Filed under: About Me, Fear and Pain, Happiness and Joy, Life Lessons, Psychobabble, Random thoughts, Self-Respect
Goofy title, I know. I’m okay with that. 
Something about the end of the year tends to turn me introspective – I’m sure I’m not alone in that. In the past, it has all too often taken the form of sadness and nostalgia, thoughts of what I’ve left undone, what I may never do, what I wish I could have/do/be/see…negatives, in other words.
This year, however, I feel that I have made enormous progress. I have learned so much. I have been forced, through the exigiencies of life, to become stronger and wiser and more pragmatic and realistic. And, by a delightfully shocking quirk of fate, happier.
This year, I have no thoughts of loss or regret. I have no thoughts of resentment or deprivation, of what I’ve been cheated of. Partly that is due to the fact that, in the past year and a half, I have taken control of my own life and health. I have changed my eating habits and started exercising, and consequently lost around 45 pounds, which is great. I am more excited about the control than the weight, though, to be honest. I have also taken control of my financial situation and started truly working toward getting out of debt. I have stepped up to the plate in so many ways, taken responsibility for my own stupidity and excesses in the past, and I have changed my life as a result.
It has not, for one second, been easy. Much of it has not been fun. Most of it has been hard, painful, exhausting, and I’ve wanted to lie down, give up, and cry so many times I can’t even count them. But the cumulative result is this enormous sense of happiness, contentment, and self-respect that I currently find in myself. Who would have thought?
So…to get back to the reason for the title…
From the time I hit puberty – at age 10 – I have suffered, all my life, with depression and anxiety. When I was 13, I attempted suicide. Fortunately, I was stupid and didn’t know how to do it, and failed. Thank God. But at the time, I truly wanted to die. Most of that was chemical – I was loved, nurtured, and cherished as a child, and I really had no cause for unhappiness or complaint in my home life. I did inherit some fairly unpleasant tendencies to chemical imbalances, however, and those showed up pretty early. So I spent the next twenty-some years fighting with severe depression, anxiety and panic disorders, and various self-destructive tendencies that created some serious havoc with my life, my marriage, everything. I have taken various antidepressants and anxiety medications; I have undergone biofeedback sessions; I have learned meditative and alternative techniques. I’ve been around the block a time or two, and most of these things were very successful for me to a greater or lesser degree. I haven’t done anything that I would say “just didn’t help”. It all helped, but it didn’t get rid of the underlying issues.
When I was about 28, I started going to therapy. My reason for this was that I was angry literally all the time. I was angry at myself, my husband, my kids, my boss, my car, my house, my shoes, the people I worked with, the clouds in the sky, certain tall buildings in Beijing…you name it. I was just pissed off, and it was making my life and the lives of my loved ones sheer and utter hell.
Anger, you see, was empowering for me. Fear – which was what I REALLY felt – was not. Fear immobilizes; anger galvanizes. So I learned, over the course of 25 years or so, to mutate my fear into anger, because then I could cope. I could act on that. What I didn’t realize was that I was acting in a way that was making all my fears come true.
So I started therapy, hoping to learn some coping mechanisms that would help me deal with the anger. What I got instead…well, sometimes you don’t get what you want, you get what you need. I got the most amazing therapist on the planet, IMO, who instead of teaching me to deal with the anger, instead taught me to recognize and deal with the fear. She taught me – made me – dig it out, figure out where it came from and why, and address it. She made me fix myself.
When I ended therapy after nearly two years, I knew that I had learned some incredible lessons and been given some invaluable tools for coping with life’s curveballs. I was stronger, more self-aware, wiser…and I had a handle on my own emotional issues.
Then my husband and I entered the most difficult phase of our marriage, which resulted in a thankfully short-lived separation and near divorce. We got through it, and our relationship became much stronger, and I became an even stronger person. I knew that without the therapy, I could not have endured that, and I thought, “Cool! Now I’m really done. I’m fixed!”
