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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A break is no small thing to give yourself.

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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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All the while, we imagine things should be different than they are, but life persists the way it is.

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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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Aren’t you perfect just the way you are?

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

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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)

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Nothing physical was ever meant to stay the same.

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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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You can be weird here. You can be yourself.

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It Takes a Village (Blog #141)

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Okay, I’m just going to be real. Things aren’t looking good tonight. I got up early today for a checkup with my doctor, and now it’s three-thirty in the morning, and I’m spent. My brain is well-done. I mean, I guess plenty of things happened today, but all I can think about is the zit in my nose. Ugh, the inside kind. Those are the worst. Maybe I should wash my face more. That might help. Why God invented zits in the first place, I’ll never know. As if life weren’t hard enough already. Hell, I probably signed up for this before I incarnated. Yes, that’s correct. I’ll take the advanced course–the gay one with zits in my thirties. Yes, I’m sure.

All right, are we done yet? Can I take a muscle relaxer and go to bed now–start drooling on myself?

Today my doctor and I talked about body odor. I think the last time I blogged about it, it was a lot better. It still is a lot better, but it’s not PERFECT. So I asked, and at first the doctor thought maybe my sense of smell had changed due to my chronic sinus infections and the surgery I had six months ago. (Okay, shit. I’m awake. The house mouse just ran across the living room floor. Dad and I decided if we called it a pet and gave it a name, we wouldn’t have to kill it.) Anyway, back to the odor, the doctor said, “So let me get this straight. You’re THE ONLY ONE who’s smelled it?”

Well, I guess I was a tad defensive, like, yeah, but IT’S REAL. I said, “One friend said she didn’t notice the smell, but she also didn’t have her nose in my crotch.”

After a decent amount of head-scratching, the doctor said he thought it was a bacteria (not a yeast) overgrowth. He said, “I know it’s counterintuitive to think that you can take antibiotics and end up with an overgrowth of bacteria, but antibiotics don’t kill ALL bacteria evenly.” I’m not sure why I’m telling you all this, but he ended up prescribing a cream that cost a hundred and twenty dollars without insurance. So if and when anyone DOES have their nose in my crotch, I sure hope they freaking appreciate all the time, effort, and money spent to make their visit hospitable. (Please go online and fill out this survey in order to receive a discount for the next time you’re here.)

Okay, my mind wandered–by which I mean that I looked at Facebook. And I’d just like to say that therapy has sucked a lot of fun out of life because I saw an ad for a tank top that said, “Touch my butt,” and all I could think was, That’s totally without boundaries, inappropriate, and desperate.

And I wonder if they have it in a medium. (Kidding.)

Today my chiropractor asked me if I thought one of the two massage therapists I see in his office was a better fit for me. Well, this felt like I was being asked to give up peanut butter or chocolate cake. I thought, But I love them both! So I said, “You know, each brings something different to the table (the massage table–ba dum ching!), and I’d really hate to be without either one of them.” (He seemed okay with that. Phew.)

This is something I’ve been thinking about lately, the idea that it takes a village, or, as my friend Sara says, “It takes a village–and a vineyard.” Anyway, maybe it’s because I’ve been seeing so many healthcare people lately–three massage therapists, two chiropractors, one physical therapist (and a partridge in a pear tree). I mean, part of me wishes that I could give one–and only one–of them the credit for my progress, but it really has been a group effort.

Tonight I did an exercise in my creativity workbook where I had to list twenty things I like to do (read, dance, deodorize down south, whatever), and also had to list whether each activity listed was something done alone or with others. Well, I didn’t tally my responses, but I think it was about half and half, which would seem about right. My therapist told me once that of all the different types of extroverts, I’m the most introverted kind. Let’s spend time together! Okay, I’m done now.

Lately it feels as if I’ve been doing a lot of things on my own. I mean, I socialize with others, but I almost always work alone, often eat alone, go to movies alone. And I really am okay with that–I’m not fishing for a pat on the back or a touch on the butt. But as I finished the activity tonight, I was reminded–right there in black and white–that I really do like being social sometimes. Just last night at improv class, I thought, It really does feel great to be part of a group. Tonight I got invited to spend the evening with some former students and friends at their home, and it was a couple hours of simply being real, honestly connecting. Yeah, this feels great too.

My therapist says sometimes that she’s not the be-all, end-all in my story of personal growth, that she’s one of many resources I have. I guess it’s always like that. Whether it’s a doctor, a massage therapist, a regular therapist, or a friend, no one person (including yourself) is the be-all, end-all. Rather, it does seem to take a village, a community of hearts and minds coming together to help each other, each bringing their own piece of the puzzle, each helping the others to heal.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Patting yourself on the back is better than beating yourself over the head.

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learning to be aggressive (blog #5)

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When I got the idea last week to start this blog, I was thinking it was going to be a pretty cheap endeavor. But I have this problem with perfectionism and wanting things done a certain way. My therapist says I’m “fussy.” (She also admits to being fussy herself, and I recently decided to join her in “owning” my fussiness, which looked like my sitting on a couch and literally saying, “I’m okay with being fussy.”) What that means is that the blog did not end up being cheap, at least by my current standards. During the design process, I purchased a design template for 49 dollars, thinking that would be it. Oh no, apparently purchasing a design template is a bit like buying the plans for a house but not actually building it. So there was another option to install the design (for 99 dollars), which I ended up buying. Conveniently, the install INCLUDED a credit for a design theme.

Which I didn’t freakin’ need because I’d already paid for one.

