I Meant to Do That! (Blog #837)

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Photo by Virgilia Dale. Thanks, V!

This morning I saw my therapist and read her yesterday’s blog, about childhood memories. I don’t do this very often, maybe once every couple months, if I’d like her opinion on something or it seems relevant. For example, on our last therapy-iversary, I read her my post about why me and my therapist are successful. It was my way of saying, “Thank you.” (I also brought cookies.) Anyway, I read last night’s blog because, as I told her, “I cried when I wrote it and am hoping I can cry again.”

“Go for it,” she said. “Get the poison out of your water.”

Then she added, “I like how you’ve been crying more lately.”

Well, sure enough, it worked. I cried more when I read the post to her than when I wrote the damn thing. I guess there’s something about my therapist’s presence. It’s like I know I can say anything, be completely me in the moment, and that’s going to be okay. Never once in five years have I felt judged. Not that I’ve always been agreed with–far from it–but I’ve never felt judged. Instead, no matter if I’ve been angry, sad, depressed, irate, confused, lethargic, disappointed, hurt, or horny–I’ve felt totally accepted. And I guess that’s been one of the big gifts this blog has given me too–acceptance.

Self-acceptance.

I imagine this is why certain posts make me cry. Like last night’s, they’re usually the ones that have something to do with my childhood. The way I see it, I probably needed to cry (and yell and scream) back then but just didn’t know how. Consequently, it’s like some part of me got asked to sit down and shut up indefinitely. But here’s the thing about writing if you do it correctly–you bring your whole self to it. This means that when you’re being creative all the parts of yourself that have previously been silenced can potentially speak up. They may cry and they may to tell people to fuck off. If you’re smart, you’ll listen. This is what self-acceptance is–not letting every part of you run the show, but letting every part of you be heard.

The above picture of me at a lemonade stand showed up in my Facebook memories today. For a while my dance studio was in the same building as a photographer, and the lemonade stand was one of her props. Anyway, this picture always makes me think of that overused saying–when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Along these lines, there’s this quote from Joseph Campbell–“To transform you hell into a paradise is to turn your fall into a voluntary act. Joyfully participate in the sorrows of the world and everything changes.” To me this means not so much that you make the best of a bad situation, but that on some level you actually choose the bad situation.

I’ll explain.

There’s an idea in the self-help world that you’re happy not when you have what you want, but rather when you want what you have. Think about it. We usually associate wanting with things we don’t have, but if you were to–in this moment–look at everything in your life and say, “I want this,” you’d immediately experience a sense of contentment. For me this would look like saying, “I want to weigh 190 (ish) pounds. I want to be single. I want to be living at home with my parents and experiencing a headache.”

Good news! I am.

Applied to one’s past, all of this means that rather than labeling your difficult circumstances as bullshit or something that never should have happened, you look at them and say, “That was exactly what I needed.” This is what Campbell means when he says, “Turn your fall into a voluntary act.” Children do this all the time. They trip on their shoelaces, hit the concrete, and scab their knees then immediately look at their friends and say, “I MEANT to do that!” In keeping with my previous discussion about last night’s blog about childhood memories and specifically the fact that my family’s home burned down when I was four, this means that yes, I cry or scream about it when I need to, but I refuse to let myself be bitter about the situation. Instead I think, That helped make me who I am today. And I like who I am today.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"No one's story should end on the ground."

Now Green Grass Grows (Blog #836)

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I’ve spent today reading three different books online–The Kingdom Within: The Inner Meaning of Jesus’ Sayings by John A. Sanford, Cathedral by David Macauley (about gothic architecture), and What Your Childhood Memories Say about You by Dr. Kevin Leman. And whereas I love reading and learning, after several hours of this my eyeballs felt like they were going to fall out of my head and roll around on the floor, so I shut my laptop and went for a walk.

While strolling, I thought about the book I’d just been reading, about childhood memories. The author of the book contends that we form how we see ourselves and the world around us basically by the age of eight and that our early memories can clue us in to not only who we are and what we believe, but also why. Anyway, I started scanning my memory banks and came up with several instances when I felt excited about learning or figuring things out, as well as several instances when I felt afraid or embarrassed. This is important, the book says–if it’s really a formative memory, there will be an emotion attached to it.

Because I’m currently tired and would like to keep this short, I don’t intend to go into my specific memories. Plus, I’ve already discussed a number of “the biggies” here before. What I will say, however, is that although I haven’t finished reading the book, I already agree with its premise. Those emotions I just mentioned–excitement (about learning or figuring things out), fear, and embarrassment–continue to motivate nearly everything I do.

Here’s one way to think about all this. While walking tonight in downtown Van Buren, I stopped by what’s left of what used to be my family’s home, which burned down when I was four. The building itself has since been cleared, and there’s a park. Still, one brick wall remains, and even after thirty-five years, you can still see black smudges all along it. What I mean is that simply because something happened forever ago (when you were a child) doesn’t mean it can’t leave a long-lasting and permanent impression.

For me, the impression that the fire left was Something bad is going to happen. It really was a horrific night. Although my family was spared, nine people died in that fire, along with many of my stuffed animals. The next thing I knew, I was sleeping at a friend’s house, being given someone else’s toys to play with. Another emotion that comes up in a lot of my early memories is confusion, and perhaps the fire is where that feeling started. How confusing for a four-year-old to one day be living in a newly built three-story home and the next day be living on his friend’s pullout couch.

