Tonight’s blog may be one of the most difficult I’ve ever written. I’ll explain. I have a personal rule for the blog that I won’t use it as a means to call someone out specifically, meaning I don’t consider this the place to say, “Jack, you’re a real asshole,” or, “Suzy, those yoga pants make you look like whore.” Aside from those being unkind statements, this is a blog about (my) authenticity, vulnerability, and mental and spiritual health, and I don’t consider it the venue to pick a fight. All that being said, tonight’s blog is going to approach that line because–and only because–I’ve promised that I will also and always write about what’s on my heart. So far, I have. In over one hundred and forty posts, I haven’t once tried to fake my emotions or stray from what I knew needed to be said–and I’m not going to start tonight.

So, to borrow a phrase I’ve heard once or twice from my therapist, we’re about to have a confrontation.

The first thing I saw this morning was that someone had posted a comment on yesterday’s blog that was pending approval. Well, I’m not sure that my people pleaser will ever not be the first one to have a voice, so I immediately thought, Oh God, I hope someone’s not mad. I guess I could post the entire comment, but the essence was: 1) I hate the bandana you wear on your head, 2) Your hair is too beautiful to cover it up, 3) Please stop it, and 4) I love you and am just being honest.

As I’ve said a number of times, my therapist says that online communication is rife with misunderstandings, so I’d like to be clear–the tone of the comment, in my opinion, was mostly lighthearted, complimentary (they called me handsome), and well-intended. They even said, “I have no right to encroach on what you determine makes you happy in life.” With this much, I agree.

My first thought after reading the comment this morning was, That’s hilarious. Thank God it wasn’t something serious. Actually, I started to say as much. But I hadn’t woken up yet, and that response didn’t feel quite right, even though it did feel like “a nice thing to say.” My therapist says that nice is a strategy, in light of which I would have to admit–the only reason I would dismiss such a criticism would be to not rock the boat and to make sure someone likes me (and my hair and anything I put on it). Of course, if you’ve ever tried to manage what someone else thinks of you, you know–it’s exhausting.

I wish I could tell you that the comment rolled over me like water off a duck’s back, but I can’t. It’s not that I’ve had a bad day, but it’s sort of felt like a piece of food that slowly molds and rots in your refrigerator. It’s something you can’t put your finger on at first. But then one day you open the door and know exactly what stinks.

I remember a couple years ago when I went out-of-town–maybe New York City or New Mexico–and I wore a cowboy hat that I named Jose (after the guy who made it). I fucking loved it, and told myself I’d wear it more often when I got home. But damn it, there’s something oppressive about Fort Smith, something that says, “Conform,” so I didn’t. When I talked about it in therapy, my therapist said, “Give it a whirl–be yourself.” Recently when I spoke to her about an incident similar to today’s that I can’t remember, she told me that sometimes when well-meaning people criticize her fashion choices, she says, “I do whatever the fuck I want.”

Amen.

I would like to acknowledge that everyone–everyone–has a right to their opinion. Also, I’ve yet to censor anyone’s comments on this blog, my YouTube channel, or Facebook, since I don’t consider it my job to tell other people what to think, say, or, for that matter, what to wear. So everyone is welcome to say what they want, but let me be perfectly clear–just because you have a thought about my life, doesn’t mean that it’s beneficial or that I want to hear it. I mean, when was the last time someone came up to you and said, “Alice, that jean skirt makes your butt look unattractive,” and you said, “Why thank you, Edna, you’re a saint. What else can I change about me?” So in short, I don’t consider my hair (or any other part of my life) a democracy.

According to my dad tonight, that’s why I’m not married.

My mom (who’s currently bald from chemotherapy) said, “I don’t care what you do with your hair. I’m just glad you have some.”

It may be too late, but I really don’t want this blog to be about one specific comment, since it’s not the first time I’ve been told, “The blonde hair was a mistake,” “You won’t be able to get a job if your hair is blue,” or “Those pants make you look gay,” to which if given the chance to do it all over again I’d respectively say, “Fuck off,” “How the hell do you know that, Dad?” and “Good–I am gay.” Also, I know that my natural tendency is to be defensive, to be–in the words of my therapist–dukes up. This tendency, I’m sure, comes from the fact that I essentially raised myself, so criticism of any sort always feels like someone saying that I didn’t do a good job (even though I did a fucking great job, thank you very much) or that I failed in some way.

Additionally, I’d like to acknowledge that although I don’t do it online, I often have critical thoughts about others and will frequently voice these opinions to my friends. Jesus, that dress is ugly. Those shoes make her look like a construction worker. Caroline Myss says that these sorts of thoughts and comments stem from the idea that someone else’s life only exists in order to make me happy. Like, “I’d feel better if you’d stop dressing like a lumberjack, Janice.” Obviously–and I can only speak for myself on this one–that’s an arrogant and flawed way to address one of God’s fellow creations. So to anyone to whom I’ve minimized in this way, I apologize and am working on it.

Lastly, I’d like to say something about my experience with honesty. I know I make a big deal about it here, and perhaps it deserves a little more attention. From what I understand, honesty means being true to yourself, whatever your experience. My therapist says that if you’re angry or hurt or whatever, you don’t bite your tongue because it doesn’t feel good to bite your tongue. By not being honest, you damage yourself in some way. She also quotes a spiritual guru and says, “Be kind whenever possible. It’s always possible.” To me this means that just because it’s honest to say, “Those pleated pants went out of style twenty years ago, and I wouldn’t be caught dead in that Ban-Lon shirt,” doesn’t mean it’s necessary.

