Things begin. Life is lived. Things die. And this story is repeated a thousand times in various forms.

Yesterday, I had a great morning. I hung out with Kara after she crawled into bed with me in the morning. We did the Access routine together and she was a trooper. I was proud of her for sticking with me for the whole thing. Then we did some laundry and fed the animals and she read by herself for a while. Then I made us waffles while Kara put dishes away from the dishwasher for the first time. Then I had a shower. 

I've been hearing the thought, "I love my life." It's been with me for over a month now. Three weeks ago, I realized that it was a cover, a lie. I go down the list and logically see that everything is pretty great. So, what the hell gives? "I don't love my life" is the truth of how in feeling.  In fact, "I hate my life" feels so much more true.  

Today, I want to talk about everything that's making me angry. The comments may be initially directed at others, but every single one is truly about me.

It's been a while since I visited this place for a period of time. The longer I visit, the more I remember what I had gladly forgotten about my longest stays. This time is different. I'm here almost by choice, but really because it was time to remember.

I don't want to be this burden to anyone. But I sent my child to daycare today because I was incapable of being her mom. She left crying, not wanting to leave. I'm left a little broken, because I knew this was best. I told her that she could take care of me by going to daycare. Was it wrong for me to want that from her? She's done it so many times, I forget in her capableness that she doesn't need my burdens. But then, she is my child and whether I try to hide it or not, it is seeping into her being as well.

Today, I had an image in my head that alerted me again to how far I am sinking. And I don't want to leave yet. I have to admit that I want to be here. I want to be in this despair. It seems easier than all the other things I actually want more.

I think I'm luckier on this visit, because I can leave for moments whenever I forget about being here, how overwhelming the path in front of me that I am completely determined to walk. I am determined because every step feels good. Not like accomplishment good, but contentment good. Not the sort of thing I need to shout from the rooftops or convince anyone else of how awesome I did taking that step, but just at peace and kind of glowing from the inside because I did it for me - finally! I'm grateful to know how this feels.

I look down at myself in this pressing forward, trying to walk state and I see nothing holding me back. What I feel is all the roots of the trees behind me keeping me from moving forward.

As this baby grows inside me, as my body creates this new life, I have fear. Again, I have to be a mother. I've kind of figured it out with my daughter. But this is new. It's a boy. He's going to be whoever he is. We've agreed on what his name is. Turns out we've known his name for 5 years and just had to wait to meet him. And the love I feel maybe won't be so terrifying this time.

There it is again, just a little deeper this time - my love is hurtful. And the proof of it is how many people I've hurt and the vast majority, I loved and still love. But I hurt them - repeatedly. I did that. I ruin everything. How can I be trusted with this perfect little baby?

How can I be trusted as a business partner? I still don't know why she thinks I can do this. Why does she believe in me when I clearly don't believe in myself? I'm so scared that she's going to leave me, like he did. I love him so much still and for him to have felt hurt enough by me to leave. And me not loving myself enough to try to stop him, to fight for our beautiful friendship. I finally told the story for the first time earlier this year - to her. I was a wreck, I couldn't even tell the story in a straight line it hurt so much.

But I'm still here. I still love. And I'll surrender whatever needs surrendering once I figure it out and see that the fear is merely in defense of those beliefs by which I define myself. What's really scarier that not knowing who I am? Knowing. I think it's a trap of rules if I know but what if it's the opposite.

My husband said that my FaceBook feed was really judgmental. I was offended and didn't say anything because I knew it was unreasonable. So, a week later, I blow up about it even though I haven't consciously thought about it in that time. It was percolating and festering and making me crazier without my permission or knowledge because I refused to acknowledge it in the first place.

Most parents love their children more than there are words to express it. Most parents do their best everyday to ensure their children are getting everything they need. There are weird exceptions, but I'm going to focus on the majority.

What's polite? How do I properly express every angle of my grief when some parts are so dark?

I've felt unsettled since I heard. It's been surreal. Sitting on the couch next to my 13-year-old nephew who is playing Fallout 3 having just sent my 4-year-old daughter to the kitchen for a couple cookies for no reason. Recalling instantly that I had finished, only an hour or so prior, a painting that I'd been working on since last summer and with the dying of the leaves in the painting, I said another level of goodbye to my dad. Marking a sudden inability to carry on with a business planning meeting after an interruption from my daughter only 30 minutes prior. Seeing that my mom's dog hadn't been more than a few inches from me for a couple hours now. Fitting all these details into this one moment on the phone with my mom as she's telling me that my dad has died. For all the preparations and knowing it was coming, it still seemed so sudden which seemed bizarre. How could I be this shocked about news I was expecting?