Oh well, I told myself. At least I’m on the internet–I’m blogging! (Tell all your neighbors.)

A few days ago, a guy named Zach contacted me via email to follow-up on the installation of the website theme, and I thanked him, kindly explained the ordeal I just explained to you, and asked if it would be possible to get a refund on the twice-paid-for theme. Well, Zach wrote back a very nice response–offering to sell me another upgrade for 150 dollars–and not saying anything about the refund.

For a couple of days, we go back and forth, and I offer to call in and talk to him on the phone. (My therapist says this is always a preferable way to communicate.) So I woke up two days ago, and there it is, this email from Zach that says he’s looking forward to going over how he can help me build a more complete website.

Well, I’m sure this is just something he’s been taught to say, the same way everyone at Chick-fil-a is taught to say, “My pleasure,” but I immediately got angry, like, why is it so hard to answer, or at least acknowledge, my damn question?

For the longest time, I thought it was wrong to get angry, like it wasn’t a spiritual thing to do. Consequently, someone could treat me like shit, and I’d think it was my problem. Like, you do whatever you need to do–hell, you can even cheat on me–I can find the zen here somewhere. (Serenity now!) Then one day my therapist pointed out something obvious. She said, “You’re not a monk.” It took me a couple of days for my ego to get over this revelation, which probably just goes to prove her point exactly. (Let’s all say it together–I–am not–a monk.)

I recently read a book by the psychologist Peter Levine that referred to emotions as “practical action programs that work to solve problems often before we are even aware of them.” (I think that’s pretty close to the exact quote.) What that means to me is that our emotions are there for a reason. Focusing specifically on anger, which is sometimes referred to as aggression, it usually shows up to let us know that a boundary has been crossed, that something is not okay.

Along the same lines, Chinese medicine looks at all emotions as equal. There aren’t good ones and bad ones, even if some of them seem more presentable or socially acceptable. And whereas we usually only think of anger as a problem when there’s too much of it, it can also be a problem when there’s too little of it. The example my chi kung teacher uses is–think of an abused person who won’t leave their abuser–that’s a person who could use more anger because it would get them out of that situation.

Lately, that’s been my experience with anger. Like, a couple of years ago, I was in a yoga class with an instructor I had just met. So things were going pretty well, and I’m just stretching and relaxing and generally congratulating myself for being out of bed before 6:30 in the morning. Then all of a sudden, the teacher starts talking about her preacher and some story about the guy’s nephew, and, as Wayne Dyer says, I went from “blissed to pissed.”

When I analyzed the situation with my therapist, it became clear that the anger and aggression I was feeling was letting me know that a boundary had been crossed–yoga class wasn’t an appropriate place for the teacher’s personal stories that had nothing to do with yoga. (Uh, people are trying to relax here!) At the very least, the strong emotion let me know that I needed to find another class, one more inline with my particular intention for yoga.

I realize that my yoga experience is not quite the same as being in a physically abusive relationship, but if something isn’t good for us, something isn’t good for us. And whether we need to leave a yoga class or a relationship, the point is the same–we need to leave. And often, anger is the wakeup call that gets us to pack our bags.

Getting back to Zach the Website Guy, I interpreted the anger I felt as my body’s way of letting me know I needed to either brace for a confrontation (fight) or go in a different direction (flight). In this instance, I chose flight, meaning I just called the general customer support number and started fresh with someone else. I ended up talking to a nice guy named Tyler who pretty quickly refunded the money for the design theme. And guess what? Not only did I get what I asked for, but the anger went away too.

Had I not been willing to listen to the anger I was feeling (like had I stayed in the yoga class or continued to email Zach back and forth), I can only assume the anger inside me would have increased. In the past, I was pretty good at ignoring my anger, so it usually just showed up in other ways (upset stomach, anxiety, depression). And whereas I used to think that people who screamed, or slammed doors, or flipped the bird, or told people to “Go to hell, asshole” were anything but healthy, I’m starting to think those are all completely acceptable and healthy behaviors, especially if they help you do what anger wants you to do–establish a boundary. In other words, if someone isn’t respecting you, don’t walk out and slam the door just so you can walk back in it the next day. Slam the door and stay gone until the respect shows up. And if it never does, at least you respected yourself enough not to stay.

I read recently that ideally the anger (or whatever emotion) we feel should always be in proportion to the current moment. That means that if you get cut off in traffic and you totally lose your shit or pull a gun on someone, you’ve got a big problem. More specifically, it means you’re probably not dealing with the anger you’re feeling in other circumstances in your life, anger that might be there for a legitimate reason (like your partner cheating on you or your boss taking advantage of you). So you deal with those situations, and then you’re not yelling at little old ladies in big Cadillacs.

I really like looking at anger and aggression in this way. I guess for the longest time it’s felt like my emotions were something to overcome, something to not feel, something to shove down. But now I’m seeing them as my allies and friends, practical action programs that scout out each and every situation like radar detectors, letting me know not only what yoga instructor or customer support representative to interact with, but also what relationships to scale back or even walk away from.

Honestly, even now I’m not all that comfortable with anger. When I took the picture for this blog, I couldn’t help thinking, I don’t know about this–I never flip the bird–and I NEVER do it in pictures. But a lot of my dreams in the last couple of months have involved my yelling at people. And I can only assume that means my conscious mind is becoming more comfortable both with feeling anger and actually doing something about it when necessary.

And if other people don’t like it, you know what they can do (see above photo).

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Solid help and solid hope are quite the same thing.

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