A Bit About Me and My Blog – The 8th Hard Thing

September 6, 2021

Books, etc

I’m knee deep in books these days- they are piled in various places throughout the house, library books along with my newest bookstore finds. I thought I’d share a few favorites and some of my thoughts.

Cured by Jeffery Rediger M.D.

This is an encouraging read about spontaneous healing. Dr. Rediger relays a number of stories of individuals who, after being diagnosed with an incurable illness, defy the odds and experience complete remission. All used their diagnoses as an opportunity and made sweeping changes on their path to radical healing. Rediger concludes: “… to reach new depths of recovery, we have to heal the following: our diets, our immune systems, our stress responses, and our identities.” This book is chock full of ideas and hope. Definitely a worthwhile read.

A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles

This is a bestseller by the author of Rules of Civility. It would be an understatement to say that Towles is a master of the English language. I actually began listening to this book but soon felt that I was missing out by not reading it myself. I’m happy I decided to grab it from the library and lose myself in the world of Count Alexander Rostov and the goings on in the Metropol hotel in 1920’s Moscow, where the Count is sentenced to house arrest. Rather than restricting his experience of life, the Count’s plight opens innumerable opportunities to truly live. I am enjoying this one very much!

The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene Brown

I don’t often find myself reading a book for the third time, but that’s exactly what’s happening here. The subtitle, “Let Go of Who You Think You’re Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are” is spot on as this book delivers, elucidating a well-researched path to freedom from “shoulds” and encouragement for living a wholehearted life. I have learned a lot from Brown’s hard won wisdom and highly recommend her.

I’d love to know what you’re reading!

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.

August 8, 2019

Broken Open

A teacher says “we are broken or broken open”.

Life has broken me open.

Open to more beauty and joy,

more darkness and sorrow,

more awareness and presence,

a greater depth to love,

compassion.

Open to a desire to live intentionally, fully, vulnerably, as if I have nothing to lose.

A want to slow down, to relish what is precious and fleeting,

a need to slow down, to be here, fully present, fully myself.

Broken or broken open?

The challenge is to stay open, to not live as if I am merely broken- lying around like shards of glass, ready to inflict pain on any who come near.

Because I often feel very broken. Just broken. And I want to go away somewhere, be alone with all that hurts, soak in it for awhile.

Yet redemption of the pain, of my brokenness, is birthed from the opening.

Rumi said, “The wound is the place where the light enters you”. I believe it can also be the place- the opening- from which the light shines out.

So mostly my heart remains painfully tender and I continue to be who is left after life has chiseled so much away, has broken me open.

July 15, 2019

On Writing

So, I have a little issue with perfectionism. Well, a big issue to be honest. And I’m finding that it gets in the way of posting here. I have had times in my life when I just wrote. I would pick up a pen and write what was in my head and that was it. Done. Anymore, it’s like I have to go over every sentence with a fine-toothed comb, and at some point I completely lose track of what I wanted to say. It’s a very frustrating situation and, as a result, I don’t write or post much.

Now, I don’t imagine many of you who have read my blog, when you notice that the posts are few and far between, are laying awake at night wondering what the heck is going on. And that’s good. But I do, I wonder what’s going on. Perfectionism, that’s what. It has messed with me for as long as I can remember. So I say “no more!” At least for now, I will write and post and have less regard for what I publish being “just so”.

As a result, you may read something that doesn’t flow. Guess what? I read stuff online (and sometimes in books) that doesn’t flow. All the time. And I still can learn from what I read and be encouraged by it.

So there you go. My goal is to write more and worry less.

July 15, 2019July 15, 2019

Reframe

If you know me well, you know how much I dislike Summer. I really do. I remember as a child, begging my mom to let me stay indoors rather than sending me out to play in the heat. My mom was the only other member of my family who felt the same way about the heat, so she sometimes relented and let me stay in. For much of my life I have felt apologetic about my dislike of Summer. It’s not the norm; most people look forward to the season of heat and light, barbecues, picnics and vacation. Not me. Heat makes me feel ill and long days with lots of light send a message to my sensitive circadian system that I don’t need to sleep when, really, I do.

I am coming to a place of acceptance of my feelings about this popular season. I admit it, talk about it and feel less guilt than I used to. Maybe the guilt has something to do with having siblings who are always cold unless it’s over 90 degrees. Or possibly from being married to a guy who handles discomfort without saying much about it. Regardless, I am coming clean about my true feelings for (almost) all things Summer. In other words I’m accepting that the way I feel is the way I feel. Full stop.

And I’m changing my thinking. Yep I’m doing that too.

It occurred to me recently that maybe I can think about this season differently. I’m not talking about pretending I like it when I don’t, but rather reframing it so that I can be a little less miserable.

