In grade school I learned the path to writing involves: 1. brainstorming 2. outline 3. writing, in that order. It worked every time I did a research paper. I believed this was the only path for writing. I was never taught any different and I believed that for something to be good, I had to be taught the 'right' way to do it.
Well into my adult years the only type of writing I enjoyed doing was research papers until I found blogging. It was such a short structure that I couldn't and didn't need to follow the path I had been taught. I was free to explore my topic for that day's post and write what I wanted, how I wanted. If people liked it, great! If they didn't, I would try again the next day. Writing a memoir is a whole other beast. The learned path makes more sense to write it, but over the past year and a half I have discovered that when it comes to telling stories, that path doesn't work for me. I tried tweaking it in as many ways I could find. Each tweak led me to more frustration - and more frustration. I was certain the problem wasn't the way I was writing, but that I wasn't a good writer after all. If it hadn't been for my book coach, I likely would have believed that and shelved my memoir for another 10 years - or more. But, she believes in me. She believes in my skills as a writer. So I persisted with her encouragement. Over the course of discovering what doesn't work for me, I discovered what does. Turns out, it's the same way I do pretty much all things in my life. I jump head first into a project, learning by way of breaking. Even as a child, I used to grab Dad's tools - much to his dismay - and figure out how they worked rather than allowing him to teach me how they worked along with the safety measures needed to use them. I mean, he could teach me all he wanted but I didn't grasp the concepts until I started making the mistakes that allowed me to understand the tool. "Why were the safety measures important?" "What would happen if I used it in a way that it wasn't meant for?" "It makes logical sense that I should be able to work with it like this..." "Oh crap, I didn't know that would happen." Let me tell you, things didn't get fixed. They got more broken. So, I continued to allow him and others to do things for me or teach me the 'right way'. Many years later, I found myself staring down this memoir and I realized that I am the one that needs to fix it and no one can teach me the 'right' way to do that - trust me, I've asked. While I finally got to explore my own way of learning something, I was fucking terrified of doing it 'wrong'. The first step before I could begin my own - let's just say unique - path of fixing it, there needed to be something to break. That first year of writing was the excruciating process of creating the substance. Then, I got to break that substance. And, let me tell you, I did a damn good job of that. I'm not sure that even 90% of that first draft made it into the second one. With guidance; not instruction, I am now in the process of fixing it. I'm in the process of asking the questions that show me where it needs to be broken more. "Why did I even share that?" "Does anyone care about that part?" "Does that fit my theme?" "Does my theme need to change?" "What is the point I'm making here?" I'm building this book the same way I wanted to build things as a kid. By jumping in head first while making all the mistakes. In the end it may not be perfect, but it will be something I'll be proud to call all mine. Imperfections and all.
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"We spend so much time trying to make other people comfortable that oftentimes we don't even know what makes us happy. It's exhausting."
I read this line and cried. No, I sobbed. I'm so tired. I felt this line deep in the recesses of my unawakened parts. Then, I felt shame. Was it because I was embarrassed that I know better yet I still fall prey to the cultural expectations? Sure, maybe, partly. The greater shame came in feeling like I didn't have the right to share in the same pain as the author of that line. They are Alok Vaid-Menon. They are non-binary and have been and continue to be mercilessly shamed for who they are. Yet through it all, they exude more love and compassion than anyone I have ever witnessed. I know what I look like. I am acutely aware of my privilege. Did I really have the right to feel the depth of pain they felt when my life has been culturally easy? I have not been shamed for how I look. I was able to seamlessly fit into the world that was specifically created for me and bodies that look like mine. Yet, it doesn't make me happy. I don't want to belong there. In that shame I found my dissonance. I don't belong to the cultural world because the fit is too tight. I don't belong to the marginalized world because I am the right trend. Where do I belong? Do I even belong anywhere? Of course, Alok had that answer for me as well. "Over time, I learned that where I was taught dissonance, I found harmony. This beard, this skirt, this love: