On Whispering (Blog #1063)

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This morning I saw my myofascial release wizard and cried while she was working on getting my chest and shoulders to open up. “Raise your arms out from your side like you’re making a snow angel,” she said, “but stop when it hurts. Then go back and slowly stretch out like a telescope.” Y’all, I’m so used to push, push, pushing, forcing a stretch, but when I gradually telescoped my left arm, that’s when the release happened. My body shook and let go, and I cried and remembered a specific incident over ten years ago when I felt abandoned.

Ten years. Ten frickin’ years that emotion’s been hanging out, just waiting to be heard. And whereas my dad later pointed out that–thanks to all the different therapies I’ve been doing recently–I’ve been crying a lot lately, I think it’s fabulous. For one thing, getting an emotion out, or rather letting it move through you, is cathartic and healing and allows the past to finally be over. For another, sadness and grief and fear aren’t the only emotional responses that have been rising to the surface lately. So have anger, frustration, confusion, disgust, and joy. At times I’ve just laughed and laughed. Alas, at one point or another we’ve all stifled every reaction under the sun. And although we may have long forgotten them, our bodies haven’t.

This sucks, I know, especially when your stifled emotions show up in your shoulder.

Now, I’m not saying that any and every pain or problem you have is strictly emotional. What I am saying is that unacknowledged emotions are often part the pain equation. And whereas I know plenty of people just can’t “go there,” it makes sense to me. This morning thanks to the texts of a couple people, I realized I didn’t post a link to last night’s blog on Facebook. Rather, I posted a link to a website about EMDR, something I’ve briefly mentioned before and plan to discuss more in depth soon. Regardless, this morning I was terrified when I found out. I thought, I’ve made a mistake. My heart sped up. My breathing became shallow. I quickly calmed down, but my point is that we all experience the effect of our thoughts and emotions on our bodies on a daily basis. We get nervous and feel like we’re going to shit ourselves. We get angry and tense our shoulders, get a headache. So sure, I grant that releasing a decade-old emotion during a (for lack of a better term) massage is strange, but clearly you can’t separate your mind, emotions, and your body.

Sorry, but you this is the way you were made.

My myfascial release wizard says our bodies hold on to tension and emotions in order to keep us safe. They think, The last time I relaxed and honestly expressed myself, it didn’t go well. (I was in an accident, got hit, hurt or rejected, was made fun of, etc.) This is how our bodies become stuck in the past. Frozen in time. Thankfully, they can come back to the present. They can thaw out. However, this seems to require gentle coaxing. Gentle because–apparently–when a stretch or movement (or even an attitude) is forced upon the body–it fights back. Like, nope, not going there. But when it’s lightly encouraged, whispered to, not shouted at, the body gets the idea that it’s safe to let go, that things are different now than they were before.

That all the horrible things are over and that we can be free again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You really do belong here.

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On Shaking the Dust out of the Rug (Blog #1054)

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Today I’ve been thinking about healing. Ugh. It’s such a damn process. For example, since starting upper cervical care a few months ago, my headaches have dramatically decreased. They’re so much better, way less frequent. Indeed, there are days when I think I’m going to get a headache (I feel tension coming on), but I don’t. Somehow, my body nips it in the bud. And yet for all this improvement, I still have my challenges. Of course. Like today. My head has been throbbing. What’s the saying? One step forward, two steps back. But in my case it’s more like two steps forward, one step back.

As I understand it, this is normal. Last night I watched a bunch of videos about upper cervical care on my doctor’s website, and one of them led me to another video that discussed the healing cycle, the healing cycle being the “way” our bodies heal. Unfortunately, they don’t heal in a straight line. Rather, when things are going well, over what’s typically a three-month period, they make some progress, then regress, make some progress, then regress. Two steps forward, one step back. Whenever I get ready to go somewhere, I throw my bag in the car, then come back for my keys. Then I walk to the car, but inevitably come back again. Because I forgot my coffee. Or my deodorant. So what our bodies do makes sense to me.

They HAVE to go back, to make sure they didn’t leave anything behind or left undone.

Along these lines, one of the videos I watched last night was about something called retracing. In at least two other posts, the most recent of which you can read here, I’ve talked about a thing that can happen when our bodies heal called unwinding. Same thing. Retracing or unwinding is basically your body’s way of reliving past and unresolved stresses or traumas and–finally–resolving them. In the unwinding experience I had last summer that centered around a car accident I had when I was a teenager, my body twisted and turned and told me (instead of me telling it) what happened that night. Along with these contortions, it released emotions, mostly fear and sadness. Likewise, recently I had an experience in which I relived memories of my dad’s arrest when I was a teenager. Along with these memories came tears, facial scrunching, fist clenching, and foot stomping. From what I understand, this is the deal. Retracing isn’t just a cerebral experience; it’s a physical and emotional one, a release of previously suppressed reactions and emotions.

Recently I told a friend that the more I learn, the more I’m convinced that our traumas are physical and emotional events, not just mental ones. And that as much as I wish my mind could get me out of what my body got me into, it can’t. It just can’t. Still, this isn’t a bad thing. Because it lets me know where to look in order to heal, which is not my mind. Rather, it’s my body. Not that the mind isn’t part of it. After all, our minds, our emotions, our bodies, our spirits, and our souls are connected. This is my point. That our stresses, traumas, dramas, and diseases don’t just happen to A PART of us. They happen to ALL of us and therefore REQUIRE all of us to heal. So it’s not just about getting your head in the healing game. It’s about getting your head and your heart in there.