Because our home that burned really was lovely and then it was all gone, I think another impression the fire left was Good things get taken away. This is a belief that’s been reinforced for me a number of times–when Dad went to prison, when our new cars got repossessed. When all that happened, in my teens, both me and my family started getting more hand-me-downs. When I graduated high school, a family I deeply love gave me a car. And whereas it did the job and it was mine(!) for a few years, it was in rough shape. So, without meaning to, I guess I developed a spinoff belief of Good things get taken away–that I’m only worth second-rate things. Used things. Things nobody else would want.

This isn’t easy to talk about it. I don’t like the fact that something, a number somethings, that happened so long ago continue to influence my attitudes and behaviors even today. And yet they do. They continue to have sway over my platonic and romantic relationships (like, I don’t deserve the best), my relationship with money, how I think about healing, and even how I go for a walk. Because when you believe Something bad is going to happen, it’s difficult to ever relax. When you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, it’s hard to let your guard down.

The good news is that all of this is getting better. All of this is better than it used to be. For me, a lot of healing has come through writing and this blog, through simply stating the facts–I was scared when I saw the smoke that night, I was embarrassed my Dad went to prison, and I was embarrassed I couldn’t afford my own car. As I understand it, something magical happens when you can, with compassion, be a witness to your own life. Also, for me it’s been important to really grasp how much my difficult childhood experiences laid the groundwork for my personality, a personalty that although it experiences a great deal of fear and embarrassment, also experiences a great deal of inner fortitude and determination to overcome. I wouldn’t trade these positive qualities for the world. This is how life works. Whenever it takes something away from you, it gives you the opportunity to cultivate something better in return.

At the spot where our house once burned down, just next to that smoke-stained wall, now green grass grows.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Just as there’s day and night literally, there’s also day and night emotionally. Like the sun, one minute we’re up, the next minute we’re down. Our perspectives change constantly. There’s nothing wrong with this. The constellations get turned around once a day, so why can’t you and I? Under heaven, there’s room enough for everything–the sun, the moon and stars, and all our emotions. Yes, the universe–our home–is large enough to hold every bit of us.

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The Best Way to Heal (Blog #832)

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Earlier today I started a new 1,000-piece puzzle–a Van Gogh painting. I’m almost done with the border. While working on the puzzle, I listened to a lecture about healing trauma by a hypnotherapist (Isa Gucciardi) in California. One of her contentions was that our symptoms (addictions, relationship issues, and even some physical symptoms) are our teachers, that if listened to can lead us to the heart of our problems.

For example, one woman who couldn’t (and didn’t really want to) quit smoking knew that she used smoking as a form of escape. Her life was busy–she had a bunch of kids–and smoking gave her a break and acted as a boundary that kept others away. What she realized in hypnosis, however, was that her desire for both escape and boundaries began when she was molested as a child. One man realized in hypnosis that he used chewing tobacco as a way to “be quiet,” a message he’d gotten as a teenager from his mother. For both people, once their root issue was recognized with compassion, they were able to give up their addiction (or symptom).

Based on everything I’ve read and studied, compassion for every part of yourself is a huge component in healing. There’s an idea in shamanism that when we experience trauma (which we all do and can take the form of something dramatic and physical or seemingly ordinary and psychological), parts of our soul splinter off because they can’t take the stress. Like, Deuces! However, thankfully, the can be coaxed back into the fold–with compassion. By listening to their story of what they went through (what YOU went through) and assuring them that you’ll take care of them (of yourself) from now on, they’ll gladly integrate.

This was a point the hypnotherapist made, that there isn’t a part of your personality or soul that doesn’t want to integrate. According to Jung, wholeness is the goal. Not because anyone can truly put Humpty Dumpty (all your broken pieces) back together again, but because the deepest, most true part of you, your soul, isn’t capable of being broken in the first place. In other words, that’s a part of you that’s ALREADY WHOLE and that knows how to heal, that knows how to gather up all your scattered pieces and get them working together again.

This, it seems, is the journey of a lifetime. Also, like the putting together of a puzzle, it’s apparently something that can’t be rushed. Personally, I get really eager for projects (including myself if I can rightfully refer to myself as a project) to be completed. I think, Let’s heal–today! Let’s solve all our issues this afternoon. But my therapist says I or anyone else would go nuts if their subconscious unleashed all its secrets at once. “You’d crack up,” she says. And so it seems that the best way to heal is a little bit here, a little bit there. One piece at at time.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t pick and choose what you receive from life, and you can’t always accurately label something as bad.

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On Listening (I said, ON LISTENING!) (Blog #810)

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This morning I got up early to take my dad to the donut shop for his belated Father’s Day present–because he said he wanted a donut as his present instead of a burger or steak dinner. Talk about fun. Talk about a sugar rush. Talk about a cheap date. Every son should be so lucky. For under twenty bucks, I made my dad’s day. Seriously, the man loves donuts. Of course, I certainly wouldn’t turn my nose up at one.

Or two, filled with chocolate, for that matter.

This afternoon I taught a dance lesson to a couple who’s getting married soon. While discussing the need for a solid dance frame, I had the follower connect with me in closed (standard ballroom) position, her left arm on top of my right, her right hand in my left. At first, her arms were loose, “spaghetti arms.” But then she matched the tone in my arms (steady, like a wire hanger), and it felt like things “clicked.” “THERE!” I said. “That’s how you tell your partner–I’m listening.” At this point her fiancee, who works as a therapist, said, “Ahhhhhhhh.”

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately–the importance of listening. It’s something my therapist is awesome at, not only listening to, but remembering what I say. For example, despite the fact that I’ve seen her for five years, she’s never taken a single note–and yet she never seems lost. I’ll mention a name of a friend or an ex, and she’s right there. “Oh yes,” she’ll say, and then she’ll mention something she remembers about that person. When we’ve talked about her excellent memory, she’s said, “I exercise the shit out of it,” meaning that it’s something she consciously works to improve, not just with me, but with all her clients.

