Change is the only Constant

06 Nov 2023 Leave a comment

by cindythea in thoughts Tags: , , , , , , ,

I posted something on my social media today that has had me thinking most of the day. As I went about my work- scheduling meetings, editing materials, looking at budget projections, & walking my oldest son through one of his most recent appointments- my mind kept coming back to this concept of worth.

I mentioned that when I was growing up, I believed we only got one opportunity at finding & retaining happiness- that kindness, love, affection, concern & compassion had to be earned. I learned that people do not just DO something out of the goodness of their heart, that there is always an ulterior motiv- (I don’t operate that way, I am finding others don’t either.) I was taught that performance & that meant the better the performance- the bigger the accolades- the more attention (positive kudos) came my way. And boy, did I love those affirming moments- I felt like I was on top of the world- like I really mattered, that I had done something worthy. You know where all those trophies I earned reside? They sit in multiple boxes in my parent’s dank & dusty-musty basement. I have a box of them from my college days in my house, but they sit on an old wooden bench in my mudroom collecting dust- they mean nothing- they are not even good paperweights (wait-do people even use paper anymore?)

I was conditioned to embrace a philosophy that it is every person for themselves- you don’t share anything- you deal with your own problems quietly & if there was a problem or a controversy-you handle it on your own ( think-you made your bed now….. slumber there). Do not under any circumstances ask for help-show outbursts of emotion- keep yourself under control, ( if you would just behave like….. was a familiar mantra) IF I could just behave in a certain way, then all the other dominoe pieces would fall into place. You know- I have spatial relational issues- I don’t even LIKE dominoes- (but they DO look & sound really cool when they fall in a patterned sequence that someone ELSE has set up!) I never knew exactly what that certain way entailed-all I knew is that most of the time it was NOT how I was behaving at the time. ( I am an emotional after all- & NOT just because I am a female- I was emotional because that’s how I was created!) Most of the time, my actions & behaviors did NOT warrant the kudos I wanted- but wow, could I perform- I could nab those trophies, bring home the hardware & fake my way through most of my days- (actually there were those who saw through it- they just didn’t know why I was doing the fake act)

So, fast forward decades- fast forward through a committed relationship that lasted 25 years ( when you count dating & married life), fast forward raising 2 young boys into young men about to strike out on their own ( one has boomeranged back home for a bit, the other one takes flight in a year and a half). Fast forward amid believing that going through the motions was the best that we (any of us) have available to us. Fast forward to moments when remaining silent was better than speaking the truth, when we shirk the idea (or the effort) of doing the hard work, when admitting that it takes more than 1 person to mess up a relationship ( any relationship), through not believing that I was worth more than how I felt. (believe me- I felt pretty rucky ) to the present day.

Today I stand at the precipice of such amazing changes in my life that they almost take my breath away at times. ( insert Berlin song here…https://youtu.be/Bx51eegLTY8?si=2yc1zdVnq7NgZ5AU) In the span of 7-8 months I will (hopefully) have a title added to my name, & a month later my surname will actually change! (say what>!>!) A surname, for those whose vocab is a little rusty, is the equivalent to a last name. In June of 2024- if all goes well, & in accordance with a Plan far bigger than me, I will lean into a Rev./Pastor title….I will gratefully & with such incredible respect & reverence walk into Provisional status as a Deacon in the United Methodist Church ( think the start of a 3 year internship period here). This is a calling which has not left me alone for nearly 13 years & the road has not been easy (I hear that few things really worth it are) & it has been fraught with challenges, tears, heartbreaks, questions, answers, & more tears. Now I embark on the last couple of checkpoints that include interviews, more questions, more interviews, & finally (& hopefully) a series of approvals. I know this material- I know this call- I know this desire like I know my own children (at least I HOPE I know them). What terrifies me are the moments when I will be dismissed to be discussed- when the answers to questions posed to me will be analyzed, my actions scrutinized, my behaviors now & into the future evaluated, & my current & future effectiveness judged. Remember when I said that “If you would just behave like…..or do…..” then I would gain entrance into the postive affirmation promised land…..well, here we are- some 45 years later with the same tapes running through my head. If I don’t do this- if the wheels fall off- what happens then? Will I have lost the faith that so many have in me? Will I have let everyone down?

The same goes for the man I am about to commit the rest of my life to in a few short months. 8 months from today, to be exact (but then, who’s counting?). 8 months I will join a family that is full of love, legacy, committment, fierce loyalty, faith, & a staunch belief in one another. This is unlike anything I have ever experienced- & I have longed for it my whole life- yearned to be part of a unit that supports one another- one that doesn’t keep score- one that loves unconditionally-one that I feel like I could be accepted, cared for, loved, & ushered in as a daughter- sister- auntie in law just for who I am. And I see that just within my reach- (pretty terrifying eh?) These people already want to embrace me & all I can think of is I pray to God I don’t let them down. I hope above all that I can be worthy of the surname I am about to adopt- that I can be true to the Auntie- Pastor- CiCi that seems to be coming to fruition. I keep thinking- “what do I have to do to keep this here? What standard do I have to first achieve & then maintain?” They would answer- NONE. And THAT is also terrifying. How do I embrace that? How do I move within a framework that negates all that I have believed about love & relationships my whole life? How do I integrate this & what if I fail at that?

Today, my fiance’ looked at moving a vacation to Arizona in January because one of the days we would be gone would be a board meeting (did I mention I am an excutive director of a really cool non profit? Check out www.groundworksconnect.com for more information.) & a major partners meeting in the western part of the state. Here he is, online chatting with me, willing to move dates so that we can travel on a 1st vacation together. WHAT>!>!>! I mean, what almost married (or married couple, for that matter) go on vacations together? I never did that! So we Facetime talk during the noon hour & he digs out his calendar right there to talk about options- he tells me he knows that the 2 events taking place are important & sees the need for me to be there. ( he would tell me at this point- “I see you. I know you. I love you.) See, words & actions I have longed to see & hear. What did I do to earn them & what’s more- how do I not lose that? What if I can’t live up to & maintain what we have now? Why does he love me in this manner? What did I do to deserve this second chance? Where was this the first time around?

The answers to those questions will have to wait for another blog- right now there are so many thoughts whirling in my head that I cannot even separate which makes logical sense & what are lies screaming at me. I know I feel like I am in the midst of an identity crisis- I feel like running from the very things I have waited for what seems like ever to see happen- (I can’t believe I just used the word “very” to describe something- the English teacher in me is so cringing.) I feel like I have to apologize in advance for letting people down- for not being all that I should be-for not winning 1st place- & asking them to be ok with 2nd where I am concerned.

Now, I know that logically these comments are incorrect-they are untrue-lies-but they are louder & louder the more grace & love that I receive. And yes, this is totally fodder for the counselor’s couch. That’s already on the agenda. Right now, I am seeking peace, assurance, a calming resolution to the turmoil I feel brewing. I need, but it is soo sooo hard to admit any of what I may need- so I remain quiet. That too, will need exploration.

Until the next moment-I bid you all ado-may intrusive soundtracks be put to rest for each of you- may a playlist of the wonders of who you are blare at full volume, reassuring you of your infinite worth. And, maybe soon, I will hear mine play too!

agape,

cindythea

What they never tell you!

24 Oct 2023 Leave a comment

by cindythea in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , ,

July 4th, 2023- while the rest of the United States is celebrating freedom- albeit in the rain where I lived, I was well aware that at around 10-10:30 that night I would turn into the proverbial medical Gremlin with an anticipated surgery the next morning. Check in sheduled for 6 am, which meant waking up at 5:15 am-no coffee- no scone (as though I breakfast on scones in the first place)-nothing in my stomach-so much in my head. No make up (and I rarely leave the house without trying to look somewhat human), no reason to do my hair, all my jewerly placed in the heart-shaped bronze colored, wire, trinket container–There is a necklace that I never take off- the main pendant is a trillion shaped, celtic, trinity knot

that I pair with a tiny round diamond encased in the letter X, which signifies the birth of my first son, whose name begins with X. The main pendant was given to me by my then boyfriend ( now my fiance’) and I later received the matching earrings (both as gifts for a birthday and Christmas) I rarely take either of them off for any reason…..But on the evening of July 4th, they all lay in the botton of the jewelry box that my youngest son gave me- even that has significance- He won that in a White Elephant game at his great grandma’s house last Christmas, and although he knows my distaste of all things heart related- he kept that to give to me for my gift. He knew this particular piece would have special significance…..It came from my ex in-laws family Christmas gathering and from the home of a woman who used to be the only person I had that was closest to a grandmother- she was kind to me, accepted me, for the most part, at face value, laughed with and seemed to know me- I had never grown up with a grandmother- she was near and dear to me- and in the split I lost access to her, her kindness, and a relationship with her. ( you lose so much that people never tell you, the trade off can be positive, but the fall-out from losing some really important connections stinks.) She, like many within that family, want nothing to do with me- I think believing that I ruined their relative’s life- sullied a reputation, & that I was nothing to care about in the first place. That hurts, but I cannot control their actions or thoughts, (believe me, I have tried, in so many instances, to do just that.) and what they think of me is their narrative-not mine to own (and that is hefty stuff to acknowledge too!)

Waking the next morning at, yes, the butt crack of dawn, is/was not easy. For those that know me, I am NOT a morning person-I do not (and refuse to) pop out of bed, all wide awake and bushy tailed, ready to dance my way through my morning Zoomba class (as if), & have 5 hours of work in before a morning coffee break. I am quiet, slow moving, somewhat sullen ( ok, the sulky part of sullen works- not the ill tempered or depressed)- I fully embrace the beauty of an early morning sunrise-I just don’t happen to want to partake in lots of them. (Now, if I was in the mountains or the oceanside-that may be a different story) I was quiet-my to-be fiance’ woke me as I slept fitfully on the livingroom couch- (lest anyone assume anything different-I have my own, solo space in which to sleep-as does he) I could hear nothing from the boys’ room upstairs, so I assumed they were safely ensconced in la la land!