You know how sometimes when you clean, especially if you’re in a hurry, you half-ass do it, or skip parts altogether? Like, you sweep dust under the rug or ignore the gunk that’s piling up behind the refrigerator for “just one more spring”? Well, your house may LOOK spick and span, but YOU know that it’s not, not deep down. That dirt and crap is still there. Alas, it’s the same with our bodies. We can put on a happy face and say we’re fine, we can even talk about our traumas and dramas until we’re blue in the face, but until we allow our bodies to express what was suppressed, we’re just letting more dust pile up.

So what am I advocating? A deep cleaning.

People who talk about retracing say that our bodies often put Bandaids on things if they don’t have the resources to really heal them. Then later, when the resources become available, they’ll recreate whatever the pain or problem was in order to really heal it. Think of this like pulling out your refrigerator, taking an honest look at what a mess things are, then really getting down on you hands and knees and going to work once and for all. Ugh. As far as I can tell, truly healing always requires going back and cleaning up what didn’t get cleaned up before, really shaking the dust out of the rug that is your life. Of course, going back isn’t about bitching and moaning. Whoa is me, my life has sucked balls, and all that. Rather, it’s about acceptance and willingness. Something terrible happened and I wanted to scream and shout (and let it all out) but I didn’t. So I’m willing to now. Something made me sad but I didn’t know how to cry. So I’ll cry now. So that things can really be cleaned up and over. So that I can really be right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Rejecting yourself is what really hurts.

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Nobody Wants to Deal with Hairballs (Blog #1050)

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Hum. All day I’ve been dragging ass, fighting to keep my eyes open, and now that it’s midnight-thirty I’m wide awake. Surely it doesn’t have anything to do with all the coffee I drank this afternoon and evening. Who knows? Life is a mystery.

Speaking of mysteries, let’s talk about hair loss. (Why, Marcus?) Because this afternoon I fished a huge glob of hair (about the size of a baby raccoon) out of my shower drain. And whereas there was once a time–back when I had short hair–that I NEVER had to do this, now I have to do this on a regular basis. Shower drain hair extraction. Indeed, now that my hair is shoulder length I pull hair clumps out of my drain, hair brush, hair dryer brush, and carpet constantly. Ugh. Our bodies are so strange.

They shed, they molt, they fall apart.

For some reason I can’t get the image of that hair clump out of my head. (The inside of my head, I mean, since I obviously already got the hair clump out of the outside of my head.) I think because the actual clump so clearly demonstrated the idea of buildup. Like, for days and weeks I was losing hair in the shower, and it was slowly but surely collecting in the drain. And whereas it was keeping the water from draining optimally, I didn’t notice until today. Until everything got to be “too much.” Alas, isn’t this usually the case? We gain five pounds a year and think it’s not a big deal. Two decades later we wake up wondering what the hell happened. Likewise, we ignore our traumas and dramas, insisting we’re over them. Then “all of a sudden” we find ourselves constantly anxious, stricken by panic attacks, addicted.

Or worse.

I don’t know, we live in a Bandaid society, an “it’s fine, I’m fine” society. Like, the worst happens, and we’re so focused on “getting back out there” as soon as possible, keeping a stiff upper lip. For the last six years I’ve been focused on healing through therapy. For the last three years I’ve been focused on healing through this blog. And whereas I’ve spent the majority of this time wishing I were on the other side of this work (so that I could be OUT THERE doing something else like making money or being noticed), lately I’ve been really appreciating the opportunities I’ve been given to slow the fuck down and pull the hairballs out of my mental, emotional, physical, familial, relational, and spiritual drains. To be IN HERE. So that the rest of my life can run more smoothly.

So that things can get better instead of keep getting worse.

Looking back, I can see that my body’s been asking me to pump the brakes and clean things up for a while now. Like, decades. Alas, I was more inclined to push, push, push past the internal and external pain. To use a Bandaid, a pill, a cigarette. You know, we think that if we tell ourselves something isn’t a big deal long enough, it won’t be. And yet it always is. A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet, and a big deal is a big deal even if you call it a little deal. Sooner or later we all face the music. Sooner or later we all sit down to a banquet of consequences (Robert Louis Stevenson). Sooner or later we all sit down to our lives.

One thing I know about cleaning out your shower drain is that even if it’s gross (and it is), it’s worth it. Recently I tried a new therapy thing and ended up crying, weeping, and wailing about things that happened twenty-five, thirty-five years ago. (My dad’s arrest, our house fire.) Not because I never mentally accepted that these things happened, but because–apparently–I never emotionally accepted that they did. What I mean is that MY BODY internalized my reaction to these events rather than externalized it. (And never forgot it, either.) Thankfully, now this reaction has been expressed. Sure, it was gross, but it was also cathartic and–what’s more–freeing.

Now it’s done. Really over.

If you’d known what to do, you would have.

There’s an idea in self-help that we’re all doing the best we can with what we’ve got. To me this means that although NOW I can look at my younger self and see that the push, push, pushing, the pills (by the way, I’m talking about Tylenol, not Oxy), and the cigarettes weren’t THE ANSWER, they were all I had at the time. Back then I didn’t have therapy or this blog or any of the other wonderful things I’ve discovered, well, in my thirties. This is the way of it. We learn as we go. All this to say that, please, don’t give yourself shit for not cleaning out your drain sooner. For one thing, hairballs are gross. Nobody WANTS to deal with them. For another, if you’d known WHAT to do, you would have. So keep pressing forward. Keep learning and keep healing. And remember–

We shed, we molt, we fall apart. We begin again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We may never be done, but that doesn't mean we'll never be complete. And surely we are complete right here, right now, and surely there is space enough for the full moon, for you and for me, and all our possibilities.