What I didn’t realize then was that the therapy was only the beginning of a long process. I thought I was a much better, stronger, wiser person after therapy – and I was. But I still wasn’t all that happy. I still focused on what life wasn’t giving me, instead of what I had. I still hid things. I still pretended, even to myself, that things were other than what they were.
I’ve only just realize that that doesn’t mean therapy failed. Because when the inevitable denouement came and I was forced to face up to the lies I’d been telling myself and others – I handled it. I came clean. I dealt. I didn’t get angry…I didn’t become consumed with crippling guilt and self-doubt. I faced it, I admitted it, I took responsibility, and I developed a plan to fix the damage I had done.
And for the first time in my life, at the end of this year, I am happy. I am content. I am not complacent, and there are things I fear and am worried about and don’t like…but I like my life. I don’t feel cheated or resentful…I don’t wonder what things would be like if I could only (insert event of choice here, whether it’s winning the lottery or finishing college or whatever). And I know that no matter what happens in the future, even if all my fears are realized, I can survive it. I can live through it. It may not be easy, but I can do it.
So…though the process has been long and is, no doubt, still incomplete – to my wonderful former therapist: Thank you. Again. And still. And always.
Filed under: Happiness and Joy, Life Lessons, Psychobabble, Random thoughts
Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about happiness, and where it comes from, at least in my own life.
It started with one of those stupid MySpace surveys – the ones that are all so similar but somehow trigger my OCD just enough that I can’t keep from posting them anyway. One of the questions nearly always is, “If you could go back in time and change one thing, what would it be?” Now, being way too introspective for my own good, I always give these questions serious thought, and when I get to that one, my answer is always, “Nothing. Because everything happens for a reason and everything that has happened has led me here, and I am happy with where I am.”
Which begs the question of why I am so happy where I am? What is it about my life that makes me so unwilling to change any of it?
Let me give you a synopsis: I am 35 (not young and dewy-eyed); I am about 20 pounds overweight (not all hot and irresistible, no matter what my Target boyfriends tell me); I work two jobs and still barely manage to make ends meet and work toward getting out of debt (not rich or privileged). When I am not working, I spend all of my time at home, usually cleaning or doing laundry or trying to catch up on wife/Mom stuff that I have neglected because of the two jobs. I don’t spend much (hardly any!) time hanging out with friends because I don’t have the time. I tolerate my jobs, I don’t love either of them…
So I’m not young, rich, gorgeous, or privileged. I’m not a social butterfly. I don’t have everything I want, though I do have everything I need. So what is there about my life that is so perfect, that I wouldn’t want to change it?
Here’s what I’ve come up with:
I am not young…but I am still in the best years of my life. I am so much more confident and happy in my own skin than I was when I was young. I don’t obsess over whether people like me anymore, or whether I have made someone angry at me. I am in touch with my inner bitch, as well as my inner goddess, and I am okay with people being responsible for their own emotions. If they don’t like me…not really my problem. If they do…great, but that’s not the centerpiece of my world.
I’m not gorgeous – but I am not unattractive either. I don’t kid myself that I’m particularly hot, but I do, on occasion, get second glances. More importantly, I am confident enough in myself and my sexuality, and it shows in the way I carry myself – and for that reason above all, I have definitely gotten second glances. Though I am still a little overweight, I am changing that steadily and am healthier now than I ever could have DREAMED of being 15 years ago, and than most 20 year-olds can claim to be now.
I’m not rich, God knows – but I have learned so much about the value of money – and what value it doesn’t have. I have learned that being able to buy whatever you want is nowhere near as freeing and joyful as knowing that you are in complete accord with the one you love, and that there are no secrets or omissions between you. Working two jobs, difficult as it is, is so much less stressful and horrible than trying to juggle payments without letting my husband find out just how bad my situation was. Money is important, and it’s so important to be financially stable – but money is not ever going to make me happy. Love, family, and an honest, self-responsible life are.