Arriving at the surgical towers, I glanced behind me to discover one of my closest and best friends walking to catch up with us- WHAT!?!?!? It is the middle of summer, way too early in the morning, and did I mention, she is a college prof–they get a little bit of time off (for good behavior) in the summer. WHO goes out of their way to appear & sit for hours during a surgical procedure–? A sister from another mister does that-one who loves unconditionally.

Pre-op, consults complete, consents signed, gowned, non-slippy sock adorned, I sit ready for another step in the healing journey. This time- after almost 2 years of consults, tests, injections, X-rays, MRI’s, I entrust my back and cervical spinal column to one of the best neurosurgeons in the region. I have to trust his expertise- his wisdom, his staff- I have to trust in the process & relinquish control- (for any that know me- that is something I do not do well) I have to have faith that all will be ok- and I have to embrace one of the hardest concepts to rise to the surface in this whole process- I have to embrace another step in the healing process.

Healing- that is quite the word. Of all the things I learned this past summer- this continues to stick with me- People’s actions- their words, and even inactions have far reaching implications. What we do (or don’t do- ) what we say (or neglect to say) matters- & the effect is huge.

So, here I am, almost 49 ( at the time of surgery), confronted with the knowledge that people’s actions from decades before was directly affecting & partially responsible for the present situation- that at this juncture I am literally, financially, emotionally, and physically paying for the actions of others (multiple others). Healing those actions is not an easy task- there can be surgical interventions, but it is likely that I will end up with more surgeries, & the fact that my spinal column & vertebrae is close to an elderly person’s is hard to swallow.

Healing- what does that entail? I will tell you- it’s uber hard work. The Drs., surgeons, nurses, techs can mitigate symptoms, but the real work is up to the body, mind, and spirit of the one who is under the knife & anesthesia- The real work is heavy lifting-it feels lonely, daunting, isolating, and yet- there is hope within it.

That pre-op room was full of it-hope. The room was full of anticipation-history-connection, and yes, love. Of all the tangibles in that room, love was the most prevalent. Accepting that is not always an easy task- You see, a lack of attention, a lack of concern & others missing things that put me in this position & while I could rest on trying to pin blame in multiple places-where will that get me? What good will trying to figure out the when, how, who, & to what extent the damage occurred? The truth is, I will never truly know. The situation is due to a myriad of issues- a perfect storm of situations collected over decades-and I am partially to blame

It is hard to type that- hard to admit that I have to own my part in all this. I missed warning signs- ok, I didn’t miss them- I recognized them & refused to do anything. I lived in pain- in misery-in a place I thought I deserved. I believed that it was my job to endure-to wrestle in silence-the punish myself, to lay out the martyr mat & walk it every day. I knew stuff was wrong-I knew that the hurt was excrutiating, knew (in my head) that I didn’t have to live that way, & maybe the avoidance of claiming that I could pursue doing something about it was my way of dealing. But, the body, like the mind, keeps the score. The body, at some point, will give in to the strain, break under the pressure-eventually, if it’s not attended to, it’ll simply shut down. Maybe, in some way, I was ok living the way I was, but there was something that was not content. Sitting in that pre-op room was/is step one to healing. I knew, my mind knew it, my spirit knew it, my body knew it! (that’s a lot of knowing its)

As they came to wheel me down to the operating room, I knew one thing for certain-the road to healing was/is right before me- the decision now was/is whether or not I can lean into what it means. My counselor often busts me by saying that I like to walk into the mukkity, paint it with pretty words, avoid moving through it, paint it with more pretty words, and then jump to a ribbon wrapped ending. The fact is, there is no pretty way around healing-not if I’m doing it the right way. Just as getting to the root of the problem is not easy & requires mulitple cuts & scars from the Drs., walking through it as the person, that’s another journey…….More to come.

25 Jun 2023 Leave a comment

by cindythea in Uncategorized

Beauty out of Brokenness?

Beauty out of Brokenness?

25 Jun 2023 Leave a comment

by cindythea in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , ,

Thank you SARA RAMIREZ for your motivation.

” Before we decide anterior or posterior incision, I have to ask, do you sing or speak for a professional living?”

Just as I was about to answer, my emergency significant contact answered for me, “Yes, Both.”

Yes, yes I do sing- and it has taken me DECADES to admit that- you see I was told at a very young age that I was terrible- my mother, who has close to perfect pitch often told me that to be a vocalist, I should be able to imagine middle C and hit the note- perfectly in tune every time I imagined it. I so clammed up every time with abject fear, that I could never hit it and my mother would shake her head in disgust and turn on her heel and mutter about how bad I was. As I aged and my voice finetuned into the 1st soprano that I have always been, I was then told that no one wanted to listen to some dumb soprano (hey wait, my older brother was the male equivalent to those dumb sopranos as a high high tenor-what’s the difference?) In school, I was told that I was worse than terrible and my classmates ridiculed my voice, threw spit wads at me and bribed me to drop out of choir- I even had a vocal teacher my senior year tell me that I would never be a vocalist and it would be best if I stopped trying all together-I went on to score a 1+ on my solo my senior year- “Sento nel Core”, but I held on to those words my whole life–now they come home to reverberate in my mind along with the reason for the original question.

Do I sing or speak professionally for a living—well as much as many people would like me to be quiet- ( and I am positive there are more than a few!~~) I do actually do both- my voice is quite important to the work that I do. Not only do I run a non profit, I also fill pulpit ( and am on the cusp of being Commissioned as a DEACON in the UMC)–(more on that later) and try to use my voice to impact the status quo and change the narratives out there- my words, my voice, are my calling card and I would be lost without either of them. ( I’d be lost without google maps too, but that is a different blog for a different day!) So why would a random question disquiet my soul so much?

Ah, it is anything but random. This question came from a real, live, living and breathing McDreamy– (Grey’s Anatomy fangirl motion here!) My neurosurgeon, a youngish, talented, and wicked smart Dr is planning to make an incision in my neck and move aside my vocal chords (and some other stuff too) and get to the (at least 2) discs that are badly enough damaged that they need replacing. I am actually a candidate for spinal fusion surgery, but I would lose so much movement, that they opted for a double disc replacement at C5-6 & C6-7. They would do more, but those have not been approved by the FDA yet (oh goodie! ). Not only will he replace those discs, and do some shaving and fitting them into my vertebrae, he will then wrap them in a titanium cage! Just exactly what my significant other wanted to hear– “Let’s wrap the titanium girl in ACTUAL titanium!” I am not so silently celebrating this because I take GREAT pride in my titanium ways- I have fostered that bravado & perfected it over decades of experience- I am a MASTER at titanium- and now- now I feel it figuratively crumbling and I don’t know what to do.

My own counselor, who I have been sitting opposite for over 10 years is clapping her hands in a GLEEful joy at what I will be facing in little over a week. (see my GLEE reference there, GLEEKS?) I am not clapping or jumping up and down in glee- I don’t want to do this. I want no part of that which I will embark on in about 10 days from now. You see, the upper cervical area is not the only area of damage- it seems I have the spine of a nearly 80some year old in the body of a 48 year old. Say what? How did this happen?

That is the question that I have been asked at each Xray- CT scan, MRI and nerve block and injection bout. “what happened to you?”

Yeah. What happened……

I could write pages on answering that- but I choose not to at this time. Suffice it to say, lots of damage at really formative times in a child’s life-including birth trauma–and all the way through childhood and adolescence will do a number on a tiny framed girl. It seems that no person should bounce off of a wall, across a room, or down a flight of stairs for any reason. I also discovered that 5 gallon buckets DO NOT in fact weigh only 5 lbs. (who knew?) They actually weigh close to 40 lbs when full and carrying 2 of them at the same time meant a 50lb girl was carrying more than she actually weighed (but damn those saplings got watered multiple times a week for 2 years while they grew.) Those trees- I am totally claiming ownership! Come to find out that being so proud of strength physically and emotionally has sent my body into a state of constant revolt (and I find it rather revolting actually–see what I did there?) I am hella strong and was that way from birth- I withstood a lot- prolly too much and I have been beyond proud of that my whole life. I have forwarded a narrative of “hit me with all ya got, I can take it!” And life often did.

What I rarely told anyone was that it hurt- more than I wanted or had permission to express. Now at 48, my body is in fight mode all the time- there is no rest. It is prepared to fight any person and sees almost every situation as an attack- whether there is one or not. While I was so proud that I could lift, carry, climb, and work harder than many other little girls my age, my body was storing up all that I was experiencing, readying the fight mode that preserved my life at the time, but is doing me no favors in the present. My spirit, which steeled itself against the names, the accusations, moments or ridicule, and feelings of shame, proved that I had only me to count on for survival. I learned later that there was a Savior looking out for me- but it was years before I discovered what being a beloved child of God looks and feels like (oh, who am I kidding, I am still working on that!)

I was proud to survive on my own- and I didn’t need anyone- or so I told myself. I still do actually and it’s wrong. See, I could write this stuff up, rush to the end of the story, and tie it up with a pretty ribbon and tell you all that it’s perfect and life rights itself and we move on- and….it’s bullshit. It’s all crap. Life sometimes hands us stuff that hurts and sometimes we react to life’s stuff and we hurt ourselves or others….it is human nature to mess up. It’s human nature to be scared- (even when we claim that we are titanium).

One of the lines from the above song, first sung by Brandi Carlile

You see the smile that’s on my mouth
It’s hiding the words that don’t come out
And all of our friends who think that I’m blessed
They don’t know my head is a mess.

