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.

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

At it Again

05 Jan 2022 1 Comment

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

It has been almost a year since I have written anything publicly-a year in which so many changes took place it is overwhelming to consider. Yesterday, January 4th, I felt compelled to write but didn’t necessarily felt justified to do so. Wound up in a fit of uncertainty about why I was writing, the purpose, & whether anyone would actually read my words had me questioning. Then I realized that, for a writer, the goal is to write–to let the words tumble forth and see what becomes of them.

Today, I endeavor.

A year ago unmistakable physical signs appeared that dictated I take action to ensure my health & safety. I had had instances of similar physical signs before this particular day, but I downplayed them-offered an excuse as to why they were happening, ignored them & told myself that they did not matter. In doing so, I also told myself that I did not matter & had never had the guts to admit that I felt that way.

As I sat atop a stretcher, an ambulance ready to receive me, I talked with my oldest son who was 16 at the time. I told him what was going on, (to the best of my knowledge) instructed him as to next steps at home, & assured him that I was ok. ( I was in great hands and I knew it) He later remarked that, “You were so calm, I could see the pulse rate in the mid 200’s on the monitor, and you were so calm in what you were telling me….how did you do that?” Well, that’s part autopilot, part mom protect son moment, & chaplain non anxious presence all wrapped into one. The fact is, I was scared.

The ride, the ER visit, the care I received was top notch, but what I discovered in the ER procedure room was what changed my life drastically.

As the ER Dr., a middle aged, talented, smart, articulate woman checked my vitals and noted that my pulse rate was still not coming down into manageable range, looked me dead in the eyes and offered some “Ativan to bring this down, yes?” I responded with a, “no-I can take care of it on my own”–I am strong, capable, smart-dammit, I have been taught to be independent & resilient. We don’t depend on anyone-we sojourn on-on our own. Oh the stories we tell ourselves. I could no more resolve this SVT episode than I can do physics (or much of any math for that matter). She recognized a problem, knew a solution, & was offering assistance-not offering, directing my path so that I could be in a better position physically than I currently was (it seems pulse rates of 175 are not good either). Why would I not listen? The stories.

Over my shoulder, the person I had spent almost the last 25 years with, sat in a chair, masked, & quiet. Instantly, something in me broke. Quiet-I’ve never been described as that-(I’ve been described as many other things-but not quiet- Incidentally, I CAN be quiet-serene). I am a take charge, get things accomplished, rally the troops, & rise to the occasion kind of woman. I look at problems & situations, asking myself what in the status quo fits, what doesn’t, & what is to be my response? (Sometimes no response IS the response). To see a situation unfolding in an ER room, with Dr.’s & nurses rapidly responding, my heart rate racing & anxiety climbing, then seeing quiet equated unresponsive in my mind & the lies I had been telling myself came into clear focus.

Just as I had ignored physical symptoms for almost 2 months prior, I had ignored who I had become, forgotten what I wanted-(or never really explored what I wanted), & completely disregarded what I needed. I had made myself small-shrunk my needs ( if I had any) & dreams into a tiny ball & shoved it aside. I was hiding in my room, hiding in my work, hiding in focusing on everyone else around me. The quiet I observed was the loudest sound in the room-it eclipsed the monitors, the vocalized directives, the voices in my head, trying to make heads & tails of the situation. Now it is true that I am a strong personality with a headstrong resolve that can be intimidating & hard to come up against-I admit that. And, it is also true that I tend to shove help & assistance away the second it is offered, or I thwart the offer before it even happens. Here, I needed someone to be stronger than me- & it didn’t happen. Truth be told, it hadn’t happened for decades.

The rest of the month was a whirlwind of tests & preparations for an upcoming procedure, & the quietness of what I had experienced in the ER thundered in my head–I looked for signs that things were changing, that I had missed something-that I was misreading what my heart was telling me. I wasn’t. Early afternoon towards the middle of January, I calmly drove to the county courthouse & filed my petition to end my 20+ year marriage. This is the first time I have written those words-the first time I have seen them in print- & it hurts.

Irreconcilable differences-no fault really-no fighting-just nothing. I thought that no fighting was a good thing-that it meant that no one was hurling angry words at one another, that no physical damage was being done-that others were not being hurt by seeing or hearing it. This is not to say that there were not fights where people were hurt-but those were actually pretty infrequent. No fighting-that concept took on a whole different meaning to me. When I finally got the nerve to serve the papers to the recipient-I ugly cried, it tore my heart out to do this to anyone, let alone someone I had committed to building a future with—(ugh I ended that sentence with a preposition), it hurt to hurt someone, & it still does. But one comment stuck with me, “I hope you’ll change your mind.”