There are no contradictions here, there is just someone trying to figure it out. Someone very similar to and very different from you." I did have the right to feel what I was feeling because I am the same as them as much as I am different. The more I find belonging within myself, the more I feel I fit in. Only, I don't fit in with a group. I fit in with myself wherever I go. Because where I go changes everyday. I have so much shedding left to do of the cultural imprint drilled into me since birth. This is not the easy path. This is a True path. Fortunately, I have wise, loving mentors who bravely walked the path before me reaching out an undeserved hand ready to help guide me home. A few weeks ago my book coach, aka my Fairy BookMother, Maggie McReynolds (with Un-Settling Books) sent me some global notes about my latest draft. I expected to read some suggestions about teasing out the theme more, maybe some suggestions about how we could rearrange the chapters, reminders that it’s a book about hugs and I need to include more of those stories, but instead this is what I got:
“You have everything you need inside – every sentence, every word, and every ounce of bravery – to finish your book with honesty, vulnerability, and relatable truth. And to prove it to you, I’m going to give you back your own words.” And then she proceeded to copy and paste MY WORDS from my blog posts – yes, these blog posts - as suggestions for how to finish writing my book. It was both validating and tear-my-hair-out frustrating. I knew what she meant. The way I write these posts is the way I want my book to sound. But, my brain malfunctions when I sit down to write the book in a way that it doesn’t when I write, well, anything else. My brain kind of goes blank when I sit to write the memoir. I forget the guidance Maggie has given me. I forget the suggestions my writer friends have given me. I forget what I formed in my mind about what I wanted to write. I even forget to look at the sticky notes taped to my desk that my left elbow actually touches while I write that remind me what to focus on. Last night I was ready to throw in the towel. That's it. I'm done. I can't do this. I wasn't meant to do it. Only, I'm the only one I know that has been on these journeys. I'm the only one that can write this story. So, I'm going to step back in front of the clay I have molded in to a form that resembles something that could look like a book one day. I'm going to take a deep breath and chunk out another piece. I know my book lies deep within and I'm going to keep excavating until I find it, one keystroke at a time. Why fit in when you were born to stand out?
Hmmm, because when I tried to stand out I was told I was too much, too needy, inappropriate, insensitive, odd, and lacking common sense. I was told "that's not the way the world works" leaving me to feel like I wouldn't be able to survive on my own because I don't understand the way the world works. I never did and I don't think I ever will because the world doesn't make sense to me. After trying to stand out and failing, I proved to myself that everyone else was right. I wasn't born for that. So, I tried desperately to fit in. I jumped from job to job trying to find the one that fit. I got married and had kids like I was supposed to. I took business classes for becoming an entrepreneur that seemed to work for everyone else but me. I felt most comfortable in my own skin when I was drinking so, a few drinks on the weekends with friends turned into looking forward to the weekend when it would be acceptable to have a few drinks to the weekend starting on Thursdays to at least one or two drinks every night. It was the only time I felt free from the incessant chatter of my brain that told me I was never going to fit in. I hugged strangers because I was so desperate to find connection and belonging; I assumed someone else must be feeling that way too. It was a way for me to give out the very thing I was looking to find. I did find connection and belonging, but it was amongst the other people I was hugging. It still eluded me. That is, until I began unpacking all of the things I learned on those hug journeys in the form of a memoir (and stopped drinking). My mind chatter had been so loud that I hadn't even noticed the biggest lessons I learned along the way. I always fit in. With myself. I always belonged. With myself. I discovered connection. With myself. The truth is, I live at the edges of humanity. I have my whole life. I don't do things the same as others. I don't think the same way as others. I don't understand life the way others do. It's a very lonely place to live. But, the more I reveal to myself - about myself, the more I know I was born to stand out. The world fucking needs me. I have spent a lifetime living as though the big moments were what made up my life. My focus was on my achievements, my legacy, how I will be remembered after I'm gone. A lot of my focus still is as I'm still climbing my way out of the craters my habits have forged in my brain.