So often in conversation I’m thinking about what I’m going to say next. But recently I’ve been trying to listen more, to keep my damn mouth shut and pay attention the way my therapist does. This morning at the donut shop the lady behind the counter said she hears ALL KINDS of stories. Well, for a writer stories are gold, but you can only HEAR them if you’re NOT TALKING. Recently I started to say something at the same time one of my friends did, so I used a phrase I’ve been trying to use more often–“You go ahead.” My dad says that if he doesn’t say something right away then he’ll forget it. My take on this is that waiting to talk is an excellent way to IMPROVE your memory. My therapist says that if you forget something you were about to say, it wasn’t that important in the first place.

Listening, however, isn’t just important in your external world. It’s also important in your internal one. What I mean is that so often we listen to what others have to say about our lives and how we should be, and we even talk, talk, talk about our problems to anyone who will let us. But how often do we really get quiet and listen to our own hearts and minds? How often do we check in with not what we think we should think and feel, but with what we actually think and feel? In my experience, not often enough. Since starting therapy and this blog I’ve had countless experiences in which I had to finally recognize–I’m pissed, I’m hurting, I’m overwhelmed, I’m traumatized. These experiences are why I sometimes refer to myself as sweetheart–Sweetheart, I’m here for you–because I’ve ignored so many parts of myself for so long and am now trying my damndest to listen to them. To shut up and hear myself for once.

This evening I attended my friend Marla’s writing class and shared the beginning–because I only have the beginning–of a short story I wrote last night. When I started writing it I only had a sentence, one single sentence that’s been in my brain and in my phone for probably two years because, Maybe that could turn into a story one day. Despite the fact that I THOUGHT about that sentence all day yesterday, I couldn’t add anything to it. But then last night I closed my eyes and got quiet. I thought, Who is saying this one sentence, and what do they want to say next? I’m listening. And just like that, the voice of my main character started talking. Within an hour, I had three paragraphs of their story.

Tonight after I read my first three paragraphs in class, Marla and I were chatting and I realized something about my story that I hadn’t planned or done on purpose–that my main character had something important happen when they were four and that four was the age I was when our house burned down. And whereas I’ve always thought the fire was a source of trauma for me (and still think that), in my character’s story I referred to their important event as a gift. My point is that our subconscious and even our conscious minds and bodies are always trying to heal us, always trying to get us to move forward. Look at all the good that came from that horrible situation. Sure, we can fight this growth process, but one way or another, our issues are going to creep up and asked to be healed–in our dreams, our relationships, our art. So all the better if we can be conscious, if we can work with our issues intentionally, if we can say, Sweetheart, how can I help you move on? I’m listening.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You really do belong here.

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The Universal Salve (Blog #803)

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The dog I’m taking care of this week wakes me up at 6:30 every morning to go for a walk. A natural night owl, this routine does not impress me. Still, I knew it was “a thing” when I signed up for the gig. Today I flopped back down on the mattress after our stroll, intent on getting some more rest. And whereas I finally fell asleep, it took a while. When my alarm went off two hours later, I was in a daze. Surely it’s not to time get up already, I thought. And yet it was. It was time.

The day itself has been go-go-go. First I had therapy, then physical therapy. Then I saw my chiropractor (it clearly takes a village to keep this mind and body in shape), then came back “home” to walk the dog and shove some food down my throat. Then I went to my friend Marla’s writing class. I was thirty minutes late, but–shit–it was one of those days. We do the best we can.

Back at the house, I noticed I missed some calls from my parents. Then I saw them drive by and thought, Oh crap. Someone has died. They couldn’t get me on the phone, so they’ve chased me down. Thankfully, this was not the case. They just happened to be in the neighborhood at my aunt’s and wanted to take me out for a late dinner. Anyway, it was the nicest surprise, the perfect end to a long day. We had lovely conversation, laughed a lot, said “I love you.”

Lately I’ve been thinking about embarrassment. My embarrassment. The truth is, and I feel like I’ve said this before but jokingly, there are a lot of things in my life I don’t love right now. A lot of things I’m embarrassed by. Like, uh, living back at home with my parents. Like walking other people’s dogs for a living. Not that I’m not grateful for a place to stay and money in my pocket–I am–but I’m almost forty and–believe it or not–have other aspirations for my life. Aspirations that don’t involve picking up warm poop with a plastic bag. On the one hand (the hand I pick up the warm poop with), it’s not something I’m–um–proud of.

On the other hand, and I was thinking about this on the way to therapy today, I am proud of myself. What I mean is that even if no one else knows or acknowledges it (and I don’t expect anyone to), I know what’s inside of me. I know what my dreams are, what I have to offer, and what the deepest parts of me both want and need to express. I could go into detail, but suffice it to say that if I got to the end of my life and, looking back, realized I’d lived my life like everyone else or lived for the approval of others, I’d regret it. This is to say that although I often feel embarrassment about not having a lot to show outwardly for these last few years, I have zero regrets about the internal work I’ve done. Plus, I do have the outward work of this blog, and this blog has forever changed me for the better–as a human being and as a soul.

This is no small thing.

Additionally, these last few years have afforded me a lot of opportunities for healing with respect to my family. My parents and I have had numerous conversations–truthful, healing conversations–that never would have happened had I not been living back at home. At least they hadn’t happened in the thirty-six years prior to my return.

