September 2019 – The 8th Hard Thing

September 25, 2019October 25, 2020

Enough

I’m thinking enough is possibly the opposite of perfectionism. I’m not sure yet.

I’ve been doing quite a lot of thinking and writing and reading and talking about perfectionism recently. It is, as Anne Lamott puts it, the oppressor and the enemy of the people. It has certainly been the enemy in my life.

I find myself wanting to make sense of this subject and at this point it’s simply too overwhelming. I am trying to trust that as a friend told me this morning, “I think you’re ready for this level of understanding “. I may be ready but it’s painful and still hard to wrap my head- let alone words- around. I’m raw.

Maybe I can start here: what makes me, or anyone, enough? Seems simple. And it is when I apply the query to others. Just existence, that’s it. That’s all it takes for a human to be enough, to be imbued with value and worth. But for myself, the answer doesn’t come so effortlessly. It’s complicated. Theoretically I may concede that the same is true for me if it applies to every other human like I believe it does. Yet getting something from theory or acknowledged truth to the heart can be quite a challenge.

So I sit in this middle place (the one I despise) of not knowing, not having the answer, not having it figured out. (Not that this place isn’t well known to me, I definitely find myself here often enough.) This is a big player in my life, this battle with the enemy of perfectionism and the deep life-long yearning to believe that I am really and truly enough. It makes this middle place not just uncomfortable but almost excruciating.

I hear the call to be authentic, coincidentally (or not) there were 2 articles in my email this morning about this very thing. But what does that really mean? I think I have stuck my toe in the water of vulnerability and showing up as I am, only to be lambasted by the truth that I have been editing every step of the way. Am I really that fragile? I’m not sure I want to know the answer.

If you are one of those who are truly, unapologetically yourself, know that you have my deep admiration, mixed with a good dose of jealousy. It’s possible I’m on my way but the going is pretty rough, believe me.

September 23, 2019September 21, 2019

Again, or What it Feels like to Dance with Depression

It’s been a rough day at the end of a challenging week. The end of Summer tends to be a difficult time for me; I’m usually ready for cooler weather and less daylight before it happens. I was listening to a podcast yesterday and a question stayed with me: “Can I be with this?” In other words, can I let go of even a small amount of my resistance and have the intention of acceptance. Can I be with this weather that’s uncomfortable, the long days?

I wonder how many days have been like this for me (yet I probably don’t really want to know), filled again with a sense of hollowness, futility and something that feels very close to despair. Most of my day has been spent going through the motions, doing the things I know I need to do to keep myself from the always lurking edge. That’s what I do on days like this. In DBT it’s called Opposite Action. At times it feels like life is on an endless Repeat mode, that I am, again, hip deep in some sort of psychic mud just trying to take one step. But those are my feelings and I tell myself, again, even though they’re real it doesn’t mean they’re true.

I told my psychiatrist recently that the truth is, this whole thing is a lot of work. I’m well aware that this is true for many. And it is. Getting off the sofa, doing a single load of laundry, brushing my teeth. Back to the basics, again. Frustrated that so many things from this week’s To Do list will get moved to next week. Kicking myself that I didn’t have what it takes to call my dad, again.

Having Bipolar Disorder (Type 2) is tricky to manage. My hypomanic symptoms are adequately controlled with 2 mood stabilizers, but the depression remains something I attempt to manage without the assistance of medicine. Sometimes I agree to try a medication, usually one I’ve tried before, but I am quickly reminded that untenable side effects for me are pretty much a given. And around it goes, again.

So, as with the weather, I ask myself, can I be with this? This reality of my cycling, shifting moods? The feeling that I am a burden with not much of value to contribute. Again and again the negative thoughts and old beliefs come, and all my attempts provide only a slight distraction. But I keep trying. Sometimes it’s all I can do.

September 21, 2019

Choosing Real

A few evenings ago, a friend and I attended a National Alliance for Mental Illness (NAMI) family support group. Groups such as this one exist to provide peer support for people who are living with the mental illness of a family member.

My friend and I were the only two in this group of ten to share our own mental health diagnoses. Thus, throughout the meeting, others turned to us, repeatedly wanting to know some version of what it’s like. I don’t blame them. they really want to have some inkling of what goes on in the mind of their daughter, son, wife, sister.

Some of the questions asked were, “what’s mania (or hypomania) like?”, “What has helped you?”, and “How did you come to accept your diagnosis?”. We answered them all as best we could, wanting to help, wanting to give hope,

Choosing Real: it’s hard. I can feel my face growing hot, turning pink. I wonder if I’m saying too much, if it’s safe, what others are thinking. Will they leave this place and talk about me in the car or over dinner, some sort of disappointment- or worse, judgment- in their tone of voice? It’s possible, I know. Yet it’s my story, a part of me.

I am reminded of these words from poet Linda Hogan :

Even the trees with their rings

have kept track

of the crimes that live within

and against us.

We remember it all.

We remember, though we are just skeletons

whose organs and flesh

hold us in.

We have stories

as old as the great seas

breaking through the chest,

flying out the mouth,

noisy tongues that once were silenced,

all the oceans we contain

coming to light.

I am no longer silent. The oceans I contain are coming to light. And it is my truest hope that my choice to be real will make a difference to someone else.