I've heard people say that when someone close to you dies, you are never the same. Many people and animals have left this world and I am left to ponder their impressions on my life. I miss their physical presence yet appreciate their time on this earth has passed. In some ways the era that included them still lingers within me. Who I was at that time and my experiences because of it keep my memories fresh. Transitioning to who I am now in a new way is sometimes where I struggle.
I have a friend who tried to be gentle in telling me that my mannerisms and words are very reflective of my Northeastern background. He quickly added: "Not that that's a bad thing." He did his best to compliment my fire and acknowledge that some parts of me are just me at my core. I wonder if some of who I appear to be at my core is partly a shadow of my life with those who have passed. How much am I still my father's child? Are the dogs of my past still influencing my behaviors right now? Is the love I shared with my potbelly pig still affecting the way I see pets and pet pigs in general? Am I a different person because of the time I spent enjoying my horse Jazz?
I'm sure that we all are a combination of experiences and wisdom brought about by past moments. My curiosity is about who affected what and how much of my loneliness is brought about by being forced into an era that is without those of the past who I loved so much. I'm not angry about the loss of those I loved. I'm tired and struggling with adapting to new moments. It's not that I don't wish to grow as a person. It feels more like I keep pushing more and more into unknown territory.
Maybe that's part of why we all endure grief to one degree or another, to push past what is uncomfortable to us. I appreciate a lot of our technological world but I miss writing snail mail. I love that my experience of the world is broader and richer than it used to be yet I still miss what used to be perceived as safe and small. I guess grief has many gifts, not least of which is to push us into seeking new experiences and realizing how limited we can be if we allow it.
I cherish who I was and I wonder who I will evolve into being. Grief feels so multi-level for me. Not only does it seem to pass through stages, it also appears to shift in between levels of depth and meaning. I'm sure we all experience grief in our own unique way. At times it's an incredibly powerful motivator and gift and at others it appears as an impassable blockage of the heart. How we recognize, acknowledge and appreciate our grief is definitely our own. It can be the difference between cherishing the life we have and staying stuck in the depths of our pain.
I don't like being forced into changing yet I know change would not happen for me if I was just given a choice. Grief like change of any kind takes on the energy that we give it. For me, I choose to honor, feel and appreciate all that comes with grief and know I will become uniquely empowered because of it.
Friday, November 6, 2015
It's possible!
Les Brown, motivator speaker, has often referred to the phrase: "It's possible!" in his many stimulating presentations. Les' belief is that if you have a dream that you need to follow it because only you can bring out your own unique gifts and talents. Being disabled and gifted is a very bittersweet combination. Sometimes I want so much to pursue my dreams and often I am stopped, at least momentarily, by a challenge I don't know how to handle. It's really not about being unmotivated but rather feeling misunderstood and frustrated.
My ongoing challenge has been to find the missing link to my continued healing. After all of the shifts in nutrition, supplements, homeopathic remedies and alternative services, I find myself with a staggering truth. My brain, the center of all of my impressions and understandings, doesn't feel safe. I am on sensory overload in one form or another all the time. Although this situation is written about in certain research, very few people understand what it's like to be on guard all the time in one form or another.
Recently I met a man who also has traumatic brain injuries and post traumatic stress disorder. He is a practitioner and one whose honesty and integrity intrigues me. I will be meeting with him later this week because he specializes in working with helping the brain and body of his clients feel safe. If safety is felt, then the body can make remarkable shifts towards healing.
I heard my words as I spoke to him on the phone. I talked about my brain enduring so much stress, grief, fear, and anger. When I mentioned compassion, patience, and allowing myself the time I need to heal I felt comforted. Sometimes this world demands us to be something we are not. Frequently we are expected to appear calm when we're terrified; happy when we're depressed and motivated when we're exhausted. We get so used to appearing one way and deeply feeling another that our incongruence begins to take on a life all its own. We lose touch with who we are at our deepest levels.
We are not beings capable of lying to ourselves without consequence. Sooner or later our masks fall off and we come face to face with our deepest emotions. The raw edge of feeling can be completely overwhelming especially if we have never learned to allow our weaknesses, our imperfections and our pain to be expressed and honored.