And that’s the center of it, really. Because I am so blessed. I have a husband whom I love, more than I ever even knew. He loves me, more than I ever knew. He accepts me – he doesn’t hesitate to call me on it when I’m being irrational or overly bitchy or irresponsible…but he’s not unkind to me. He knows me inside out and he accepts me for who I am…and forgives me for my occasional bouts of extreme brainlessness. And every now and then, he does something so wonderful and amazing and unbelievable that it takes my breath away. And in between times, he brings me enormous joy every time I look at him or hear his voice or he touches me in passing…
I have two exquisite daughters, both of whom are a joy to me as much as they are a trial. I am constantly racking my brain to try to be sure I am doing the right things with them, and often feeling that I’ve failed – but I wouldn’t trade a second of it, because they are beautiful and precious and smart and funny and I adore every thing about them. Even the bad stuff. It’s part of what makes them who they are, and though I do want to teach them how to control themselves and to behave properly, so that they can get along in the world without making things unduly horrible for themselves – I do not want to change them. They are, in their very imperfection, perfect.
I have a nice home – it’s not anything extraordinary or outrageous, but it’s nicer than I ever thought I’d have, when I was younger. I have a very steady, stable job at which I am given significant responsibility and trusted to be competent; I have another job that is helping me get out of debt, and at that job, too, I am given a surprising amount of trust and respect. I have the amazing privilege of working with people (not all of them, but some) who I can honestly say I love, value, and respect for their integrity, intelligence, wit, and (in some cases) near-fatal charm. I am privileged to spend time, almost daily, with people who make me laugh and brighten my world just that much more.
My life is not perfect; not nearly. There are things I would like to have – I would like to be completely out of debt, I would like to be able to go places and do things that are currently out of reach for more reasons than just money, I would like to be able to quit work and focus on writing, I would love for my kids to have straight As and perfect behavior in school…
But I don’t need those things to be happy. I don’t need the promotion, though I’d like it…I don’t need more money, though it would make things easier…I have what I need. I have what it takes to bring me joy, and contentment. And what more, really, can anyone ask for?
So it seems to me, in the final analysis, that being happy is not about what you have or what you do or what you are…it’s about what you know. It’s about what you can see – can you see the joy in these things? Are you looking up, or looking down? Are you looking at what you’re striving for, or at what you already have? Because ambition, though it can be valuable, can also be an insidious poison – if you are constantly striving for something, can you ever take the time to be happy with what you’ve already achieved?
Keeping your eye on the prize is a great thing – but sometimes you already have the prize. Sometimes all your work and effort is really just about holding on to the prize you already have, not about winning the next one.
At least, that’s my conclusion. I have my prize. It’s simple and most people probably wouldn’t think it’s much of a prize – but I can’t imagine a better one.
I am a coward.
I have built myself a framework – a safety net, if you will – of rules and regulations and restrictions and conventions. My job, my home, my bank account, my children’s schools, my doctors’ appointments, my online blogs…these are all a part of the framework, the safety net. They all make me feel safe, and secure, and neatly slotted into my nice, safe, normal niche in life.
I know this because:
Yesterday, at lunch, I was sitting in the car at the gas station, waiting for a friend to come back after paying for gas. I was watching the cars go by, as they entered and exited the interstate, and thinking – as I always do – about who might be in them and where they might be going. Something about the day – the weather, perhaps, which was gray and rainy and gloomy, and cold – or about my own mood, gave me the oddest sensation that these people were all free as birds, going who knew where, while I was securely tied to the earth. I did not envy them.
I couldn’t help wondering if the guy in the old red Pontiac was on a road trip, headed to an unknown destination. Was the woman in the little Toyota running from something? Had she just quit her job and emptied her bank account and taken off to points unknown?
Why would I have these thoughts? One might speculate that they indicate a repressed desire in me to do exactly that – just cut all ties and fly away. But I didn’t find them appealing…I found them frightening. The idea of being in the car, driving, but not to anywhere…not having a job I have to be at the next day, not having kids to be picked up from school, not having bills to be paid on a particular day or a home to be cared for or a paycheck to ensure…was terrifying to me.
