Full Moon Prayer

Blessed Mother Moon,
Hear my plea.
Bestow on me Wisdom and Strength to achieve my goal.
Remind me of the importance to be true to myself and respect my own life. Take with you my fears. Take with you my doubt. Help me to remember all things in time. We all have cycles and should not rush. One day, one night, one cycle at a time.

Dear Twitter: We need to see other people.

I'm struggling.

My last post was preachy rather than introspective. My goal for this blog is definitely the latter. The problem is that I need an outlet for the rage, sadness, and guilt that develops from reading the news.

Maybe I should put a disclaimer somewhere on here stating that any preachiness is more of a general vent than instructions for what you should do.  I hate shoulding all over people and I don't appreciate it when they should on me.

The rage and sadness doesn't need to be examined. I know where it comes from. We treat each other horribly and then we police each other's reactions. Emotions are never wrong. We feel what we feel.  The problem has more to do with how we express our emotions and the expectation we have from others' expressions, boiling down to "I'm right and how you feel/react is wrong unless it's the same."

The guilt isn't so cut and dry. I'm very aware that my privileged allows me to walk away from the computer and go about my pretty damn good life.  I feel guilty that others can't.

It's important that I recognize the luxuries my privilege affords me. It took a while for me to understand the concept of privilege. My younger self defined it as "wealthy".  The kids in my private high school in the Bronx were there because of their entrance exam scores and most had financial aid. Our attendance wasn't because we were privileged-- we worked hard academically and our families busted their butts to pay for it.  (Note: This wasn't a boarding school and I'm referring to a time when private school tuition in NYC wasn't as high as some colleges.) The idea of privilege due to race never entered my mind probably because I'm white and we were the minority population.  I don't know if White Privilege was a term when I was a kid.  I can't recall hearing it used before the last maybe 10-15 years. Was I sheltered from the term?  Was it not a mainstream concept?  Did I just ignore anything that would have exposed me to it?  I have no idea.   But I'm here now.  I know what it means. I know I can't help that I was born white. 

I also know that I can't just shrug my shoulders, say "oh well", and not adjust my actions.

I was told this week that I'm taking things too seriously.  "Things" mean politics, racism, police violence, military engagements abroad, religious liberty claims and corporate practices.  My reaction is that we aren't taking them seriously enough.  However, I understand why this was said. I have a variety of mental health issues that are severe enough for the government to label me "disabled".  My recovery depends on me actively facing my issues.  I need to remember that I also need to protect myself. It's true that I get worked up and emotional and "crazy" when I'm overexposed to the news. I haven't figured out what the healthy medium is for me.  It's important to be informed and to speak out. It's also important to protect my sanity.  Without sanity, I can't be an effective voice against injustice.

I've been feeling better this week.  I'm still having attacks and extreme emotions but I've been more successful in managing them. Dissociative episodes don't have any evidence of being very long, but this is the most difficult symptom to track by myself.  I can't point to just one thing that has been different this week:  My husband isn't traveling for a while and his next business trip promises to be short.  I'm home.  I've been out of the house a few times.  I've spent more time off of social media.   It's this last difference that I can control more than other circumstances.  My OCD wants to rationalize that I had more social interactions offline this week and didn't feel the need to seek out digital companionship.  It sounds logical.  It may very well be the reason.  But OCD is the "doubting disease" so I also wonder if I feel well enough to have IRL interactions because I'm not stressing over what I read about on Twitter.  (I'm picking on Twitter because my Facebook feed is almost all posts by people I know IRL and am there to keep up with their lives.  Twitter is more of my informational feed.)   There's even the other possibility that since my mental health problems are cyclical, this just might be the week my mind is actually cooperating and resulting in me being less symptomatic.

