On Constriction and My Inner Critic (Blog #746)

Leave a comment

Today there wasn’t a damn thing I had to do. Not an errand to run, not an appointment to keep. Tomorrow, on the other hand, is chock-full of to-do items. But not today. Nope, I slept in then did whatever the hell I wanted, whenever I wanted to do it. I don’t say this to brag–look at me, I don’t have a schedule–but rather in appreciation. Often I bemoan the lack of structure in my life–no regular job, no regular paycheck, woe is me. But today, as much as ever, I realized that I’m grateful for this period of my life. As I’ve said before (and talk about every day, every damn day), I’m learning a lot, growing a lot, healing a lot. This is both important and huge and wouldn’t be possible–I don’t imagine–if I were involved in the fast-paced rat race.

It seems learning, growing, and healing all require slowing down.

This afternoon I worked more on a puzzle I recently picked back up. I’d started it with my sister back in December. I can’t tell you how much fun I’m having, seeing the whole thing come together. Not that I’m anywhere near the end, but I can see progress. It too is slow-going, literally one piece at a time.

While working on the puzzle, I listened to a podcast/talk about trauma and healing by Judith Blackstone. It was just a teaser of her work and I’d like to check out more, but it was fascinating. According to her, one of the ways in which our bodies respond to trauma is by constricting. Constriction, she says, is often the only method through which we are able to either control a situation (or ourselves) or create a defense to a threat. For example, if you were told as a child to shut up, your body might constrict or tighten up somewhere around your throat. Or if you were spanked or abused, your body might constrict around your hips.

This last weekend I started reading a book about Internal Family Systems (IFS). I mentioned IFS two days ago, but the idea is that all of us have a sundry of “parts” that make up our thoughts and emotions. The example I used before was that I have parts that are critical. I also have parts that feel ashamed, vulnerable, and less than, and parts that feel proud, confident, and angry. The book I’m reading, by Richard C. Schwartz, points out that our parts are often in opposition to each other, that one part may not like another. This explains why one minute you can think it’s a good idea to eat chocolate cake, and the next minute you’re beating yourself up for actually eating it. Like, maybe your inner child said to eat it, then your parent (or inner critic) punished you for doing so.

Can’t we all just get along?

My therapist and I have discussed this idea in different terms. She says our mind is like a banquet with many guests. And whereas all guests are welcome, not every guest should get to sit at the table. Something I’ve said before is that my inner critic is welcome in the room, but he doesn’t get to run the show. Marcus at the Head of the Table gets to run the show. However, as I’ve been reviewing this way of looking at things the last few days, I’ve realized that although I’ve said (and thought) that all guests are welcome, I really don’t act like it. Rather, I ignore a lot of my “guests” and do my best to banish them against the wall or out of the room altogether. Like, shut up, you’re not important. But the book I’m reading says every part is important. And whereas they don’t have to run the show, they do want and need to be heard.

An exercise the book suggested was to pick a part, any part, and dialogue with it. Like, Hey, what’s your deal, inner critic? Why are you so critical? I’d really like to know. So that’s what I did this afternoon. I talked to my inner critic. I’ll spare you the details (they’re personal), but basically my inner critic said it felt like it HAD to be critical because my inner child was too trusting and had been hurt or taken advantage of in the past. And whereas this might sound like a bunch of bullshit, I ended up crying when my inner critic said, “It hurts to be this uptight all the time.” So I don’t think it’s bullshit. Plus, for the rest of the day I’ve felt better–less constricted–like, um, part of me loosened up.

Personally, I wish that all my parts would loosen up or let go all at once. BAM, we’re healed. Of course, this wouldn’t be healthy. Nobody (no body) constricts overnight, and nobody (no body) un-constricts overnight. Healing is a circuitous journey. It’s one piece at a time. And whereas I used to think I’d never heal, more and more I believe that I will. Not that “healed” is a destination you can arrive at. We’re always healing something. But I do think longstanding problems can be resolved or at least vastly improved. In my experience, this starts with accepting yourself. That is, it starts with accepting all parts of yourself, especially the parts you may find embarrassing or wrong. It starts with getting quiet and saying, Sweetheart, I’m here for you. Talk to me. I’m finally listening.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Give yourself an abundance of grace.