As I take the next steps in my healing I feel immensely grateful for those in my life who don't run from my intensity, my sensitivity, and my unique blend of gift and challenge. The pain of being dismissed, misunderstood, criticized and belittled leaves deep scars throughout my being yet I am not consumed by them anymore. I do see beyond them and look forward to honoring and learning from the lessons my scars have to teach.
My ongoing challenge has been to find the missing link to my continued healing. After all of the shifts in nutrition, supplements, homeopathic remedies and alternative services, I find myself with a staggering truth. My brain, the center of all of my impressions and understandings, doesn't feel safe. I am on sensory overload in one form or another all the time. Although this situation is written about in certain research, very few people understand what it's like to be on guard all the time in one form or another.
Recently I met a man who also has traumatic brain injuries and post traumatic stress disorder. He is a practitioner and one whose honesty and integrity intrigues me. I will be meeting with him later this week because he specializes in working with helping the brain and body of his clients feel safe. If safety is felt, then the body can make remarkable shifts towards healing.
I heard my words as I spoke to him on the phone. I talked about my brain enduring so much stress, grief, fear, and anger. When I mentioned compassion, patience, and allowing myself the time I need to heal I felt comforted. Sometimes this world demands us to be something we are not. Frequently we are expected to appear calm when we're terrified; happy when we're depressed and motivated when we're exhausted. We get so used to appearing one way and deeply feeling another that our incongruence begins to take on a life all its own. We lose touch with who we are at our deepest levels.
We are not beings capable of lying to ourselves without consequence. Sooner or later our masks fall off and we come face to face with our deepest emotions. The raw edge of feeling can be completely overwhelming especially if we have never learned to allow our weaknesses, our imperfections and our pain to be expressed and honored.
As I take the next steps in my healing I feel immensely grateful for those in my life who don't run from my intensity, my sensitivity, and my unique blend of gift and challenge. The pain of being dismissed, misunderstood, criticized and belittled leaves deep scars throughout my being yet I am not consumed by them anymore. I do see beyond them and look forward to honoring and learning from the lessons my scars have to teach.
Thursday, August 13, 2015
Neglect vs Abuse
It's curious to me that many people believe that abuse is worse than neglect. The belief is often based on the perception that neglect is merely not giving another what they need in terms of basics in life. I would debate that. Neglect also involves negating the significance or even the existence of another. Abuse is usually active be it physical or mental. As painful as it is, it does in some bizarre manner acknowledge another. Neglect on the other hand does not.
It's very significant to me that most of the people who neglected me did not mean to do so. I'm not justifying their actions. I'm saying that I truly do not believe they meant to be hurtful in any way. I believe I was an incredibly sensitive child who was ever so demanding because I felt things so very deeply. I didn't understand myself or how to interact with the world. My traumatic brain injury caused me to struggle in so many areas and my emotional sensitivity was often perceived as needy and excessive. Although I isolated and withdrew in school during my early days, I learned to behave and respond as others did to some degree as I got older. My emotional struggles I buried deeper and deeper within myself.
Depression and anxiety were feelings I knew very well and most of the time I didn't understand why I had them. It has taken a very long time for me to understand how much I was emotionally deprived in my life. I didn't realize that expression of feelings comes from being taught how to interact and feeling safe enough to say what is most painful. Grief was something that has been very prevalent in my life and just as I was processing one loss I seemed to have another and yet another.
Being around someone with disabilities is a challenge. Depending on the type of disabilities and the coping styles of both the one with the challenge and those around them, life can be very nourishing or excruciatingly painful and exhausting. For me, frustration was my initial reaction to almost everything. I remember wanting so desperately to explain how I was feeling and being met with: "You're just too sensitive. You need to just get over it." I truly think my depression and anxiety were the few outlets to my frustration. I either felt overwhelmed and afraid or so angry that eventually I just turned it upon myself. My dissociation occurred because I was left with so few outlets for my feelings that the only place to go was literally somewhere else!