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Where Fires Burn Up Batman Towels (Blog #1026)

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This afternoon I saw my chiropractor who works with emotions and their effect on the physical body, and we ended up talking about the fire that burned my family’s home down (and killed nine people, albeit none of them were my family or friends, in the process) when I was four. Now, I didn’t walk into my chiropractor’s office WANTING to talk about the fire. Indeed, I rarely if ever WANT to talk about the fire. For one thing, it was thirty-five years ago. It’s like, way, way over. For another, I HAVE talked about it–with my chiropractor, my therapist, hell, with the internet. Frankly, I’d rather talk about boys. Or chocolate cake.

No, I’d rather EAT chocolate cake.

Yes, that’s it. I’d rather eat chocolate cake than talk about the fire.

Alas, I’m finding out that just because an event is over in reality doesn’t mean it’s over in your body. Likewise, just because you’d rather talk about something else doesn’t mean your EMOTIONS would rather talk about something else. Or eat chocolate cake.

I’ll explain.

The process my chiropractor uses involves my picking a subject (physical or emotional) that I DO want to talk about. Then–often but not always–he helps me find two emotions (one positive, one negative) that are related to that subject. From there, we work our way backwards. “When was the first time you remember feeling these feelings?” he asks. For example, the thing I DID want to discuss today was my sinuses. (I’ve been fighting an infection for three weeks. Sadly, this infection is the 102nd sinus infection I’ve had since being born. And yes, that’s an approximation.) Anyway, the emotions that came up were adore (positive) and vulnerable (negative). Thinking about how vulnerable sinus infections make me feel (because when I’m sick I can’t work, can’t provide for myself, and can’t pay for all the shit I try in order to get better), I said, “Yep, that’s the right descriptor. It’s like my body is undependable. Like I’m exposed.”

Tracing these feelings back, I landed at the fire. Well, wait. With the word “adore” I landed just before the fire, since adoration is what I felt for our newly renovated and moved-into home. They say you don’t remember much when you’re a kid, but I remember SO MUCH about that time in my life, those six weeks before everything changed. My room on the second floor. My own bathroom and the Batman towels that hung on the rack. Our toy room on the third floor, and the laundry chute that went down to the first. Finger painting in the kitchen. Playing hide-and-seek in the closets. Pitching one of those cheap plastic tents in the hallway. Having our friends Tom and Jean over and Jean washing the dishes with only a cup of water (she was a missionary).

The unfinished stairs.

My chiropractor said the fire was “a turning point,” that although my life had challenges BEFORE the that night in 1985, my worldview as a four-year-old would have sounded something like, “I can expect good things. Life is a bowl of cherries.”

“But after the fire–” he said.

“After the fire,” I said, “my conclusion was, ‘If you fall in love with something (or someone), you can expect it to leave you. Life is a bowl of pits.'”

Pointing out that not only did my family lose our home that night but that we also lost our business (my dad’s store was on the second floor, and our home was below, behind, and above it), my chiropractor said my conclusions were completely logical ones for a child to make. Also, he said that given my age and the fact that I was most likely overwhelmed by all that went on (you think?), it would make sense for “that little boy” to 1) not know how to express his fears and emotions, 2) feel that they weren’t important or urgent enough to be heard even if he knew how, and 3) consequently shove them down. Er, shove them up (into his head/my head).

Coughing, I said, “That would make sense.”

A turning point.

I wish I could tell you that everything my chiropractor did today (he has a whole process that involves clearing or reprocessing old emotions) both healed my sinus infection and made me feel safe in the world. Alas, things are rarely this simple. “Think of the major traumas in your life like a root stem,” he said. “It’d be nice to pull it out all at once, but that really can’t be done because it’s so deep and so many other smaller roots have grown off of it. Thankfully, we can get at the smaller ones pretty easily. We can work a little at a time.”

Because I’m a writer, my chiropractor suggested writing about all this, which I’m doing now. Unfortunately, I haven’t had a major breakthrough. Again, it’s the root stem thing. What I can say, however, is that I’ve had some little breakthroughs. Pulled up a few smaller roots. Specifically, I’ve recognized and felt some feelings. Not just the “I’m vulnerable ones” but also the “I adore my life” ones. This is something I’ve never really done before today, really owned who I was and what I was like pre-trauma. I’ve only focused on The After. What I mean is that I’ve known for a long time that I lost a lot of stuff in the fire, I just never stopped to fully label those losses. My sense of security. My playfulness. My belief that things will work out.

I hope I don’t sound hopeless. I certainly don’t feel hopeless. Rather, I feel hopeful. Hopeful that it’s possible to feel secure again. Even in a world where fires burn up Batman towels and feelings of adoration. Hopeful that it’s possible to feel playful and trusting again. To feel at home both in my body and on this planet. Hopeful that I can finish building this house–the one where my heart resides–and live here a while at ease. That there will be another turning point.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Your emotions are tired of being ignored.