It’s similar to how I approach walking the dog, our dog anyway. When I’m walking, what I want to do is walk. Not Libby. She wants to sniff. Everything. And her sniffing gets in the way of my walking. Sometime in the recent past I realized that instead of standing there, pulling on the leash and muttering at her under my breath, I could look around and notice the beauty of Nature. This may sound silly to some but, let me tell you, it has made a huge difference in how I feel during and after a walk.

In applying this practice to Summer, I have decided to notice a few things everyday (usually three) that are beautiful. Often it’s stuff like the way the sun gleams on the back of a black horse, or the pure green of the aspen leaves. It really doesn’t matter. It’s been helpful for me to change my focus enough to see that there are some things I truly like about Summer. Not many, but some.

I do want to make reference back to the fact that my acceptance of my feelings about Summer is foundational to this practice of finding the good in it. Too often, in my opinion, we attempt to change our unwanted thoughts or emotions as soon as possible. I have found acceptance to be a critical first step in any process of change. When I reject an emotional experience, because I’m uncomfortable with feeling the way I feel or because I’m unpopular for feeling the way I feel, my options seem quite limited: repress, pretend, and the like. Yet when I turn toward the emotion and accept that, yep, this is how I feel, I have more options.

In paraphrasing something I learned from Kristin Neff, one of the founders of Mindful Self-Compassion: when I am rejecting myself in some way (usually with judgment and criticism), I am both the attacked and the attacker. When this happens, my fight or flight system kicks into high gear and the adrenaline and cortisol start pumping. But how can I get away when I’m the attacker? Good question! I can’t. Another interesting thing I’ve learned is, that when we are in such a state, the areas of the brain that help with motivation and change became inactive. After all, the brain is more concerned with survival when I feel under attack, not with figuring out how to exercise more. The flip side of this is self-compassion (think of it as turning the kindness we show to others, inward). Self-compassion causes those same parts of the brain to light up and become active, thereby promoting motivation, change and growth. Sounds like a little acceptance is a pretty good deal.

So, Summer. I don’t love you and I’m okay with that.

How about you? What’s something you dislike or struggle with that you then are hard on yourself for? Please share! I’d love to hear your story.

June 4, 2019May 25, 2019

Stories From Childhood, Part 6: Mean Man

We think he shot our dog. At least dad thinks so. I’m not sure he had a wife but sometimes, some woman or other, lived there. He had 2 girls; one was friends with my sister but the younger one was mean like her dad. Maybe she was just scared. Rumor was he was cruel to his horses. His place was run down and surrounded by old run down cars. And his goats were always getting out. One day, a mean old goat butted poor Mrs B. (who dad said was “big as a barn”), all the way from her mailbox at the end of the road, home. When riding my bike by his house, I pedaled extra fast.

June 2, 2019May 25, 2019

Stories From Childhood, Part 5: The Hill

The Hill was where the rich people lived, I guess. But most of all, The Hill was for careening down, on bike in summer and sled in winter. Once in 5th grade, the boy I liked called me the “B word”. Affronted, I ran home to tell my big brother. He promptly accompanied me back to the scene of the incident. Confronting my would-be love, my brother wrested the sled from his hands and shoved it, sideways, down and over the nearest post. I can still feel the shocked look on my face.

May 31, 2019May 25, 2019

Stories From Childhood, Part 4: Wayne

Standing and looking out the living room window, I could see the mountains. And in between the here and there was a small house, sitting alone. My grandfather’s house. I did not know him. If I met him in the street, I would not smile and say hello, for he was a stranger to me.

My mother- how she loved him! In later years, she told me how she visited him in the hospital as he lay ill with whatever stole his life from him, and us. They had a wonderful conversation, then he asked, “Now what did you say your name was?” When she told him, he turned his face to the wall and did not say another word. That was the last time she saw him. Her Daddy. His name was Wayne.

May 29, 2019June 30, 2019

Stories From Childhood, Part 3: Best Friend

She lived just a short distance away and her parents were old. She had a sister who was already an adult. Her teen-aged brother had long hair and played the drums. She slept without underwear and used the term “BM”, both of which were a mystery to me. At dinner, she was made to finish a tall glass of store bought milk; she took hers with ice. We created many theatrical dramas together, most set to the song “Que Sera”. We spent hours rehearsing in her garage. Her parents traveled the world I guess and brought back porcelain dolls in plexiglass cases. She was even allowed to watch Sesame Street. Her mom drove her to elementary school in “town” rather than have her attend our small school just a few miles away. I think her family was rich because they had orange shag carpet.

I sometimes spent the night at her house. She did not stay at mine.