In an effort to create new habits, I am placing overemphasized importance on the little moments. My son getting his driver's license? Not a little moment. That was huge and one I wasn't entirely prepared for. But, what was a little moment was the day less than one month earlier when I got pulled over for rolling through a stop sign in a neighborhood. My oldest (the one with the license now) was running late for his volunteer shift and in an attempt to avoid traffic, I traveled through the neighborhood rather than out on to the main road. I didn't see the police officer pulling up to the intersection until her lights were flashing in my rearview. I prayed for grace. Sure enough, she let me know she was letting me off with a warning. But, only because she was ticketing me for having an expired registration. My perfectionist self was flabbergasted. I couldn't understand how that happened and the old me (as in, the me from just last year) would have given a lengthy explanation as to how I never let things like that happen and it must be an error in the system. Instead, I thanked her for her grace and let the shame roll off my back. Sure enough, when I got home I found my registration reminder. I got the emissions but never paid for my registration. Over the next few days I got my emissions again (it had expired) and paid my registration not thinking anything of it other than this was something I needed to take care even though it was Christmas time and this along with the ticket was an unexpected expense I didn't want to spend Christmas money on. My registration came in the mail just before New Year's - two weeks before my oldest was scheduled to take his driver's test - with my car. It wasn't until I was gathering the necessary paperwork that the stunning turn of events dawned on me. Getting pulled over by the police woman was a divine intervention. If I hadn't gotten pulled over when I did, I wouldn't have my registration in time for Cooper's test. While it wouldn't have been ideal for him knowing he preferred to use my car, it wouldn't have kept him from taking the test - he could use his Dad's car. What it would have done is kept me from being with him during this pivotal moment. I wouldn't have felt the pride I felt as I watched him calm his nerves in his unique style before the test began. I wouldn't have felt the grief I felt as I watched him hold up his paper license for the picture above. I wouldn't have felt the expansiveness I felt as I recognized the additional freedoms this meant for both of us. If I had paid for my registration on time, I wouldn't be in awe of the way life is always working out for me, even when I make mistakes. I have spent time overemphasizing the importance of being pulled over by that police woman. Because without her, I would not be reveling in the wonder of the small moments. I wouldn't be climbing a little farther out of my well-worn path of habits that no longer serve me. I wouldn't be that much closer to the me I want to be. I find it to be the most vulnerable thing to simply exist in a world that expects and rewards production. So much so that while I think I know who I am, I'm not sure anyone else knows except maybe my sisters - only because they've been there from the start before I could be anything but who I was.
It's really only been in the last year or so that I have even begun to know myself outside of what I can offer to the world. I used to get so confused when I would hear that I was worthy of love and belonging just by being who I am. My brain constantly searched for 'how' I would do that. How could I be me? I searched far and wide for how I could be me. A journey that started long before this past year as evidenced by my two hug journeys. I believed that the truth of who I am is love (true) so I set out to spread that love through hugs. Noble. Noble but also it was an act that I was doing in order to be worthy of the love and belonging I was desperate to find. My entire perception of the world revolved around give and take. If you invite me to your house I feel obligated to bring something in an act of being worthy of having been invited. Even my hobbies turned into opportunities for being worthy. I have yet to understand what it means to do something just for the fun of it. When I took Parkour it was with the expectation that one day in the near future I could start a social media page around the 45 year old that is taking Parkour. When I went out dancing it was because I wanted to be there for my friend's birthday or because I expected that maybe this would be the night I'd meet the love of my life. Neither of these are inherently wrong, it's just that I didn't know how to do these without expecting something out of them, something that showed me I was worthy. What would it even look like to go out dancing just because it was fun? I meditate now to find that space within me that is pure me. The one that doesn't need excuses or reasons for doing what I am doing. The one that doesn't need a reason to just be. I am slowly finding her, but the habit of doing is such a well-worn path that I need a ladder to get out of it. What I am learning is to celebrate each step up the next rung. I may not have any clue what it's going to look like when I embrace my joyful experiences simply because I exist. I may not have any clue what it's going to feel like when I embrace the truth that I am worthy simply because I am me. Honestly it scares me. And excites me. With every step up the rung of that ladder, I am moving farther away from what I do and so much closer to who I am. I am moving farther away from the belief that I am what I do and closer to the truth that I am me and that is exquisite. The second draft of my book is done!! It is rough, almost as rough as a first draft so I call it draft 1.5. But, it's done and I had it completed in time to fully enjoy the holidays!! Woo Hoo!! I bought myself this gorgeous citrine ring (from Celestial Moondust) in celebration of the accomplishment. I now wear it when I write to remind myself that I am a badass Goddess creating magic for the world.