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Our Emotions Go Round and Round (Blog #1024)

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For the last three weeks I’ve been fighting a sinus infection. And whereas I woke up yesterday feeling better (yippee), I woke up today feeling worse (boo). Why knows why this up-and-down happens. The body is a mystery. Life is a mystery. More and more, I have more questions than answers. Recently I compared life to a circle, and this is what I meant. For all our living and learning, we’re just going round and round. One day we wake up and find ourselves exactly where we started.

We think, Ugh. I’m going nowhere!

At least that’s what I thought when I woke up still sick. Like I’ve been stuck in this pattern of upper respiratory distress for decades, and all the doctors, drugs, and gods and in the world can’t change it. That’s right, folks, we’ve discovered the impossible thing to get rid of. Mucus. (It’s here to stay.) But seriously, it’s overwhelming. At least when I think of the rest of my problems. This afternoon I got something in the mail I’d ordered online, and it was broken. Then I got a bill I wasn’t expecting. I just kept thinking, WHEN is something going to go my way?

Not that SOME things haven’t been going well lately. Indeed, I’ve blogged a lot about having headaches, and they’ve gotten SO VERY MUCH better over the last two months. Over the holidays I went weeks without working (and, therefore, earning any money), and this week alone I’ve picked up six different odd jobs. And I didn’t solicit any of them. Well, I did pray. My point being that even when one area of your life seems like it’s falling apart (seems being the operative word), another area of your life can be coming together. And surely if one area of your life can come together, the others can too. It’s just a matter of time, of patience, of remembering–

the universe hasn’t forgotten me.

Just now I said that something in your life can SEEM like it’s falling apart, the implication being that, well, maybe it’s not. What I mean is that, for example, for as frustrating as sinus infections are for me, they’ve taught me how to accept myself and how to ask for help. Just as importantly, they’ve taught me how to have compassion for others. Because all of us have that one thing that seems like a small thing to other people but is a big thing for us because it’s tied to so many other things in our lives. (Phew.) Like the way my sinus problems feel unsolvable, so, especially when I’m sick, all my problems feel unsolvable. Because if I can’t feel well then I can’t work and take care of myself and pay my bills and have a place to live and find a lover who isn’t into hobos.

See what I mean? One fear leads to another.

Overwhelming.

At times like these it’s important for me to remember to slow down, to slow way down, to slow way the fuck down. Like fast (haha). This looks like doing one thing–and one thing only–at a time. For example, this evening I have a dance gig (it’s good to be employed), so I’m blogging now, dancing tonight, and then that’s it for the day. Despite the number of other projects that are calling for my attention, they won’t get it. Rather, my body will. Meaning I’ll rest. Meaning I’ll do my best to allow my fears to arise, stay and be felt as long as they want to, then subside. Because they always do. Our emotions go round and round. In the end, we’re left with ourselves.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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When a Pickpocket Meets a Saint (Blog #991)

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There’s an idea in self-help and spirituality that we repeat things over and over again until we get the point of them, until we learn the lesson. You know how some people, maybe you, always end up falling for the same kind of lovers. Emotionally unavailable assholes, let’s say. Or maybe you’re constantly being shit on at work–and it’s been like that for twenty years. One way of describing this situation is “same drama, different actors,” and I think it’s worth taking a look at. Because if you can’t step out of the hamster wheel of your life and analyze it archetypally (non-personally), chances are you’ll keep getting more of the same.

My chiropractor who works with emotions and the body and I talk about this a lot. I saw him today, and we worked through a recent situation in which my reaction was, “Fine, damn it, I’ll do it,” even though someone else really should have. Like, it was their responsibility. Well, this feeling of taking on more than I really should goes back a long way. When I was a child my mom was sick quite a bit. When I was a teenager my dad was in prison. Long story short, I had to grow up fast. Looking back, I can see I wasn’t very happy about it and didn’t know how to express my frustration. But with respect to the same-drama conversation, what’s important to note is that although all the stories I’ve mentioned tonight were different on the outside, they were the same for me on the inside.

Recently I’ve been taking the covers off old books in order to use them for art projects, and yesterday I noticed a line on the first page of a book (I can’t remember which one) that said, “‘Every morning,’ he said, ‘every morning it’s the same damn thing!'” This is what I’m talking about emotionally, repeating the same feelings, the same roles (the runt, the slave, the misunderstood one) day after day after day. This is where my therapist and my emotionally intelligent chiropractor have been invaluable. They’ve helped me spot UNPRODUCTIVE PATTERNS so that I can do something about them. Because that’s the deal–it’s really hard to see your own routine. Sometimes you’re just too close to your own life to get what’s really going on. But someone else can take one look and say, “Girl, you’re stuck in a hamster wheel.”

Having had the help of wise counselors for years now, it’s getting easier and easier for me to spot my own unproductive patterns. For example, I’ve learned that I’m chronically attracted to a certain type that’s fundamentally not good for me. So whenever I feel myself going down the rabbit hole again, I stop and say, “Hold it right there, Mister. Stop in the name of love. We know how this is going to end, and it’s not good.” Then I do something else (or someone else). Another thing I’ve found helpful is to note whenever I catch myself saying, “Well, if it were anybody else, I’d tell them to do this (dump him, run the other way, go to a doctor).” Then I drop all my excuses and take my own advice. Because that’s my inner wisdom talking, and it shouldn’t matter if it’s someone else, or me, or the President. A problem is a problem is a problem, and good advice is good advice is good advice.

This evening I went thrift shopping and bought a few hardback books for their covers. Well, the total was $5.56, but I only had $5.25 in my pocket. “I’ll be right back,” I told the girl behind the counter. “I just need to get my change from the car.” Well, I came back with 26 cents, which, as the girl quickly pointed out, was 5 cents short.