So that led me to wonder why? Why would I not WANT that, that ultimate freedom of having no responsibilities, no one to answer to, no one to take care of? Wouldn’t that be wonderful? But it didn’t seem wonderful to me; it seemed terrifying and heartbreaking and awful.
The fact that I have a job (okay, jobs) ensures that I get a paycheck. That paycheck ensures that I have a place to live and can pay my bills. If I want that security – a roof over my head every night, and knowing where it will be, and food to eat and each day a safe environment – then I must follow very strict rules and routines. Get up, get the kids to school, go to work, come home, make sure the kids are picked up, fed, etc…ad nauseam. I should feel trapped by all that – but I don’t. I feel safe and comforted.
To me, the most frightening thing in the world is not knowing what to expect. I did not realize that about myself until just now. Everything that I fear – death, old age, divorce, an empty nest, losing a job, having a serious health condition, going on a new ride at the amusement park for heaven’s sake – all comes down to that. They are all situations in which I do not know what to expect, and that is bone-chillingly terrifying to me.
It seems blindingly obvious, now, that this is at the root of my compulsive planning and organizing and list-making; I am not just a naturally organized person who has a talent for creating order from chaos (though I do) – I am borderline obsessive-compulsive because I am terrified of disorder!
I knew that I had control issues. I thought that I had dealt with them to some extent, but I find that the fear of a loss of control – of not knowing where I am headed and having no way of steering – is worse now than it ever was. It just hides now, under and behind other things. That is sobering and saddening to me, because I don’t want to be timid. Timidity is not a positive trait, to my mind. I wish I knew how to conquer this particular fear…perhaps if my faith were stronger, and I could simply trust that someone is taking care of me, I could deal with it more rationally. But as it stands, I am petrified of the unknown, to the extent (evidently) that I perseverate about it at odd times and seemingly without provocation.
Historically, having unsolicited thoughts like this has meant that an issue I have been avoiding is rearing its ugly head, demanding to be recognized. I am afraid of that, as well – my fear is so great in this context that I am afraid to even think about it, but I can’t help it. It almost sounds like it may be time for therapy again…but I dread that too. It’s never an easy process, and to get to the dawn you have to first go through the night.
I am afraid of so many things, for someone who considers herself fairly assertive and bold. I don’t like that about myself.
Filed under: Life Lessons, Psychobabble, Random thoughts, Spirituality
Haven’t posted in a while and thought I should…also, the change of seasons (gradual though it may be!) has gotten me, well, thinking again.
I think that there are few forces in our lives that are so simultaneously reviled and relied-upon as change. Change is a threat to many of us, a shifting of elements in our lives that requires a readjusting of balance. For whatever reason, we tend to prefer stasis, with all its comfort and ease and lack of the need for effort.
Stasis, however, equals stagnation, and deep down I think we all know this. If we do not change – if our lives do not change – if the world does not change – then there is no growth, and the absence of growth indicates and, indeed, induces decay. If we are not changing, we are dying. I truly believe this.
So while we are afraid of change – because, after all, change brings the unknown, and we are terrified of the unknown – we also crave it, for subconsciously we recognize its value and importance. So at the same time we are carefully arranging our lives into safe, boxy little routines, we also grow restless and initiate change – by moving the furniture periodically, redecorating the house, trading in the car, having lunch at a new place…still safe, tidy little changes. Enough to keep us feeling that we are moving, but not enough to actually require rebalancing.
Perhaps this is a wise and civilized method of dealing with the need for change, but I wonder. Nature would not agree – the trees do not change their leaves from green to brown and then back to green without ever losing those leaves. Next summer’s butterflies will be completely different ones from this summer’s. A river, when cutting a new channel, does not carefully pack away the old one just in case it decides it doesn’t like the new one, and it doesn’t save the receipt for the new one, either.
I am not suggesting that anyone create serious upheaval in his or her life as a nod to the need for change. I am certainly as much of a creature of habit as anyone, probably more than most. I don’t like change, it scares me. Yet at times I wonder – all of the things I don’t like about myself, all of the things I wish I could fix about my life – how do I expect to do this, within the very same parameters that allowed the situation to evolve as is? If I truly wish to change the outcome, I must change some of the variables of the experiment.