“I hope you’ll change your mind.” Matter of fact, calm, quiet,-it told me all I needed to know. Just like in the ER chair moment, hearing that, something else in me broke. NO NO NO!!!! Fight for ME! Fight WITH me! Throw down & rail–do SOMETHING! But, for some, it’s not in their nature & I cannot hold them to that expectation–I am learning that. I realized immediately that as a partner, this no longer worked for me. I don’t think it ever did, & I pretended that I was ok with being super strong Cindy. I needed, wanted, & desired more- (yes I referenced a word in here that I loathe using). I admitted to myself that just as I had ignored physical heart symptoms for 2 months, I had also ignored what I had allowed my relationship to myself & my marriage to become. I told myself that my symptoms & I did not matter.

I do matter. So do the people with whom I am in relationship–my children matter-. The decision to leave-to move out on my own, to dissolve a commitment did not come easily. I walked away from a known situation (whether it was healthy or not) & struck out on my own. I walked away from a status quo that was not uplifting to anyone- in fact, dismantling was a piece of cake because nothing had been built. I asked for nothing on the way out. I realized we were 2 people individually functioning-not growing, not building, not learning or challenging each other-together. I am not sure when it happened-maybe it was never there, I don’t know. I blamed myself for much of it ( still do to some degree), but ideas are changing in my head. Like tectonic shifts, my mindset is moving from one of complete blame to acknowledging simple reality. These 2 people are better colleagues than lifelong partners & maybe always were. Let me be clear that the 2 boys resulting in this partnership are THE best 2 boys I could ever know & I am eternally grateful to be their mom & that they have a father who is committed to them! I chose to pay attention to the symptoms, pointing me in the direction of the bigger problem-I chose to, as I tell my students in English classes- “Go Below the Surface, Don’t just Skim the Top!” What I found below the surface revealed so much more than I ever thought.

What I discovered was decades of lies, decades of behavior that I thought was normal–I discovered that in all areas of my life I had settled-I was content to remain in the status quo even though I felt the discomfort, even though I was chomping at the bit for something more. While wanting something more I also fostered an immense guilt & a feeling that I did not deserve something more. I believed I had no right to want something more-that there was something wrong with me for wanting more.

I found that I can stand on my own-I had always been independent-but I found that I could lean into the confidence that I can do hard things on my own, but that there was a village of people waiting to walk with me. I had not allowed people to do that before this year.

I learned the impact of decades of tapes playing in my head, & am learning how to reframe or flip the narrative of my story. I am learning that I am in charge of my own story & I have the right to write that story in a way that honors me. What a learning edge-I knew others were people of sacred worth, I am beginning to embrace, I too, am a person of sacred worth.

I realized not paying attention to the signals my body was sending was causing more damage than anything-explaining them away did not remedy the problem, it only placed a faulty band-aid over top. The same theory applies to my personal & emotional life. I had explained away, justified, excused, analyzed, guilted, & flat out ignored almost all of what I was feeling. I negated my internal intuition ( i have a strong spidey sense) which told me to pay attention-I thought the heaviness, the misery, the loneliness was normal. I figured every woman in their mid 40’s feels like they don’t belong, aren’t seen, & don’t matter. I was wrong.

So, now a year later, I ask myself where do I go from here? Well, I move from realizations to doing the hard heart work that I’ve dabbled in for so many years. It means that as I sit in my counselor’s office she rejoices because for the first time, she sees authentic emotion & reaction come from me. It means that maybe I don’t have to rehearse all my answers ensuring that they sound perfect so as not to offend anyone. It means dismantling layers of lies, stacks of stories, & bundles of baggage. It means that I work to embrace people & situations that, up until now, have been foreign concepts to me. Concepts like accepting blanket invitations to supper-(I can JUST drop in, what?!?!?!), or watching families gather for times of celebration & leaning in to being included in those celebrations-or simply included as a member of the family. There is much being revealed that is foreign to me & much of the time I don’t know how to handle it. See, the decision to divorce was one hurdle to jump, ( and I am pretty darn short-I miss the hurdle most of the time) now new realities are staring me in the face, forcing me to deal with long held philosophies about who I am, what I know to be true, & what is mine to carry. This, now, is the hardest part of the whole break. Who am I on the other side of it all? What does healing look like & am I brave enough to walk boldly into that reality? Do I have the guts to accept the people & relationships in front of me & embrace what and who is healthy, beautiful, & giving -do I have the smarts to lean in & celebrate them? Do I think enough of me to treat myself as a person of sacred worth, which in turn, impacts how I treat others? Am I brave enough to turn off the tapes & reframe the narrative?