So back to my car I went.

For a moment I thought, She must think I’m really dumb. Then I thought about how I won all sorts of math awards in junior high and high school, and how maybe I should tell her about them. Like, I really do know how to add. I won the Math-A-Thon! I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately. Then I thought, You don’t have to explain yourself to a high school student who works at Goodwill, Marcus.

So I gave her the damn nickel, picked up my books, and left.

There’s a saying I think about a lot but have never shared on this blog. It goes, “When a pickpocket meets a saint, he sees only his pockets.” To me this means that we don’t perceive others and the world as THEY are, but as WE are. Like, I could be the nicest guy and a really good mathematician, and if some tween at Goodwill thinks I’m stupid, she thinks I’m stupid. Now, does she? We’d have to ask her. Chances are, unlike me, she’s forgotten the whole interaction. Or maybe she hasn’t. Maybe she’s fallen in love with me and is currently at home stalking my Facebook and being disappointed by the fact that I don’t date girls. My point being that–either way–her reactions have little to do with me and everything to do with her. Yesterday I mentioned that someone bitched me out on YouTube for (in their opinion) counting Rumba incorrectly, and–same thing. This unfortunate commenter didn’t see ME, he only saw some ignorant dance teacher from Arkansas. A figment of his imagination.

And yes, it hasn’t escaped me that my not being able to count has apparently become a theme. Same drama, different players.

You’re never as stuck as you think you are.

For me another takeaway of the pickpocket/saint saying is to TRY to see people neutrally. Tonight I looked at the girl at Goodwill and thought, I know nothing about who this person is or what her life is like, and I certainly don’t know what she’s thinking. So often we assume we know what’s going on in someone else’s life or head and end up separating from rather than connecting with them. But seeing someone neutrally opens a door for grace to walk through. Likewise, seeing yourself neutrally (archetypally, impersonally) opens a door for grace to walk through. Because when you unplug from your own drama, your own story about your life, you have the thought that perhaps things could be different. And they could. You’re never as stuck as you think you are. In life, there’s always space to rewrite your script.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"When you’re authentic, your authenticity is enough. You don’t need to compare."

On Endings and Beginnings (Blog #979)

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This morning I saw my therapist and, in the midst of going through my list of things to talk about, got derailed. Even though I hadn’t planned on discussing it, I jumped on a tangent about this blog and how it’s coming to a close. (I only have 22 blogs including this one until 1,000, then 13 weeks and 6 days until THE END). “I feel like I’m entering lame-duck territory,” I said. “It’s scary. This project has been such a touchstone and healing force in my life, and I have no idea what’s coming next. I’m flailing.”

My therapist said she understood how intimidating transitions can be, AND that even if I don’t continue to blog here daily, I’ve planted A LOT of seeds. “Any number of other projects could EASILY grow out of what you’ve started,” she said. “For example, a book.” Oh my gosh, y’all, when I think about all the things I could do with what I’ve learned thanks to this blog, my mind absolutely flies. I could go on for days, in any number of formats, about how this discipline has turned my life around and upside down for the better. Recently my mom told me that although all my posts are good (thanks, Mom), they’ve really been “exceptional” lately. “You’re in the groove,” she said. “Your writing is seamless. The blog’s done for you what you wanted it to.” That is to say, it’s given me a successful writing practice. Even more, it’s given me myself.

This, of course, has been worth all the effort, time, and money spent.

I guess I’m afraid that when my last “in a row” blog is posted I’ll somehow lose everything I’ve gained. There’s a certain sadness, a heaviness that’s been stalking me, a grief I often feel when I return home from a fabulous vacation. It says, “Crap, the show is over. What now?” It says, “What if we never feel that way again?” At the same time, there’s a certain high, a sense of pride that says, “Hot damn, we did it. Not matter what happens from this point forward, we did it. Nobody can ever take that away.” Perhaps this mix of emotions is what newlyweds feel when the honeymoon is over and people start asking when in god’s name they’re going to begin popping out children. Everyone’s so focused on what’s going to happen after. It’s so difficult to be right here, right now, to sit with whatever arises–excitement, wonder, despair, confusion–on the first day, on the last day.

In Scent of a Woman, Al Pacino’s character sings, “Did you ever have the feeling that you wanted to go, and still have the feeling that you wanted to stay?” I totally get this “I want to hold on but also want to let go” feeling. Despite my deep affection for this project, as I imagine reaching 1,000 and, at the end of March, 1,095 posts, I picture an enormous weight being lifted off of my shoulders. Y’all, this daily-writing and baring-my-soul-on-the-internet bullshit has been and continues to be my choice, and, as I’ve said ad nauseam, it’s all too often exhausting. As these last three years have played host to the the most challenging health crises I’ve ever face, there have been days when life has simply been “too much” and the last thing I wanted to do was take to the web and be honest. Because it’s always easier to run and hide. This being said, I don’t recommend running and hiding. For one thing, there’s nowhere to go.

For another, you’ve gotta meet yourself sooner or later. After all, you’re with yourself all the time. You’re the one you wake up with, the one who tucks you in at night.

People say it’s the journey, not the destination. As a goal-oriented, results-focused person, I hate this. But it’s true. Since starting this project I’ve often fantasized about having so many readers or–I should be so lucky–a certain amount of monetary compensation for my efforts. (Any would be nice). Still, there are bloggers with millions of readers and authors with millions of dollars who nonetheless feel like they haven’t arrived. But how could they–how could any of us–get “there”? Again, there’s nowhere to go. There’s only “here.”