No, they don’t know who I really am
And they don’t know what I’ve been through like you do https://genius.com/Brandi-carlile-the-story-lyrics

The smile, – the snark, the professionally polished words that I utter hide all the thoughts that never tumble out of my mouth. They are hidden by a desire to be perfectly put together, to never misstep, to achieve more & push harder than I did yesterday- to never have an off day- to NEVER, above all, show what I deem as weakness. That means, I don’t mention that sitting, standing, laying down, walking, riding a bike, doing dishes, putting away clothes, driving puts such a strain on my back and shoulders that I cannot adequately gauge a pain threshold. I operate out of a 8-9-10 every day from the top of my head to the base of my spine and it sucks! It means that I don’t let the tears fall when I feel scared thinking about 10 days from now as they wheel me to the OR. (McDreamy or not, that shit is scary) It means that I don’t admit that for all my bravado, all the instances that I shake my head and say that I am fine- what I really want to say is…..NO, I am not fine- I don’t want to be alone and for just awhile I’d like to be a little girl who’s scooped up into a strong and gentle embrace and carried to a place that is safe- safe enough to recoup for a bit and for somehow some message gets to the rest of my body saying…..(“sshhhh shhhh, it’s ok, you can rest now. you can let go. we’ve got her.”) Ahhh to let go and release the decades of damage, what would that look like? I have no idea….and it is terrifying to consider that.

Now, what I am facing is rather small peanuts compared to some of the roads that I know others are traveling. I do not want my stuff to downplay some of those situations of which I am aware. The tie that this surgery has to my emotions is one of the heaviest lifts I’ve ever had ahead of me. My radiologist told me after my last MRI this spring, “bones don’t lie- we can see damage that never healed here. there are fractures and bruises in these bones that are decades old- we can see what happened to you- these bones tell their own story” OUCH. That statement hurts in a place I can’t articulate- it means that all the moments of not saying a word did not keep my secret. My body betrayed my silence- it told its own story–a story that I intellectually was aware of, but did not integrate into my being. I swept the damage under the rug and suffered for years in actual pain before the pain got to the point where I could no longer ignore its impact. It is as though my body itself said, “ok enough is enough- we either deal with this and get some relief- or we’re just gonna quit.” I have never been a quitter- so here we are.

in 10 days I will undergo a double disc replacement, with other work to be done close by on the backburner after we see how I recoup from this. I have a spine Dr., a neurologist, a PA, 2 counselors, and other medical professionals cheering me on and pleased for this moment in my journey. My Board of Directors, my staff, and loved ones are telling me to take the time needed to heal “if you don’t take the time to heal the first time, your body will make sure you take it the second time–isn’t it easier to take it now when you can make the time?” ARG!!! I am battling the feelings of guilt, shame (oh the shame), narratives of weakness that tell me I shouldn’t be doing this in the first place- that I need to be healed as quickly as possible. Then the words of my chiro come into play, “And just remember how long it took your body to get to this point.” CRAP—why do they have to speak with such incredible logic that I can’t argue back at them?

My counselor and I talked about this juncture as a closing of the chapters on the first part of my story- I can see that. I mean I have had other surgeries before and fought through them and pushed myself harder than I prolly should have. ( I AM titanium after all) This one feels different somehow- the stakes feel higher-or more is at stake- almost like more of me is at stake-I am not sure I am unpacking that the way I want- This one feels heavier- like a much bigger lift. But I can see where my counselor is saying this is the closure to part 1 and “wow, now you get to write part 2!!!! I am so excited to see how you write this- YOU get to CHOOSE this time.” I think that is what is at the core- the damage that has been caused -(by numerous sources) I did not have a choice–I had to accept and put up with other people’s actions-actions that equates so much damage that it makes a radiologist raise their eyebrows. I heard another counselor the other day talk about dependency (that’s one of my swear words- you know, like moist)- they said that allowing ourselves to be dependent on others actually honors their love for us. WHAT!?!?!?! Then they had to correlate that dependency to being a child of God– that we are to come to the throne as little children, expecting to be picked up and held close- cuddled, safe in the embrace that provides warmth and love unconditional. Crap!!! They weren’t supposed to see through my caged emotions and speak the words I crave- I thought I had hid my desire to be all wrapped up in a blanket, wheeled to the OR and to hear, ” I love you my sweet girl– let them do their work-all you need to do is close your eyes and let them take care of you- I’ll be here when you wake- and I, along with many others, can’t wait to take care of you when the surgeons are done with their work.”

How I yearn to lean into those arms-and yet, I am not there yet. I have been so conditioned to fight and to fear anyone coming too close, that I can’t even entertain a moment like that. I can’t understand people wanting to come alongside and making room in their basement- or giving me a comfy bed to sleep in right after surgery. I can’t conceive that being treated like that actually happens-it feels like a dream too good to be true and I am terrified to accept it. So I am fighting- clawing to remain stubborn, independent, strong and capable so I don’t wake up disappointed- Then again, I know in my heart that the curtain is about to close on Act 1 and I get to choose the narrative for Act 2. I get to choose???? wow. What do I do with that?

So, the song I chose to share is a massive risk- I did not pretty sing- I sang from the heart, there are few missed notes- a moment where a voice shakes and I am not perfect- but the lyrics sing to me. I figured that while I was risking emotionally- I would risk a little more and for all those in my class who thought and told me I sucked- yeah that may have been true then- but then again, maybe I didn’t. Maybe if the narrative had been re-written then I would not have battled decades of demons each time I take the mic. You see, both my boys have loved hearing my voice since they were babies and my oldest looks at me often and marvels- “mom, how come you don’t let anyone hear how good you actually are?” cause I don’t believe I am….. “Then my sig other will gently chastise me. ” hmmmmm why don’t you use your big girl voice- why are you hiding behind this little girl voice that carries no power? USE your BIG GIRL VOICE!” OOOKKKKAY, I used my big girl voice- and incidentally, that voice carries the chance of going hoarse permanently…..that’s another area of terror that my friend, Amy, a phenom vocal teacher is well aquainted and understands-sooooo yeah.

What does part 2 look like? Who knows, we got McDreamy first~ scalpel!

In this State….

02 Jun 2023 Leave a comment

by cindythea in Uncategorized

When I had my first child the world took on new meaning-things shifted seismically, I knew that things would never be the same, they couldn’t-they shouldn’t. The focus moved from me & what I may want to the basic needs of another human being. Suddenly I was responsible for someone else, their life depended on me, they needed me. That need felt overwhelming & amazing at the same time. Truth be told, I never wanted to be a mother, never believed that I had what it takes, never thought I could do a decent job at caring for a child.

I love kids- I had helped take care of many of them as a teenager when my mother worked at a church in my hometown–I had counseled at various camps, I knew HOW to care for a child, what I didn’t know was whether I could adequately love a baby…..Did I have the skills & the tools-could I emulate what I had seen as a role model? Wait-I didn’t necessarily have the most stellar role models ( how does one define a role model anyway?) I grew up in a household that was full of competition, conflict, & chaos. While we all survived, the examples I had of what it takes to be a parent provided me with some pretty damaging narratives..(truth be told, at 48, I’m still battling many of those narratives—the pen IS mightier than the sword after all)

I learned to be a work horse, racehorse. I learned the be a show pony-I learned that putting on a good front was more important that reality. Earning love was deeply ingrained in my psyche-knowing that accomplishments & right modes of behavior was the key to positive interactions. I knew ultimately that I would never be good enough to receive the kudos, (but dang, I keep trying!). The constant battle of being “good enough” & “too much” was waged early on (and still exists) with pleas to modify my actions and words happening on the daily. “If you would only…..” was a consistent message-I lived it, breathed it, adopted it into my being & let it claim me. (isn’t “if only” a message of regret?)

While I realized I was a work in progress, I also lived into the fact that hurting people hurt others- that if I operated with so many damaging & dangerous messages & memories-the likelihood would be that I would transfer those to any children I may have. I feared that- I feared messing up another human being, instilling in them a boatload of issues that only a counselor’s couch could tackle. I couldn’t do that to them…..but God intervened with a beautiful baby boy, not once, but twice.

To say I was smitten with my sons is an understatement-(like who wouldn’t be?). That first baby taught me so much. He was intense from the very first moment he was born. (he loves to hear HIS story) He loves to hear how when he was born, he locked eye contact with me, didn’t break his stare, & took in the whole situation-with nary a cry. (he made up for that later) The nurses agreed he was a captivating baby-his energy, his look, his personality made one stop & do a doubletake- (almost like whiplash) He only amplified these tendencies as he grew older.

He forced me to think outside the box, I could not depend on the books that told me the best way to do this or that- he drove me to my knees more than once…..he frustrated, angered, tried, and inspired me from day 1 (he still does). He also allowed me to dream. Each time I held this baby boy & gazed in his eyes, I was filled with hope- I saw a future for him that was pregnant with promise. When we had to hospitalize him & he received a triple mental health diagnosis, my heart sank & pieces of it shattered. I saw the years unfolding before him & all I could see were question marks. ( is he The Riddler?)

As time progressed, I saw such incredible talent & intelligence eek out of his every pore. I saw potential & I prayed for a future that glittered like diamonds. And just as quickly as I saw this, the claws of the mental health obstacles sunk their hold, grabbing him by the shoulders, grounding him in one spot. The cement that encased him still exists–& with each endeavor some parts seem heavier…..

I’ve written before about this, his first year of college that ended on a less than stellar note- what I haven’t expressed is what watching from the sidelines & sometimes, in the thick of it is like. In a nutshell, it’s hell.

I will doggedly advocate for my son, I will never stop fighting for him, never stop anticipating what his future holds- never stop praying. I believe in him-that belief will never waiver. What is so hard to admit is what this does to my own soul. It rips it apart at the seams- it hurts- it angers me. Now, you may be asking, what is the IT?