It is a conundrum, I will admit. I don’t want my life to change a lot…but I want certain elements to change. Yet in order to achieve one, I must endure the other.
Fall is a season of change, of putting away and letting go and setting free and quieting. The mad, burgeoning growth of summer has ceased and the rising life force has reached its pinnacle, and now begins to drop. Everything fades and falls and becomes still. It is a season of preparation for rest. It is the last stretching and yawning and sitting on the front porch watching the fireflies, before wandering off to bed. It is the evening of the year, and it is a beautiful and glorious one, though also a bit wistful. Perhaps that is because we know that change is in the air – that we must bid farewell to the rush and pulse of summer, and prepare ourselves for the quiet stillness, the chill peace, of winter’s long sleep. And though we crave that change, we also fear it, and will miss what we leave behind.
Perhaps the wheel and turn of nature’s seasons is axiomatic, an enormous and inescapable example of what our lives should be? The putting away of that which is no longer appropriate and needed, and the pulling out of that which suits our new circumstances and will further the aims of the universe?
This year, when you’re pulling out your sweaters and coats, take a moment to reflect on it – pull out some new ideas as well. Dig out some long-neglected question or problem that has been stored away because you were too busy to deal with it, shake the dust off, and see how it fits into your life to come. Open up some completely new area of conjecture, and resolve to spend the winter puzzling over it.
Change, though frightening, can be good. Make it work for you.
Filed under: Fear and Pain, Happiness and Joy, Life Lessons, Psychobabble, Spirituality
Forgiveness Is Not So Fashionable « Mr Ed Catholic
The statement in this post that forgiveness brings freedom is one of immense and mostly-overlooked truth and power. There is nothing quite so freeing as making the mental and emotional decision that something no longer has to matter so much. For me, that is one of the defining characteristics of true forgiveness: I am certainly still aware of the transgression, but I need no longer base any of my actions, feelings or thoughts upon that transgression. I am free to cease to react.
When you have truly let go…when you have truly forgiven, and moved on…a binding snaps. A chain dissolves…a wall crumbles…a barrier erodes. One inhibiting, restraining, binding factor has disappeared from your life and you are free to react without consideration of that factor.
I do know whereof I speak. I have been given many opportunities, in my life, to learn the power of forgiveness – both given, and received. I rue the experiences that made forgiveness necessary - but I rejoice in the forgiveness itself. I will never regret that, no matter what.
Forgiveness does not mean blinding oneself to the original transgression. It does not mean saying that it was “okay”. It does not mean or imply that you have condoned that behavior, that you have dismissed it, or that you have forgotten it. It means that, while aware of the action, you have chosen to move beyond it, to accept that it happened and acknowledge the consequences thereof, and to reject the further damaging of your soul by that action. You have thrown off your bonds.
Now, you may well choose not to give that person another chance to hurt you, and a severance of that relationship – if done calmly and with prior self-examination and reason – does not invalidate your forgiveness. You may well have reached the conclusion, through calm examination, that even though you choose not to continue to castigate and excoriate that person, you also believe that there is a high likelihood of a repeat offense and you choose not to place yourself in the way of further harm. If you have done so calmly, without angst, then this does not mean you have not forgiven. It only means, simply put, that you have learned that touching the hot stove creates a burn. You don’t hate the stove; you don’t resent the stove and lie awake thinking about how much it hurt you – you simply recognize that you probably shouldn’t touch it anymore. Yet you are no longer holding on to the fear, pain, anger that the action engendered. You are free.