Personally, I hate the fact that I may get up tomorrow and hesitate to put a bandana on my head, even though I know it keeps my beautiful hair out of my face when I drive down the interstate with my windows down, something that never ceases to make me feel totally free. Ultimately, I think we all are worthy of that unbridled feeling of freedom, that feeling that says, “I love me, I love everything about me, and I don’t give a shit if anyone else likes it or not.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A storm can leave your life just as quickly as it enters it.

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The “Enough Is Enough” Button (Blog #130)

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Last night I went to Walmart in Van Buren to buy the ingredients for dirt dessert, which are basically sugar, sugar, dairy, and Oreos. One of my creativity assignments this week was to “bake something,” so I figured I didn’t need to complicate the matter and settled on something easy. Anyway, while I was shopping, I noticed some light-up block letters used for decorating, so I rearranged the top row to spell SICK. (The only other option was TITS, and that’s not really my thing. Plus, it’s Van Buren.) Notice the letter I is actually a bottle of beer. It was the only “vowel” available, and I actually enjoyed the implication.

Been there, done that.

As it turns out, there’s a reason I’m not a cook. I screwed up the dirt dessert. Basically I thought I had to make the vanilla pudding first (with 4 cups of milk) AND THEN add an additional 3 cups of milk along with the other ingredients. Well, I was mistaken. I needed 3 cups total, not 7. So things turned out–uh–runny, more like a milkshake. That being said, the concoction did firm up a bit overnight, and it’s pretty tasty.

All day–all day–today, I’ve had a headache. Maybe I slept wrong. Maybe my body doesn’t like a month’s worth of sugar in one night. It’s difficult to say what causes these things. But it hasn’t been fun, this sort-of dull pain that just sits at the back of my head the way a vacuum cleaner salesman might sit in your living room and refuse to leave. So far I think I’ve taken Ibuprofen or Tylenol three or four times today. I lost count. Currently I have a heated rice bag around my neck and have peppermint oil slathered everywhere above my shoulders. It’s supposed to help, but I smell like a candy cane.

It’s not cute.

This evening I went out to eat with one of my favorite people, who likes to remain nameless. I mean, she has a name, uses it often, seems to enjoy it, but likes to remain nameless–on this blog. Anyway, more than once she said I was perky. (Perky–that was her exact word. I’m quoting.) I mean, I just looked up the definition. I guess perky is all right–jolly, lively, cheerful, bouncy, effervescent–that’s totally me.

At your service.

Okay, I might as well just say it. I’m starting a new project (in addition to this one because I apparently want to sleep less). The name of the project and website (which isn’t up yet) is called I Want the World to Know. I just started a Facebook page tonight (go like it when you’re done here). It’s seriously in the beginning stages, but the idea is that I’m going to start asking people, “What do you want the world to know?” or “What’s your best advice?” Then I’ll share the answers, with maybe a picture of the person, online. In my mind, the answers will cover a range of topics–self-help, relationships, automobile care, cooking (don’t use too much milk for dirt dessert!). You know, any little thing that might change your life for the better.

So far I’ve only gotten answers from a couple of people. But I asked my friend tonight, and she said she just got back from a trip to Iceland. She said the people there all lived about the same, meaning that both teachers and doctors lived in houses that were similar sizes–no one was too extravagant. What’s more, she said they seemed content with what they had. They weren’t saying, “More, more, more.” So she said that she would tell the world, “Find your ‘enough is enough’ button and be happy. Just because something is good doesn’t mean more will be better.”

Well, I guess to prove the point, she suggested that we SPLIT dessert. (Yeah, sure, I can do that. Considering all the sugar I had last night, that would probably be a good thing.)

Isn’t that adorable?

Since I got home tonight I’ve been thinking about the “enough is enough” button, and I think it has a lot of applications. Obviously, it could apply to anything we buy and collect, as well as food we eat (sugar!), and beer we drink (SICK!). But I think there are a lot of other situations where this wisdom could apply. I know that more than once I’ve reached the point in life where enough was enough. It’s like everything was “fine” until one day when it wasn’t. Maybe that meant I ended a relationship, quit a job, or finally had that difficult conversation because not having it was tearing me apart.

I guess we all have our limits. At some point we take a pain pill, go to the doctor, go the gym. I’ve said before that it was a bad, bad, really bad relationship that got me to go to therapy. But honestly, that was just my “enough is enough” button. I needed to go anyway. Not because I’m any more fucked up than you are, but because I needed some professional help in processing life. I needed boundaries because most people don’t have them. I needed to stop judging myself so much. I needed to believe in myself more. I mean, who doesn’t need all that?

I’m not suggesting you should go to therapy, but I am suggesting therapy is one way to make your life better.

It seems we all have a tendency to overindulge–in material possessions, in addictions, in bad relationships. The upside to this, I suppose, is that it shows us where our “enough is enough” button is, lets us know how much we’re willing and not willing to put up with. (We’re talking about boundaries here.) In my experience, having less–less stuff, less sugar (ugh), less bad behavior–is almost always better. Finding that “enough is enough” button, of course, can take time. But if you know where it is and you haven’t already–for crying out loud–push the damn thing.

[I would love to hear what you want the world to know, what your best advice is. Please message me on Facebook or at me (at) meandmytherapist (dot) com with your story. Or hell, let’s SPLIT a dessert and talk about it in person.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Some days, most days, are a mixed bag. We cry, we laugh, we quit, we start again. That's life. In the process, we find out we're stronger than we thought we were, and perhaps this is healing.

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