His limitations, his mental health obstacles, his immaturities inhibit what I have long seen as incredible potential. And it infuriates me. I feel endlessly guilty-Did I do this to him? I feel angry at myself for feeling like I haven’t done enough-that the baby boy I cared for & dreamed of each time I held him is gone- those dreams are replaced with what sometimes feels like an uphill battle & often I feel defeated by it. And, I am scared- terrified. I am scared for his outlook-what do jobs look like-can he handle school? I am scared for relationships that I yearn for him to have, knowing that social skills are not always a top priority. Will he find someone who will set his heart & life on fire? Will they care for him in a way that shows him that he is seen, heard, and loved for who he is? Will he be able to care for a household-earn a paycheck & budget as needed? I see the bond between him & his younger brother growing taut with tension as they ice each other out of their lives…..it saddens me to watch that & know that right now, there is nothing I can do (they both need time to grow up ).

I feel powerless. I feel like a bad mother, that for all the moments when I said “I will never make my child feel like…._”, here we are, daily battling to find motivation, a happy medium, some answer that will spark change & light his path forward ( I can’t believe I just ended that sentence with a prep- bah!)

Above all, I feel alone.

It is such a lonely place to see your child hurt- it feels debilitating. It also feels out of control. (and for this type A, hyper vigilant mom, that is a lethal combo) It feels like I can never do enough & what I do try ends up being too much (remember those narratives? Well, here they are!). I rarely feel like I have a safe place to vent, rarely can express what I am really thinking without the onslaught of judgment that we as a society are so quick to jump to nowadays. Rarely do I have the words to make this all ok-and that feels worse. Sometimes it feels like I am swimming underwater, holding my breath, willing my lungs to maintain just a little longer, when in reality, they are barely holding on in the first place. I want to scream at the heavens, begging the powers that be to restore my son. And then the guilt comes back full force. The guilt that chides me more than a little forcefully to accept my son just as he is-to envelop him in all that love that I have (do I have enough?), to realize that he is a gift, beautifully & wonderfully made. And the merry-go-round of shame, acceptance, joy, pain begins again in earnest.

So the above pic is of my X-Man. He is named after Professor X of the famed X-Men series, ( and let’s just admit that Patrick Stewart is THE bomb!) he embodies that name-he is insightful, intuitive, spiritual, wicked smart, empathic, and a million other amazing things. These 2 pics are of the day he was dropped off & started his first real summer job, some 5 hours & another state away at Wesley Acres in Dazey, ND. He will spend the summer as a camp counselor, teaching, interacting, & so many things that speak to his soul. I am excited for him & nervous as hell. Can he do it? Will he discover parts of himself that we knew were always there? Can he follow through? Will this fill his soul? Will he find himself-will he be a reliable employee & a role model for the campers with whom he interacts? Will he be able to get along with staff & his roommates (will they keep the staff cabin clear of edibles to ward off critters)? Will he enjoy himself & learn something in the process? Will mom be ok, knowing that I can’t get to him at the sound of his call? Will the wheels come off? Can I trust what he’s telling me- will he remember to take his meds- re-order his patch when he’s running low-the list goes on and on.

A short time after we unloaded him, I glanced up at the residence quarters for the camp site directors & noticed that he had retrieved his guitar, harmonica, & a pair of drumsticks. There he was, guitar splayed on his lap, pick in hand, playing & instructing a captive audience of about 4 younger elementary aged children (some of whom may struggle with similar stuff as my son). He sat there playing & teaching just as naturally as if he had known them for years (umm, he had been on site for all of 30 minutes). My heart filled with so much emotion I had to look down for fear that my own feelings would get the better of me &I would bust out in tears at any moment. Instead I smiled, waved, yelled that I love him & to have a good summer. What I really wanted to do was run up there, take him in my arms, hold him close, ruffle his hair, & whisper, “let this summer mold you-let the Spirit & the nature around you speak to your soul-healing the rough patches, let the site directors care for you in ways that I cannot, and remember, you are beautifully & wonderfully made, & I love you.”

I didn’t though. I smiled, turned on my heel, headed for the car & sighed as I took my seat. He’s 19- off for another adventure-& I have to continually remind myself to let him go-let the chips fall where they may, while instilling him with the confidence that when needed, I will always be there to help pick him up. I so hope though, that at the end of this journey, we have reason to celebrate a successful season-that is what keeps gnawing at my guts-the dread that is ever present. BAH! For now though, I have one more pic to share that speaks volumes more than my written words ever could………

Suspended-but not Alone~

25 May 2023 Leave a comment

by cindythea in thoughts Tags: , , ,

The above image is of a suspension bridge connecting a chasm within the Black Hills in Western SD. It connects a gap from one set of property lines, across a ravine of rocks, trees, and limbs to a more wooded area, giving way to a beautiful golf course. The suspension bridge spans about 200 ft , is about 4 feet wide, and more than a little wobbly.

I hate heights- I mean really, really, really dislike them. Not the “I hate sub zero windchill” kind of dislike- but the kind that churns my stomach, elevates my blood pressure, and renders me sometimes incapable of coherent thought. I feel weak, unsure of myself, and my own good judgment seems to fly out the window. For all my bravado, when it comes to heights (and those blasted snakes, spiders, mice, rats and other creepy crawlies) and I am faced with fears like this, I become almost incapacitated, paralyzed with all sorts of images of danger running through my mind. I envision all sorts of scenarios–losing my balance, plummeting to my death, the definite Indiana Jones bad guys that are surely coming out of the darkened forest to impale me on the end of their dagger thingy on their way to secure the Holy Grail–( I do not have access to, nor do I know where to find said Holy Grail). I imagine the security of what I was walking on giving way and I am tossed to the ground (after free falling millions and millions of feet at what could only be Top Gun 10 G’s speed), and I am left there-cold, broken, missing my water bottle, with my phone lying just out of reach ( and what’s that sound- oh yes- the intrepid mountain lion or bear coming to eat me while I wait for rescue), alone.

Is that really going to happen- prolly not ( but….there’s still time!), but the idea that something so scary COULD happen is what often stops me from beginning a process or taking a step in first place. The reality of the situation is far less damning than what I am concocting in my head and I foster this idea that I have to tackle what I deem terrifying on my own. If I could get out of my own way, I could experience so much more-

Anyone else out there terrified of the terrifying?

I’ve been thinking about this as I recall a couple moments that occurred recently. The above picture is of an actual suspension bridge some 30ish feet above a ravine. That is a real rickety and wobbly bridge and ……wait for it…….I walked across it- 4 times! Well, technically 2 times (to and from my destination), but still I was on it 4 times! That’s a pretty big deal. I can look down and see the rocks and tree limbs, I scan for the RIP tombstone I am convinced exists, and when it wobbles back and forth, I catch my breath ( reminding myself that “Weebles Wobble, but they Don’t Fall Down!”) and utter a prayer, and let’s face it, more than a couple expletives. I was on this bridge with 3 other people- a brother type, a sister type, and a fatherly type– incidentally, the 2 males in our party took up the front and back end of our trek across DOOM. Could I, would I have done this alone? Most definitely not. There is the lesson- ( I am, after all, a teacher, so everything is harkened back to some sort of lesson) and yes, the second I say “there is the teaching moment” my kiddos would roll their eyes and groan- (she turns everything into a teaching moment- Yes, Yes I do– get used to it!) and it’s a musical too, but I can’t dance across this dang bridge.

The first steps were tentative-wiggly-fraught with hesitation-I watched the stride of the person ahead of me-concentrating on the next forward movement. The next few steps were stronger-with a little more confidence. Then I came to a section that had pieces of the plank missing-the voice ahead of me warned me-threw me a caution to be careful. They did not fix the situation-did not piece together the partial plank, but instead gave me a heads up as to what to expect. (it is the unknown that often catches us and throws us for a loop). I crossed the damaged area-noting that the flaws gave the whole walkway more character. This part differed from the others-gave me something new to consider, a challenge to overcome, and I did. So did the others that were with me. We grabbed on to the rusty metal pipe that’s attached to a bit of chain and wended our way across the expanse. There were moments where I caught my breath-wondering if I could indeed put one foot in front of the other-could I truly take on this scary ( and of course, death defying) big big bridge?

On my own-not a chance. Without seeing those feet ahead of me and knowing that there were people behind me-counting on me- bolstering me, I would never have set foot on that wooden walkway. Without realizing it, those of us on the bridge that afternoon were demonstrating exactly what I think many of us know deep down–we CAN do hard things- we can surpass our expectations- and we do this because as a whole we are better together! We can draw strength from each other and push further and do more-together!

It dawned on me as I was writing this that the story of the bridge is not just my story-there were 3 others with me on that journey-at least one other who was as nervous as I was. They needed me not to bail. Maybe, just as I was keeping my eyes fixed on the figure ahead of me, they too, were watching and needing me to pull through so they could too. So, we ventured forth-over the rickety board gap, further away from the security of the lawn we left behind towards what we could only see just before us. The look down (wait, don’t they tell you NOT to look down?) threatened to catch me off guard-but the promise of something waiting for me just ahead was enough to keep me moving-(if you’re not moving-you’re likely being passed). Crossing the finish line, so to speak, brought me back onto solid ground-the smiles, the affirmations from those of us that had bested our fears was exhilarating-we did it- we did it together!

Then-wow, oh wow…..the trees, the landscape regions, the examples of growth all around us- This-THIS is what we brave the hard parts to find- (ok sometimes the hard parts find us first)-I discovered a piece of the world I had not seen before this walk-if I hadn’t braved this moment, my eyes wouldn’t have taken in green-life-the smiles from those gathered-the smiles that confirmed that they were proud of us. I wouldn’t have heard the affirmation nor taken the next steps of learning from a long respected patriarch of an incredible family. The walk that ensued, the conversations that took place, the sharing -none of that would have happened.

Later that weekend I invited someone else to walk that same path with me-the fear was palpable- no one believed we’d be able to do it and certainly not just as dusk threatened to overtake our outing. No way did we think we’d make it- no way did we believe we would take the big step to venture into an unknown. But….we did. (remember I said I walked that bridge 4 times- here was trip number 2 into the abyss) And……we did it!