Likewise, forgiving yourself is very freeing. Letting go of the guilt and shame that you carry around because you think you need to, you think you deserve it, you think that if you let it go it means you don’t care that you did something bad… letting go of that can lighten your emotional and spiritual load immensely. Once again, this does not have to mean that you have learned nothing from your mistake – it is possible to acknowledge a negative action and learn from it without performing emotional self-flagellation every day for the rest of your life. Let it go. Forgive yourself. Do not excuse, for behavior that hurts another should not be excused. Simply acknowledge that you have behaved wrongly, accept your culpability, be sincerely remorseful…and resolve to do better. Make amends…undo some or all of the harm, if possible. But don’t carry around that self-hate. Forgive yourself…let it go.
Forgiveness is one of the most wonderful experiences available to us as human beings, and it is one thing that I sincerely wish all people would allow themselves to experience.
Filed under: Life Lessons, Love, Marriage, Psychobabble, Random thoughts
I have some more thoughts on love.
I believe that love is not born, it is made. I believe that what we think of as love – when you meet someone and “fall in love” with them – is nothing more than a complex cocktail of physical attraction, emotional need, and situational readiness.
You meet someone, and presumably you find them attractive. There is something that makes you look more than once. Perhaps you work with them, and you see them regularly, talk to them, spend time with them. Something in them is attractive to you, probably on a physical level. That’s usually a basic element.
Then there is an emotional need that you have, whatever it may be, that they fill. Perhaps it is for someone to praise you…or comfort you…or intellectually stimulate you…talk to you as though you are an intelligent person…or just like you. There are a million different needs that we have, each of us in our own unique way, and every one of them is valid. Relationships meet needs, or we wouldn’t have them. So this person meets your need for, say, someone who appreciates your ability to whip everyone else’s ass at Trivial Pursuit, as well as your mad driving skills.
And then there is situational readiness. Perhaps you are 27 and thinking that it’s time to get married and start a family (even subconsciously). Perhaps you have been divorced for a few months and are ready to start dating. Or perhaps you just feel that your spouse doesn’t appreciate you and you are restless and looking for validation (which also fills the emotional need category). For whatever reason, you are in a place where you are ready to engage with someone on an intimate, emotional level, whether you know it and acknowledge it or not.
So you “fall in love”.
And then one of two things happens: you stay together and form a strong, lasting relationship, or you don’t.
See, this is where I think real, true, honest love comes in. I think love is made…built…formed and cultivated. I think that it takes shared experiences, emotional give-and-take (both good and bad), trials, life lessons…I think it takes time. It is easy to fall in love…but real love is a different animal entirely, and one that grows but slowly.
Real love, to me, is when you look over at the person next to you…you know that they have done things to hurt you…you know that you have done things to hurt them. You know, and do not forget, all the harsh, angry, unkind, hurtful words that have been exchanged. You remember the frustrations and disappointments. You remember the days when it was almost over…or even when it was over. You remember the nights when you couldn’t stand to be next to them, or they couldn’t stand to be next to you. You remember the coldnesses and the indifference.
You remember all this…and yet still, somehow, you feel that connection, that fundamental and unbreakable bond. There is a current that runs between you, beginning somewhere in the dermal layer of the skin, that is almost like magnetism in its power and sensation. When your hand is close to their skin, you can feel that force between you thrumming and drawing you closer. You can look in their eyes and know their soul – maybe you don’t agree with it all, maybe you don’t even like it all, but you know it. You know them, on a level that is indescribable and breathtaking. And you know them not because you have spent a few weeks together and talked on the phone a lot, or even because you have gotten married and lived together for a few months – but because of so much time and so many shared experiences that your lives have truly meshed, and with them your souls.
It sounds so clichéd to say they are “a part of you” – but it is nearly true. You fit together, but not like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Emotionally, mentally, spiritually, you are so intertwined that it is more like a metal alloy – so intermingled that you could not possibly extricate one without irreparably damaging the other. You aren’t glued together, you are collated. Yes, you are still two separate people, but there are so many connections and ties that if you took one away, the other would not be the same person.