This afternoon I listened to a fabulous talk by Caroline Myss about Alice in Wonderland, and one of my takeaways was that the point of any hero’s or heroine’s journey is changing your inner world, not your outer one. The mystical and ironic consequence of changing your inner world being that–surprise!–your outer world changes too. It has to. At the very least it will look different than it did before (less scary, more manageable, ever so much more enchanting), and this is the same thing. Perception determines your experience of reality.

Along these lines, since we use words to frame our experiences, Caroline suggests flipping your language script. For example, instead of thinking of my health issues as Problems or Challenges, I could–and often do–think of them as Opportunities (to learn about myself, heal, and connect with others), Adventures (who knows what will happen next!), or Initiations (into the Greater Mysteries of life). I’ve often blogged about Going Down the Rabbit Hole, and this is what I’m talking about. Any Hero’s Journey that’s worth it salt will turn everything in your life upside down, including the way you think and talk about your experiences. This doesn’t happen because the universe is bored and feels like shaking up your life the way a toddler shakes up a snow globe. Rather, it happens because, from your soul’s perspective, your world’s been wrong-side up for a while now and it’s simply time to set things right-side up. This looks and feels like Chaos to you and me, a falling apart, but to the gods–well–it’s a Grace, a putting things back together. Our endings are our beginnings.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t stuff down the truth—it always comes up.

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On Being Stuck with Yourself (Blog #955)

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Lately I’ve been talking about my need for patience. I still don’t have any. At least today anyway. All I want to do is scream. For whatever reason, I’m currently Mr. Cranky Pants.

In an effort to keep my bad mood away from the rest of the world, I’ve spent this afternoon and evening locked away in my room watching movies. First I watched Damn Yankees, the musical about Shoeless Joe from Hannibal, MO, starring Tab Hunter, Gwen Verdon, and Ray Walston. Then I watched Jerry Maguire, starring Tom Cruise and Cuba Gooding, Jr. Somehow I missed this one in the nineties. (I must have been busy in the closet.) Anyway, you know the film–“Show me the money,” “You had me at hello,” “I DID NOT SHOPLIFT THE POOTIE.”

Unfortunately, these wonderful films did little to uplift my spirits. It’s just been one of those days. This evening I stopped up the toilet. Later as I was leaving one room for another, I whipped around and hit my forehead on the doorframe. I can’t tell you how unamused I was.

Earlier this week I had acupuncture, and the lady read my pulses. Supposedly they reveal a lot about you. Feeling my right wrist, she said, “Stressed?” Uh, yeah, who isn’t? Then she felt my left wrist and said, “Are you VERY depressed?” I mean, she didn’t even asked if I WAS depressed, but rather stated it as a fact. Like, I know you are depressed, now tell me how bad it is.

“I don’t think I am,” I said. “It runs in my family, but I don’t struggle with it.”

Of course, her comment was the wrong thing to say to a hypochondriac. You know the power of suggestion. I started thinking, Maybe I am depressed. This lady could know something I don’t. I mean, my pulses SAID. Crazy, I know. (Don’t worry, I’m in therapy.) But seriously, it took me a while to convince myself that I knew more about my mental states than a total stranger did. (A very nice lady, but a total stranger.) A couple years ago I saw a woman who claimed to be able to interpret my physical health by looking into my irises, and although she gave me a long list of things that she thought were wrong, she said NOTHING about my sinuses, my major complaint at the time. My point is that just because someone has a certificate hanging on their wall (my therapist would call it a receipt) doesn’t mean they know more about you and your body than you do.

Take these things with a grain of salt.

Maybe the whole shaker.

All this being said, days like today make me think I could spend more time acknowledging my feelings. Not that I’m depressed–I’ve been depressed before and know what that feels like–but on a lot of levels I am worn down, frustrated, and irritated. Just last night I unearthed two emotions (anger and overwhelm) that were decades old. And whereas I’d like to think that one can take the lid off Pandora’s emotional box and be free from all consequences within twenty-four hours, I know that’s foolishness. No, if you’re going to invite your feelings over to play, you can’t tell them to go home for dinner. First of all, you are home. Second of all, your feelings show up and leave when they want to.

In other words, you’re struck with yourself.

Don’t worry. This is a good thing. In the story of Pandora’s box, the LAST emotion to come out, the one with the final say, was HOPE.

The poet Rumi said, “In the hand of Love I am like a cat in a sack; Sometimes Love hoists me into the air, Sometimes Love flings me to the ground.” To me this means that no matter what kind of day you’re having, there’s love underneath it all–somewhere. For example, in the midst of my frustrations today, I’ve managed to laugh–at the movies I watched, at my life (if it were anyone else’s it’d be hilarious), at my own stubbornness (I will have a bad day, I will). On an ever deeper level, my emotions have been inviting me to come back to myself, to make room for even this. So often when I have an uncomfortable feeling, I want it to go away. But more and more I’m realizing the work is about accepting all parts of yourself right here, right now. Even your frustrations, irritations, and anger.

In light of this, I’m considering getting a t-shirt made–Bad attitudes welcome here. And on the back–My bad attitudes, not yours.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s enough just to be here.