I don’t know. I know, for once, I can’t do it alone. It’s incredibly difficult to pen that statement-that I can’t do it alone. I was taught that you don’t ask anyone for anything, you don’t accept anything either because that’s charity & no one wants that….(uhhhh I work non profit….) you work your a** off & mind your own business, you shoulder all of it alone. Drilled into my head is perfection, performance, & persuasion. If I am perfectly performing, you are persuaded to love & esteem me. That constant perfect performance is exhausting & unattainable. So maybe in 2022, I put away perfect performance. And maybe, just maybe, I humble myself, accept grace, & ask for help.

Carpe What Huh?

12 Aug 2014 Leave a comment

by cindythea in depression, Robin Williams Tags: , , , , , , ,

The recent death of Robin Williams shakes many of us to the core, but to the core of what?  What is at the core that rips us of a blanket of security that shields us like a blanket.  I look at the quotes which have been posted, I posted right along with them.  It was not until I was in the safety of my car this morning, did I pause a moment to mourn.

What?  Why could I possibly have to mourn in the death of a star with whom you have never met, yet was soooo impacted by his story relived on the movie screen.  When we laughingly toss  Carpe Diem around believing somehow we have our crap together. How am I supposed to seize the day when I dread going to school?

What, you?  You have so much going for you>>>>   Ah, you don’t remember or encountered me during some of those hellish years.  I remember I used to walk around the block that our elementary was located.  I remember so many trips around there, singing and talking to myself.  I spun the pourings of my heart, of how I knew that I would never be accepted and that I was somehow “weird”.  I knew from a young age that I would never go to prom, (I wasn’t) or to be asked on a real date (it never happened).  I knew in my heart what I thought was real, was in fact real.

I hated everything about myself.  I used to look in the mirror and tell off the reflection that stared back at me.  I hated her.  I wanted her vanquished, I wanted her dead.  Yup, I said that.  I wanted her dead.

That is so hard to write, some believing that at almost 40 I have it together..I don’t–none of us do.

Honestly if you had told me to Carpe Diem in high school and much of college I would remarked some deprecating slam and “beat them to punch”  I knew they hated me, why not beat them to the punch and throw out the comments as bitingly as possible.  If I could turn it so the response was mine, they could not touch me.  Sure.  I beat em to the punch.  You know what happened?  No one, I mean NO ONE wanted to hang with me.  High school classmates would never invite me to their homes ( that changed a bit my senior year..they were wonderful peeps to me)  Collegiate theatre majors dubbed me weird and cautioned anyone who might be a friend that I was not someone to be accepted.  This did nothing but make me hate that girl in the mirror even more.  Trying like hell to see at least 1 production in which I was cast…it never happened.  I still feel the pangs of hurt and rejection in both those scenarios

I remember my junior year especially, it was a  fairly good year.  I faked most people out and those I didn’t I severed those relationships with a biting  remark that left them shaking their head.  I lost many a friend, I still mourn those people.  Senior year spawned hell in every sense of the word.

I did not qualify for Nationals like I had the year before–gotta do it one more time–  In January I lost the one person I had looked up to and idolized from day 1.  They washed their hands of me, refused to acknowledge my existence.  They were friends with my friends ( the same ones I had severed ties) .  They were so damn talented it sickened me…I knew I would never reach that pinnacle of greatest.  But, damn I tried hard.  With every fail, with every second place finish I hated the girl in the mirror that much more.  I scored up a stash of blades, I wanted to be gone…I stashed them and there are still scars that dot my right and left arm.  I am ambidextrous you see.  I could go both ways.  I had bottles of sleeping pills–I worked at a grocery store, no one thought anything of the purchases I made.  Hell, no one thought much about me anyone..I knew it and it hurt like crazy….still does once in awhile.  I remember the night I had not qualified, almost but not quite.  The general smirk of the one who had seen my victory the previous year now watched me lose.  That one stings badly.  That night I also received a letter from the state college to which I had applied.  It was a letter negating my acceptance into their college.  The work that had to be done just to get me there….Finally a scholarship in theatre was awarded so that I could attend…See, if a dept. offered an incoming freshman a scholarship there was little else the Adminstration  could do to negate it.  In hindsight, I think I got it for the sake of another freshman coming in, talented and pretty–so pretty.  I never ever fit the bill, no matter how I tried.

That night I went outside, sat with my big Labrador (who i had spilled most of my life) and held the massive bottle of aspirin in my hand and the sleeping pills in another.  In a fit of anger, I downed a good share of both of them….then fear hit.  An all consuming fear spread over me…..I still do not know what caused me to throw them up–you see I was a talented Binge and Purger, I knew all about taking care of unwanted food—you throw it up.  There were members of my family who watched me do this…it was not to first time…I lost a lot in those years, years I will never get back as hard as I try.