I relayed the message to my nephew that his grandpa was dead. Can I say it so bluntly? Passed away seems so fucking nice when I wasn't feeling particularly soft-edged. What else does one do with death? Anyway, my nephew paused his game and sat there in silence. I hugged him. Then my daughter came back and knew something was up. So I told her that grandpa was dead and she would never see him again. That he wouldn't try to make her laugh anymore. And there would be no more candies from his pockets. Then we three sat there a while. I think I may have been babbling, vainly trying to comprehend what my nephew might be experiencing and how I might help him put this new experience into words.

Then I was up and going to the bedroom where my husband was napping with the girl following close behind. Remembering my nephew and inviting him to join us in the bedroom. I was already turning to head back to the bedroom to tell my husband by the time I registered my nephew's response. Time had absolutely no meaning. I woke my husband and told him and cried. My sweet girl started crying too, but hadn't joined us in bed until invited. Then we all cried together for a while with my husband holding his girls. There were words, but I don't remember them.

And again, I was just moving again, back to the living room to be with my nephew. I didn't want him to be alone. Then we sat and cried again. I described how surreal I felt and then my nephew expressed the same only this was a new feeling that he now had a word for. Surreal is unreal, it is a floaty feeling, not quite attached to your body feeling. It's still surreal.

My daughter expressed sadness that she wasn't ever going to see grandpa again. She was scared of him at the end (great evolutionary tactic there - kids are scared of sick people) so I was surprised by this genuine expression of loss from her. But there it was. She had felt it all along, but now it was time. She cried with us then. And then she was done.

Mom and my brother were on their way to my house and everyone was spending the night. I was so thankful my newly smaller family would all be together. Caught between wanting to hide away in my sorrow and get all the attention so I could not think about what I was actually feeling, I got everyone updated on FaceBook and Twitter and text, uploaded the best most recent photos I could find on short notice, and sighed relief at being done that part. Then I let the world support me with a hundred hands. The words didn't seem important, but that there was a lifting of me - a great trust exercise of falling backward because I did not want to stand by myself and being caught by the support of everyone I had reached out to online. Each hand of support letting me grieve a little more deeply because I was not alone and did not have to put on a brave face.

All this time, I was worrying about everyone else. What do they need? How can I help them? Then my sweet dog came in with a very big limp. If I was worrying about someone else, I wouldn't have to face the grief. So I did that for a while when talking with my family. Then I said it out loud when everyone was trying to convince me the dog was fine. I know the dog is fine! I just needed something to worry about since everyone else seemed fine! GAH!

The more I was focusing on others and not listening to what I needed, the more unsettled I became. Totally reasonable, right? Right.

Finally, I fell into bed, exhausted and, of course, unable to sleep. I just wanted to fucking sleep and escape the world for a while. Can I mention at this point that I completely love my husband for loving me so completely that even when I'm in the middle of me-me-me meltdowns, he can still see the woman he loves? Well, yes. That. I love him. After realizing I wasn't going to sleep, I started to talk and unravel the grief that I didn't want to face. There was the "how could he ...?"s that I previously faced a few weeks ago so it didn't take long to see the love in all he did for and to me. I think it'll still take some time for full resolution on those, but I'd be happy to be surprised on this one. Then there was the main disconnect - my image of him was that of my dad when I was little. He was larger than life and always there to protect me. He was my personal superhero who would always be there. Except now he wasn't. I could imagine dad on a slab in the morgue at St. Paul's, a skinny wisp of the man he used to be, but I couldn't make the image of him passing from life to death be real. I could imagine it. I knew that it must have looked that way. But it COULD NOT be real. Superheroes don't die. EVER. But mine was dead. My brother was kind enough to tell me the details of how it happened as he was there with mom and I wasn't. I'm glad he did because it seeming more plausible now, more believable that my superhero is dead. Fighting the truth is such exhausting work.

Still thinking about running away.

And I have a dentist appointment tomorrow.

It has been over a year since I last wrote a post.

Hello world,

I want the following:

• Support my family and live well being only a BodyTalk Practitioner
• Have another baby
• Have fun connecting with old and new friends
• Let go of the beliefs that are harmful

I took this quiz.  It came up different than I expected, but at the second question, I realized that I didn't think it was going to come up blue anymore.

I've mentioned it a lot lately to the point where it is boring. I've been exploring who I am. It turns out, and I'm not ever going to be done this adventure, that I am complicated like every other person on the planet. There is nothing about me that makes my life any worse or better than anyone else's. I am everyone.

No one else knows my challenges. I have my own experience of everything and my reality will never ever match anyone else's reality exactly. I am unique.