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Flipping the Script (Blog #954)

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This afternoon and evening I helped a client repair the fence in their backyard. (It was falling over, and their dog was jumping into their neighbor’s yard. Their neighbor didn’t like this.) And whereas the fence mending itself went well, while moving a heavy rock along the fence I smashed my middle finger and ripped my fingernail open. There was blood and everything.

And then I stepped in dog shit.

These things happen.

You know how you can begin a project with a good attitude, with hope in your heart that things will go fabulously, but then you start hurting yourself and stepping in shit (and there’s no one to blame but yourself) and your good attitude goes down the toilet? (I do.) That being said, today as my finger stopped bleeding and throbbing, I worked to regain proper perspective. Your finger will heal, I thought. The dog didn’t purposefully shit where he thought you’d be stepping. He just needed to go. We all need to go now and then.

Just about this time, a mosquito bit me.

Looking toward the heavens I thought, What?! I haven’t had enough for one day?

Since I only had about thirty minutes left on the fence project and hate having bug spray on my skin, I thought about taking my chances. But then I thought about how much mosquitoes love me and how badly my skin reacts to them, so I took a break, walked to my car (right through the dog shit gauntlet), and reached for the bug spray. I’d rather be covered in DEET than itching to death, I thought. For me, using the spray was an act of self-compassion, a way to prevent further suffering. Sometimes this is the best you can do. Earlier I’d put a Bandaid on my bleeding finger. It didn’t change the fact that something shitty had happened, but it did keep things from getting worse, and it did support healing.

Twenty years ago when I was a teenager, I had a family friend who was a mentor of sorts. Our relationship isn’t private, but it would take a while to fully explain, so suffice it to say that this person and I communicated by letters because their personal circumstances didn’t allow for much more. They were in poor health and had limited resources, so I did a lot for them–typed up and made copies of documents, that sort of thing. Looking back, I can see that I didn’t know how to say no. For one thing, they were an adult. I was seventeen. For another, they were offering a lot of “sage” advice about matters I was interested in at the time–the Bible, the government–and it didn’t feel like I could question them. I remember thinking I had to do whatever they said.

For the last twenty years, the letters from this person have remained in a binder untouched. When I went through all my things and had my estate sale three years ago, I thought perhaps I should toss them. But then I thought I should read them first, so I just kept them, imagining one day I would. Well, tonight was the night. I opened the binder and read all twenty-two letters. (Yes, I numbered them.) And whereas most of the contents were benign, some of this person’s statements, quite frankly, were rude and inappropriate.

“You should do as directed.”

“I haven’t heard from you in a while. I guess you only write when you want something.”

Followed by, “Send me a copy of such and such.”

The primary emotions I felt tonight were anger (because this person was brash, passive aggressive, and lacked boundaries) and overwhelm (because at the time I didn’t realize they were asking for more than a teenager could give, but I still felt obligated to act as their–unpaid–personal assistant). These are the SAME emotions I felt when I initially received the letters, of course, but I didn’t know how to express myself back then. I didn’t know how to say, “Whoa, Trigger!”

However, I do know. As I was reading the letters, I actually said, “Fuck you!” Now, does this person care? No, they died a long time ago. Besides, it’s not about them. It’s about me, about me finally letting go of an unhealthy relationship and the old emotions associated with it. Along these lines, after I talked to my family about the letters, I burned them. (The letters, not my family.) Every single page. Up in smoke in our backyard.

Sweeping off the ashy patio, I said, “The past is over” then walked back inside.

“The past is over” is a common phrase in the self-help world, but I’d like to be clear. Until I said, “Fuck you” and burned the letters tonight, it wasn’t over for me. Had I not given voice to my previously unacknowledged frustrations or had I held on to something that only upset me to read it, the past would have continued. This is the deal. You don’t just get over something. Despite what Frozen and even I sometimes say, you don’t just let it go. When your finger is smashed, you first have to admit that you’ve been hurt. You can’t just mutter, “Oh, I’m fine” when you’re really not. No matter what you’re feeling, you’ve got to be honest about it. Even if the feeling started twenty years ago. Even if the feeling isn’t “nice.”

Another way I could keep the past alive with respect to this situation would be to bitch and moan about what an awful human this person was, to go around for the rest of my life and say, “Can you believe the way they treated me?!” Now, the truth is this person didn’t treat me terribly. Sure, they were at times abrupt and overbearing, but at times they were quite endearing and kind. As my therapist says, people are complex. Even if they had been all-the-time mean and nasty, I know it wasn’t personal. Dogs shit on the ground because that’s what they do, and people are mean and nasty because–I don’t know–they are. What I do know is that how this person treated me is how they treated everyone (mosquitoes bite me, mosquitoes bite you), so what good would it do for me to complain and play the victim?

That’s right, it wouldn’t.

Life isn’t out to get you.

In the world of speech and debate, which I was involved with in high school and college, there’s something called a turn. A turn is when one side brings out a piece of evidence supporting their argument and–later–the other side shows that the evidence, properly interpreted, ACTUALLY supports THEIR side. The kids these days would call this flipping the script, and it’s what I suggest doing anytime you smash your finger, step in dog shit, get bitten by a mosquito, or unearth something from your past that upsets you. That is, use a difficult situation for your benefit. Rather than playing the victim, play the victor. If it’s a simple injury or irritation, use it as an opportunity to slow down and practice self-care. Remind yourself that life isn’t out to get you. If it’s something more serious and involves another person, consider it a chance to practice emotional expression, boundary setting, and better communication. Even if the person is dead, see that they’ve helped you get clear about something important and that–going forward–you can be that much more clear with yourself and others.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step. And whereas it's just a single step, it's a really important one.