We wonder why, when love (real love) dies, it is so hard for us to survive. We feel that we do not know ourselves any more, that our lives have been changed and damaged and possibly even destroyed. This is why. It’s like removing malignant cancer – you can’t get all the growth, without damaging the healthy tissue. Sometimes that tissue can heal, and I think love is like that – there is a lot of damage from excising that love, and it takes a long, long time, but it can eventually heal. It will not have the same form as it did before, though. There will be holes and ragged edges and scar tissue.
I believe this is one reason that it is so hard, when we really and truly have loved, to leave. We know that even though the relationship may have deteriorated to an irreparable state, leaving that person and trying to excise that love is going to tear us apart in ways that will be so hard to heal. We know that we are tearing away parts of ourselves that will not come away from them, leaving those parts behind – and taking with us some parts of them, likewise.
That is painful. It’s unavoidable that it should be painful. We’re not tearing our bodies, but our souls, and they don’t make Lortab for the soul. There’s no pain reliever, and the ones we try are usually ineffective, harmful, or both. Time is the only healer, and it is a harsh and pitiless one.
Love doesn’t always grow like this. Many, many times a couple will fall in love, marry, spend years together, and never truly mesh. They maintain their separate lives and friends and continue to be only themselves, with no true intermingling of the souls. And when they split, it hurts, but no more than it hurt to break up with a long-term boyfriend or girlfriend. They get over it, they move on. And that’s great for them. And no doubt they really cared about one another – but I don’t think that’s love. Call me whatever you want, I don’t care (you don’t have to read this, after all), but that’s my opinion.
True love is when, no matter how angry you are, you would rather die than hurt that person, because it really and truly hurts you to hurt them. Not when you think that, but when it is true in your soul.
True love is when you are angry but you make excuses to your friends and family anyway, because you can’t stand for your love to be denigrated.
True love is when their touch, and only their touch, really and truly makes it all better.
True love is when you can feel them enter a room, even though you didn’t see or hear them.
True love is when they matter more than you do.
True love is when you know you should leave, but you can’t.
True love is when they hurt you, and you know they shouldn’t have, but you can’t help finding a reason why it’s your own fault, because. Just because.
True love is overrated. It is dangerous. It is incredibly powerful and if you let it, it can destroy you, because you won’t walk away from it no matter what.
True love can be incredibly beautiful, and incredibly painful, and sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.
It can make you wish you were dead – but it can make life worth living when nothing else does.
If you have it…you know what I’m talking about. If you don’t, but think that what you have IS true love, you are pissed off at me right now. Which is fine.
If you don’t have it – refuse to settle for less. Go build it. But please be careful. If the person you are with is inconsiderate, selfish, or downright mean, get out. Don’t let it become true love. Don’t let it grow – because it will only get worse, and you will never walk away. Or you won’t walk away until serious damage has been done, be it physical or emotional. So make sure you are letting it grow with someone you can really and truly trust.
If you do have it – thank God for it, and watch your back.
Filed under: Life Lessons, Psychobabble, Random thoughts, Strength
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about necessity. We all have what we think of as our limits…how much we are capable of, how much we can handle, what is just “too much”. I think, though, that we are often very wrong about what those limits really are.
We’ve all heard about the pregnant wife who lifts the car off her husband in a moment of crisis, or the father who goes into the burning building again and again to rescue his kids, despite smoke inhalation and burns that would normally have dropped him in his tracks…and those are a good example of being capable of more than we think we are, but they aren’t even what I’m talking about. The body is designed to produce enormous amounts of adrenaline and cortisol to allow us to perform feats like this in an emergency, but what I’m talking about isn’t even physical so much as mental.
What I’m talking about is the long, grueling tasks of life that we think are just too much. How often have you looked at a single mother who works two jobs and still manages to bake cupcakes to send to school for her daughter’s birthday, and said, “I don’t know how you do it!” Or spoken to a co-worker who has, for the seventh week in a row, pulled 60 or 70 hours, and asked “How do you do it?” And often, in fact nearly always, the answer is, “I don’t know – I just do it.”