"

No, You May Not Touch My Butt (Blog #737)

Leave a comment

For the last–I don’t know–several years, gophers have been living in my parents’ yard–digging tunnels, making themselves at home, and creating a damn mess of the flower beds. Well, for some reason, today my dad got a burr up his butt, borrowed a wheelbarrow and a shovel from my aunt, and went to war with the gophers. I got wrangled into helping, so for two hours this afternoon my dad and I dismantled a large pile of gopher dirt in the flower bed closest to our front door, and I redistributed the dirt to various holes and ruts in our front and back yards. Dad said, “I’m actually sweating. I don’t even sweat when I go to the gym.”

“Maybe that’s why you’re not losing weight,” I said.

This is how we get along.

Despite working for two hours, we didn’t finish the gopher dirt/flower bed project. Unfortunately, it started raining, and the dirt pile turned to mud. Still, we made a serious dent in things. See the “after” picture below. I didn’t take a “before” picture, but just imagine eight wheelbarrows worth of dirt piled around that crepe myrtle. Seriously, it was like a gopher fort. Anyway, one or two more days like today, and we’ll have it licked. Rome wasn’t built in a day.

This evening I went with friends to see a drag show at a local gay bar. While I was there, a total stranger asked if he could touch my butt. And whereas I appreciated his good taste (I do have a nice butt), I said, “No.” Later I thought maybe I should have let him (I mean, he did ask politely), but then I thought, I’ve been in therapy for five years and have paid a lot of money for my boundaries–I might as well use them. But seriously, what’s the point in learning to say no if you’re not going to do it now and then?

Of course, this incident wasn’t a big deal. Random, maybe a little awkward, but no more difficult than telling a Girl Scout who knocks on my door that I don’t want to buy any of her cookies. (I’m speaking hypothetically, since I rarely turn down a Girl Scout cookie.) But there have been plenty of times in the past when setting boundaries or saying no was a HUGE deal, something that required days or weeks of forethought, a serious conversation, or perhaps a strongly worded letter. Looking back, the longer I’d gone NOT setting boundaries with a particular person, the harder it was when I finally decided to establish them. That’s why the gopher-dirt project this afternoon was such a chore–because we let it go for so long. Had we stayed on top of things as they occurred, it would have been a piece of cake.

Did someone say cake?

My dad mentioned today that those gophers had been persistent, that they were small creatures but had stuck to it. Consequently, they’d made a big damn mess. I imagine this is often the case with things that go awry in our lives. A little thing happens, and we let it go. Fine. But then it’s another little thing, and another little thing. One day what used to be a nice-looking front yard or relationship looks like shit. We think, How did this happen? So we have to go in with a wheelbarrow and shovel and really break a sweat to set things right. There’s nothing wrong with this, of course, but I’m learning it’s possible to stay on top of things from the beginning, to have boundaries from the start, to say, “No. No, you may not touch my butt.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

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

"

On Being Born Again (Blog #728)

Leave a comment

This time two years ago, I was two days away from officially starting this blog. I’d gotten the idea for it a week or so before, but on March 30, 2017, I actually bit the bullet and bought the domain. My first post was the next day, March 31, 2017, although the site didn’t go live until the first week in April. Anyway, this means I’m three posts (including this one) away from two full years of daily blogging. I’ve been reflecting on this a lot lately; I just can’t get over it. On one hand, two years seems like forever. On the other, it seems like the blink of an eye, as if I’d only written–I don’t know–a dozen posts rather than sixty dozen.

My therapist told me recently that she thought this blog was as much if not more responsible for my growth as therapy has been. I said, “The blog has been like sitting down to talk to a friend and then realizing that friend is me. It’s been my way back to myself.” Still, I’m glad I’ve had and continue to have both therapy and this blog. I’m sure just one would have been beneficial. Before this blog, therapy was beneficial. But with this blog–wow–it’s been even more so. Regardless of how long this project goes on, I’m sold on the idea of working through your thoughts and emotions. Whether with one person or the entire internet, I’m sold on the idea of honestly sharing your story.