You see, to declare to a person, Carpe Diem…well, that hurts in a place so deep and dark they can’t explain.  How can I seize the day when I so hated and loathed the person I saw staring back at me?  How can I be  joyous when I hated going to school where there are relationships were cut to the quick so that no one would even talk to me…You see, I did it first before any of them had a chance…I held that manipulation like a banner—ha ha ha ha,  I hurt me first before you even had a chance to…ha hahahahah.  The thing is, I wanted them to hurt as much as I did.  Silly me, it hurts worse than I can imagine.  Sometimes the dark rears its ugly head and I wrestle with depression, loneliness, hurt and self hate.  I often see that girl staring back at me.  I see her amid all the good and wonderful people in my, in those who were watching from afar…(they know who they are), amid a successful career and the beginning of some great connections and respect.  I look at her and wonder…what the hell are they thinking…me?  I dunno.  The dreams that I hold are so jam packed with concepts of redemption and reconciliation are as near and dear to me as breathing…..the writing, the speaking, the moments to speak for those who can’t.

Carpe Pencil?  Seize the pencil?  Write the words, speak….ah, if only I were not so terrified of the person I see in the mirror.  There parts of me that grieve–losses in family, friends, opportunities–(prom–you who giggle probably had a date and the stories from them) I don’t and I knew it all the way back to 3rd grade.  Could I rewind the clock?  Many times I say yes ( and tell the one in the mirror to go to hell, I scream it and pray it transcends to the whole of me), then again I think of all the students I taught, the people I speak with, and those who allow me to journey with them—showing me a glimpse of their reality.  Not sure where I stand ( no pun at all Captain)…that is an ever present fight.

Today instead of Carpe Diem, I challenge us all to say Carpe Rogare!  Seize the Question–How are you,and wait, wait, wait for the answer.  You may be surprised at what you hear.

 

Shalom my friends

Let’s Talk Turkey

28 Nov 2013 Leave a comment

by cindythea in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , ,

Millions of people will wake today either smelling or anticipating the smells of turkey and all the trimmings.  The anxious clanking of silverware will give way to laughter and discussion.  Plans for the inevitable practice of consumerism will take place as hefty papers are splayed across diningroom tables, nationwide.  Online quibbles and arguments of who wins the most brownie points for closing their doors on Thanksgiving will cause online traffic jams.  Others will lobby to begin the shopping as soon pumpkin pie has digested.  All of this will take place, somewhat unaware of life going on in other places and homes.

‘Tis the season, and today will mark the airwaves playing nothing but Christmas carols, the invasion of gaily colored red and green decorations will tantalize.   Giving, giving, giving….’tis the season.

Recently I listened as store after store came together to donate full meals for families.  What a wonderful gesture and thought.  What a wonderful moment for those who can receive it with gladness.  I wonder, however, about that donation.

A full meal, or even a frozen turkey, would be a welcome gift to some…I repeat, some people.  The intention under which these items are gifted are done so in the most well-meaning attitudes.  What about those who cannot or do not look at such a gift as a wonderful opportunity to gather, cook, eat, and enjoy.

Let’s look at the simplest of gestures.  The turkey, the trimmings, the anticipated tastes almost make most people’s mouths water.  Ah, most people?  I wonder if a reframe is needed here.  Who are those most people we are assuming accept this? Take the well-intentioned  meal; turkey.  Does one have the ability or the means to cook such a bird?  Do they know how to make such a meal, are the necessary utensils, pans, ovens, or stove tops there to aid them?   Do they have a home or a family to share such a feast?  Have we stopped to consider whether these basic items are in place before we collectively extend gracious gifts?

Have we stopped to consider the populations who comprise more and more of our neighborhoods?  Is turkey and all the dressings part of their tradition?  Do they like turkey?  What traditions does the family bring with them as they share stories at table?  What are those stories and what can we learn from them?

Now some will counter here and say, but they have stood in lines to receive these donations, who are we to question what is happening?  They purposely stood in those lines, they took what we had to offer.   That is wonderful!!!!  Are we looking at some of the blanket assumptions we may operate out of as holidays approach quicker each year.  Are we extending these gifts out of a true desire to care for our brothers and sisters who may need a helping hand?  Or, are we extending these items to help us feel as though we have done something for which we can be proud?  Do I clean out my closets and hand someone else the clothes I am planning to get rid of anyway because my heart yearns to do so?   Do I do this because I truly want to come along another, grab them by the hand, listen to their story, and journey with them?  Is it easier for me to give an object or write a check, rather than climb in the muck of real life with another?  Is it easier to stay disengaged and protect my emotions and possessions?