You do it because you have to. We all do. We get up in the morning and, whether we have had enough sleep or not…whether we are feeling well or not…even if we are tired or headachy or our bodies ache — we do it. We make the coffee, fix breakfast, get dressed, go to work…we work all day…we come home and make dinner…read to the kids…bathe the baby…get everyone to bed…and then maybe we have a little time for us. Unless you’re working two jobs – and then you work all day, maybe come home and change clothes, and then go work all evening. Either way, you fall into bed at the end of the very long day, exhausted, so that you can get up the next morning and do it all again.
How do we do it? How do we just keep plodding on when it seems like there’s nothing left? I have been asking myself that lately, because I have not had a day off in four weeks. I have worked at least 8 hours a day, every single day, (and many days 12 or 13 hours) for four weeks. I have also done laundry, cleaned house, attended back-to-school meetings, taken the kids clothes shopping, and a hundred other things I can’t even remember.
The other tasks of life don’t slow down or get put on hold just because I’m working two jobs. The kids still need to be fed, the house still needs to be cleaned, the clothes still have to be washed. Bills still have to get paid, cars still have to be repaired (that reminds me, I need to call the repair shop!), and all the minutae of daily life are there, needing attention.
Six months ago…a year ago…I would have said I could not do this. There is no way. I am not capable of surviving on four or five hours of sleep a night, no weekends off, and no time to breathe or rest. I am not capable of working two full-time jobs and still being a wife and mom. Sorry, nope, can’t do it.
But I was wrong. I thought I knew my limitations, but I underestimated myself. So if I am capable of this, what else can I do that I didn’t think I could? I don’t think I’m capable of maintaining a healthy lifestyle while doing all this – but maybe I’m wrong about that too? I don’t think I can find time to write – am I wrong about that? Is the sky really and truly the limit?
(And at the end of it all, in a year when hopefully this is all in the past and I am only working one job and being a wife and mom, is there going to be anything left of me? Or am I burning it all now? By exceeding what I thought were my limitations, am I using up resources that I will need later? Do we have a finite amount of strength and energy to be used during our lives, and am I burning all the reserve fuel now?
I wonder about these things. I worry about them. Sometimes at night, when I finally get to bed after everyone else has been asleep for hours, I lie awake despite my exhaustion and wonder – what am I doing to myself? Because I really, truly thought I would crash before now. I really didn’t think I had it in me – so now I’m wondering where it’s coming from.
Yeah, I know, I think too much. Big surprise there!)
But anyway, give it some thought. Try it out. Do one thing today that you didn’t think you could. You think you can only walk for an hour? Walk for an hour and a half. Don’t think you’re capable of making that complicated recipe? Do it anyway. Convinced that those algebra problems are beyond you? Do them. And make a vow to yourself, each day, to try at least one thing that you didn’t think you could do. There is no failure unless you never try.
You may surprise yourself. In fact, I’ll be willing to bet you will. Because at the end of the day, I suspect that our limitations are only in our minds and that if we push, we may find they don’t exist at all – or at least, that they are a lot farther than we thought they were.
Filed under: Psychobabble, Social Commentary
Haven’t posted here in a while as I’ve been busy elsewhere, but I saw this and couldn’t resist.
This concerns me. Most of all, I am concerned by their criteria. Evidently, if you embrace any belief other than mainstream Christianity, you are open to demon possession. And if you exhibit signs of same (read: abnormal behavior) you will be “treated” accordingly, at least in Poland. Right now, apparently seeking help is at least partially voluntary…but can anyone say “slippery slope”? And how quickly we forget this and similar incidents…
Excerpt:
I can’t decide whether I should laugh or cry. I can think of a LOT of things that would explain a “sudden passionate hatred” particularly in a relationship that was already in difficulty. (They were, after all, in marriage counseling.) This is “evidence” of demon possession? God help you if you’re in Poland and you’re an undiagnosed bipolar or schizophrenic…
What I found most ironic about this was the next-to-last quote: “People are worried about the potential for crazy people coming here,” said Ksawery Nyks, 50, a longtime resident.
I think it’s too late – the crazy people are already there. And I am not talking about the schizophrenics.