This is where I run into trouble. Do I analyze why I'm doing better and try to replicate it or do I accept it as a sign that I'm simply improving?   If I don't attempt the former, then I feel that I'm not doing "everything that I can" to recover.  If I can't replicate it, then I get depressed.  If I do the latter, then I'm still not doing "everything that I can" to recover.  OCD is a cruel disorder.  But I want so desperately to be able to claim full recovery to the government before my next evaluation. Doing that would be such a sense of accomplishment and maybe even help others to not have to jump through moving hoops of fire to collect the money they gave to Social Security to hold until they needed it.

I've decided on trying to limit my involvement on Twitter. I don't know exactly what that means just yet because Moderation and I tend to not agree on much.  For those of you who follow me on Twitter, I still care.  I'll respond to DMs.  I'll check probably daily but not be glued to my feed. 

It's not you; it's me.  I'm not ignoring you.  I'm just trying to find my balance.

Black, White, or Purple Words

Two or three years ago, I engaged in a Twitter debate with a Black gentleman.  He was discussing racism and I responded with something to the effect that we’re all human and focusing on race is detrimental to solving racist views. The intent behind my words was not argumentative. I was speaking from the heart and truly felt no aggression.  I was on the verge of tears that begged for us to stop judging and hurting each other.  I’d like to believe that’s what we ultimately want and said so. Over and over.  I don't know if this conversation was before the #BlackLivesMatter movement but, looking back at this conversation, I see I was firmly in the All Lives Matter camp.

As I spoke my mind (over and over) with this gentleman, I realized we were going in circles. I was telling him that being "colorblind" was a good thing because it meant not making assumptions about a person because on their race. He was telling me that I needed to recognize his Blackness. That idea went against every damn thing I was every taught and couldn't understand why this was preferable to him. So I did something radical: I asked him. "Tone gets lost here. Please know I'm not being aggressive. I want to understand. Could you please explain why?” I’m paraphrasing but he basically said being “colorblind” is essentially turning a blind eye to the racial problems we have. However, if I don’t (metaphorically) see color at all, then I’m not seeing the person as a whole being with specific and historical struggles. Yes, at one time or another, we all have been hated for something we intrinsically are. There’s not even a “but” to go with this.  It’s true. I’ve not met a single person who hasn’t had discrimination directed toward them in some way. I see myself as a rational and intelligent person; it took 30 some odd years of living, several years on social media and one very specific Twitter exchange for me to understand that intent doesn't really matter if you're not using the right words. There are both subtle and vast differences between discrimination and racism. I regret that I don’t remember his name. I regret not following him. I didn’t realize the impact his words would have on me.  As powerful as his words were, they still didn’t sink in for a few more days.

They. Still. Didn’t. Sink. In. For. A. Few. More. Days.

WHY?

 

I was still reacting rather than observing. I was spending too much time saying why I felt discussing racism begets more racism. I got so caught up in my own head, in my own reasons, in my own stance, in my own defense to see that all “my own_____” wasn’t being questioned. Take a look at the pronouns that are used when discussing racism. I’m a middle-aged, middle-class, and fairly well educated white woman; I don’t think I’m racist. However, when discussing racism, I have a strong tendency to refer to the “white point of view” with the pronoun “I” and the “black point of view” with “they” and “them”.  The Black community uses “we”-- and it's truly a community.  But my "we", meaning my fellow white people, turn discussions about racism into a direct criticism of our personal behavior.  If you’re white and defensive, your first reaction is probably “I don’t do that.” The irony is you just did. It makes a difference. If you haven't read John Metta's fabulous essay called I, Racist, click and read it. It blew me away and opened my eyes further.

 

Denial. Discomfort. Bitterness. Aggression. I see these negative reactions to the #BlackLivesMatter Movement.  I don't understand the resistance to embrace a campaign that lifts people up. Are we that afraid of change?  Of acknowledging white privilege exists? Of admitting guilty?  Again, the response is "I don't think I'm racist".  Just because I am not, it doesn't mean the entire country doesn't have a race problem. But I'm not qualified to educate anyone on racism.  I can only explain my own experiences. The concept of "being colorblind" as a harmful stance isn't something I ever thought about.  I see more and more articles on why this is a problem, but I'm not sure if this argument has been around for a while or if I'm just more aware of it.  I've been reading and listening to more diverse voices because I want to be aware.