This time I took the lead-this time I made sure that I was the voice or the feet that someone else could follow-and it feels amazing to provide support to another-and it is amazing to watch another be brave and do hard things. It feels even better to know that we can do hard things-together.

You see, we were never meant to walk these paths alone. I am a fierce independent and I pride myself on doing everything on my own. I like it-I like knowing that I think I can take the world on and conquer it-all on my own! ( but wow-when realizations kick your bum, they really kick it!) What I rarely admit to anyone are the instances that I foster a healthy dose of my own terror-the moments that I don’t step forward and make a move because the fear of the unknown is too great ( and let’s face it, I don’t really like doing the chicken dance). So that fear grips me-takes hold and chokes out the goodness and growth I might have otherwise experienced. (nothing ventured, nothing gained) I used to think that was ok-that it was just fine to not know what I might be missing-but catching glimpses of vistas I have yet to see offers me too much to walk away from- See when you get a taste of amazing, you want more. When I realize that hard things can be accomplished and they are made easier with someone (or multiple someone’s and a faith) there is something that makes me want to walk more bravely, take on harder issues to see what can be tackled-how we can inspire each other to be better and more than we thought possible.

Now that does not mean that the initial walk across and the walk back wasn’t scary it was ( and in the dark it was even scarier)- but waiting at the edge of our return was another someone ready to see us through to the other side.

I think that’s what part of this life is about- it’s about admitting the hard truths-facing them-reaching out-knowing that we are all in this- I’m capable, we’re capable of so much more. All those things that we yearn to have and achieve-they can be realized-we can, I can- We can do this—–together. So, there’s the bridge-there’s is the path forward-it’s the risk we take-not knowing if we’ll break into a million pieces. But what if, what if in our Humpty Dumpty brokenness, all the people gathered to piece us back to whole? So, here’s an extended hand-I offer you my strength when you need it- grab ahold and we can take the next brave steps-together.

Are you with me ?

A New Normal?

24 May 2023 Leave a comment

by cindythea in thoughts Tags: , , , , , , , ,

May is mental health month and it is an area of focus that is near and dear to my heart for obvious reasons. I have a son who wrestles with mental health obstacles, many of my family members and loved ones do as well. I battle my own skeletons of anxiety, dysthymia, and PTSD response. I spoke to a good friend last week after they read my most recent blog where I talked about my son and some of the struggles he has encountered in this, his first year in college. It was after that conversation that I felt compelled to keep writing, to attempt what I deem the impossible- to write unabashedly and transparently that which is on my heart in a way that invites others to find themselves within the words should they choose to do so. It feels impossible because I am a consummate perfectionist and creating anything that is less than the standard I set for myself (which in itself is almost unattainable) is unacceptable. That means that anything I write must be 100%, iron clad, perfect with impeccable grammar, a quantifiably large number of big words ( cause you know they make me sound smart) and created without error from the first draft-(after all, I am just as good as Hemingway, right–NOT!!!) The more I listened to their conversation, the more I realized that maybe what is needed is good ole fashioned realness-in its raw, gritty, often muddy, not perfectly tied up with a beautiful bow kind of insight. Maybe instead of glossing over that which hurts and trying to put a pretty pirouette on it, I could peel back the layers and walk the walk I challenge myself to in my head ( my head talks to me, like a lot!) Maybe there are others who are thinking similar thoughts, journeying through common grounds, and could use a moment of “OMG, that’s me!” So, yeah-let’s see what we can unpack here.

The above quote comes to me after 2 weeks of soul searching as the result of interactions with a loved one and what they bring to the table in my world. I have spent years (ok decades), beating myself up for the stories of my past that are not lily white and purely perfect. I come from some tough stuff- I harbor some pretty deep hurts and tell myself some awfully damaging stories that are directly related to my family of origin and my adopted upbringing. I have told myself for decades that those skeletons from my past render me inferior to most people-that once they knew who I really was and the source of all the insecurities they would run screaming for the hills ( but the hills ARE alive with the sound of music after all….). I have looked in the mirror, loathing the image that I saw each day, wishing for a different narrative, hoping that one day the clouds would part and the sun would come streaming through to illuminate a new path. (insert Wizard of Oz Yellow Brick Road reference here) I believe (d) that the dysfunction I experienced and in some cases helped perpetuate meant that I was garbage and unworthy of love. In reality, things happened in my world- trauma (multiple ones) occurred and caused massive chasms of pain in my soul- some have lessened over time, some will likely never heal completely and yet others will rear their feisty heads at times and demand that I pay attention to them. What I am realizing is that those traumatic experiences do not have to dictate who and what I am-not to myself nor to other people. Biting that off and chewing on it is proving quite the task.

My friend and I spoke of what it feels like to be loved- to be truly seen, heard, and cared for just as we are- festering ickies and all- reactions that are sometimes unpleasant and all the things that make us who we are–the good, the not so great, and the downright putrid. We both expressed a massive sigh when we discovered that until the moment we were united with the person who can show us that kind of love-we’d both been holding our breaths so to speak and now- now finally we are beginning to know and embrace what it feels like to breathe- (did you know that consistent breathing is good for your health?- huh, who knew, right?) That we didn’t know what it was to kinda feel alive until such time that we in a sense found the “one whom my soul loves” What a feeling that is.

Words are vitally important to me-they, in my opinion, have the power to elevate and build or to topple and destroy. They leave a lasting impact and I often am analyzing for both their individual message and the collective communication they bring. I am hypervigilant (to an extreme)- and not just because I am a female and that tends to be an MO for many of us. I am hypervigilant due to a heightened need to be aware of my surroundings at all times. It is a state of constant tension-of being on high alert- ready to fly or fight any danger (real or perceived) that may occur. It is a massive trauma response and is closely tied to our friend, PTSD. It is absolutely exhausting–and yes I used the absolute there on purpose- it sucks. It turns normally benign situations into danger zones and conversations become filled with landmines that both parties feel like they have to sidestep in order to avoid a blow up- it twists reality into a writhing mass of insecurities that threaten to choke the life out of the good that is present (see the really cool snake reference there?) That vigilance causes me to question, doubt, OVER analyze, and negate that which is good-reducing it to a sodden pile of waste–then I think it is too squashy and grotey for me to pick up, so I run or I avoid or I deflect. I am a master at it-and it also sucks.

That’s the thing though-when people enter your life with a desire to do nothing but love us for who we are-something happens-something dislodges and things you never thought were lurking below the surface come rushing forth and engulf you in emotions. The person or persons who can handle that and love us through that are treasures indeed. I have such a person (and people)- and it is discombobulating at best.

“Love,” Andrew Lloyd Webber says, “Changes everything.” Oh my gosh, how true that is. Breathing-leaning in, acknowledging, and accepting that kind of love here on earth and even in the Divine can be such a difficult task-but oh, when I recognize it-I want to run full force towards it. My friend and I talked about how we view ourselves in the midst of such love-“it’s like I can admit that I like the person who is loved in such a way”. I am right now in conversation with 3 of my best friends, planning a trip to see P!nk in concert and I am flabbergasted that they want to include me-that they deem me ok enough to love and journey with on the daily. I spoke to another “sister from another mister” today about my own insecurities and doubts about myself and there was no judgment-no anger-they did not condemn me- I’m like- “what???” There is a significant emergency contact in my life who calls me beloved-believes I am beautiful in any light-delights in my weirdness, whose quirks don’t irk, and despite my best efforts to blow crap up-stands in the midst of rubble around us and steadfastly declares, “I am not running”

What the hell do I do with that? You may be saying-uh—-you accept it and revel in it. Careful, careful though. You see with all that goodness comes all sorts of bells and whistles that scream at me that there must be danger lurking somewhere-there is certainly a shoe about to drop (where ARE Dorothy’s slippers anyway?)-there is a constant feeling that what I am seeing and experiencing can’t possibly be real (who knew you could gaslight YOURSELF). Readers-this is sooo sooo sooo exhausting and inspires me to want to crawl into a hole and cry. I want to bawl for all the amazingness that I am experiencing as it is mixed with a fervent fear that I am about to lose it all and it will be all my fault. That one day my friends, whom I call brothers and sisters, loved ones I adopt into my fold, my darling significant emergency contact will all one day wake up from the hazy hallucination and discover that loving me is too much work-(that’s not a drug trip I want!) I ache for the years wasted in disbelief and self hatred, for the narratives that have shaped my self image and threatened to engulf what I know to be true about myself.

What am I trying to say with this blog? I think I am saying— I don’t know shit. I don’t know how to do this-I don’t know how to sit amongst the amazing and admit that I have to embrace the suck that this journey is taking me on right now. You see, because I have such incredible people in my life (and there are many-I can FINALLY admit that), I want to heal-I want to know what soundtracks sound like without the interference of constant static-I want to enjoy breathing-I want to explore needs, wants, desires, and figure out how to vocalize them. My own counselor is overjoyed at the emotional quandary in which I find myself-she believes this is where the truest Cindy will reveal herself ( and stop talking in the 3rd person) and show a transparent strength that has been sitting there this whole time-she believes my best days are yet ahead of me and that to get there I have to walk this most stinky part of the road- Loving others is easy-oh, so easy, cause I can concentrate on the needs of others and put them first. It is accepting the love of others that is proving so hard and so so so painful- painful enough that I feel almost consumed with how to perform perfectly so that I don’t lose any of it- and yet, there’s the rub ( and Shakespeare makes an appearance-Well, hello William). If I am insistent on performing perfectly I will lose it because there is no way I can be perfect ( knowing there was only 1 perfect person to walk the planet). I can’t get this 100%-and people don’t want that. People want the real-the icky squishy, vulnerable, and perfectly imperfect me so they can Velveteen the crap out of me. At least that’s what I want to offer others-and secretly it is what I yearn to receive for myself- What am I saying- I know what I am being called to be about and what I am being asked to embrace on multiple fronts and it scares the hell out of me- Yet- And….yet…….And YET—I want it more than I can articulate, I am not sure how to do this though and that is prolly the most scary of all.