This is me, warts and all.

The book I mentioned yesterday that my therapist recommended (by Sheldon B. Kopp) says the truth does NOT set you free. That is, facts by themselves–my boyfriend’s a cheater, my husband’s a louse, my wife is a drunk–don’t change anything. This is why, the author contends, the greatest teachers use stories and parables to teach rather than simply saying, “Your best friend’s an asshole, and you should dump them.” Because people need to be able to work things out for themselves. Said another way, if you’re unhappy for some reason, it’s not simply that a particular situation in your life needs to change; it’s that YOU do. This, of course, takes time. When I broke up with my ex, there were plenty of people who could have rightly said, “We TOLD you he was a grade-A prick.” But I didn’t need to be told the truth; I needed to live it. THAT’S what sets you free, when truth goes from something that lives between your ears to something that lives within your heart. That’s what’s transforming.

Since I started therapy five years ago, my therapist says I’m a changed man. She says the way I walk, the way I carry myself, is different. Of course, I’ve never videotaped myself walking, so I can’t say. But I do know I feel different–better, lighter, happier, more confident, less afraid, more at-home in my own skin. The list could go on. And whereas I can’t say exactly when all of this happened, I just know it has. Not that I’m always up and never down. That’s not how things work on this planet. I experience the full range of my emotions. Indeed, I feel anger and rage more than I ever have. But I also feel joy more than I ever have. That’s one of the things I’ve learned in the last five years–when you shove down a “bad” emotion, you likewise depress a “good” one. The shadow is tied to the light.

As I come to the close of two years of blogging, I’m thinking about what will be next. And whereas I plan to continue my daily online writing habit, I know it won’t last forever. By my own admission, I’m quite the hard ass about this ever day, every damn day thing, and it’s exhausting. Rewarding, but exhausting, and this body and soul can only take so much. Anyway, I’m slowly working my way around to the idea that it’s not the number (728 blogs!) that matters. It’s not the number of words, the number of readers, or the number of shares. I’ve made these things important in my head before (and probably will again), but fuck all that. No, it’s what’s happened on the inside that’s important. It’s the transformation, that thing that happens slowly, can’t be quantified, and is rarely praised by others; that morphing from one thing to another more beautiful, more authentic, and more true thing; that being born again that matters.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

When you hide your hurt, you can’t help but pass it on. It ends up seeping, sometimes exploding out.

"

You Can Best Your Monsters (Blog #724)

Leave a comment

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)

"Beating yourself up is a far cry from self-respect."

An Abundantly Good Day (Blog #719)

Leave a comment

I know I keep going back and forth on this topic, but after a week of sinus infection ups and downs, I woke up dramatically better this morning. Actually, as it they are wont to do, my sinuses improved in the middle of the night. That is, I received a sudden jolt of energy just as I was going to bed, so I lay wide-awake for three hours, just twiddling my thumbs. Later when I told my dad about this he said, “You could have gotten up and cleaned the house.”

“Well, I might have woken you up,” I said.

“Oh, don’t ever worry about that,” he replied.

I think I finally fell asleep about four, which means I got about four hours of sleep, since my alarm went off at eight. And whereas I’d normally be ever-not-so happy about my lack of rest, it hasn’t bothered me today because my health has been so much better than it was yesterday. Seriously, I still can’t get over how quickly the body can turn something around when it either has a mind to or gets the right support (or both). I’ve been in the best mood all day. Even my other health concerns (which, on the grand scale of things, aren’t that concerning) haven’t brought me down today. I have too much hope that they too will–one day–disappear.

Our imperfections make us relatable.

Today really has been the best day. This morning I saw my therapist, and she’s always encouraging (it’s kind of her gig) and makes me laugh. Why somebody wouldn’t want this type of relationship, I’ll never know. Talk about a shot in the arm. Later this week marks five years since my first appointment with my therapist, and I’m eternally grateful for the path my life has taken since that fateful day. Anyway, to “celebrate,” I read my therapist a post I wrote last year called “Why Me and My Therapist Are Successful,” in which I talked about–in part–the fact that my therapist is a normal damn human being like anyone else. My therapist said this was important, for me (or any client) to recognize that she’s a flawed person. “But that doesn’t mean healing can’t happen,” she said. “In fact, it means I can better understand and help someone else–because I’ve been there.” This is huge, that you don’t have to be perfect in order to be effective. Indeed, our imperfections make us relatable.