 

Make no mistake; being aware is difficult. It hurts to look inside yourself, to see where your feelings really come from.  No one wants to admit fault. We all want to blame someone else because it's so much easier than dealing with a problem ourselves. That's why psychotherapy takes so damn long. After 15 years of therapy, I can say I know I get angry when people aren't punished because I've always had to deal with consequences.  It's petty and I don't like that about myself but I can't deny it. I can't help but wonder if the All Lives Matter crew can't get past being wronged somehow and have adopted "Why should you be respected if I'm not?"  This attitude of entitlement is bleeding into every area of our lives: "The PC police are taking over toys now!" "I will NOT call HIM Caitlyn!" "Thor CAN'T be female!" "James Bond CAN'T be BLACK!" "What about WHITE lives?"  "WHAT ARE WE OFFENDED BY TODAY, AMERICA????"  The more appropriate question is how can you not be offended?

Maybe instead of insisting what and how another person should feel, try asking.  Why does #BlackLivesMatter invoke whatever you're feeling?

I'll go first.  It makes me sad and frustrated that #BlackLivesMatter needs to exist.  It means we are still not listening and responding to each other with respect. My reaction is "Yes, Black lives matter. Why can't you see that and why can't we act accordingly?"  Do you want to know what I don't feel?  I don't feel slighted. I don't think that non-Black lives matter less. It's a statement of fact: Black lives matter.   If it were a comparative statement, it would be "Black lies matter more."  That's not the message. Please stop pretending it is.

 

I've been struggling with this post for a very long time. I don't want a pat on the back for trying to be a decent person. We have a problem with listening to respond rather than listening to understand.  If anything regarding #BlackLivesMatter bothers you, take time to understand why.  Ask questions and don't be defensive about the answers.  We need to be aware of how our words and actions affect each other.

 

Or else we're doomed.

2 Years Ago.....

Standing in Place, Past and Present

   Originally posted 8/14/2013

In November of 1997, a 6 month old pup was placed in my arms. She was tiny, soft and warm. She nuzzled under my chin and sighed.  She looked up at me, licked my chin and settled back into place.

In the early morning hours last Tuesday, my 16 year old pup was still tiny, soft and warm.  She nuzzled under my chin and sighed. She looked up at me, licked my chin and settled back into place.

A few hours later we stood together in her vet’s office.  The news was incomplete yet completely definitive: we could run a battery of tests to find out what has happened in over the past 38 hours but the prognosis was she would not get better.  She had stopped eating and drinking. One side of her tiny, soft, warm body did not respond. She would not be coming home with me.

She and I had come full circle.  Together we started a life that wouldn’t last.  We bought a house and moved. We married and divorced. We started and stopped 3 jobs.  We welcomed and sadly said goodbye to a cat.  We fell in love again. We married and moved again.

Our journey together began and ended with a nuzzle and a kiss.

Someone once said a person is in your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime. Pets span all 3.  That little dog gave me a reason to get up in the morning when I felt life wasn’t worth trying.  She celebrated every time I walked in the room. She made friends with countless people who claimed
they didn’t like dogs.  She offered comfort and love to a group of struggling divorcees.

Her reason:

to teach me

naps are restorative

nothing beats eggs for breakfast

roll in the grass

the sun is there to bask in

greet each person like a VIP

examine every blade of grass

every petal

every scent

 unconditional love

Her season:

16 years, 2 months

3 homes, 2 marriages, 1 cat

enough life lessons  for a graduate degree

She’ll be with me for a lifetime.

Ragamuffin 

5/9/1997-8/6/2013

Great Expectations

Two of my Internet Friends were stressing over someone coming their respective homes and it being "a disaster".  Most of us can relate.