From having this paradox , and many others, exist in my head all at once, I will never be at peace indefinitely. I will be angry and joyful and full of grief and exuberant and weeping with sadness and lost in amazement and paralyzed by fear and awestruck and sick with worry. I need all of those emotions to experience life fully. I am thankful for them all.

My life is pretty near as great as it can be at this moment. I have shelter and food, a little girl, a supportive and loving and generous and off-center husband that I'm in love with, great friends, great family, am surrounded by opportunities to make my life even better, and finally, time to enjoy it all. These things have mostly always been, I just didn't see them as more important than the misery I was putting myself through.

I came to understand last week that I haven't been this sustainably happy since I was seven. Six months ago, I would have blamed events in my life for the amount of anger in my life. Mostly not people, but the events as I believed it was less caustic to those around me. Since then, I have seen that the anger was not even at the events for bringing out the anger in me, but truly at myself for reasons that I didn't know existed. The anger has grown in me since forever and got so bad that I forgot how to have fun. This tipping point made me almost unbearable to myself and was frequently directed outward.

A good friend of mine once gave me this card. I cried and asked, "Is this how you see me?" The response was of the positive. I connected so much with the feeling of this picture, the wild abandon of joy. There was only that moment and I ached with longing for that moment. I cherished the thought that someone could actually see that in me when I felt that I was losing it.

Everybody has a list of events that has made them more cynical, more sheltered, more untrustworthy of the world. I am letting mine go. There is no joy to be gained in protecting oneself. There is only joy in being vulnerable. I want to be there.

Being a good friend has always been very important to me. It turns out that as my anger grew, so did my ability to be a friend. I am examining every bit of data I have on friendship and still have no idea how to be a good friend as I once did so naturally.


My rules for being considered a friend of mine consist of two:
These two rules have a bazillion subset rules on what I like and what I trust, but these two rules are it. No time limits, no extra shoulds, just the connection between two people. Unfortunately, not everyone that I wanted to be friends with always wanted to be friends with me. Then, I had the realization that if I didn't like me, how could anyone else? If I didn't trust me, how could anyone else? I believe I was about 20 or 22 when this dawned on me. I took some time then to learn how to like myself and my life got better for a time.

I lost being able to like and trust me sometime since then and I can't even tell you when. So, if I wasn't a friend to myself, how could I possibly be a friend to anyone else? Everything I see in you is a reflection of me - the good, the bad, and the beautiful.

Thanks to Katrine for not knowing me at all and treating me more like a friend than I have in years. (I can't wait to hug you.) Thanks to cenobyte for showing me that vulnerability doesn't hurt as much as I thought it did. Thanks to Ril Badil for being so indulgent of me in our friendship (and teaching me that I only need one space between sentences on the internet). Thanks to all the friends from the past and current and future who remain or don't because you have all been wonderful, fantastic additions to my life.

And for the first time in my life, no validation required.

*****

If you are interested, Brené Brown is inspirational in her research around Shame and Vulnerability. These are two TEDtalks given in 2011 and 2012. The second references the first.

2011:


2012:

Life of Choice? Here's my dilemma. Both sides are trying to control the other side and make them like us. Neither is truly tolerant of the others' viewpoint. I get outraged as the thought of someone telling me what to think. I do this on a good day, let alone, what happens when I'm already riled.

Doesn't social change mean that someone somewhere decides something is bad/good and that it needs to change. Then someone convinces (exerts their supposed control) over others and those others and those more until we have enough momentum for community, provincial, national, global change? The trouble is that not everyone will ever agree on what change is necessary. We all want everyone else to think like us (me) and are dumbfounded when someone else has a different idea about what's best for humanity.

Wars are waged because someone wants someone else to be like them.

I have been questioning why I shouldn't be open to racism. It seems ridiculous, I know. Isn't every viewpoint worth considering? What makes them wrong? Don't get me wrong, I want equality. But is there a point where I reject that racism is a valid idea when I become just as close-minded?

Edit: I had the opportunity to watch Jonathan Haidt on TEDTalks and he simplified my whole dilemma for me.

I associate certain things with certain people, like every extraordinary item with that theme belongs to that person. Take penguins, for example. Penguins belong to cenobyte. As do ducks, but other people are allowed to have ducks. And octopuses and rhinoceros also have owners for me. I can't help it. I think of these things all the time, but when trying to remember them outside of the object's influence, they are elusive. Snakes are a friend from high school who I still love dearly but have seen once in the past 15 years. Otters are R:tAG which doesn't really fit with that nickname, but they're still adorable. I love them, but they belong to him.

I've actually caught myself thinking, "You can't have that! It belongs to so-and-so," about a stranger picking up something in a store of that particular theme.

