You Can Best Your Monsters (Blog #724)

Five years ago today I had my first therapy session. Happy anniversary to me and my therapist (the people, not the blog)! Holy crap, y’all, I’ve come a long way and changed dramatically, both inside and outside. In the last five years I’ve confronted my demons and verbalized my deepest fears. I’ve learned to say no (to bad relationships), learned to say yes (to myself and healthy behaviors), and learned to speak my truth. And whereas it may sound like a silly thing to celebrate–the day I started seeing my shrink–I will forever be grateful for my therapist, her presence in my life, and what I’ve learned from her. Even if I were to never see her again, I know I’ve been forever transformed because of her. My life is on a better path.

So pass the cake.

Yesterday I blogged about feeling better and healing from my on-and-off sinus infection. I’d tried something different that seemed to the trick. Alas, I woke up in the middle of the night sick again, and I’ve felt weak and congested all day. It’s been back-and-forth like this for a while now, and it’s beginning to wear me out. I feel like I’m constantly having the rug pulled out from under my feet. Like my body and the universe are giving me health for a day then saying, “Nope. Just kidding. We take it back.” It makes me want to quit trying, to just give in and be sick every day, every damn day, to cry uncle.

Fortunately or unfortunately, I’m not built like that.

This afternoon I’ve been brainstorming “next steps” and things to try. In my experience, there are always more things to try. And whereas this is overwhelming–because how do you decide what to try next?–it leaves room for hope. Last year I had a sinus infection for three months and finally found something that knocked it out for a year, so surely I can find a solution this time. Not that this is fun to do when you’re sick, drag your ass all around town and the internet looking for answers. My resolve comes and goes.

Recently I came across the questions, “Could you accept your pain as part of your experience without wanting it to change in any way? Could you include it as part of all that is you?” I really like these questions. So often when I’m in pain or experiencing something unwanted, like a sinus infection, I push against it. My body tenses, my breathing shortens. It’s like how a kid closes their eyes believing whatever it is they don’t want to see will disappear if their face is clenched tight. Of course, this just adds more stress to your system and causes you to hyper-focus on the problem. So I’ve been trying today to not let my current struggle be the only thing I’ve thought about, to let it be part of my day, but not my day entirely.

I’ve been mildly successful.

This afternoon I re-read some old blog posts, and it’s the biggest trip, reading my inner thoughts and wonderings from the perspective of almost two years later. It’s like knowing how my own story’s going to end. For example, today I read about my being concerned over hospital bills and body odor and thought, Don’t worry, kid, it’ll all work out. Or at least if it doesn’t, you’re not going to die. Part of me knows that two years from now, I’ll look back at this current challenge and think the same thing. I made it. And yet another part frets.

A week from today will be my second blogiversary. If I can make it seven more posts (including tonight’s), I will have completed two full years of daily writing. Wow. Like meeting my therapist, this project has transformed my life for the better. A few times over the last two years, people have commented that I do quite a bit of complaining or bitching here. I know I talk about being sick a lot (because I’ve been sick a lot). But the premise of the blog is this–first, I spill my guts about something that’s bothering me, then I do my damnedest to work myself into a better place, to find hope. Sure, I wish I could just straight to the hope part; I wish I could be sunshine and rainbows every day, every damn day. But even after five years of therapy, I haven’t figured out how to never let anything get to me. (Maybe you have.) I have, however, figured out to take even the scariest monsters in my life and shine a light on them. I’ve figured out how to shrink them down to size.

When I think about being sick, it’s really the fear that gets me. Because it’s not a problem to be sick for a day or a month. Even a year, I suppose. But you think, What if this lasts forever? What if there is no answer? Talk about tensing up. That shuts you down. But since starting therapy and especially since starting this blog, I’ve come to believe that everything is workable and everything is faceable. Not that you’ll feel confident every moment of every day or always handle yourself with grace, but deep down a part of you will never waver, a part of you will know. You can do this. You’re just as big as anything that scares you. You can best your monsters.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Suddenly the sun breaks through the clouds. A dove appears--the storm is over.

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It Doesn’t Feel Like Bleeding Anymore (Blog #366, Birthday #1)

So. We meet again.

Yesterday was my 365th blog post (wow), which means that today is technically my “blog birthday” or “blogiversary.” (I celebrated with my friends pictured above–Jennifer, Me, Nathan, Aaron, and Kate. Aaron and Kate’s little boy picked out the balloons and tiny dinosaur that I’m holding. The dinosaur was perfect because of this post.) Anyway, one year ago today I was at the library, writing my very first post–about how my shirts reeked of fabric softener (thanks, Mom) and how I needed to soften up. Since then (March 31), even though this site didn’t go live until April 4th, I’ve written one post per day. In the beginning it was tough work. I’d stay up all night, sometimes for six or seven hours, banging my head against the wall hoping something–anything decent–would fall onto the page.