It doesn't matter why their homes are messy or why they didn't clean it. I'm not even going to go off on a Feminist Rant about why they perceive this as their "responsibility".  All I know is I've been there so many times I've maxed out how many reward points I can earn in this club.

Should I, or anyone, feel guilty about a messy house?

The correct answer is "No."

(You know how you Google something and then have to search through a bunch of links before you find exactly what you're looking for?   Go check out the results for "should I feel guilty about a messy house". I scrolled through four pages before finding something that wasn't related to "No".)

But we do feel guilty.  If you don't, then bless you for making peace with it.

Preferring your home to be clean and tidy is not the same as feeling guilty when it's not.   If you're the type of person who has the desire, as well as the time, energy, organizational skills, and the all-important freedom from disabilities to achieve clutter-free surfaces a person can eat off of, then you get down with your bad self and go for it. If you lack any of the necessary components between desire and achievement, give yourself a break and do what you are able to do.

(Here is where we give our collective sigh and bob our heads while chanting "I know... I know... but....")

I have the desire to keep the house clean.  I want to keep up with the dog fur, spots on the floor, the laundry, the dust, and the several hundred unfinished projects around here. I can't.  As I said, the "why" doesn't matter.  I am unable to accomplish the tasks I want to do and I struggle with accepting it. But why do I expect more from myself than I am able to give? Who put these impossible expectations in my head? Parents? (doubtful) School? (no, good try...) June Cleaver? (ha... nope.) The little devil on my left shoulder? (getting warmer...) It actually doesn't matter how they got there. Living up to unrealistic (self-imposed, implied or explicit) expectations is a big waste of living. If it causes anxiety, it's too much. There is a lot out there that is too much for me and my tolerance level is dynamic. How do I learn to accept the current limit of my abilities?  I have no idea. If you have any suggestions beyond the "just don't" or "just do" pseudo-help, I'm all ears.

Of course being a perfectionist is a problem. It took me so long to come to terms with the fact that I am a perfectionist because I'm not particularly good at it. I don't have the conscious compulsion to be perfect. My mind has cleverly figured out how to torture me with this through semantics: I don't need to do something perfectly. I just need to do it correctly.  I'm a bad perfectionist and it took me years of circular reasoning to see it.

I had said to both Internet Friends that whoever was visiting wasn't coming to check out their homes.  They dutifully bobbed their heads and said "I know... I know... but...." Honestly?  When I'm at someone's house and it's perfectly clean, I know they cleaned because I was coming over and I know they stressed about it. I'm supposed feel good that my visit was worth the effort. Isn't that one of the reasons we do it? Cleaning the house before people come over is supposed to show them they are important to us but what it really says is "I don't want you to judge me."   I look at my friends' sparkling home and end up judging myself because back at my place there's laundry sitting in the dryer, a pan from breakfast on the range, and tumbleweeds of dog fur rolling in the breeze. Theoretically it's so easy to clean as I go, put my clothes in the hamper instead of dropping them on the floor, sweep up dog fur while the coffee is brewing. Some days, I can.  Most days, I can't.

I went over to a friend's house a few months ago.  Her house was a wreck. Yes, I noticed but I wasn't horrified. I wasn't even concerned.  I know she has kids and a home-based business.  I know she's usually running around like a maniac. I know she deals with depression. She didn't apologize for it.  She didn't make excuses. The best part of this? We're relatively new friends and not only did I not care about the mess but I felt honored that she trusted me enough to know I wouldn't judge her.

Why can't I stop judging myself?

There are so many wonderful blog posts and books that discuss how perfectionism, guilty, shame, self-esteem, depression, and anxiety are all interwoven. What I haven't found yet is a set of instructions on how to transfer what I know in my head to feeling it in my heart. I need to know how to live it.  Little by little, I'll get there.  This post was a step; I didn't give into my habit of defending why I did/didn't do something.  And it only took me 6 drafts!

Edit:  If you are having trouble keeping up with your own home and need some guidance and/or motivation, check out UFYH..... but only if you don't mind some colorful language.