These associations may not actually be something that person really loves, but I have the association anyway. It's an odd way of categorizing people. I once made a mix tape of other people's favourite songs. It didn't matter to me if I liked the song, it was a reminder to me of them and how much I enjoy the person. Little Beggar Dude will always be Brock. The Headstones will always be Drang. I think the music list is bigger for me than the items I associate with people.

I still do this - surround myself with other people's things. It's like I can be near them whenever I want without having to bother them because it's 2 a.m. or I might get interrupted suddenly by Starbuck. It gives me time with the people I love a few moments in a day. Real life is better, but this will do in a pinch.

So there was this thing that happened. And I didn't really explain my actions because I thought I deserved the consequences being dealt. I do this. I think it's fair.

And now, I am realizing that I do this all the frakking time to the point where I think I deserve bad things because of those few bad things I did over my lifetime. That's not fair. This is one of those things where we say we want one thing, but our actions and thoughts actually get us the opposite - I want friends, but I move away from all my friends and don't call and don't write because I don't think they want to hear from me because I did a bad thing. I must punish myself for all these bad things I'm capable of doing - that everyone on the planet is capable of doing. I don't want to do them to people so I just shouldn't be around people anymore.

I'm hiding out in the countryside behind my baby girl. I'm hiding how dumb I feel when I have nothing interesting to say, hiding how I can't seem to let go of my rules of polite and respectful conduct until I can't stand them anymore and then hurt someone's feelings. I lash out to hide because I am flawed. Hiding so I can't hurt you.

I understand that every person on the planet has problems, we are all fucked up. And I'm saying it out loud because I need to accept that in myself before it is even remotely possible for peace. This doesn't mean that I'm not going to overreact ever, it just means that I'm going to try to see the choice I have.

Yes, I did those things. I miss you and I'm sorry for running away to hide.

Our immediate reactions to things do not define us. Those are behaviors of which every human on the planet is capable. Even though they seem to happen every g-d time we react at all, those behaviors are not our identity.

The choices we make with respect to those reactions are far more important. Do you squash them? Bend them to your will? Experience them fully? See them as f-d up and don't know what to do?

Prior to recently, my reactions were fueled by incomprehensible anger which was fueled by fear which was a fear of living fully. As I've said before, I am emotional. I took those emotional reactions, or over-reactions if you will, and if I didn't like them, created rules so I didn't have to feel that again. Slowly, my world had become rules upon rules upon more rules. It started somewhere, right? How does one undo all these rules to find oneself?

It does have to be explored - what is the consequence to not following the rules. For me, it was that I was unloveable. Ridiculous and unfathomable to my conscious mind, but deeply seeded in my subconscious. I have seen it every day in my life since finding this nugget of belief in my life. And I am more at peace because I can see it, but it does not rule me anymore. If I don't have a clean house, I am loveable is actually true to me now.

This is the world I'm walking in right now. And I've been kinder to myself in the past weeks than ever before in my life. I have to say that it is a remarkable thing to be truly gentle with oneself.

I feel like I'm waking up.

For the majority of the population, it goes without saying that you love your children dearly.  They are an amazing creation that leaves you shocked and amazed at your own capacity to love.  When Starbuck was born, I kept waiting for that feeling.  I loved her and cared a lot about her, but I didn't feel overwhelmed by these feelings.  For a while, I even questioned myself on how much I loved her and thought that I needed to love her more because something didn't feel right.  I was congratulated on becoming another member of the "having your heart walking around outside yourself" club, but I didn't feel it.  Where was the love?

If you know me, this may seem incredibly odd.  I'm quite sentimental, sappy, gushy, lovey, and especially, emotional.  I thought I should be hearing alarm bells, but I didn't feel alarmed at not feeling the love either.  I just thought it was strange, and though I questioned myself, I did not ever think that I didn't love my baby.  I kept waiting for it.

One night, I decided to let loose and get crazy.  A little bit of this and a little bit of that and I was happy, tipsy, loopy, whatever you want to call it.  To my shock and dismay, however, I couldn't stop crying.  It took me a while as my brain was fuzzy, but I figured out why - it was the love.  I had finally let my guard down and all this love was overwhelming and scary and, quite frankly, too much for little ol' me to deal with.  It was HUGE*.  The biggest feeling I have ever felt in my life and I couldn't even comprehend it all at once.

So now, I just have to know the love is there and keep my guard up.  I'd be a wreck if I felt that love every moment of every day.  I don't know that I could actually function.  I'm practicing being able to feel little bits of that love at my leisure when I have time and the fortitude to withstand its power.