I didn't have explanations for why I was so sensitive either as a child or for a large part of my adulthood. I wanted to be as seemingly unaffected as others by life and I just could not be! I was sensitive, super sensitive! I felt deep emotions to nature, the animals, the slightest turn of phrase, and sarcasm in any form. I tried to be sarcastic and callous. All that got me was worsening depression. I tried to isolate and withdraw from all that was in the world. I learned that is not life and it most certainly is not living.
As my emotions manifested into physical conditions, no one in the allopathic world realized I had been a neglected child. People in the helping professions tried to talk to me about who I was and what I had been through but they never understood the TBI piece and therefore assumed that they understood how I felt and that their painful paths were just like mine. The loneliness of being a survivor of trauma was made worse because often people believe all trauma, just like all disabilities, are alike. I would disagreed on both counts.
Each of us is unique. Our journeys are very much our own. When others assume they know what we are thinking and feeling it may be coming from a very loving place, but often the perception is dead wrong. Feeling dismissed, unheard, unvalued and worthless are ultimately, to me anyway, spiritual issues in need of addressing. The pain of living in a society of those who don't or can't understand is often the journey we must travel to reach spiritual understanding. The pain of life for me is not without meaning. Whether any human can truly appreciate me or not, I know God can. This is not a discussion of religion but rather spirituality. An acquaintance of mine used to say: "You think you're more bad than God is good." I will reframe that to say: "I see good in myself because God does. No matter my path, God can love me and see me for all that I am and all that I will become."
It's very significant to me that most of the people who neglected me did not mean to do so. I'm not justifying their actions. I'm saying that I truly do not believe they meant to be hurtful in any way. I believe I was an incredibly sensitive child who was ever so demanding because I felt things so very deeply. I didn't understand myself or how to interact with the world. My traumatic brain injury caused me to struggle in so many areas and my emotional sensitivity was often perceived as needy and excessive. Although I isolated and withdrew in school during my early days, I learned to behave and respond as others did to some degree as I got older. My emotional struggles I buried deeper and deeper within myself.
Depression and anxiety were feelings I knew very well and most of the time I didn't understand why I had them. It has taken a very long time for me to understand how much I was emotionally deprived in my life. I didn't realize that expression of feelings comes from being taught how to interact and feeling safe enough to say what is most painful. Grief was something that has been very prevalent in my life and just as I was processing one loss I seemed to have another and yet another.
Being around someone with disabilities is a challenge. Depending on the type of disabilities and the coping styles of both the one with the challenge and those around them, life can be very nourishing or excruciatingly painful and exhausting. For me, frustration was my initial reaction to almost everything. I remember wanting so desperately to explain how I was feeling and being met with: "You're just too sensitive. You need to just get over it." I truly think my depression and anxiety were the few outlets to my frustration. I either felt overwhelmed and afraid or so angry that eventually I just turned it upon myself. My dissociation occurred because I was left with so few outlets for my feelings that the only place to go was literally somewhere else!
I didn't have explanations for why I was so sensitive either as a child or for a large part of my adulthood. I wanted to be as seemingly unaffected as others by life and I just could not be! I was sensitive, super sensitive! I felt deep emotions to nature, the animals, the slightest turn of phrase, and sarcasm in any form. I tried to be sarcastic and callous. All that got me was worsening depression. I tried to isolate and withdraw from all that was in the world. I learned that is not life and it most certainly is not living.
As my emotions manifested into physical conditions, no one in the allopathic world realized I had been a neglected child. People in the helping professions tried to talk to me about who I was and what I had been through but they never understood the TBI piece and therefore assumed that they understood how I felt and that their painful paths were just like mine. The loneliness of being a survivor of trauma was made worse because often people believe all trauma, just like all disabilities, are alike. I would disagreed on both counts.
Each of us is unique. Our journeys are very much our own. When others assume they know what we are thinking and feeling it may be coming from a very loving place, but often the perception is dead wrong. Feeling dismissed, unheard, unvalued and worthless are ultimately, to me anyway, spiritual issues in need of addressing. The pain of living in a society of those who don't or can't understand is often the journey we must travel to reach spiritual understanding. The pain of life for me is not without meaning. Whether any human can truly appreciate me or not, I know God can. This is not a discussion of religion but rather spirituality. An acquaintance of mine used to say: "You think you're more bad than God is good." I will reframe that to say: "I see good in myself because God does. No matter my path, God can love me and see me for all that I am and all that I will become."