At some point, however, I didn’t have to try so hard. If I found myself struggling, thinking, What am I going to write about?, I’d just say that–“It’s three in the morning, my back hurts, and I’d rather be doing something else.” If I were editing my posts for a book, I’d cut out “primer” statements like these, but I think they work here and at least help to get me going. Anyway, not only is the process faster now (some posts take an hour; yesterday’s final post took four and a quarter), but I also trust it more.

Suddenly you see a sign.

Earlier today I told my dad that I know not every post is “out of the park.” (Look, Ma, I’m a homosexual and just used a sports analogy.) In my mind I look back over the last year and definitely have my favorites, ones that either made me cry or laugh from start to finish. As a recovering perfectionist, I’d love for them all to “soar,” but I realize that’s simply not possible. Some days I feel like shit or am simply tired of digging deep and examining my past (believe it or not). But as I told my dad, here’s the funny thing–when I sit down to write a blog, I rarely know in advanced if it’s going to flop or fly. Sometimes I think I have nothing good, touching, or encouraging to say, then as I’m typing, something of that nature just pops up. It’s like you’re driving down a road at night with no particular destination and suddenly you see a sign for somewhere interesting. Turning the wheel, you think, Oh! THAT’s where I’m going.

Several people online and in person have asked me what’s next. “Are you going to keep writing?” they say. Well, the short answer is yes. Writer’s write, and now that I’ve established a daily practice, I don’t intend to stop. Plus, it doesn’t “feel right” to end this project. Going forward, I’m sure my direction will change. Early on when I started writing, certain “themes” developed, issues I was dealing with, things my subconscious obviously wanted to work out. And not that all my problems are solved because I’ve been talking about them for a year, but I’m sure different themes and issues will present themselves for “year two.” Personally, I can’t wait to see where this road leads me. That being said, I do have other projects I’d like to work on (including turning this last year’s work into a book), so I imagine that some of my posts will be shorter or less introspective.

This morning I got up early (like, before nine o’clock) to meet my friend Marla for cinnamon rolls, coffee, and more celebration. Marla gave me my first official writing job at a local magazine and has been a wonderful friend and writing mentor for quite a while now. One of my “cast of characters” here on the blog, she was part of my very first blog post and in my very first blog post picture, so it felt fitting for us to meet today–although, honestly, I would have preferred to meet in the afternoon. (If you ever want to find out how much I like you, ask me to get up early.)

Y’all, if you ever want to feel good about yourself, ask Marla to write you a letter. This morning Marla gave me a beautiful, gorgeous, encouraging letter–a congratulations for my big milestone. Here’s a small part that I’d like to share. “Ernest Hemingway said, ‘There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.’ You did not so much bleed as you did heal.”

Y’all, I agree with both Ernest and Marla. (I’ll explain.)

Like Hemingway, I’ve come to believe that writing isn’t hard. What is hard however, is bleeding, exposing yourself, being honest. What’s hard is driving down a dark highway not knowing where you’re going, all the while knowing that others are watching. But, if you can get past that part, if you can learn to care more about yourself and what you’re doing, what you believe you’re called to do, that’s where it gets easy. As soon as you’re okay with bleeding, admitting that your life is a mess and you’re just as lost as the next person, that’s the sweet spot.

It’s a bitch that it works this way, I know, and all I can say is this–I didn’t make the rules down here.

Like Marla, I believe that I’ve healed (a lot) this last year. Not that I don’t still have things I’d like to work on and improve, but thanks to my therapist and this blog, I’ve slayed a lot of dragons in the last 365 days. And here’s what I’d say to anyone–before you can put yourself back together, you have to be okay with letting yourself completely fall apart. You have to look at every “unacceptable” thing in your life–all your faults, foibles, and fears–and find a way to love yourself anyway. In other words, you have to be “okay” with bleeding. Ironically, when you are, it doesn’t feel like bleeding anymore. It just feels like being honest.

It just feels like the truth.

The setting free process never looks like you think it will.

A year ago I subtitled the blog “The truth will set your free (sort of).” (I wrote a blog about it here.) A year into my truth-seeking and truth-sharing process, I absolutely agree with our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. The truth will set you free. (Hey, the guy knew a few things.) I’m still sticking to the “sort of” part though, since the setting free process never looks like you think it will. But much like the writing process, much like driving down a dark road, I’m coming to trust the process of life, to be okay with only being able to see as far as my headlights reach, to trust that the mystery of life leads us toward healing and freedom and not away from it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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For me, it's important to hang on to this idea that no matter how bad they are, your circumstances can turn around, to believe that if an elephant can show up in your life, it can also disappear, to believe that just as the universe full of big problems, it is also full of big answers.

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