One of the things I mentioned in that previous post is that–I think–my therapist and I are a good match. Again, my therapist said this was important. “I’m not everyone’s cup of tea,” she said. “I offend a lot of people.” (This next part is simply for your consideration.) Then she said, “Well, I don’t really offend them; they offend themselves. They choose to be offended.”

Before she’s said, “People choose their reactions.”

One of the big topics my therapist and I have circled back to over and over these last five years is abundance. Or, if you want to look at the other side of the coin, scarcity. That’s my problem, apparently, is that I often want to (or have a least had a lot of practice at) looking at the scarcity side of the coin. That is, I’m plagued with feelings of I’m not enough, my knowledge and abilities aren’t enough, there’s not enough money, and the world’s not enough (to support me). Well, today my therapist said this was IRONIC, one of the universe’s little ha-ha’s, since I actually have an ABUNDANCE of talent, even if I don’t always recognize it. It reminded me of that story of the guy who searched the world over for riches and eventually discovered one of the world’s largest diamond mines on his own property. Like, Whoops, I forgot to look right here. So I’m going to keep working at recognizing those places in my life where good is overflowing this very moment.

The last two things I’m sharing from today’s therapy session are just for fun. First, at one point my therapist referred to someone as “gayer than a Judy Garland matinée.” I almost fell out of my chair. Then later when she mentioned a(n apparently fabulous) song called Carry On by Martha Wash and I said I hadn’t heard of it, she said, “If you’re not careful, you’re going to get your homosexual card revoked.” Then she paused and added, “But don’t worry; I won’t report you to the gay mafia.” Is that hilarious or what? A Judy Garland matinée. The gay mafia.

The rest of the day has been just as delightful. This afternoon I had physical therapy, and I continue to be (abundantly) taken care of and see (abundant) progress. Then I spent this evening with my friends Bonnie and Todd, and we ate (an abundance of) ice cream. But we also walked a(n abundantly) long distance to get it, so I figure it all evened out. (Balance is important.) Now it’s eleven at night, and I’m ready to call it a(n abundantly good) day.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

All your scattered pieces want to come back home.

"

On Nothing Happening Today (Blog #717)

Leave a comment

This evening my dad and I went to the gym then stopped to pick up supper–sub sandwiches. When we got home, I asked my mom, “What did we miss?”

“Nothing,” she said.

“Nothing?” I replied. “NOTHING happened while we were gone?”

This is a game we play sometimes, me and my family. Obviously, SOMETHING happened. Something came on the television, the dog barked, the toilet flushed. Maybe nothing remarkable happened, but something happened. I’m sure of it. Something, after all, is always happening. Still, when I sat down to blog I thought, I don’t know what to say. NOTHING happened today.

This afternoon my dad, in his own words, got “a burr up his butt” and did some yard work. That is, he saw our neighbor trimming their bushes and thought he should too. So he trimmed our crepe myrtle, which needed it; it was beginning to look like something out of The Addams Family, overgrown and full of horror. Then Dad said, “Maybe in the next day or two we can bundle up the branches and haul them off.”

“Let’s just do it right now,” I said. (I don’t know what came over me.)

So that’s what we did. Well, you know how one thing leads to another. The next thing I knew we were on the side of the house (the crepe myrtle is in the front) pulling up privet and dead hydrangea bushes, which I thought looked like Medusa’s head. Then our other neighbor, who works for the city, came over and said if we’d pile everything up by the side of the road, he’d haul it off.

“You won’t pick it up right here?” Dad said.

Y’all, we filled three fifty-five gallon trash bags full of yard debris. Plus, there were the crepe myrtle remains, which I’d tied together with rope. No kidding, I did so much manual labor, I actually broke a sweat. (I’m sure Dad did too.) And whereas that may sound like a complaint, it’s not. For one thing, because of my knee injury, I haven’t been able to break a sweat in months. But today I did! (I’m not saying I smelled great.) For another, the sun was hot enough FOR me to break a sweat. Spring is literally days away. Praise Peter, Paul, and Mary.