It hurts to think of that.  It bothers me to reflect on how many times I have “given” someone something, not because I wanted to help, but because it would make me feel good and like I had done the “right thing”?  I don’t want to admit that I feel better giving away my cast-off clothes to someone I assume wants them…Did they ask for my clothes?  Did we have a jolly time cleaning out my  closets, giggling about inane fashions better left to history?   Do I really know them well enough to understand who they are, what they like, and do they have any ownership of what they have received?  Ownership, that is a new and somewhat uncomfortable concept.

Does that mean that people want to have a say in what they receive or how it is given?  That does not necessarily sit well.  I want to give, I want people to receive.  The problem there is that the focus is on what I want.  I have it to give, what else would you have me do?  I cannot answer that. there is no easy solution.  As lines for aid and assistance grow longer and longer, as commercials cry for an end to hunger and poverty, what is the solution?

Maybe, rather than looking at a solution to the whole problem, we need to reframe that too.  Why is it occurring?  Why are the lines down the sidewalk, across the road, and the donations dispersed in less than an hour?  Is this helping?  Is there a time when Helping Hurts?   Steve Corbett and Brian Fikkert challenged and continue to challenge my thought process in their book:  “When Helping Hurts, how to alleviate poverty without hurting others and yourself”  Does that concept require a new way of looking at how I help others?  Is my aid doing more to keep people set in a particular situation because I need them to be there?  Do I need them to be there?  Do I really, unconsciously want and need them to be there for me to help?  Is that the healthiest way to approach my brothers and sisters?  Do I even know that I could hold such a philosophy?  If so, that does require that I do some serious thinking about my motives.

At the end of the day, that is quite a drumstick to tackle.  It is huge and somewhat messy to pick up and eat.  Do I even like the drumstick? Can I content myself with a safe portion of comfortable mashed potatoes and dressing?  Am I content with eating a portion of the feast which is before me, or will I consume that which I know is a known quantity?  Can I approach the questions at hand as an opportunity to expand the items on my plate?  Or, do I sigh with a happy smile believing what I see before me is the best and hassle free way of loving the people who cross my path?

I close in grateful contemplation of the freedom to wrestle with such issues and for those who hold me to these tough questions.  I ask not one question of others that I do not ask myself, and there is no comfortable answer.  My obligation is to love my neighbor as myself….in the best way that honors both of us.

blessings to you and yours,

cahl

4:34

16 Nov 2013 1 Comment

by cindythea in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , ,

My son  found a journal I had started some years ago.  It dates back to the time I had my first son, I think though, that it may just apply with any child, anywhere.

    Jolted,  awake, the silence ripped open.  I squint, trying to read the numbers on the clock.  They glare red, 4:34 am.  Inwardly, i groan, pull back the covers that held me in dreams just moments ago.  What started as slight whimpering increases in intensity as time ticks.

I pause, straining my ears to hear if whimper give way to sleep.  No sound, I sigh and relax.  Too late, I waited too long, cries split the stillness, amplified by the hour and its lateness.

Void of glasses or contacts, I stumble toward his room. making a quick pit stop.  I take fifteen quick seconds to myself and will him to wait only a moment to two more.

     Retrieving the bottle left in the warmer from the last go around, I am thankful for 2 items:  the light from the overhead stove and organization.  Without them, cries would soon develop into screams.

I wander into his room and make my way to the crib.  A nightlight given to him by his grandmother shine softly to guide me while a CD his father made plays in the background.  “O Come all Ye Faithful” does not sound so out-of-place at this hour.  I smile faintly.

Wrapped in yellow he flails his arms, waiting for security once again.  He whimpers, then quiets as he sees I am near.  Scooping him in my arms, we travel to the livingroom floor where wet becomes dry and I try to snuggle him once more.

It’s a makeshift cocoon and I figure if he feels safe, he won’t mind so much how the blanket looks as it swaddles him.  Settled in our chair, I cuddle him close, he squirms, anticipating the bottle he is sure is coming,

He sighs as I place it within his reach and I feel his whole body relax.  Eyes grow droopy and his breathing softens, he is at peace.  Sated from this feeding we burp and I rock slowly.  I remind myself to take a mental picture, moments like this are too few.  Head propped on my shoulder, he dozes, I rest my cheek against his and I listen.

The house comes alive at times like these. The ticking of the clock, a lone car drives by, the family dog resettling for a nap all reveal themselves.  Against his cheek I feel the smooth of baby skin, cool to the touch.  A slight movement of my shoulder and I discover he is smiling.   Knowing and seeing this causes my face to erupt in a wide grin, and I am gifted to receive another in return.