It's a helpful reminder not just for when I'm writing, but for living. I woke the other morning thinking, "so, I wasn't expecting 47 to feel like this." What was I expecting? Well, firstly, I expected to feel like an adult. Even more, I expected to feel like a responsible adult. A settled, wise, responsible adult. What is the reality? I still feel like an irresponsible, confused, frightened teenager floundering her way through life. There is a big difference though. I am now aware that these feelings likely won't change and I may forever feel this way. Rather than feeling overwhelmed, it makes me feel empowered. I think those feelings are indications that I am doing something right. When I find myself in a state of contentment, it rarely lasts and most often, if I try to hold on to it, it leads me to a state of boredom and restlessness. An indicator that I have stopped living and am attempting to control what life is supposed to look like. As soon as I begin the very vulnerable process of 'life-ing' again, I feel like that irresponsible, confused frightened teenager again - no matter how old I am. And, I never would have imagined I would say this, but I absolutely prefer these feelings to boredom and restlessness. I recently finished watching The 100 with my oldest. (It's gory and intense, but it was time well spent with my teenager) At the end (Spoiler alert - if you haven't finished it and plan to - STOP READING!!) one of the characters fails to 'ascend' or as we may call it - become enlightened. She was destined to spend the rest of her days alone on earth continuing to live her messy, human existence. Ultimately, her core group of friends refused to allow her to be alone and after ascending, chose instead to return to their messy, human existence together with her. I have spent a lot of time thinking about this ending because it allows me to question what I truly do value most in this lifetime. Do I really want to experience enlightenment in this lifetime? Maybe. But not if it means giving up the messiest, most painful human parts of myself. It's the messy, painful emotions that guide me toward my best life. They are what create the biggest expression of pride in accomplishing those very things I didn't think I could do. They are what give me the courage to reach out and become visible to friends, new and old alike, in an attempt to create connection. They are what allow me to feel greater expressions of love when those connections are reciprocated. Can this all be achieved in enlightenment? *shrugs shoulders* Maybe. But, seeing as how I'm not there yet - and don't anticipate it anytime soon, I am going to practice relieving myself of the judgement that I am doing something wrong by being my messy, painful, insecure teenage 47 year old self. And that is certainly something worth celebrating. I've been noticing lately how people talk about depression. ****TW: Talks of depression/suicide including my own deep thoughts. Please care for your mental wellness first. If you even think this could spiral you, please move on to another post. Dial 988 if you are deep in it.**** Also-those pictures above have captions to make them make sense for this post. I don't know why they aren't showing, but maybe if you click on the image they'll appear?
What I notice is what's missing. I notice 'normies' (apparently there are actually people out there who haven't felt the grip of depression?) asking questions about someone's intentional death. "How did this happen?" "They had everything going for them." "What are their finances like?" "Were they in some trouble we didn't know about?" I believe that people seeking the answers are truly looking to help fix depression. Noble. The problem is that someone like me sees those questions and wonders, "what is wrong with me?" "I do have everything going for me." "I'm not in trouble." "Clearly I do need fixing." Then there are the group of people - like myself - who post over and over again, we need to talk more about depression. We need to talk about mental illness. We need to destigmatize it. The problem with this is that no one is. All we are doing is talking about how much we need to talk about it. We are waiting for someone else to begin the conversation so we can go, "yeah, yeah. Me too!" "Finally, I don't feel so alone." So, we continue on thinking that maybe we are broken. Maybe we really are the only one with these insane thoughts and feelings. A few brave people have come out and said, "I have depression. I have struggled with thoughts of suicide." This helps. This starts the conversation. I'm grateful when this comes from someone famous because their reach is far and wide. But, what's truly missing is what depression looks like. It's not the random day we find ourselves wrapping the covers over our heads, getting out of bed only long enough to make a cup of tea to soothe our aching soul, although this is a part of it. I know that it looks different for everyone but in the interest of continuing the conversation that started with "I have depression", I would like to share what depression looks and feels like for me. I sometimes go a week without showering. I joke about how I am proud of my desire to not shower every day, it's not good for the skin anyway. What I don't share is that the last time I showered was more than 5 days ago. I wonder if they can smell the truth? Often my entire day is spent pressing my finger against my phone searching for the next social media post that will fill my heart with joy, or at least ease the pain of my life a little. But, when the post ends, I have to