Anyone else out there feeling like that? (cause it is such a relief to know I’m not alone–) (Insert “You Will be Found” from Dear Evan Hanson here—hahahaha earwormed ya, didn’t)

YOU, you are NOT alone! And maybe, just maybe, I’m not either.

The Wheels on the Bus….

12 May 2023 Leave a comment

by cindythea in Uncategorized

I have tossed around this blog for quite some time and this morning got up the nerve to ask my oldest if it was ok that I write about the topic in my head and on my heart. He agreed and told me that he trusts me- that is a huge compliment for a mom to receive from a 19 year old son. So, I endeavor to talk with transparency that which has burdened my heart this spring with as much candidness as I can, while also doing my best to honor him, his journey, and his trust in me.

I love and rue the above pic. It is hanging on a banner in an event center on a college campus and was present last week at their graduation. I cannot imagine how many hundreds of people saw this and other banners- The pic is of my oldest son, my college freshman, drumline, communications scholarship recipient, psych major extraordinaire. Seeing this fills me with such pride-pride at a young man who has faced such incredible odds and beaten them (for the most part) and found niches for his talent and focus that will carry him far into the future. I am filled with admiration for him-for a penchant for music I could only hope to have-a natural ear and a creative element that drives him to listen to a song maybe a couple of times before he is able to replicate it-then after he’s replicated it, he can ad lib and beautifully change up the melody and make it his own. He astounds me with that ability. He has a way with words and writing that I can somewhat attribute to my influence, but he has a voice and a style that is all his own-with a keen insight into people, his own mind, and mental health that far exceeds a typical 19 year old young man. I see all of that in this pic- I see a fellow Jackrabbit- and I am a proud alum. I sat in the stands-stood at the pre-game pep rallies this past fall-cheered as loud as any mom (ok prolly louder) who could not be more proud of seeing their baby doing what they were born to do. (Insert well placed GO DRUMLINE Bellow here) I see all of that and more.

I also rue this pic. I rue what it represents to me. I know where this was taken and I know the circumstances-I know this commemorates my son participating in what was a banner first semester of college-one whose events could not be replicated, even if we tried. He was part of a band that attended the Macy’s Day Parade-a band that marched the football team to an undefeated conference season and then saw them win a national championship-that band played for their Jackrabbit players and alumni in Texas- He was part of a nationally recognized drumline, and as a freshman had a place on that drumline and he felt like he belonged-and he did. That band played in Texas in January- he did not. I rue this pic because while this banner hung for graduation, my son should have been there potentially playing in the ceremonies or just returning home from his spring semester. He was already home- he had been home for more than 2 months, having withdrawn from classes in early March.

This past week, I stood at my youngest son’s tennis match in my hometown and talked with other moms who had kiddos in that freshman year. I answered the question as to how he was doing to the best of my ability- “Did he enjoy his first year?” You bet he did. He had a blast. He found a place that accepted him and embraced him for who he is. What I didn’t say was what had happened in the midst of him finding a place. You see, about a year ago, as we faced his senior year winding down, there was avid talk of him going to Colorado State University in Fort Collins- one of the reasons he stated for wanting to go was, “mom, they have a lagoon on campus. I can get a kayak and float around in my kayak, smoke pot cause it’s legal there, and be in college at the same time!” Just what every mom wants to hear- to be sure- my son does not and has never smoked or done a lick of drugs or alcohol. Welcome to a teen messing with their parent- While I desperately wanted him to spread his wings and fly- something stopped me from pushing this agenda- in fact, his father and I opposed this move and his psychiatrist did too. We felt that with the obstacles he faces, he would be better served going somewhere closer to home- I was thrilled when he chose to apply and was accepted at my alma mater. His father had taken grad classes and had been speech coach there and I attained a stellar education as a Jackrabbit. #Go STATE! I was stoked, he was stoked, his father was stoked, all the peoples who know and love him were stoked. I knew that this was a safer choice-that if, when he was in college, the wheels started to come off-we could get to him quicker than if he were in CO.

Wheels on the bus indeed. They fell off- they crashed- but they did not take my son out with them. Whew.

My oldest wrestles with co-morphing mental diagnoses: ADHD, high generalized anxiety, depression, & multi sensory disorder. This is down from a TIC disorder and an Oppositional Defiant Disorder. We have run the gambit of meds and therapies- he has felt the brunt of ridicule, judgment, scorn, and his own frustration. He has bumped up against limitations, hopes crushed, and victories as well. He was and is on an educational IEP- nailed his ACT to pull a score most in the SPED world rarely see, he is a 3 time national qualifier in speech and debate activities, and notched numerous accomplishments in that world all 6 years that he competed. He amazes me. He frustrates me. He scares me. His illness and subsequent behaviors anger me.

He skated through much of high school doing enough to get by and often pulling the grades to pass and sometimes surpass expectations by the skin of his teeth- it was never whether he could do the work that was the problem- (ok well math subjects not included here) it was always the organization, focus, and motivation factor that presented the biggest challenges. He would neglect to hand in work-barely completing assignments and sort of study (if at all) for exams- He knew enough to get by and could masterfully BS a BSer.– that is until mom- a BSer in my own right- called him on it and did my best to hold him accountable. Most of the time it worked and I could right the bus before the wheels fell off completely- I functioned – let’s face it- I OVER functioned for him-often saving his butt from certain failure-most of the time. There was one occurrence where a college dual credit course did not make it off the burning pile-he promised me that having been burned, he had learned.

Yah, right. His illness and subsequent behavior angers me.

He enrolled and began his semester and I had to take a hands off approach. He is after all, a young adult, in college and laws dictate that I am hands off- that and he needs to learn function on his own and lean into being an adult. I was watching- not hovering- but attentive. I asked the questions- I inquired about the grades, I watched and waited-and hoped. Things didn’t add up- holes began appearing in his stories-vague answers gave way to what I like to call the “duck, dodge, and deflect.” I began to question even more- to doubt stories-to be at odds with a significant other who had not had the experience with my son that I did-I wanted to believe- Just before he would be attending the band trip to Frisco, TX, I played “bad cop” yet again and forced the answer. He was sitting with having attempted more than 14 credits his first semester and had not attained enough of a grade point average to warrant keeping those credits. The reason-? He just didn’t do the work-stopped or attended class haphazardly, and lied to himself, student services, me, his father, and anyone who would ask. He lied to himself-but he knew exactly what he was doing.

It crushed me, but I was again reassured that THIS was the lesson he had learned-he had fallen far enough-the cost great enough to sit with him and impact his behavior in the future. His plans to attend the national championship were doused as he opted to stay home and prep mind and academics for the spring semester. I was hopeful-I was trepidatious.

His illness and subsequent behavior angers me.

He knew he needed to land this semester- and with many of the classes as re-takes from the fall, I thought maybe this was THE last time we would deal with this. I hoped, I prayed, I cajoled, I prayed some more. I cried silent tears in moments and places I told no one-I battled my own insecurities, my own misgivings about whether I had done too much or not enough for him. I raged at a set of diagnoses that would not let my son travel down the path we knew held his destiny. Mid terms came- I asked, I researched, I questioned, I waited for the truth. It did not come. He knew this semester had to go well so that he could remain in school- another academic hiccup would prove an institutional invitation to not attend again- we wanted to safeguard that.

Bad cop mom engaged in conversation with student services where he had signed a sheet allowing them to talk to me. “we don’t know how he’s doing. we don’t get straight answers from him. when he’s here and working, he’s a dynamo-a delight- there’s no question he can do the work…..when he does the work” “No mom, I am doing really well this semester- I think I have 3 A’s and a B- I need to catch my one C up, but I can do that.” Come to find out-all grades were sitting in the tank-all of them- the repeated classes, the one in which he had a scholarship, his majors class-all in the tank. “Mom, I don’t think he can pull his way out of this-we don’t see a path forward for him if he doesn’t make a big decision soon.” “No mom, I think I’ve got this-I can make up the work and pull ahead in the next 6 weeks.”

But…….”But they don’t have to accept late work-they don’t have to excuse 12 absences, they don’t have to allow you to retake 9 of 10 quizzes that were missed-they are there to serve the students that are attending classes and communicating with them.” He relented. He listened. He made the call, “Ok, you all are right, I have to do what is best for my academic career….I am choosing to withdraw. I plan to come home in about a week.”

The day he sent in his withdrawal meant that he had 24 hours to vacate campus-24 hours to pack up-to say “see ya later” to dorm friends, his band directors, and his speech coaches. 24 hours to exit and try to think of what to do next.

His illness angers me.