     Through the stillness, through the quiet, love transcends communication and my heart bursts.  Without words or eye contact, I know love and it is real.  I feel it in my son’s smile.  Tears well behind my eyes as I offer a silent prayer of thanks, praises, and requests for this little wonder entrusted to my care.  Again, I feel his smile and my heart soars.

     He inspires me, this little miracle.  With a look, a cry, a squeal, or a smile, he turns my world on its end.  Sitting here in the dark, I cease to wonder the time.  I find no longer care about the trivial details.

     In a sigh and a smile, my son captures my heart and claims it for his own. Sniffling back tears, I pat his back, and together; we Rock.

Shalom,

cahl

No Fiddler on My Roof

06 Oct 2013 Leave a comment

by cindythea in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Whether I like it or not, the holiday season will be upon us in no time.  I have gone into the local Wal Mart (ewwwww) and seen the Christmas decorations up already.  I visited a local plant nursery and part of their morning task was to create some holiday ornaments.  The cashiers and I talked about how in retail after Labor Day they have to run full speed into Halloween then to Christmas.  Talk about a whirlwind of a time crunch.

Watching and listening has me thinking lately.  I decided today that I would visit one of the few traditions I carried from my childhood.  My mother would wake on Sunday morning and put in the fixins for a beef roast meal.  This was our Sunday noon meal and I must say, all of us loved it.  Usually mom would take the potatoes from the pan with the roast and mash them!!!!! I watched as my brothers would mix corn in the mashed potatoes and inwardly cringe as I recoil in shock that someone would dare to MIX their food.    I have a strong aversion to mixing food, or to even have food touching one another on a plate.  Can’t do it.  I have good friends who have watched me take fruit off my plate, separate it, then eat it alphabetically.  OK, maybe a bit OCD.

This meal was a moment where everyone gathered–one of the few.  Whether there was much talking was of little interest.  It was usually my older brother talking to my father or my brothers and I egging each on to misbehave.  The food, the smell, the warmth, the promise of leftovers  always brought a smile to my face.  AAAAAhhhh, leftovers.  Let it be said now that there are certain foods which are better the 2nd or 3rd day. Lasagna, scalloped potatoes, goulash, roast beef,–I could go on, but I think you have the idea.  I knew that meant at least a meal or two would be a break from my usual fare of peanut butter sandwiches.  You have no idea.

I was working on such meal today, reliving how it must have been to put it together.  I added a few more touches:  squash, crescent rolls, and choc cookies–anything to bribe the boys.  I was thinking about the details in such a meal, then remembered that I was never shown that.  I observed and am thankful that I have a good memory for such.  I found my youngest standing next to me, clad in only a fuzzy blanket as he had just taken a mid-morning bath. (I don’t know why)  I was peeling and cutting potatoes and he requested to help me.  I instantly tensed as I tried to remember ever doing that when I was young.  I searched my database and could not recall.  I told him he could help me, but he had to get dressed.  No nekid boys in my kitchen, no matter how cute they are.

He came skipping back and I thought this odd.  All I am doing is peeling potatoes and making them ready to roast.  He wanted to peel, uh not so much.  I struck a deal and let him cut them in half under my supervision.  He jabbered the whole time.  I was confounded.  A meaningless task, and he approached it with such good humor.  I shared with him about how his grandpa would have to peel potatoes in the army and that was probably why he might not like real mashed ones.  (again, I dunno)  Hmmm, sharing history.

That may seem so common for many.  It is uncommon for me.  I will soon hear of great traditions, baking, baking,, and more baking.  Making large meals as a unit, games played, memories shared.  i understand some of that from watching my husband’s family.  They talk of vacations, decades of holiday traditions, memories etched in photos.  Hm. That is all well and good for many many many families.  For mine, there was a different level of focus.

To say that the difference in focus is better or worse is not for me to say.  I cannot recall any specific memories except a pinochle game or 2, and times when we would congregate at a certain aunt’s house for a holiday.  Before long, most of those times had faded and no new traditions were born.  I thought nothing of a need to want this.  I did not know to want it.  Now, I struggle with the fact that I just might want something like that.

My family and I have long ceased any get togethers.  We all have our own families, and most often in-laws receive our attention.  I think of Christmas, and I can tell you day for hour what will happen.  Eve will be at one in-law, morning is family time, my family may stop by if the weather is good and they are able.  It will just be my parents and the kids will be overjoyed to see them.  After an hour or so, weather permitting, they will take their leave and the afternoon will be spent at the other grandma’s house.  There all my husband’s sisters and their children will be present.  I have been around 14 years and it is still foreign to me.  I know the drill, the expectations, still it feels like I am under water, treading, trying to navigate the bottom with a slight view of murky water.