look for another, and another until I find myself getting ready for bed trying not to think about the shame I feel for once again getting nothing done. I think I must be doing ok, because at least I can still get a blog post out each week. I must be ok because at least I wrote a chapter of my book. I must be ok because at least I was able to head out and buy groceries, walk the dog, make plans with my friend. But, I don't want to dance. I don't want to listen to music. I don't want to go for that hike in the woods. I sometimes hope my friends will cancel so I don't have to leave my house. I don't laugh at very obviously funny things. It's like my laughter is broken. I don't want to talk to animals. I don't want to meditate. I desperately want to feel good but I don't want to smile. It feels too hard. I know that a lot of those things have actually been mentioned. I have seen people talk about those. So, let me also share what is happening in my head because I think this is where we are missing the mark in talking about depression. 6am: "Today is going to be a good day. I feel it. I believe in myself" "I'm going to try dancing this morning just for the hell of it. Get the endorphins going." 6:15am "Oh right, my belly is fatter than it's ever been. I forgot about that. It's so uncomfortable." "I can feel how big it is even without clothes on." "I wonder if my clothes will fit today. Maybe I'll just wear yoga pants again. It's not like I have anywhere important to go." 6:30am "I have to go feed Tater and let him out. Ok, let me fill my water first, take my supplements, and down the rest of the 32oz so I can be sure to get my full intake of water in. Then I'll feed him and let him out. Once I am done I can go for my morning walk." (Everything is planned out in my head before I actually do it) 6:35am Walk begins "It's so cold out. I just don't really want to be out here but this always helps to clear my head. What if it doesn't this morning? What do I have to do today? I know I should write. Oh, I haven't posted anything on TikTok for a while. Shit. They are going to dock me, probably won't show my next video. Gah, I don't want to have to post every day. I hate consistency. I hate expectations of consistency. Oh look, the sun is starting to lighten the sky." Deep breath "Oh, right. I forgot life really is beautiful. I hope I can remember that today." 6:45am "what would I do without my morning walks? They really refresh me every time. Why do I ever not want to go for one?" 7:00 Drinking tea on my front porch playing word games on my phone *no thoughts* 7:30am Done with the games "Oh shit. I missed the rest of the sunrise. I wonder if it was colorful. Ok, time to start the day. What should I do first?" Walk back into house, put tea mug down in sink unwashed. 7:35am Pick up phone and start scrolling social media. "Shit. I shouldn't have even started. Oh well, now that I'm here let's see what everyone else is up to. Is there any major news? Maybe I can find some inspiration for the day. I mean most of my inspiration does come from social media posts these days so really, I need to be on here scrolling so I can find some." 9:35am "Holy shit. It's 9:30 and I haven't done anything yet today. What is wrong with me? Why can't I just stop? I feel worse now than I did when I started. That always happens. When will I learn?" Back to scrolling because I can't stand the thoughts I'm having and the way I'm feeling. 11:45am "I'm hungry. This is a good break. This will break the patterns/habits I am in. I'll enjoy lunch while listening to a podcast. They often inspire me then maybe I'll actually do something when I'm done with lunch." 12:10pm Done with lunch but the podcast is still going. "Well, I need to finish out this podcast. This is some good stuff. I feel inspired. I can't wait until it's over and I can get to work on some of the goal setting they are talking about." 12:45pm Podcast is over. "Shit. Now what? Wasn't I just inspired by something? I can't remember what it was. I can't remember what I wanted to do. I want to do something. I should write that way I am closer to getting my book finished but fuck, I don't want to write. I should only write when I'm inspired so I don't write something really shitty. Ok, then what? I should clean. No, I don't want to do that. What the fuck do I even want to do? Maybe I could go for an easy hike. I mean, I say that I love nature so much, wouldn't that make me feel better? Nah, I don't want to do that either. Maybe I'll just watch tv. No, I don't want to do that. I could get dinner prepped? I was going to make that lemon shrimp pasta dish tonight. There is no prep work to do. Now is a good time to try something new like I've been wanting to. Maybe I'll try drawing? Nah. Painting? Nah. Fuck. Maybe I'll just sit on the front porch. Hmm, I could do that. Let me heat up some water for hot coca and I'll drink that while I'm out there. Nice. 12:55pm Cozied up on the front porch with a blanket and hot cocoa with whipped cream, I leave my phone inside. "Ahh, this is good. I feel decadent and comforted." "I probably shouldn't be drinking this cocoa. I haven't even exercised yet today. This isn't going to help me lose weight. I'm probably dealing with menopause, that's why this weight is so hard to come off. Probably why I'm feeling so depressed lately too. Oh good, at least I have an excuse for the way I am being. Maybe I should call the doctor? Shit, I don't want to go on hormone therapy. I could call my holistic doctor. Do I have the money for that? Where did all my money go? Why am I not inside doing