_______________________________________________
* That's what she said.

I've been asked a few times lately about how I'm enjoying my small town. It's been over a year now and the novelty should have worn off by now.

Well, I still think it's where I need to be, where we need to be. There is still a lot less stress in my life because of living in a small town. I need that. I need to be able to keep focused on the important things - my family. I promised Cheruby in my wedding vows that he and our children would always come first. I need to figure out how to do that with minimal distraction so I can do it when there is distraction. In most cases, distraction for me is promising all my time to doing things for others and taking out my frustration on my family because they'll forgive me (see also, depression). Starbuck is most of our world right now and that's how it should be. I still feel pangs of guilt for not being a better friend and making the effort to spend time with the people I care about, but mostly, I know that they're good with where I need to be right now. And if they aren't, it's not my fault (that's huge for me).

I believe it is a great place to start my family. People in the community know who we are and think Starbuck is adorable and will, essentially, look out for us more so than city communities of which I've been a part. I'm looking forward to being able to trust that letting my child play outside by herself won't endanger her life significantly. There's always a possibility, but chances are she will be just fine. I'm pleased that she will have to walk three whole blocks to school and the line up of cars outside the school for picking up kids won't be insane like I've seen in Calgary. I hope it'll be easier to keep her from learning grown up things too quickly, but I'm not set on that. It's just easier to hope for in a small town.

Cheruby and I are also growing as people. We are learning what it means to be part of a community. I love it. When you invest your time and energy and yes, a little money, into your community, you get back all those things and the knowledge that they will be there for you if you ever need ANYTHING. When we forget to take our garbage can to the alley, the garbage man comes to our deck to take it. When we need a truck to haul something, we have had several offers of, "You can use mine whenever you want." When the local art gallery was just getting ready to open, the proprietor tentatively asked for help painting. What she got was a first coat, a second coat, and extensive clean up of the building - probably 80 hours of free labour with a smile. Cheruby was asked to play at the local dance recital and accepted - his violin student played first and then he played a number. The grin on Cheruby's face when he returned was outstanding. Giving of oneself without expectation of reward is easier learned in a community, I think.

A small shout out to rural life for being cheaper than the city although it shouldn't be the major motivation for moving to a small town. There has to be more to it.

The price to be paid for community is that everyone has to know your business. If you have nothing intensely personal to hide, it's no big deal. Coming into a community with a solid marriage and a baby on the way was perfect - no demons hiding in the closets that can be brought to light at anyone in the community's choosing. I have to keep my feelings about new people I've met to myself. New and good skill for me to have learned.

Having said all that, I miss the city. I miss like-minded people. I miss not holding my tongue because someone's going to think I'm too different. I miss being able to go movies, swimming year round, concerts, plays, boardgames, and all kinds of other things, on short notice. Of course, all my time is spent with my beautiful Starbuck these days so I'm just missing the opportunity to do these things. I wouldn't be doing most of them if I lived in the city right now, anyway.

I don't miss having someone break into my house, trying to steal Cheruby's car, breaking the windows in his car, breaking into my garage and stealing our bikes, being threatened with a $10,000 fine for not having eaves troughs, and rush hour traffic.

I have a 22.5 minute drive to work and it's predictable and easy and gloriously quiet if I want it to be. I get to see sunrises and sunsets and stars and wildlife all the time unhampered by tall buildings and city lights. The people at the store and at the post office and at the bank and at the insurance place and the art gallery know who we are.

I saw a little boy on a riding lawn mower pulling a small trailer with two friends and some garbage to the dump on their own. I like that. I will never see that in the city.

In the end, it's all about us - especially her.

It is a time of year when reflection on the past is paramount. We get in touch with people that we maybe feel we've neglected, we find sentiment in the Christmas decorations box, and we are filled with hope for the future. At least, these are the good traits of Christmas. The memories can't all be good and the outlook for the future may seem bleak for some. It's all a part of life.

This year is particularly special because I have been blessed in the past year with the courage to make some big changes in my life. I am a happier person and this is no small part to the support of my wonderful husband, Cheruby, and my parents as always and all those people I would call friends. The wealth of wonderful people I have as part of my life cannot be compared to any amount of money. I have become richer this year with less money because I have been able to slow down and enjoy the fortune I have in the people I've met over the years. I don't think there's a way to show everyone (yes, including you) how much I appreciate every smile you have brought to my face just by being you.

The happiness to hear joy and peace in a friend's voice or see a picture where the glow of feeling good is unmistakable - those are the best gift in the world. Being allowed to be a friend and help make someone feel valued and special is a very close second, but it's a privilege that has to be accepted with respect and honour. Thank you for letting me be your friend.