My therapist says that some people think that you can heal anything with Vick’s Vapor Rub. “Some people think it’s a universal salve,” she says. “Well, the universal salve for most every emotional problem we ever have is honesty.” This has been my experience–that simply by stating the truth, healing begins. It’s why I’m saying tonight that I often feel embarrassed. I’m not looking for anyone to make me feel better about my situation, for acceptance, or even for understanding. I’m just stating facts. On the one hand I feel embarrassed. On the other hand I’m proud and grateful and wouldn’t change a thing.

I get that this is a paradox. Go figure. Life is a mystery.

My therapist and I have an ongoing discussion about being vulnerable and being honest, since it’s popular in today’s culture to equate the two but we don’t. That it, I don’t consider myself vulnerable for getting on the internet and saying I’m gay, I’m terrified of money, or I’m embarrassed. Because these things are–at least some of the time–true. Well, the gay thing is all-of-the-time true. As I told my mom tonight when we were discussing these topics, “Maybe I’d be vulnerable if I believed I needed a certain response from people, but I don’t. Children are vulnerable. Kidnapping victims are vulnerable. But someone who simply states the truth and lets the chips fall where they may–I think that person is anything but vulnerable. I think that person is strong.” At least I feel strong whenever I’m honest, strong being the exact opposite of how I felt all those years when I was trying to hide the truth in an effort to manage other people’s impressions of me.

Honestly (get it, we’re talking about truth), this is the only reason I’m as honest as I am, because of the results. Time and time again the simple truth has given me healing (with myself and with others) and peace of mind. People call me brave, bold, crazy, whatever for putting everything out there. Everyone’s entitled to their opinions, but in my opinion these labels aren’t accurate. For me, if I’m anything, I’m just lucky enough to (finally) be able to see what works and what doesn’t. Trying to impress others, ignoring your feelings, and biting you tongue–these things don’t work. The truth does. Is it scary, foreign, and often difficult to tell the truth, to be honest first with yourself and then with others? Damn right it is. But does it get easier the more you do it, and does the truth set you free?

Absolutely.

So, in plain language, this is the ticket you’ve been looking for. Listen close. To quote Al Pacino in Scent of a Woman, “I’m giving you pearls here.” If you want to be free, start by getting honest.

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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On One’s Shadow and Being Whole Again (Blog #802)

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This afternoon I started reading a book by psychologist Sheldon Kopp called Mirror, Mask, and Shadow: The Risks and Rewards of Self-Acceptance. The idea behind it is one I’ve been attracted to for a while now–that certain parts of ourselves get asked to sit in the corner or are disowned altogether early in our lives and do us more harm than good when we continue to ignore them. These are the parts of ourselves we’re ashamed of, embarrassed by, or–worse–refuse to acknowledge whatsoever. Examples include suppressed rage, anger, assertiveness, and sexual fantasies (like, homosexual desires, kinky stuff, or anything society would disapprove of like–um–thinking about, talking about, or having sex). These are parts of ourselves that–when repressed–cause us to think or act “out of character,” that can really twist our positive self-image if we happen to have one.

What I mean by twisting our positive self-image is that many of us like to think of ourselves as good people. Christians, even. We like to think we’re kind, loving, and patient. But then someone cuts us off in traffic or otherwise pushes our buttons, and the worst comes flying out. As one internet meme says, “If you think hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, you’ve obviously never seen a gay man slightly inconvenienced.” In other words, there are times when we can all really cut someone else off at the knees. Personally, I know that my inner critic has really been barking lately. This evening I went to a bookstore, and it was hurling silent insults at not only the employees but also at the authors of most the books I picked up. What do they think they know?! it said.

My point in sharing this personal example is that if I were married to the idea of being a “good” person (which I’m not, although perhaps I’m engaged to it) and were also married to the idea of being as honest with myself as possible (which I am), I’d have a problem, since, at least internally, I can be a real asshole. On a daily if not weekly basis part of me gets frustrated or irate with almost everything and everyone–my life situation, my parents, my dance students, my friends. Sometimes the pot boils over. For the most part, I’m okay with this. Not that I want that upset part of me to take over–I don’t–but I wouldn’t be doing myself any favors by trying to shove it down, ignore what it has to say, or calling it (or myself) “bad” for existing.

This is my therapist’s approach when it comes to any and every thought in my head. Over the last five years, I’ve dumped everything on her, everything I’ve ever been hesitant to admit–sometimes I want to rip people’s heads off, sometimes I want to fuck people’s heads off. Of course, in therapy, I get specific about my fantasies. And whereas I don’t intend to do that here (you’re welcome), I’m touching on the subject to say that my therapist has never, not once, batted an eye. In fact, she’s encouraged even what I’ve considered to be my grossest, most perverted imaginations–not for me to ACT on them, mind you, but to think about them. As I understand it, this approach allows one’s shadow to be acknowledged and integrated rather than suppressed. Suppression, apparently, is the problem. That’s what causes you to suddenly blow your top or–God forbid–hurt yourself or someone else. That’s what causes you to do something you later regret and think, I have no idea where THAT came from.

Well, it came from your shadow. From the parts of yourself you’ve kept in the dark all these years. From the parts you’ve shoved down.

Kopp says our shadow parts are primitive and awkward, but not wholly bad. “You have learned to consider them evil, or at least sinister,” he says. “They are, instead, merely the rest of you. Together, you and your shadow make a complete self. Though your shadow may contain some destructive potential, it also embodies lost vitality, highly personal creative possibilities, and everything you always wanted to know about yourself but were afraid to ask.”