work on my business so I can make more money? Eventually my money is going to run out then what am I going to do? Everyone will know I'm the loser that I already knew I was. Why can't I just get my shit together and do what needs to be done to make my business successful? I KNOW I am capable. Why am I not behaving capable? Complaining about it isn't going to get it done. Nothing has worked for me so far to get my company off the ground. Maybe I wasn't meant to be an entrepreneur. No one believes in me. No one believes in what I do. Well, they sure never are if I keeping thinking this way. I mean, I know enough about energy to know that these low-vibe thoughts are just going to bring more of the same. I need to raise my vibration. I should go in and do some energy work on myself. Fuck, if I don't even want to do it for myself, why would anyone want to pay me to do it for them?" 12:57pm "Well, that didn't help." Takes the last sips of cocoa and heads inside. ***Literally stopped writing this so I could numb out on social media for a minute or three*** 1pm No joke, I go back on social media still hoping that something will spark me wanting to do something other than scroll 3:15pm This day is not an exaggeration. I wish it was. "Shit. I'm pretty sure I have an addiction to social media. I have to put it down! Let me try reading for a minute, but let me make sure it's a self-help book so I can at least feel like I am accomplishing something of myself." 4:05pm Put down Codependent No More by Melody Beattie because I resonate so much with being a codependent and having an addiction that the pain weaves its way through every part of my brain and is winding down into my heart breaking it even more than it was today. The heart break is my souls attempt at offering compassion and comfort, but I can't receive it because it hurts too much and I don't think I am capable of facing that pain. 415pm "It's almost 5, I can call it quits on the work day. I wasn't going to get anything done anyway. I should switch it up though and watch some tv rather than social media. It's making me feel like shit anyway." Actually, that's me doing a fine job of making me feel like shit. 5:30pm get up to make dinner "Ok, I need to remember that I love this meal too much. I have to remember not to eat too much of it so I can still fit in to my jeans tomorrow, so I don't have one more reason to continue to shame myself for not being enough. Who am I kidding? I have no self control. I will probably eat most of the meal anyway. God, I am so disgusting. I haven't gotten any texts from my friends today. Of course they don't want to talk to me. What do I even have to offer them anyway? I sit around on my couch all day doing nothing. I wouldn't want to be friends with me either. I'm lucky Tater (my chihuahua) loves me, although sometimes I think he just puts up with me because I feed him. I mean look at that face, he's probably terrified of me. I don't blame him, I would be too. I am so damn unpredictable. I mean I fly off the handle for no apparent reason all the time. He hasn't done anything wrong but I scream at him everytime he barks like that will actually make him stop. Of course it won't, I know that but it doesn't stop me anyway. God, I know better. Why am I like this. I wish I wasn't like this." Eventually by the end of the day the thoughts are a succession like this, "Another day wasted. What am I doing with my life? This isn't the life I wanted to live. Maybe I am depressed. Maybe I do need to see a doctor. I probably should. I haven't been in years. With the amount of shame and stress I put on myself I must have cancer by now. Maybe that's good. Sometimes it just feels better to have something to fight. I certainly don't have goals. I don't even have the energy to want goals. I want a better life for myself. I am not going to get a better life for myself thinking this way. I need to think new thoughts. How do I think new thoughts? I don't know what I'm doing. I just want my brain to stop. At least when I drink it shuts off temporarily. I hate that I decided to stop drinking to 'better myself'. what the fuck was I thinking. This is not better. Nothing has changed except I no longer have moments of reprieve from the fucking mess I call my mind. *screaming internally* I just want it to shut the fuck up. I want all of my thoughts to just fucking go away. I can't take it anymore. I can't do this anymore. Please God - do something. Help me. I can't live this way anymore." At this point I either throw shit in my home, cry myself to sleep, or more likely jump back on social media to shut up the nasty, bullying voices in my head. And, this is just a glimpse of the lies my brain tells me every single day. I didn't want to share this. I know why people don't share. It's shameful. It's embarrassing. It's victim energy. I expect people will think different of me. They will pity me. They will want to fix me. They will no longer want anything to do with me. I can't care anymore. We are losing too many good people at a very alarming rate. We don't even necessarily need to talk about this, but we do need to bring it to light. I have these thoughts almost every damn day. I came to realize a few years ago that according to the thoughts I think, I absolutely hate myself. I try every day to love myself more and I have come a long way, but the hate eventually works its way forward again. Shame can't survive the light of day. So, here is my shame. If this resonates with you, may it bring you some peace knowing you are not alone. If you know someone like this, please don't