We chose to petition to have him withdraw from campus for both semesters and hope we could salvage grades and credits for a time when he could return with a fresh focus and drive to succeed. To do that, we needed the information from his psych Dr to help illuminate what was taking place for him. On the surface we have a young man who looks like it’s just a lack of motivation- underneath is a far different story. Underneath we have a 19 year old with the emotional maturity of a 15-16 year old -You see ADHD robs the host of maturing mentally at the same rate that they do chronologically and biologically. That 19 year old operating with a 15 year old maturity combined with a 145 IQ makes for an interestingly and maddeningly difficult combination. You would expect a person with that kind of intelligence to be able to make wiser decisions- to be able to see the impact of behaviors-or the lack of them. He can’t. His Dr came through and on a day when I had some major conversations already going, I received the info that he would not pull any grades out spring semester and the letter I read was the icing on the cake. Not only did it cite the ADHD and anxiety ridden young man we knew was there- it also spelled out a diagnosis I had never before seen. Autism Spectrum Disorder-

His illness angers me

Gut punch. Gut wrench. Gut sob. How had I not seen? How had I not known? What didn’t I do to help him? Insert all the mom guilt here-and so much more than that! Insert anger, fear, regret, embarrassment, helplessness, and more fear. What do we do now? Where do we go from here? What does his future look like? How do I be ok with this? The lies-oh the lies he told- the deflection, the avoidance, the covering up, the skewed view of reality–all are hallmark indicators and coping mechanisms of the ASD student. They deflect and avoid to keep from seeing the truth and facing the harsh light of day-to-day life that becomes so heavy and burdensome that they cannot stand to be in it. They neglect to see how their behavior impacts not only daily life, but also relationships, connections, and obligations that they have agreed to engage in. There is so much guilt about what they are doing that they become consumed in their own failure- relinquishing their power to the inner monologues that scream at them that they are worthless-incapable of reaching the goals they set and hopelessly failing at the expectations that they or others have for them.

Gut punch

Seeing those words, doing the research and reading the attributes is sobering-so is seeing the statistics of those with ASD and co-morphing illnesses. I am scared-no, I am petrified and I feel like a failure.

But.

It’s not about me. I have to keep telling myself that. And, most of the time, I can compartmentalize that and admit that I cannot fight his battles for him- it is not my job to over function- yet I cannot and WILL not leave him alone in it. Rumor has it that according to his student services advisor “We wish we dealt with more moms like yours. We don’t see one as supportive and caring as yours come through very often. Either they are too involved or they go completely radio silent- your mom- you couldn’t have picked a better one.” I hear that and I smile, but it’s little consolation to a mom’s heart that so badly wants to see her baby set his goals and blast every single one of them out of the water. I know the fight is just beginning- and it will often mean uphill battles-battles that I cannot fight for him.

So.

How do I let him go to fight them? How do I wrestle with my own inner monologues that scream at me that I should have done more- seen more- fought more- been more aware? How do I swallow my own pride when a year earlier we stood on the same campus with the VP and the President meeting and greeting him- a Fine Arts Department that gave him a personal tour-the same Fine Arts Department from which I graduated sang his praises and welcomed him with open arms? The same school that snapped a pic of an incredible percussionist and blasted that on a banner and social media platform for all to see also approved his withdrawal.

So seeing that pic hurts in a place that I can’t quite describe. The pre school song “The Wheels on the Bus”- that takes on new meaning as I contemplate just how badly they fell off- but yet the bus has not come skidding to a halt. We have time- we have people and resources- we have the chance for him to take a beat and breathe. For that I am grateful- it’s the other junk-the emotional stuff that is hard to wade through and admit. It’s knowing that May is mental health month and there are battles and wars that millions of people wage every day -every minute of every day and we know nothing. We see nothing, we hear nothing, we notice nothing-often because it’s not obvious, or it’s covered up, or we are all walking through our own stuff at the same time. Whatever the reason- it doesn’t matter–it matters that we’re here- he’s here and alive to live, breathe, and walk through another day. He has a plan for the summer- he has accepted a job as a summer camp counselor out of state and he has been digging fiber optic cable ditches for the past few weeks. He’s doing grunt work and earning a paycheck. He’s learning and doing the work–of that I am proud. Of him I am proud-

But oh, oh how I dream and pray for my baby boy. I pray for his future-I pray for decisions, motivations and ambitions to drive him. I also fear his future- and I think I am willing to admit- maybe for the first time, I mourn some of the expectations that I have had for him-and I mourn a journey and a path that does not look like it did a year ago- and the murkiness of that future drives up a level of anxiety in me that is tough to articulate. I mourn missed opportunities for him-I fear judgement he may receive- judgment I may receive-

Have I mentioned?

His illness angers me?

cindy a heidelberger,

The Ties that UN Bind

12 Jan 2023 Leave a comment

by cindythea in thoughts Tags: ,

Wow. It has been 34 years since I started in SD as a competitor in high school speech and forensics. I memorized the season which began, for me, the beginning of October and did not end until the end of March. It was an every weekend, multiple day competition, pitting the best that SD had to offer–it was intense & most that have never participated would never understand its depth, just as I do not understand what it means when my youngest son trots onto the football field in a varsity game. 30 years ago, I was riding high as one of the top rated drama and ld competitors, about to graduate, and I had worked by butt off for 4 years to develop skills, relationships, and trophies. I loved it-loved the people and what we meant to each other. 30 years ago I was set to graduate& head to college knowing that I had given them the best I had to give.

The Speech & Debate Circuit (in any state) is a weird, almost incestuous family-in SD it is even more so. We take care of each other-we know each other-watch out for each other, are involved in each other’s lives-we’d have to be to travel every weekend for 6 months and more than 20 weeks out of the year (and that’s just during the school year). We are family-whether we admit it or not.

I had the unique advantage of having one of my (then) favorite people travelling almost every weekend with me, & he just happened to be my brother in real life-so I got double dipping dibs on the family gig. I loved that I had access to him so often-he was 4 years ahead of me in school and I admired just about everything about him. He had a talent that never ended-a charisma that drew people to him like a moth to a flame (most of the time)-I thought he was near flawless. I know now that was an unrealistic and unfair expectation to have of him. I believed in him & when I was graced to be in his favor-I thought there was nothing better. I felt like I was on top of the world-I felt like I belonged-that I was important, that whatever else might have been happening didn’t matter quite so much….I felt worthy.

I remember the hours we walked around the countless high school hallways-it was a tradition we established that I continued when I became a teacher-“the Heidelberger Walk and Talk”…..He’d walk me to my room when I had “broken” to the out rounds or to finals-drilling me on what I needed to do-how I needed to frame an argument, what I needed to do during Cross Examination, and above all–TELL THE STORY! The drill was incessant-what did I need to ward against? What holes existed in my cases? What tendency did I have in my humor or my drama that might trip me up and throw me off the story? Who were my judges? What did they expect from me? What did he expect? That was easy- he expected (like me) perfection. And, often I delivered-or I got as close as I could. The drilling gave way (when I earned it) to honest praise and admiration. When I heard the words of affirmation, I’d swear I was flying— “Holy crap–he believes in ME?! He sees me! He thinks I’m good? Better than that, he knows I am!” I worked harder to attain those words & beliefs than I did any hardware I took home. Trophies tarnished & collected dust, words & true connections meant so more- (they still do). It was during my senior year that I was still in this La La Land, fairytale relationship with my older brother-and I relished it.

My grandfather had been placed in a nursing home when I was a young girl & so much of the time we would have had to experience grandparents was cut pretty short. We made the most of what time we did have and when he passed on January 13, 1993, his loss was felt. Although we had not had decades of memories with him, what we did have, for the most part, was positive. I recall him telling me to listen to the tone of the blinker in the car in which I was riding-the rate, tone, and pitch said something-his old Plymouth (I think) said, “toothpaste, toothpaste, toothpaste.” I can’t get in a car to this day without listening for what it sings to me.

I’ve written about the moment that I found out my grandfather had passed & the person I reached out to in order to look out for my older brother. Some in my family would contend that I overstepped my emotional bounds, that I had no business letting a non family member know what was happening. You see, everything that occurred in our family (unless it was success ) was to be kept in secret-we were sworn to remain quiet-“You don’t talk to or tell anyone about anything that happens in this house. It’s none of anyone’s business.” I suppose there was a certain amount of truth to that-but wow, what a burden for any of us to bear-an indelible gag order. I’ve articulated being at the debate tournament with my older brother instead of at the funeral with the rest of my family and the extended family (which was extensive)—I’ve mentioned the hurt and betrayal I felt when I received the full weight of my brother’s fury at the end of the tournament, raging at me in the foyer of a local high school-it is something that I don’t think I will ever forget.

Today, my ex-husband confirmed what tournament was taking place this weekend-it has a new name of course, but the timing on the calendar the same. I smile because I know this timeframe as familiarly as I did when I was actively competing or coaching. Some things never change (and maybe that’s ok). Something in realizing that it’s been 30 years this weekend caused something in me to break-I suppose it didn’t help that a John Denver playlist was alive on my Spotify and “Leavin on a Jet Plane” clawed at my emotions.

I miss that time competing-I miss that family, I cherished those people with all that I am. Had I known then what I know now, I would have realized how many of them were watching out for me-caring for me from afar, worried about whether I would make it through to the end of my HS career. I owe many of them my life and I don’t think I could do enough to thank them for the gifts they instilled in me. I use what I learned from them every day -& I wish I could look at that group of coaches from that time and express my gratitude and my love. My hope has been that the way I’ve lived my life & what I have done in the meantime has been a small token of appreciation.

While I miss that time-I have to admit-I miss my brother more. I miss the connection we had, how we seemed to understand each other, how, without saying a word to one another, we had been living similar household lives-and I had watched (in awe) as he made it out & succeeded. I admired him. I loved him. God help me, I still do.

I haven’t typed that or admitted it publicly-I miss him-and I love him to this day. Despite all the bullshit, the hurt, the pain, the betrayal, and the ostracization- I love him, I love his family which includes a sister in law and a niece. If he were to walk into my home right now and utter 2 words-he’d have it (not that he wants my forgiveness nor a relationship with me.) If I were to look up and see him stride across the room, & look at me with a set of eyes so like mine, & know that we could mend something so broken-I would move heaven and earth.

But, I can’t & that connection is not possible. We have not spoken for 30 years. We know nothing about each other, our children know nothing of their extended family members-neither one of us knows the roads we have traveled to become the adults we are. Neither one of us lends the other any support or encouragement–I do not wish him or his family ill will in any capacity-we have absolutely no link to one another at all. That hurts me at a intensely deep place, although I am not sure how that affects anyone else. I will say that this fractured relationship has all but severed other ties with immediate family members. It is the ever present elephant in the room that we never speak of if any of us happens to be in the same place at the same time. Our family does not actively choose to engage with one another and the older I get, the sadder I feel about that. But, I understand emotional baggage, boundary, and brokenness. We just (at this point ) are not meant to be- So tonight, I reflect on 30 years-what was the dream of yesterday & the current reality of tomorrow.