Later he says that if we don’t consciously own our shadow, we’ll inevitably project it. “You may unconsciously select other people to act out aspects of your own hidden self, or even encourage others to behave in ways that serve you as an alter ego. If it meets the other person’s needs, he or she may at the same time be using you as a reciprocal shadow. How many couples live Laurel and Hardy lives, each a caricature of the other’s disowned self?” This idea fascinates me. I’m aware of relationships–couples, friends–in which one person is WAY outspoken and other other WAY shy. Or one person is totally stoic and the other totally emotional. It’s like both people know on some level that a balance is needed, and so, unable to find that balance within themselves, they find it without.

I’m quite sure I’ve done this. For example, for the longest time, and even now (obviously), I talk a lot about my therapist. My therapist says this, my therapist says that. Often when I share stories about her, it’s about some wildly assertive thing she’s said. Told someone to fuck off or go to hell or whatever. Well, my talking about her isn’t about my idolizing her or being enmeshed with her, but rather about that assertive part of me that I long ago pushed down wanting to come back up. That is, just as we project the worst parts of ourselves onto our villains, we project the very best parts of ourselves onto our heroes. The important thing, of course, is to recognize that we’re projecting–the evil or the good that we see “out there” isn’t really out there at all. It’s in here.

In other words, the thing you hate or love in another isn’t about them–it’s about you.

I’m not saying that if you spot something base and immoral–or even sublime–in the world that it exists in you in equal proportion. But I am saying that the very worst and the very best exist in you as possibilities or potentials. As others have pointed out, each of us could be a Hitler. Each of us could be a Mother Teresa. For me, growth has come through acknowledging the opposite potentials within me. For years, decades, I tried to banish parts of myself or simply deny them. Oh no, I’m not angry. I’m not horny as hell. Now I’m more interested in the truth. What do I think and feel, regardless of what someone or some book says I should? Give me the truth. Give me every part of myself. Make me whole again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s hard to say where a kindness begins or ends.

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On Branches-Down Thinking (Blog #791)

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This afternoon a friend and I were discussing things to do in Fort Smith, and she said that when people tell her “Fort Smith really needs this” or “Fort Smith really needs that,” she says, “Why don’t YOU do it?” Then she continued, “Most people find an excuse not to, but some people actually get involved. But really–what are you waiting on–Providence to sweep down and scoop you off your couch?” Amen. This is how I feel about a lot of things–dancing, exercise, writing, and mental health, for example. You’ve gotta get off your couch if you want to see improvement in these areas. (Well, maybe not writing and mental health. I’m on a couch right now.) A week ago I agreed to be part of an upcoming murder mystery fundraiser simply because if I want my social life to improve (and I do), I’ve got to get out of the house (sorry, Mom and Dad).

As Liza Minnelli says, you gotta ring them bells.

Recently my therapist and I were talking about complaining. You know, bitching, grousing, whining, or whinging. Similar to my friend I just mentioned, I said that I knew several people who frequently complained about this or that but that–from my perspective–refused to do anything about this or that. “I used to the same way,” I said, “but it’s just so clear to me now–they don’t have to put up with other people’s bullshit. Suffering is optional.” Well, my therapist said two things. First, that she LOVED to complain, that it was one of her favorite pastimes. And whereas this hasn’t been my observation of her, that’s probably because she’s so fucking funny whenever she does it. Like, she’d be a fabulous standup comedian, which, now that I think about it, is really a person who gets PAID to complain. So I guess it’s really not the content when someone complains, but the delivery. (Work on your delivery, people!) Anyway, second, my therapist said, “Some people really get off on being martyrs.”

Think about that.

A few weeks ago I got an unsolicited email from an online hemp (CBD oil, etc.) company asking me to promote their products on my blog. In return, they offered to promote me on their Twitter account, which–I just looked–has 452 followers. Along with their (generous) offer, they included a link to one of their blogs about mental health. I guess this is why they thought we’d be a good “fit” for each other. The Mental Health Connection. Earlier tonight I read the blog, entitled “Ten Mental Health Habits to Try in 2019.” Great, I thought, I might learn something. Well–get out your pen and paper–here they are: exercise, gratefulness, be kind, sleep, hang out with friends, chocolate (made with CBD oil), laugh, eat well, love yourself, meditate.

Okay. I have a lot of thoughts. On the positive side, I think all of these are fabulous things to do, especially the chocolate one. Personally, I know that I always feel better after I exercise, express gratitude, be kind, sleep, hang out with friends, laugh, eat well, love myself (talk kindly to yourself was their suggestion), or meditate. Super. That being said, having spent the last five years deliberately working on my mental health, I also see all ten of these suggestions as very surface recommendations. My therapist would call them “soccer mom” recommendations. No offense to soccer moms, but just to say they (the suggestions, not the moms) don’t go very deep.

They don’t really cut the mustard.

Other than “sleep” or “take a nap,” my therapist has never–not once in five years–suggested I do any of the things on the above list. Well, maybe meditate. But this isn’t because they’re bad things to do. They aren’t. Do them. Knock yourself out. But in terms of doing them in order to improve your mental health, that’s like putting a Bandaid on a broken arm. Sure, it might make you feel better, but it doesn’t really get to the root of the problem. For years–nearly a decade–I worked with exercise, gratitude journals, “being nice,” saying positive, self-loving affirmations, and meditating. The entire time I hoped that I’d be able to “spiritualize” myself in such a way as to never have to confront my problems directly–to have the hard conversations, to set boundaries, to speak my truth. Said another way, I hoped I’d never have to admit–My arm is broken, I’m hurting, and I could use a little help here.