Bye, winter! Don’t let the equinox hit cha where the good lord split cha.

Two weeks from yesterday will mark two full years of daily blogging. That will be 730 posts (tonight’s is #717). Recently I’ve been going back and re-reading all my entries. I’m currently at #38. And whereas I’m often critical of my work, I haven’t been. Sure, there are things I’d do differently now, but I’ve actually been enjoying what I created–the funny moments, the tender moments, the honest moments. Indeed, I thought one of my least favorite posts was #19, but when I re-read it, I found plenty to enjoy and be proud of. Was it my best work? No, but what I did in our front yard today wasn’t my best work either, but it was still worthwhile, still an improvement over doing NOTHING.

This is something I’ve learned over the last two years. Often I’ll think, I have NOTHING to say, but if I take time to sit down and write, SOMETHING good will happen, SOMETHING good will come out, even if it’s one simple phrase, one clever joke. Plus, there’s the discipline itself, the act of practicing. And even if you’re not in love with your work, you never know what will speak to someone else. Hell, Emily Dickinson wanted her work destroyed. I can only assume she thought it wasn’t anything remarkable. But look at what the world got. Geez. Artists are such self-critical hard-asses.

Lately I’ve been reading about attention and the idea that we often hyper-focus on whatever we’re doing–raking leaves out of a flower garden, let’s say–but that we have the ability to tune into everything that’s going on around us. For example, this afternoon while working in the yard, I not only noticed what I was doing, but also noticed the sound of cars driving by, the feel of sweat on my skin, the sensation of my feet on the ground, and the smell of the moist dirt. My point, again, is that SOMETHING is always happening. And not that you have to recount every damn detail of your life whenever someone asks you what you did yesterday, but I think it’s important to remember–

So much is constantly happening that it would be impossible to recount.

My therapist says the important work we do is the work that nobody notices. For example, I’ve spent a lot of time these last five years working on my interior, cleaning up the past, connecting with my heart, and creating healthy boundaries. And whereas none of this has paid my bills or kept me warm at night, it has made me a better human. However, because I’m so focused on being productive–teaching dance, cleaning the yard, working out–that on days when I don’t do those things and instead stay home and watch Netflix, I too often say, “Nothing happened; I didn’t DO anything today.” But what about the fact that I was more patient with myself on Monday, more patient with a stranger on Tuesday?

Isn’t that something? Isn’t that remarkable?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Go easier on yourself.

"

I Like This Person (Blog #713)

Leave a comment

Well crap. Yesterday I said my sinuses were on the upswing, but I apparently spoke too soon. I hate it when that happens. This morning I woke up hot, and although I don’t have a fever, I’ve felt crummy all day, low energy. Now it’s six in the evening, and I’m trying my level best to get all my “chores” finished so that I can take a nap and not have to worry about doing anything when I wake up. I’m hoping a nap will help, but sometimes sleep is the worst, especially with sinus problems. It’s just a matter of gravity. Everything runs to your head.

Ick.

I’ve spent the afternoon trying all my home remedies. I thought the kimchi I’ve been using was helping, but it’s possible that it’s out of date and no longer contains the bacteria I need. But working from the wisdom of “there’s more than one way to skin a cat,” I’ve been taking a few other supplements, as well as drinking a lot of fluids. And whereas part of me is terrified and thinks I’m going to end up being sick for months like I was last year, another part of me is rational and thinks, Just give it a few days before you start freaking out. A lot can happen in a few days.

Yeah, that first part of me responds, you could get the flu, like that friend of yours got. Remember her? You were standing right beside each other!

Let’s talk about something else before I scare myself to death.

Earlier this week I began the long process of going back and re-reading all my blog posts. And whereas I initially read them in random order, last night I went back and started from post number one. Oh my gosh, y’all, I completely spilled my guts. After decades of being silent or indirect about my sexuality and almost everything else in my personal life, I just put it out there. You can read it for yourself, but I basically said, “I’m here, I’m queer, and I like waffles.” Reading the post last night, I thought, Well, that was brave. Recently when I was being hard on myself for not having a real job “like everybody else,” my therapist said, “If you were looking objectively at yourself from the outside, what would you say?” I paused then replied, “I’d say I really admire that person for following his dream. He’s got a lot of balls.”