Sunday, August 9, 2015
So subtle and yet so powerful
As I sat pondering my current adrenal challenges, I decided to reflect on what issues in my life were recurring. I can look back on my life and realize that my disabilities have confused many situations. Although I was raised in the Northeast where sarcasm is rampant, I was often with people who didn't want or need me to process certain things emotionally. Being bright, I could pass for understanding when often I didn't. Brazen cruelty and maliciousness were so confusing to me. Violence in word and deed just didn't make sense to me. I became judgmental as a child to survive and as I grew older I did my best to change my judgment to discernment. There were insecurities and fears that others had that I just didn't understand. Spirituality to me was a comfort and to me many faiths held meaning for me so a lot of the controversy over who was right was so hostile that it seemed to just go right over my head.
I think that I have often wanted to believe people who were less than honest in their actions because I just didn't quite get why anyone wouldn't be. It took a long time for me to understand that certain people are emotionally unable to be truthful. Obvious dishonesty was something I understood long before subtle dishonesty. Gaslighting is a form of mental manipulation that happens often to bright people who want to believe the best in others. It's a very subtle form of control that can do incredible damage to self esteem.
When I was younger I used to see pictures of people who were labeled abused. At the time I thought, like what many people did, abuse was physical and horrific. Even now I still struggle with the concept of mental/psychological/emotional abuse. Dominance and disrespect can run a huge continuum. Often control is not derived from physically intimidating someone. It's often slowly and underhandedly done, little by little. Rarely have I ever been physically threatened. When I was, I understood quickly why and what it meant. Gaslighting was a whole different thing.
I remember seeing individuals wanting desperately to see the best in someone, even those who continued to belittle, humiliate, and dismiss them on a regular basis. The mental health field can often identify obvious control and then has rather rigid beliefs about who does what to whom and how it should be addressed. I don't tend to agree that situations are that clear cut. Often people, like myself, are in situations where the expectation and the reality are very very different. What people observe is NOT what is actually going on in families, work places, social and spiritual settings. Appearances are often just that. They frequently are set up to mask what is actually occurring.
Many of the traumatic moments in my life were obvious and even if the situation wasn't particularly respected, the magnitude was acknowledged. Gaslighting is different. It occurs behind closed doors. It is progressive and just like a toxic tumor it can overtake all of who you believed you were. Labels are interesting and it's very much a choice in how significant we make the labels in our lives. Whether we are labeled "good, bad, artistic, sloppy, organized, gifted, stupid, slow, bright, ambitious, lazy, correct, wrong, worthy, or impressive" has often absolutely nothing to do with who we are at our core. Assumptions, appearances, much like impressions are easily created and modified.
Gaslighting is about slowly shifting how we see ourselves both inwardly and outwardly. I was once told that I was a poor communicator even though it's pretty clear I've communicated quite successfully most of my life. I doubted myself. Gaslighting does that. It plants doubts, fears, insecurities and concerns about who we are. For me it is the absolute opposite of spiritual faith. Faith builds us up, supports us, reminds us of who we are at our deepest levels. It quiets fears, doubts, and worries. Gaslighting ignites them.
Being labeled as abused is so painfully bittersweet to me. I have experienced abuse but I don't wish to label myself "abused". My experiences make up part of my reality but they don't define it. Part of me feels ashamed that my naivety allowed very painful things to occur in my life. Another side feels blessed that as awful as some of these times were, they gave me perspective and wisdom that I would not have otherwise acquired.
When I was young, I always wanted to learn what I needed to know. Maybe it was my way of wanting to feels safe. I so wanted others to feel what I felt and be honest enough to express it. That rarely occurred as a young child. As an adult, I treasure the people who acknowledge their humanity and their frailties as a human being. These are the people who I tend to trust and respect. Perhaps the main reason that I am so spiritual is because when I look around at all of the confusion in the world, I need something to help me find my truth. For me faith does that. When I connect to the Divine, I find a peace and a knowing that doesn't come to me from anywhere else. I find comfort in different sources but none as complete and as gentle and as genuine as the Divine.