I’ve said before that what took me to therapy was a bad relationship. Before I started therapy, I tried everything I knew–every suggestion my self-help books offered to make it better. I tried being kind and being understanding, the whole time thinking that if only I had enough inner peace, he could be a total asshat (and boy could he ever) and it wouldn’t matter. But it did–it did matter. Maybe a saint could find peace in a prison, but 1) I’m not a saint and 2) the saint would be a fool to not walk out of the prison if he suddenly learned the door was open and no one was standing in his way.

What I learned in therapy was that that relationship was simply a SYMPTOM, a natural result of past traumas, my upbringing, and my beliefs–about myself and what I was worthy of, others and how they should treat me, and the world around me. In other words, I was sick. Now, I don’t mean diagnosable. I have family members who are clinically mentally ill, and I wasn’t that. But just like my family members “laugh” when people tell them “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” or “try getting more sun,” I laugh now at the thought that hanging out with more friends or eating chocolate with CBD oil could have even come close to fixing my sickness.

Really, situation is a better word than sickness, since I don’t mean sick as in diagnosable or gross, but sick as in “something isn’t working here.” Something isn’t as healthy here as it could be/should be. As I see it now, we all have situations or things that aren’t working–a relationship, a job, a feeling or behavior that won’t leave us alone. What I’m saying is that no problem happens in isolation and that, chances are, the roots of our problems run deep. If you’d rather complain that do something about your problems–and if you’re not going to be a standup comedian–ask yourself why. Because complaining or playing the martyr is a very disempowering thing to do, whereas facing your problems directly is very empowering. Sure, you can get a lot of sympathy and you can feel sorry for yourself by staying helpless, but staying helpless never produces longterm positive results or, for that matter, self-esteem.

Why not empower yourself and walk out of your prison?

Going back to the list of ten things to try for mental health, I see them as a bit like trying to grow a tree from the branches down. We see all these lists on the internet–be kind, be grateful, laugh, treat yourself well. But these aren’t things you can simply force yourself to do, at least for very long. Rather, they are the fruits of healthy roots. (I rhymed!) So work on your roots. Go to the heart of your problems and deal with them directly, then you will naturally be grateful, kind, and all those other things. Then you’ll naturally treat yourself lovingly because you will have cleared away enough junk to connect with the love that organically resides in your heart. Affirmations push truth into us. The Hard Work cracks us open and lets truth flow out. We see other people who have walked The Path and think that if we ACT like them, we will EXPERIENCE their peace. But again, this is branches-down thinking. Trees grow from the roots up.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t play small forever.

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Unadulterated (Blog #790)

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What to say, what to say? I’ve spent the day, most of it, with my face buried in my laptop, either reading books or looking at books on online stores or libraries. If I could do this every day, I’d be a happy camper. That being said, I’m sure my eyes would fall out, if my brain didn’t fall out first. At one point this evening I HAD to stop reading a fascinating book about Chartres Cathedral–did you know that the Notre Dame (Our Lady) cathedrals in France are laid out in relation to each other in the shape of the constellation Virgo?–because I was absolutely famished. Later I stopped to exercise. A body has to eat. A body has to move.

One of the books I read this afternoon was by Guy Kettelhack and was about–quite frankly–gay men and sex. And whereas I don’t intend to go into details (you’re welcome), the author had a lot to say about how we, as people in general, suppress or try to ignore various aspects of ourselves. Our sexuality, for instance. Because we think certain parts of ourselves are good and holy, and other parts of ourselves are wicked and vile. At the very least something we shouldn’t talk about on the internet. But Kettelhack says, “Every part of you is true.” The idea behind this statement, I think, is that even those desires, fantasies, and emotions we deem socially unacceptable, first of all, exist whether we want them to or not. Second, they exist because they have something to offer us. Third, and along the lines of yesterday’s blog, we’d do better to interact with all of our parts consciously rather than unconsciously.

Another thing Kettelhack says is that permission is letting yourself be who you already are. In terms of sexuality, I know that I’ve spent a lot of time (historically) trying to convince myself I wasn’t something I am–gay. But in other terms, I’ve also spent a lot of time trying to convince myself I wasn’t a number of other things–upset, angry, unhappy, even happy. This has caused me to distrust my own body and emotions and instead try to substitute who I am for what I’ve thought I should be–as told to me by the church, a self-help book, or even so-called friends. This is one of the worst things, I think, that a person could do–discount their own inherent wisdom, the truth of their experience because someone else says something different.

And yet it happens every day.

This isn’t to say that if you have a sexual urge or unpleasant emotion (like anger) that you should take it out on the world around you. But it is to say that you’ll get further by acknowledging how you really feel than by depressing your authentic desires and internal reactions. Recently I was considering confronting someone, and my therapist said, “Do you want to but feel like you ‘shouldn’t’?” And whereas that wasn’t the case, it reminded me of countless other situations in which I felt like I “shouldn’t” speak my truth or do what I really wanted to because it wasn’t socially appropriate, I imagined I’d hurt somebody’s feelings, or I was afraid someone wouldn’t like me.

It’s not your job to make anyone else happy.

The problem with this way of living, of course, is that it puts someone else’s imagined experience above your actual experience. Or even their actual experience above your actual experience. Either way, you’re the one who ends up suffering. I’ve known people–usually gay people–who have married someone just to make that person, their parents, or god happy. But here’s a slap in the face–it’s not your job to make another human being, your parents, or even god happy. (If god hasn’t figured out how to be happy after all this time, that’s his problem.) Indeed, you CAN’T make anyone else happy. Sure, maybe you can do something nice and evoke a smile, but when has anybody else been able to make YOU happy? Like, permanently, deep down? It just doesn’t work that way.

As the saying goes, happiness is an inside job.

Your inside job.