“Thank you,” she replied.

Being courageous means taking action despite being afraid.

I don’t mean to toot my own horn–look how brave I am! But reading my first post and answering my therapist’s question really did come as a shock to me. I spend so much time worrying and being afraid, about my health and life in general, that I rarely if ever stop to consider that I am simultaneously being courageous. Because I do think fear and courage can exist at the same time. Indeed, one must first be fearful before they can be courageous. This is why no one ever says they courageously put their shoes on. Who’s afraid of putting on their shoes? No, being courageous means taking action despite being afraid.

After I read my first post, I read several others. Posts two through nine to be specific. For the most part, this was like looking through an old scrapbook. I thought, Oh yeah, I remember that. I laughed, I cried, I noticed a few typos. I did not, however, get self-critical, as I often do when, for example, looking back at old dance videos. Rather, I thought, I’m proud of this.

Later, while hanging up laundry, another thought popped into my head. It’s kind of hard to explain, but it was like I was thinking about myself as if I were someone else, from an objective viewpoint like my therapist suggested. Anyway, I thought, I like this person.

I like this person because he’s brave.
I like this person because he’s smart.
I like this person because he’s funny. (I’m pretty funny.)
I like this person because he’s a handsome devil.

But seriously. I like this person. This really was a big deal. Not a revelation, per say, but a significant acknowledgment. I like me. Not that I DISLIKED myself before last night, but I’ve spent a lot of time disliking certain things about myself (from the top of my head to the bottoms of my feet), and that’s essentially the same thing. So it was an important reminder that I actually like and enjoy a million things about me, regardless of how healthy or sick I am, regardless of how big my waistline is. Now I’m reminding myself that whenever I’m being self-critical I’m talking about somebody I like, somebody I care about–and that’s not okay.

So knock it off, me

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

One day a change will come.

"

The Puzzle of Our Lives (Blog #711)

Leave a comment

I was grouchy all day yesterday, critical of myself and others. This is often the first sign that I’m not feeling well, that something is off in my body. Sure enough, I woke up sick this morning. And whereas it wasn’t full-blown awful, it was the start of another sinus infection. Shit, I thought, I just dealt with this two weeks ago. Like feeling sorry for yourself makes any difference. Life does what it does.

This afternoon I saw my chiropractor and massage therapist, who both worked on my shoulders, where I apparently have a pinched nerve. Thankfully, I think whatever they did helped. The random pains I’ve been feeling haven’t been coming as fast and furious since I left their office. “Come back later this week,” my chiropractor said. “Let’s get this done and over with.”

Let’s get this done and over with. And all god’s people said Amen. Along these lines, after I left the chiropractor’s office, I ordered more of the probiotic powder I use to help my sinus infections (online) and bought some more kimchi (at a grocery store), which I also use to help my sinus infections. (What I had at home had expired.) As these two products have worked reliably in the past, I plan on hitting them hard for the next few days, in addition to eating well and trying (trying) to get plenty of rest. Fingers crossed. Let’s get this done and over with.

I spent this evening at the local library. I’ve been meaning for almost a year now to go back and re-read all my blog posts, and since I’m coming up on two solid years of blogging, I figured now was a good time to start. Oh my gosh, y’all, I talk a lot. Tonight I re-read forty-two blog posts (in no particular order), and it took me just under three hours. So this project’s going to take a while. But already it’s been the best thing, a reminder of my good and bad days, the people I love and love not-so-much, and where and how I’ve grown. Every day I sit down at this computer and am literally two feet from the screen. Then, it’s one post at a time, one day at time. My point is that it’s easy to lose perspective, to get so close to your own life that you don’t see what’s happening. So I’m looking forward to standing back and getting a bird’s-eye view of these last two years.