I see the goodies my in-law’s families have made, the handmade and cute little ornaments and decorations.  I have none of that to bring.  I don’t know how.  People speak of trips taken and making special efforts to keep certain traditions alive, I have no reference for that.  I think I want to establish, but I am not sure how to do so.   I am not a crafty girl….in the least.  I have boys, not so keen on cooking and baking and artsy creative stuff.  If they do want to help, what does that look like?  How do you let them help and not make a mess or how do they not drive you nuts in the process with wanting to take over and “help”?  We know they are really not helping, right?

Many will wonder, huh?  No baking, making things together, no special traditions that HAD to be kept, a favorite place that was the ONE place that brought everyone back together?  You HAVE to be joking.

I am not.  There was occassional games, but don’t ask me to play Pictionary.  There were times at the lake where we played all the time, but nothing that had to be followed.  I have memories of a moment or 2, nothing more.  I look at pictures of my husband’s family and the scads that I take of my children as they grow.  One of my children asked me where pictures of me would be.  I told them honestly that was not a priority in my family.  Hard work and doing work well and doing the best you could was valued, which is not all bad.  However, there are no pictures, no record of what we did or how we did it.  I asked my mother the other day what my song was that she used to get me to go to sleep….there was none.  I never thought that would bother me.  It does now, weird, at 39 that bothers me BIG TIME.  What book was read at night?  None.  What favorite stuffed animal or dress or what have you, that I HAD to have?  Dont’ know.  What made me laugh, giggle?  Who knows.

That may not seem like much to wonder about at my age, but as I watched my son today wanting to help cut potatoes, I was aghast at what and how to pass traditions on to them.  How do I pass on recipes, lefse cooking, krumkake, games, stories, AAAAHHHHH?  I know that legacy lies in the stories and traditions we leave behind.  Makes me wonder, if there is little of that in the family I grew up in, what does that say about our legacy?  hm.  Interesting thought.    I just stumbled on that.  Legacy and tradition, it seems that’s where its at…..

What legacy of tradition to leave?

shalom

cahl

Taking a Chance

11 Sep 2013 1 Comment

by cindythea in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , ,

I cannot take myself back to the day that John F. Kennedy was shot.  I cannot relate as my parents descibe the events of that day, or what it felt like in the aftermath.  My generation does not know  that horror, thank God.  My generation knows of another tragedy that rocked the nation.

Today marks 12 years since the World Trade Towers and the Pentagon were attacked.  I am part of the 9-11 generation.  A generation that grew up believing that not only were we as individuals were invincible, but that our nation was untouchable.  We learned in the second it took to run a plane into a building that none of us came out of that unscathed.  We watched, partly with the unspeakable hope that this was some horrid movie clip.  It wasn’t, it was real.  Every 9-11 we revisit that day and we pray it never happens again.  Ever.

What do I tell my children of that day?  How do I explain to them, who were not born, what this day means to us who lived it?  I feel an odd sense of protection of the events that day, lest history books tell a different story.  How do I comfort them and tell them something like that will never happen again?  How do I explain the violence in light of current events surrounding Syria?  How do I promise them unconditional safety?

I don’t.  I can’t tell them that, I never will be able to do so.

What I CAN do is speak of hope.  Hope seems the one word which can motivate even the staunchest cynic.  Some would say that anger would be more motivating….I disagree.  To what end does reacting in anger help any situation?  My son went missing the other day for over five hours.  Now, I live in a small town, so I knew instinctively that nothing would probably happen to him.  See, I was lulled into a sense of complacency.  I found him hanging at a friend’s house and told him quietly to get home NOW.  He was scared to death that I was angry.  I was.  I was also terribly scared.  You see, generation 9-11 taught me that no one is totally safe.  Becoming a mother and living every moment for my children has also taught me to constantly be on guard.  They are too important not to have a mother watching and listening intently.  If I had reacted in anger, what would he have learned?  I spoke sternly and taught him the importance and the gravity of his actions.  I impressed upon him how important he is to me and so many others, yes he is even important to his big brother.

You see, I hope he learned a valuable lesson.  I also hope that he heard how important and precious he is.  I hope he came away knowing that there is nothing that would make me stop loving him.  EVER.

This brings me back to my original thoughts.  Mankind as a precious species, no matter what. EVER.  I may step on  toes here, but I will risk it.  As I think back on Sept. 11 and where I was.  BTW, i was teaching high level journalism and then 6th graders.  I saw their faces, the questions in their eyes.  How odd it was to go from students 16 years old to a roomful of 6th graders.  No parent, teacher, or clergy have to expain a tragedy such as what we endured.