My therapist says that when you’re honest, first with yourself and then with others, you give both you and others a gift–the gift of you authentic response. By being honest (and the honest truth is different than your honest opinion), you give others permission to do the same. Because we all teach by example. Like, if I live a closeted life or pretend to be someone I’m not, I teach others that “this is the way.” But if I live an authentic life, one in which I speak my truth and honor my body and emotions, I naturally imply that it’s good and safe and right for others to do the same. I suggest, and I’m saying it clearly now, You don’t have to hide anything about yourself in order to be accepted or loved.

From my perspective, the world is lacking in honesty and authenticity. Granted, the words gets a lot of lip service these days. But if they were truly “a thing,” the world would be a different place. That is, if you think you have truth in your life and yet your life looks the same as it did ten, twenty, or thirty years ago, I’m gonna suggest maybe you don’t. Because truth is married to change. It comes into your life like a wrecking ball–it has to–in order to remove all that is false within you–your false perceptions, your false beliefs, your false relationships. This is why I pay my therapist so much money. My friends tell me, “Maybe it’ll work out. Give him a chance.” My therapist tells me, “He’s a fucking asshole. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but he is.” But I do want to hear it, even if it destroys my fantasies–because I’ve lived under illusions for decades and know they don’t lead anywhere but Pain and Suffering.

No, give me something honest. Give me something real. Turn my life upside down if you have to, but give me something true.

Back to the constellation Virgo being associated with gothic cathedrals. There’s a lot of theories as to why. For example, Virgo is associated with the spring (she’s technically a late summer zodiac sign, but she first appears in the sky in the spring), with new life (the new life you’ll have if you let truth wreck your old one). Also, Virgo is The Virgin. Again, the virgin birth is often used to symbolize the birth of one’s spiritual (rather than physical) life. And whereas virgins are immediately thought of as sexually pure, symbolically they remind me to be internally pure. Not pure as in text-book perfect, but pure as is wrecking-ball honest. Pure as in “I can handle the truth,” even if isn’t pretty or socially acceptable, which (here’s something that sucks) it rarely is. Pure as in unadulterated–integrated in all your parts; whole in your body, heart, and mind; complete .

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Things that shine do better when they're scattered about."

Ignorance Is Not Bliss (Blog #789)

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Today was therapy and therapy day. First I saw my regular therapist, then I saw my physical therapist. Now I’m so healthy I can’t stand myself. One of the techs at physical therapy noted that I was “still coming.” My physical therapist said, “He’s addicted to the pain.” I said, “I’m addicted to the progress.” This is what I’d say about regular therapy too–by simply showing up and doing the work, I realize consistent positive results.

Why wouldn’t I keep going?

Two weeks ago at physical therapy I hopped on one leg for the first time. And whereas it wasn’t pretty, it was something. Today that exercise was easier. Still not pretty, but easier. Then I jumped off a step with two legs and landed on one leg (my left, the one I had surgery on). “Like hopscotch,” my physical therapist said.

“Uh–it’s been few years,” I said.

“You know you’re in a hopscotch league,” another physical therapist chimed in.

“Yes, and I also do double-dutch jump rope on Saturdays,” I answered.

Landing on one leg was rough–shaky–but thankfully there was a rail to grab so I wouldn’t fall over. Shaky–that’s a good way to explain my experience with knee rehab. Sometimes my entire body quakes and quivers when I’m trying to lower myself down into a chair using only my left leg. Even still, I see progress. Today while lowering myself into a chair, I had more control than I’ve ever had since my injury (I tore my ACL six months ago). Also, with each new exercise, like the one-leg hopscotch landing, both my mind and body become less afraid. It’s like, Okay, we can do this.

At regular therapy, my therapist and I discussed Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I read an article about OCD recently that said sometimes it takes the form of “information hoarding.” Well, you know how you can Google a health problem and all of a sudden convince yourself you have a deadly disease? Since I download, buy, and borrow books faster than I can read them, I thought, I have that. I’m an information hoarder. My therapist said, “I don’t think you’re as extra as you think you are. You’re not hurting anyone, and you’re not cancelling social engagements or missing work to stay home and download books, play video games, or wash your hands. When you get to the point that your books are piled up so high that you can’t walk in your house, then come back and talk to me about having OCD.” Then she added, “Personally, I think more people could buy a few books.”

Right?

Along the lines of people being uneducated, my therapist said, “People say that ignorance is bliss, but that’s a really ignorant statement.” Then she explained that when people lead unexamined lives, sure, there’s a certain “what I don’t know won’t hurt me” happiness in that. “But the price of self-ignorance is strife, drama, passive aggressiveness, anger, anxiety, and internal tension,” she said.

Among other things.

In terms of self-ignorance, I don’t know many people–myself included–who would gladly admit, Gosh, I don’t know much about myself. For an answer as to why, I harken back to a recent question I asked (and have often asked along The Path)–How can you know what you don’t know? Simply put, you can’t. I’ve mentioned before that I took reiki and meditation classes for years from an excellent teacher who talked about boundaries consistently. And whereas I remember hearing what she said, it didn’t sink in. It never occurred to me that my boundaries were off, even though–I can see now–they were. Likewise, despite a number of less-than-ideal relationships (both platonic and intimate), I never realized I was repeating PATTERNS, going through the same drama over and over, just with different characters. Despite my constantly reading self-help books, it took my working with a therapist (a trained professional) for me to see these things.

In my experience, you’re probably not going to wake one morning and–bam!–suddenly identify the unproductive patterns in your life and WHY they are there in the first place. Sure, you may intellectualize that your mother did this or your father did that, but chances are you won’t be able to draw a line from your childhood relationships and situations to your current relationships and situations. Not because you’re stupid, but because they don’t call it the UNCONSCIOUS for no reason. So how do you know what you don’t know? How do you bring the UNCONSCIOUS up? Simply put, you look for signs then work backwards.