offer fixes. Every time you suggest medication, or going to a therapist, or a doctor, you are confirming in their (my) mind that they (I) are (am) broken. As long as I think I am broken, the shame has something to hold on to. What you can do instead is sit with them. Tell them you love them. Give them a hug. Reach out in a text and tell them you are thinking of them or some form of communication that doesn't require a response because they may not be capable. Let them come to you to ask for help. Let them recognize their own need for help and find their own way to that help. I know this sounds counter-intuitive, but offering them this grace let's them know that you know they are capable. This is the most you can do. And, if you want to comment on this post with words of comfort, encouragement, fixes, explanations - don't. This post was never about me. It is about bringing shame to light. It's about talking about depression. I do not need soothing. If I wasn't ok to some degree I couldn't have written this to begin with. It is because I am ok that I feel the responsibility to share. I am not who you should worry about. It's the ones that aren't talking at all. If that is you, I love you. I see you. I am you and we will survive this season of our life. We will find joy. We will rise up out of the depths...together. I know you know we will emerge and it will be worth it. My fellow Gen-Xers will get the above image from The Neverending Story (which would have also been an appropriate metaphor for this blog). So, when you ask how my book is coming along, I say it's coming along great, but what I really mean is:
I'm still trying to pry its stubborn ass out of the swamp and sometimes its nearly taking me down with it. I am progressing which is more than I can say for Atreyu and Artax (the above characters). As long as the progression continues I have hope that my book will meet a different fate than Artax (I freaking sobbed over that horse for days.) But, here's the reality: I often spend more time writing these weekly blogs than I do writing my book. At least I get the satisfaction of seeing a completed work each week. They are fun. They feel easier to me. They are familiar. And, I don't place as much weight on their existence as I do with my book. So, of course I prefer writing my blogs. Besides, often they are my therapy (relax, I do go to actual therapy too...) Gratefully, I am damn stubborn. All that to say the book will be completed. Next year? In two years? In 20? I don't know. I'd love to be finished with it by this time next year but that suction in the swamp is no joke. I keep wiggling and wigging it until one of these days it will be free. The work won't be over, I mean, I'll still have to do the clean up, but hopefully that will be less demanding. In the meantime, please enjoy these blogs and know that they are not detracting from my book, they are enhancing your experience of my book. Or so I keep telling myself. Last week I wrote this post about how it feels to be me when I'm depressed. I was breaking the rule, "thou shalt not overshare." Let me break that rule again and give you another peak into how my brain works.
How I have heard this rule in my life: oversharing makes others uncomfortable, no one needs to know that about me, what am I trying to get out of it?, I am just looking for attention, I am just looking for validation outside myself, you can't say things that are weird, gross, shameful, triggering. How my brain works: WHAT THE FUCK AM I ACTUALLY ALLOWED TO SAY? Or, how the hell am I supposed to let people know who I am then? See, those things are all I really want to talk about. That's what makes me, me. What I expect to get out of it is that if I keep being my oversharing self then eventually I will find others that accept me as I am. Eventually, breaking that rule will lead me to my blue-skinned people (reference to Shel Silverstein.) I spent most of my life following the rule. Unsurprisingly, it led me to relationships that were with people who only liked the surface version of me that I presented. When I went deeper, when I began to overshare, these relationships fell apart. In my attempt to be the good "rule follower" each lost relationship was confirmation that I couldn't overshare. That rule felt valid. Then, I got tired. I got tired of being something everyone else wanted me to be. I awkwardly cried every time a weird, gross, shameful, or triggering thing (movie, book, conversation) touched on the tender spots in my heart that hid those very things that were a part of my soul. I cried over not being allowed to show myself to the world. The fatigue grew and grew until I knew I had two choices, continue to be a rule follower and slowly die a painfully shallow, numb existence or break free and risk losing everything. If you've been following my blog, you know that I chose door #2. The fascinating thing is that since oversharing in last week's post, I feel more free than ever. I have had some of those debilitating thoughts, but more often, I have had thoughts of self-love. Bringing my shame to light freed me - not only to become more me - but also to experience and recognize the truth that was hiding beneath the fear. I am okay to lose everyone in my life if need be because I finally have me. |
AuthorMelinda Lee is a mom of two adolescent boys, a devout student of all things spiritual, a recovering perfectionist, and immensely fascinated with achieving the unachievable. Currently writing a memoir about hugging strangers. Archives
February 2023
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