It’s important, I think, to get some distance from yourself every now and then. In the midst of a problem–a simple sinus infection, let’s say–it’s easy to hyper-focus on whatever is bothering you and lose sight of the bigger picture, to forget that our hurts and hangups are often only one piece of the puzzle of our lives. This is the benefit of journaling. When you put your life on a page, it automatically creates some space between you and your internal narrative. Likewise, a good (objective) friend or therapist can offer a different perspective from you own, one that’s probably more accurate, one you might like better. So often I think of myself as sickly and weak, but my therapist says, “From my viewpoint, you’re young, healthy, and strong.”

“Um, did you say I was young?” I reply.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Every stress and trauma in your life is written somewhere in your body.

"

On Measured Effort (Blog #710)

1 Comment

Last night, thanks to the time change, I got five hours of sleep instead of six. Color me not impressed. My body’s been off all day. Currently it’s ten in the evening, and I’ve been ready to go back to bed for twelve hours. Fingers crossed I’ll be asleep by midnight.

One can hope.

This morning I woke up early to teach a swing dance workshop in Fayetteville. It went well. God bless everyone who got out of bed to attend and listen to me say, “one more time” over and over again. One more time, I’ve probably said that more times that I can count. That and, “five, six, seven, eight.” Today a student, making reference to a basic step we covered in class, said, “I already know that.” I remember thinking something similar when I was a new dancer; I wanted to learn the cool shit. But the older I get, the more I find myself going back to the basics–taking clean steps, being on the beat, doing the same thing over and over again.

I say this a lot as a teacher, but the only way to really learn is to go slow. There’s so much going on when you dance, you mind and body need time to become aware of what’s happening and integrate the information. Granted, as a student, I hate that. I want to zip through new dance patterns like everybody else does. I’ve been learning to knit recently, and I can’t tell you how eager I am to knit a blanket. But my first project was a pot holder, and my next one’s going to be a cap. That’s the deal; with anything, you have to start small and work you way up. You can’t just dive into the deep end without learning how to swim first. Yesterday I said my therapist thought the universe was trying to get me to slow down (because I injured my knee a few months ago). If she’s right, it’s a hard lesson to learn. After the workshop today, there was a dance, and I wanted so badly to really cut loose. But I forced myself to stick to the basics, to go slow.

One friend I danced with noted that my steps were “measured.” She was right–I was super careful this afternoon during the workshop and especially this evening on the dance floor. And whereas that was frustrating as hell, it’s what my body requires. And it’s not awful. Actually, I wish I had gone slower when I first started dancing. I wish my steps had been measured back then. That is, I wish I’d taken more time to move slowly and deliberately, to really focus on my technique, to not develop bad habits.

Alas, I didn’t become interested in the technical, finer details of dancing until much later, when I started teaching. And even though being a teacher has taught me the value of not being in a hurry, I still often am. I start a project, like this blog or rehab-ing my knee, for example, and I want to get to the end. I see those motivational posters that say, “Life’s not a destination, it’s a journey,” and feel like vomiting. I want to do that fancy dance move, I want to be published, I want my knee back. Get me across the finish line already.

Hell, just get me to bed.

Your relationships won’t get better until you do.

It occurs to me that everything I’m really proud of–my dancing ability and knowledge, my relationships, my work in therapy, this blog–has come from measured effort. Not that I’ve been measured (or patient or calm) every minute of every damn day with any of these things, but I have been measured enough to be 1) intentional and 2) consistent. That’s what I’d say to anyone wanting to learn a new thing or grow themselves in some way–be intentional and consistent. That is, act on purpose. Obviously, you’re not going to accidentally become a good dancer, nor are you going to slip on a banana peel one day and have a completed novel fall out of your brain on your way down. Likewise, your relationships won’t get better until you do. It takes a decision. After that, it takes dedication. Simply put, you have to keep showing up.

Even if you’re not in the mood. Even if you only got five hours of sleep last night.

I say this for myself more than for anyone else. I constantly struggle with knowing when to push myself (for example, when to lose sleep in order to write this blog) and when to back off. Today in class I talked about how Lindy Hop has “built-in” times to rest. That is, certain steps take up more beats in the music, which gives the dancer time to breathe and not feel hurried. So I’m trying to recognize that these times exist in my life too, that it’s important to be measured or intentional about slowing down as well.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

You can be weird here. You can be yourself.