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On Stumbling Blocks and Stepping Stones (Blog #950)

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After forty hours of fasting, this morning I weighed. The verdict: I lost 2.6 pounds in 24 hours. That’s a total of 13.6 pounds in the last seven weeks and brings me to a weight I haven’t seen in almost two years. Well, except for that time I got the flu twice in one season. But seriously tho, the last time I got down to this weight I decided I could live without losing any more, that weighing what I did in college was enough. And not that I’m deciding it’s enough forever–because my goal isn’t to reach a certain number, but rather to eat well and exercise and see what happens–but I am deciding it’s enough for this moment.

So this evening I ate cornbread.

Tonight’s blog is #950 in a row, and for whatever reason it feels like a big deal. I guess because I remember how proud I felt when I reached #50, and this is 900 more, 900 more days of–life. (I made it.) Somewhere along the way, I do feel like something shifted. I still have bad days, of course, and all the emotions. My outer circumstances haven’t changed all that much, although I guess I have lost weight and made headway with certain physical challenges like sinus infections. And whereas other inner and outer challenges remain, the last 950 days have taught me that I can handle whatever comes my way. Even if it’s not pretty.

Especially if it’s not pretty.

Bring it on, world.

I take that back. I’m probably IN my current predicaments because I’ve said, “Bring it on, world” before. Not that it works that way. If you’re here on the planet, you’re going to face inner and outer challenges because it’s how we grow and evolve. Suffering strongly encourages us to change, to transform.

I hate this as much as you do.

This evening I’ve been irritated about a business matter, which may nor may not turn out to be a big deal. Anyway, I’ve spent the entire night doing things to distract myself from thinking about it–folding laundry, downloading music files (as if I don’t have plenty to listen to already), eating cornbread. Of course, this hasn’t worked, and I’m still stuck with my feelings. The good news is that 1) recently my therapist told me she thought I was better at feeling my feelings than I give myself credit for and 2) I’ve come to understand that even uncomfortable feelings provide us with information. For example, my therapist says when she makes important business or personal decisions, she wants her heart to feel light as a feather. If it doesn’t? Then the decision’s not right. In this sense, I know that if I have feelings I want to run away from, they’re likely simply telling me that something is “off.”

Seen from this perspective, our icky feelings are our allies, in that they alert us to things we NEED to think about even if we don’t want to. For example, time and time again during the past two plus years I’ve started the day with a gross emotion and–thanks to this blog and its ability to help me process–come to a better understanding of myself, others, and the world around me. When I think about the last 950 days, the current matter that’s bothering me seems like less of a problem–not only because I’m reminded of more difficult situations that worked out just fine, but also because I’m reminded that each difficult situation offers us a pearl of wisdom if we are willing to take it.

Along these lines, earlier tonight I read a pamphlet about forgiveness that I picked up at my chiropractor’s office, and one of the points was “learn the lesson.” The point being that forgiving someone or getting past a situation is easier if you can allow it to help you grow. I’ve often said that my ex was real pill but that he was largely instrumental in getting me to therapy (thanks to his ridiculous behavior, not his encouraging words). And therapy’s changed my life. This doesn’t mean anything he did or didn’t do was right and good, of course, but it does mean he provided me an opportunity to grow.

The important part: I took it.

In my experience, few of us SEEK opportunities to grow. Like, who wakes up in the morning and says, “You know, I’ve got a free weekend coming up and think I’d like to turn my world upside and completely change my beliefs about myself, others, God, and the universe”? No, most of us have to be “offered” opportunities to grow, largely where we don’t want them. For example, I would have preferred my ex to be “the one,” to be someone he, quite frankly, was not, rather than the catalyst for my transformation. Earlier this summer a client tried to pull a fast one and get me to do twice the work I’d agreed to but for the same amount, and I would have preferred for them to be integrous, rather than my chance to speak up. My point being that we don’t get to decide how someone else behaves. We only get to decide how we respond, whether we’ll use a challenging situation to become bitter or better.

A popular concept in new age and self-help literature is that the world is an illusion. I’ve come to believe that this doesn’t mean your dining room table or headache isn’t real, although the argument certainly can be made that these things aren’t as solid as we once believed they were. Everything’s made of vibrating atoms and so on. Rather, the idea of something being an illusion is just this–that things aren’t what they seem. Something else is afoot here, Mr. Watson. Using my previous examples, what I mean is that the situation with my ex wasn’t about love or hate or any of his piss-poor behavior. Although I could have made it this, it wasn’t about me being right and him being wrong for all eternity. Likewise, everything I’ve ever been upset or worried about over the last 950 days hasn’t been about those specific things. Instead, it’s been about how I responded to them, whether or not my soul grew or shrank.

This is a mystical perspective, of course, but it’s the one that will ultimately bring you the most peace. Your diet isn’t about how much you weigh; it’s about whether or not you’re being kind to yourself. Are you losing weight as a form of self-punishment or self-love? This is the illusion part. Either way you’re on a diet, but your motivation determines whether or not you’ll be content with your results. If you’re beating yourself up, nothing will ever be good enough. If you’re loving yourself, whatever happens will be okay. In terms of your challenges, do you see them as stumbling blocks or stepping stones? Either way you’re looking at a rock. It’s just a matter of whether the rock uses you, or you use the rock.

My suggestion: use the rock.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Help is always on the way.

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