Likewise, no parent, teacher, or clergy should have to tackle the issue of hate in whatever form it takes.  Was I angry at the events?  Most assuredly.  We should not have to explain to the generations behind us what hate and violence solves.  What are we teaching them?  What happened to treating mankind like the treasured gifts they are?  Do we agree with every decision made?  Absolutely not, EVER.  Do we have the right to make whole factions of mankind pay for the actions of others?  By this I mean, do we make all white causcian males pay for what has been done to the Native Americans or African Americans?   What was done was atrocious.  When do we stop the disregard for people  whose sexual orientation, religious (or non religious) affiliation, color, ability, money (or lack of it) and dictate that they are somehow less?  Explain to a young lady growing up that being a smart and capable woman means that she will be regarded as a bitch.  Tell the young man that he is to blame for all the wrong that has happened and will happen.  Approach the homeless or addict look them in the face and deem them unworthy.  Regard those suffering from mental illness, a history of abuse, rape, or other unspeakable intrusions that they did something to deserve such treatment.  Lobby to have all refugees and immigrants removed from a nation which promises a safe haven and a land of opportunity.  Tell me that I have no right to articulate these thoughts.

You may react in anger, choose to disregard this as so much blather, condemn me, or choose not to read.  You know what?  That is completely your choice.  I will still believe in the fact you are worth more than we can measure with existing technology.  Nothing can change that fact, EVER.  While the events of 9-11 rock my world every year, so do the other acts of senseless violence happening in our schools throughout the country or at marathons or celebrat ions.  I do not want a world where we have to explain why someone goes into a school intent on harm.  I pray for a world which understands that waging war is not a solution.  Weren’t we taught not to fight in the early years of school?  I could swear I heard that somewhere.  I yearn for a time when we embrace one another for who they are, that we look deep into their eyes and listen to their story.  It may just remind you of parts of your own story.

9-11 is part of my generation X’s life and legacy.  It is irreversible.  What happens today and forward is in the hands of each of us.  It is in our power to change and restore that which has been wounded.  I accept that challenge.  Do you?

Shalom,

cahl

the Gift which keeps on Giving.

14 Apr 2013 Leave a comment

by cindythea in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , ,

I will never forget the day he came into my life. I admit that when I discovered I was pregnant with another baby only 3 years after my first, I was more than a bit scared. I already loved one child with a love that knew no bounds, how would I ever find that much more for another one? How in the world can I do this twice? The questions swirled in my head…how,when, how, HOW!? I know now that every mom struggles with that from time to time, thank goodness– we need not be alone. I also know that with a child, love is a little like jello…there’s always room for more. The same applies for my sons–both of them.

So, in honor of my youngest…..I offer His Gifts which Keep on Giving:
(in no particular order)

1) I was able to nurse him for 10 months straight. What a bonding experience to provide something to my child and care for him in this way. There are times I hold him and remember a many a quiet night in a chair….precious, sleepless nights.

2) He did things in his own way, in his own time. People worried when he was quiet for the for year or so….when he started speaking, there was no stopping him–there still isn’t.

3) He possesses a calm peace about him which instantly puts others at ease–including his mother.

4) Ever since entering school, he has taken up his own posse’…he attracts the nice and kind children. I am so glad

5) His tender heart is on display when he interacts with animals and babies. What a sensitive little man.

6) He can and DOES imitate me with near perfect ability.

7) He creatively invents games on a moment’s notice…just give him a lazy susan and a candle.

8) His butt-chin. Nuf said.

9) Have you heard him laugh…once you do, you’ll want him to do it often. He is the only person who inspires me to Belly laugh with gusto simply because I hear him laughing. What a great soul gift.

10) Less vocal than other boys his age, he is a deep thinker, who chooses his comments carefully.

11) His jokes of his own creation are some of the most interesting things I’ve heard.

12) Crystal clear blue eyes that pierece right to the heart of a person….willing you to look deeper and talk with him–they make you smile instantly.

13) If I need frosting eaten, I can count on him–forget the cake, cookie, or brownie itself–just give him the frosting.

14) Doritoes and Hot dogs….sigh

15) Gold fish and star burst-bleh.

16) Somewhat reserved, when he feels comfortable the hugs abound from him

17) Fiercely independent, if he asks for your help, that is a huge compliment. Letting you help him means you have “arrived”

18) His dance remake of “Gangum Style” and “Donkey” from Shrek are priceless!

19) Careful about nature and creation, his love of art, color, beauty, and music he shares with his mother…YES!!!!

20) He knows what love is, knows how to show it, receive it, and give it. He is one of the 2 best moments in my life, I would not be near the mom I am without him. Both of my boys inspire me to do more, be more, and give more because I want more for their future.

There are many other highlights I could name, but some are just for a mom to know. In honor of this, his bday, I give thanks for him and know he will always remain my, Honeybear.

shalom,
cahl

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