"

Boys, Frosting, Food, and Clothing (Blog #705)

Leave a comment

Today has been fabulous and makes me glad to be alive. I can’t say why it’s been fabulous exactly, but I’ll try. This morning I woke up early, like eight-thirty, and began the day in quiet and solitude. This suites my personality, a slow, hushed start and a healthy breakfast. The menu today: scrambled eggs with turkey, spinach, and green onions; a side of pineapple; and hot lungwort tea. Lungwort’s supposed to be good for your lungs and decreasing mucus. Personally, I just like the way it sounds–lungwort. It’s so–medieval. I feel like a wizard every time I say it.

The reason I got up early was to see my therapists. Yes, I have more than one. It takes a village. First I saw my mental health therapist, the one this blog is named in honor of, my shrink. A few months ago I had a dream about a giant snake in a swamp, and recently I had another dream about a giant snake on land. The second snake tried to bite me, and I was terrified but ended up controlling it. When I told my therapist about these dreams, she said, “What do you think of snakes?” I said, “I think they’re strong and powerful.” Then she said, “Then that’s you. You’re the snake–you’re strong and powerful,” which made me want to cry. Weird how we don’t want to recognize our own best qualities, how we’re afraid of ourselves.

My therapist and I also talked about my future. I’ve been thinking lately I should get into an additional writing routine, force myself into a chair and bang my head against the table until a book falls out. My therapist, however, suggested that I don’t do anything until we talk again. “Reduce yourself,” she said. “Give yourself a break.” Then she added, “In the meantime, think about boys, frosting, food, and clothing.” So that’s what I did the rest of the day. First I ate a cream cheese bagel, then (after physical therapy) went shopping for clothes. And whereas I didn’t buy anything, I had a wonderful time looking. Well wait, I bought a new tape measure at the hardware store because my old tape measure broke recently. Anyway, the point is that I did NOT think about my future, even while I was eating a brownie tonight.

I’d like to emphasize I only ate the brownie because, well, doctor’s order’s, and I try to be a good patient.

At physical therapy, I got to jog (on a treadmill) for the first time since my knee injury and subsequent surgery. Well, okay, it was more like a fast walk (3.3 miles per hour), but it mimicked a jog. My physical therapist said this was the point, to simply get the motion. “It feels awkward,” I said. “That’s normal,” he said. Likewise, when I said that the hardest exercise I do is lowering myself down onto a step, he said, “That’s the last thing to come back. It just takes time.” Still, despite this fact, I see a lot of progress. Today I broke a sweat balancing on a Bosu ball, but the balancing was easier than two weeks ago; I didn’t have to use the bar in front of me to keep from falling over.

And did I mention I’m jogging!

While driving around today, I listened to a podcast about willpower. The speaker, Kate Galliett, said that willpower is depleted 1) by our feeling overwhelmed and 2) by our making a lot of decisions. That is, if you have to make a hundred choices at work during the day, in the evening you’re probably not going to have the mental reserves required for eating broccoli instead of cake, unless broccoli is already a habit for you. If it’s not, you’ll say, “Fuck it, I’m too tired” and reach for the red velvet. What I found most interesting, however, was that Kate said ANY decision you make depletes your willpower–including what statuses to like or not like on social media. Or what clothes you’re going to wear every day. This is why Steve Jobs had a uniform (or why you might want to set out your clothes the night before). Think about it–if you can only make so many decisions each day, why not save them for what’s important–your job, your health, your relationships.

Not necessarily in that order.

Honestly, I’m not sure why my therapist wanted me to “reduce myself” for a bit in terms of my writing routine and rather think about boys, frosting, food, and clothing. But my guess is that she knows I tend to wear myself out and thinks it would be wise to first sit down and get clear about what’s really important and what I want to accomplish. Because I do use my willpower a lot–to write this blog every day, to rehab my knee, to read a hundred books, to do half a dozen things I don’t always talk about here. And the podcast I listened to was right–willpower is a limited resource. Granted, it can replenish itself, but not if you keep pushing, pushing, pushing. At some point, you’ve got to chill out. You’ve got to give yourself a break.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

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

"