30 years-the unraveling of a family unit- the ties- unbound. Someday, just maybe tethered again, someday.

Shalom dear ones,

cah

How do you Measure, Measure a Year (RENT) ?

01 May 2022 Leave a comment

by cindythea in thoughts, Uncategorized Tags: , , ,

It is no secret that musicals tend to run on auto play in my head-well just about any song lyrics from my various playlists flood my brain at any given moment of the day. This time as I reflect on this of all days, RENT seems the most apropos.

The above picture is the exact same day 1 year later- In one picture I am posing for an award nomination that I received, and the other one, I was fresh out of a salon afternoon. Both instances I was in the same salon-doing my thing and letting them do theirs. The differences are stark- and they have not left me alone since I saw it. The fact that it was April Fool’s Day is also not lost on me. Huh.

Today, May 1st marks the 1 year anniversary that I moved out on my own, left a place that I had known for well over 2 decades. A place that I had helped create-fostered-thought was a haven–it was simply a location. 1 year ago, I packed what I was taking to my new home and set forth to create something new. My youngest son was with me-numerous trips had already been made and the furnishings were coming together. One of my besties accompanied me, loading what could not fit in my car-a car that my youngest now drives daily (that’ll mess with your head), and followed me out into the country.

I remember driving away with such a mixture of feelings. I knew that I would never return to this location as a family member-part of a unit. I knew that I had no right to expect that and out of respect I have maintained those boundaries. Knowing that I would be there as a guest of the home hurt. I knew what went on in those four walls-I knew the people inside, knew their habits, their schedules, their idiosyncrasies. I knew I was leaving the comfort of what was known and starting something new. I was scared, I was terrified, I doubted my decision, I doubted me.

I felt massive levels of shame- and guilt. Mostly I felt ashamed. I felt that way for so many reasons. I was walking out-walking away from something that I knew was imperfect, but it was known. I was leaving 2 sons that I had seen day in-day out for the last 17 years…I felt like part of me was ripping apart at the seams as I contemplated life without their noise and mess around me 24-7. I felt so much shame at not being able to piece something back together-to give it one more shot. To be honest, I didn’t have 1 more shot left in me-my physical body and my emotional well being were screaming at me that is was time do something or others may be left holding the pieces. The heart scare was enough to awaken me to time. It is oh, so short. Having to go through those tests, hearing the doctors tell me that if I was going to have a problem, this was the one to have-enduring episode after episode until resolution happened was terrifying. But, it woke me up. I remember being the in ER and the lead Dr, ( I had worked with her often as a chaplain), look at me and ask, “A little Ativan to take the edge off? Our pulse is still 175, you’re not leaving here until I see it at 100 at least.” I actually told her no, that I could do it on my own-that I had this in complete control. OBVIOUSLY I didn’t-I had been brought in with a pulse rate of 255 ( I guess that’s a little fast). Obviously I could not get this under control on my own-but damn I was bound and determined to maintain that stubborn, stiff upper lip, ask no one for anything attitude that has bound me in titanium for 47 years. I was not going to break for anything-I vowed that I would never break.

I broke.

In fact, I have been breaking for a year.

I drove away from the house, steeped in shame, doubt, fear, and unconfident.

I look at the 2 pictures posted above and I am shocked by the difference in them. They are like 2 totally different people. Sure, the smile is the same shape, the eyes too, still gots good hair (thank you to my amazing stylists). There are other elements that exist in the picture on the right. The woman on the left looks ok, but it appears like she is going through the motions-the eyes have no luster, no life in them. The face is strained-what emotion is in there is for show-to let people on the outside know that NOTHING is wrong and NOTHING will penetrate titanium-that I can do all the things on my own.

The woman on the right-the smile is open-engaging-dare I say happy? The eyes are more alive, they contain more energy, they invite a person to come along for whatever ride we’re about to take-together. The face-albeit with more wrinkles than I would like, is relaxed, contains some character. You may wanna hang with this one- For the first time I am willing to admit that I DO hang with this one.

I never wanted anything to do with the many facets that are me. Driving out to my new home a year ago, I knew that I would be left alone with one person and one person only-me (well me, and my best boy OLIVER, the PUG). Did I have the courage to sit with her, dine with her, care for her, and rest with her night after night, alone? Did I want to? Could I stand to be with her and all her stuff?

As I watched people unpack my home, placing items in cupboards and re-arranging furniture, I felt such immense sadness at what I had left. I felt horrible that I could not give my children a perfect story, a fairy tale ending where no one got hurt. I knew others would be left in the house, dealing with their own stuff and it hurt to know that I had caused part of that.

People left, the house in the country got quiet, really quiet. Out in the country, you have space and time does seem to stand still. My son went in to the other house in town and I was left to my own vices-and to discover where he had put most of my kitchenware. I was alone, with only my thoughts, emotions, and days to fill on my own.

That first night was so quiet-so was the next one, and the next, and so on. A year later it is still so quiet. But I do not fear that quiet as much as I did those first couple weeks. Weekends, when they aren’t jam packed are solitary and often inspire me to feel a certain amount of loneliness. And, not gonna lie, the nights are the roughest-when you are working on something (in my case writing or reading) and you have a thought and you lift your head to share it-there is no one there to hear it. I used to visit my son’s rooms each night, hug them tight, and whisper, “You are beautifully and wonderfully made. And I love you.” It was our thing-my way of connecting with them and I no longer had that. That gutted me-still does. I often watch, search, yearn to see on my phone that moment of connection and often have to choke back a moment when it doesn’t come-and then the joyous smile I have when I see the opposite happen!! They remembered! They read my text! I matter! I AM important to them!

Even though I would tell them good night, I would then walk down the hallway, into my room, sit on my bed and be there- alone. You see, you can be surrounded by people and still feel alone. I was feeling that and my face and my demeanor and my room showed it. My room was a scattering of mess. In fact, I rarely entered the living room for any length of time-unless it was to pick up or whatever and I often remarked that there was not one thing of mine in that room-nothing in it that indicated that I was there-I had never noticed it-never noticed how small I had made myself–how many layers of titanium I had built to wall me off from the rest of the world. I had never noticed how many bricks I had added- I had not broken because I couldn’t feel anything. And no one could get to me-but I dearly wanted people to come in-I just wouldn’t let them.

Today, a year later-and it’s been a year. The boys come and go-sharing time in and out of town. That is still hard to get used to-but I know they are ok. I miss hearing their commotion-dearly miss talking to them in the morning-I did not realize how much I needed or wanted those connections at night and in the morning. But, they matter. They matter because they make me feel like I belong to someone, that there is a tether between me and them and though the outside world exists and still turns, there is a home base for all of us. They matter because it’s important to tell the people in your world that they are important to you-it is something I am teaching them–when it happens, I am on cloud 9 (whatever that means). When it doesn’t and I go holidays or weekends without hearing from them, I feel this immense void-like a part of me is hollow. I know that will subside, that there will be days, weeks, and months in the future that I will not hear from them. Today, though, I need that connection that lets me know that for now, we’re ok-maybe even more than ok.

Today, a year later, I can honestly say the process of melting titanium is taking place-it is painstakingly arduous. It hurts worse than any pain I have ever experienced. There have been issues and situations that have come about in this last year that have driven me to my knees-knocked the breath from me, and catapulted me into memories I thought I had boxed neatly and shelved. I can say that I am breaking-breaking molds that I hid behind-narratives that I play ad nauseum, theories that I have fostered, beliefs that I held onto with everything that I had. Those are breaking free and it often leaves me feeling naked and vulnerable and that screams at me that that is weak. Vulnerability isn’t weak-it’s hella strong! I am learning that and I am admitting to you, dear reader, that I suck at it. I am constantly asking myself if I am doing it right so that I don’t mess up-OMG it is exhausting. It means looking at situations head on and asking myself why I am having the reaction I am- (enter CPE training here) and what can I own versus what is for others to own. That is hard, especially for this people pleasing, over functioning, empath.

Today, a year later, I have discovered a village of people who are FAMILY! I may have been part of separating one family unit ( and I miss those relatives dearly), and motivated a new definition of how we do it, but it’s being done. I have learned that despite my smart kid in the class mentality (and I LIKE it that way!), that I DON’T KNOW JACK….I am coming to grips with that knowledge and I can’t say I revel in it. I have seen incredible acts of love and kindness and I have seen people and situations ripped apart-and each level me as I feel them intensely. I have experienced love and acceptance from people who barely know me, but convey such care, love, and regard for me that it often brings me to tears. I am recognizing so much that was never on my radar-so many ways of doing and looking at things, that I am often left baffled and wondering if I am doing it right. That’s where grace enters. There’s always grace-I am learning to extend that my way-there’s lots of layers to this writer that have yet to be uncovered and each of them needs TLC and a whole lot of grace.

On my counselor’s floor a week ago, I uttered some of the most honest words I had ever said in her office, ” I don’t know how to do this.” I really don’t.

Today, a year later, while breaking up is hard to do, time heals and new ways of relating take shape-or not in some cases. What is happening is the chinks in the titanium armor are elongating, giving way to revealing the squishy-the smooshy. I am not always sure I like that and I often retreat back in, hide out, and deflect to concentrate on others-to love on them, to compliment who and what they are-to build them, because it’s easier to do. It’s easier to flip a compliment than to say thank you and let others know how much their insight means to me-it’s easier to believe that they are lying-that they don’t mean what they said, that they’re just being nice-that’s BS! And, I am learning that.

So.

Today, a year later, I continue to break.

Shalom,

cah

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