I’ll explain.

Things that are unhealthy leave their mark.

Recently my car, Tom Collins, has been making a squeaking noise. Since we’ve been through this before, I know the squeaking means I need at least one new brake pad. (I should probably do something about that.) My point is that when something is wrong, there’s usually evidence of it. When you’re sick, you’ll either feel tired, get a runny nose, start bleeding out of your ears, or whatever. Like a slug that leaves a trail of slime behind it, Things That Are Unhealthy leave their mark. This same principle applies to one’s mental, emotional, and relational health. That is, if there’s something that needs your attention, your subconscious will create flare signals. It will SEND UP stress, anxiety, nervousness, conflict, and any number of other uncomfortable feelings in an effort to get you to check yourself out (rather than be checked out–or self-ignorant).

I started therapy because I was in a terrible (horrible, no-good, very bad) relationship. Looking back, that relationship was a distress signal. And whereas I could have blamed the other person (and did) or simply told myself that all my uncomfortable feelings were “normal,” I was so miserable that I had to do something about it. I had to do something about MYSELF. Because that’s the deal–if you’re arguing with the people in your life or things aren’t working at work, the answer starts with you. Only YOU can do something about YOUR problems. At the very least, I think, you have to ask yourself, Why am I willing to entertain this bullshit? In my case, I thought, What is wrong with me that I’m ATTRACTED to someone who lies and cheats (and lies and cheats some more)?

From there, I worked backwards. With my therapist, I identified A HISTORY OF PATTERNS. Slowly, we worked at breaking those patterns, at setting boundaries first with myself then with others. And I do mean slowly. Just like learning to hopscotch again doesn’t happen overnight, you don’t become self-enlightened overnight. I’m not sure it can even be done in one lifetime. Caroline Myss says, “Consciousness is expensive.” This means that becoming self-aware and self-possessed is hard work, The Hard Work. This is why people say ignorance is bliss–because they don’t want to put in the effort. They want to believe that they can “go along to get along” or simply “accept Jesus as their personal lord and savior” and not have to work out their salvation with fear and trembling. This truly is ignorance. You don’t learn to double-dutch jump rope without putting the time in.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Even a twisted tree grows tall and strong.

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On Something Good (Blog #753)

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Wow. I’ve spent the last eight hours–except for a few bathroom breaks–on the futon in my family’s spare room, either working on a puzzle, reading, or–now–blogging. I’d intended to only work on the puzzle for an hour, but ended up working on it for–I don’t know–four. You know, I got focused. I kept thinking, One more piece.

While working on the puzzle, I listened to a couple podcasts/interviews about trauma and/or healing. One was with David Bullard and discussed something called “blink-flash” meditation, which involves 1) thinking of a mild to moderate stressful event (anything that makes you cringe to focus on), then 2) thinking of something pleasant (like a walk in the woods or your favorite song) while 3) crossing your arms and alternately tapping your shoulders and blinking your eyes (three blinks per set for several sets).

Sounds crazy, but I tried it, and the anxiety I felt around my original event lessened. (You’re supposed to rate the event on a scale of one to ten before and after the thinking/tapping/blinking part.)

Another podcast/interview I listened to was with Richard C. Schwartz, the founder of Internal Family Systems, a psychological/healing/spiritual approach I’ve been absolutely fascinated by lately. Here’s a link to the interview if you’re interested. IFS proposes that we all have different “parts” of ourselves that are longing to be listened to and understood and that when we do listen to and understand them, they essentially transform from an enemy to a friend. For example, someone’s angry part may just be trying to protect them from getting hurt again. Schwartz says that the ego that many psychological and spiritual disciplines refer to is essentially our parts, specifically our “protective” parts, and that rather than trying to rid ourselves of it, we should find out what it has to say. I’m paraphrasing, but he says, “Jesus welcomed the outcasts in the outer world. I’m asking you to welcome the outcasts in your inner world.”

Earlier this evening I finished reading Explain Pain, a book about how–in the majority of cases–pain is created in our brains (and not just our bodies) as a way to protect us. One of my takeaways from the book is that if you have a particular pain (in your neck, let’s say), it can be useful to notice when it does and doesn’t hurt. For example, if it hurts to turn you head, you might notice that it only hurts to turn your head when you’re sitting up, but not when you’re lying down. Along this line, the book suggests trying to find ways to reach the same position (head turned) without experiencing the associated pain. Like, you could sit in a swivel chair and turn your lower body while holding your head still. Or move your eyes first, then let your head follow (instead of moving them both at once). Or hold your mouth open while you turn your head.

As I understand it, the idea behind these suggestions is that our brains often associate certain movements with certain (painful) outcomes. Maybe you were in a car accident, so it thinks, “It’s not safe to turn my head.” So it creates pain as a protective mechanism. But if you “slip in the back door” and create the same outcome by getting there in a different way, your brain will get the message that “this (end result/position/movement) doesn’t have to hurt.”

Currently it’s 9:20, and I’m overwhelmed by all I’m learning. My brain is mush, like a nice bowl of grits. One the one hand, all this information is exciting. On the other, I’m worried that I “won’t get it” and that “it’ll work for everyone else, but not for me.” Of course, these thoughts are welcome. Also, I’m telling myself something I saw on Facebook recently–I haven’t come this far to only come this far. In other words, everything I’m learning is just another piece of the puzzle, and it’s all adding up to something. What that is, I don’t know exactly. But more and more, I think it’s something good.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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What are you really running away from?

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