My life has been filled with many experiences that I need to grieve and process, often many times over. Somehow through it all, I found a light. I found a connection that was greater than all the pain and all the confusion. Now it's about picking up the pieces, honoring them, and keeping only what serves me for no one on the outside can define who I truly am.
I think that I have often wanted to believe people who were less than honest in their actions because I just didn't quite get why anyone wouldn't be. It took a long time for me to understand that certain people are emotionally unable to be truthful. Obvious dishonesty was something I understood long before subtle dishonesty. Gaslighting is a form of mental manipulation that happens often to bright people who want to believe the best in others. It's a very subtle form of control that can do incredible damage to self esteem.
When I was younger I used to see pictures of people who were labeled abused. At the time I thought, like what many people did, abuse was physical and horrific. Even now I still struggle with the concept of mental/psychological/emotional abuse. Dominance and disrespect can run a huge continuum. Often control is not derived from physically intimidating someone. It's often slowly and underhandedly done, little by little. Rarely have I ever been physically threatened. When I was, I understood quickly why and what it meant. Gaslighting was a whole different thing.
I remember seeing individuals wanting desperately to see the best in someone, even those who continued to belittle, humiliate, and dismiss them on a regular basis. The mental health field can often identify obvious control and then has rather rigid beliefs about who does what to whom and how it should be addressed. I don't tend to agree that situations are that clear cut. Often people, like myself, are in situations where the expectation and the reality are very very different. What people observe is NOT what is actually going on in families, work places, social and spiritual settings. Appearances are often just that. They frequently are set up to mask what is actually occurring.
Many of the traumatic moments in my life were obvious and even if the situation wasn't particularly respected, the magnitude was acknowledged. Gaslighting is different. It occurs behind closed doors. It is progressive and just like a toxic tumor it can overtake all of who you believed you were. Labels are interesting and it's very much a choice in how significant we make the labels in our lives. Whether we are labeled "good, bad, artistic, sloppy, organized, gifted, stupid, slow, bright, ambitious, lazy, correct, wrong, worthy, or impressive" has often absolutely nothing to do with who we are at our core. Assumptions, appearances, much like impressions are easily created and modified.
Gaslighting is about slowly shifting how we see ourselves both inwardly and outwardly. I was once told that I was a poor communicator even though it's pretty clear I've communicated quite successfully most of my life. I doubted myself. Gaslighting does that. It plants doubts, fears, insecurities and concerns about who we are. For me it is the absolute opposite of spiritual faith. Faith builds us up, supports us, reminds us of who we are at our deepest levels. It quiets fears, doubts, and worries. Gaslighting ignites them.
Being labeled as abused is so painfully bittersweet to me. I have experienced abuse but I don't wish to label myself "abused". My experiences make up part of my reality but they don't define it. Part of me feels ashamed that my naivety allowed very painful things to occur in my life. Another side feels blessed that as awful as some of these times were, they gave me perspective and wisdom that I would not have otherwise acquired.
When I was young, I always wanted to learn what I needed to know. Maybe it was my way of wanting to feels safe. I so wanted others to feel what I felt and be honest enough to express it. That rarely occurred as a young child. As an adult, I treasure the people who acknowledge their humanity and their frailties as a human being. These are the people who I tend to trust and respect. Perhaps the main reason that I am so spiritual is because when I look around at all of the confusion in the world, I need something to help me find my truth. For me faith does that. When I connect to the Divine, I find a peace and a knowing that doesn't come to me from anywhere else. I find comfort in different sources but none as complete and as gentle and as genuine as the Divine.
My life has been filled with many experiences that I need to grieve and process, often many times over. Somehow through it all, I found a light. I found a connection that was greater than all the pain and all the confusion. Now it's about picking up the pieces, honoring them, and keeping only what serves me for no one on the outside can define who I truly am.
Thursday, June 11, 2015
And you're a doctor?
As I sat dazed and confused in yet another specialist's office today, I came to a conclusion on an issue that I have pondered. I decided that today's visit was with a doctor who honestly believed what he said. He truly believed that none of my stress, traumatic brain injury, or genetic glitches mattered. He truly thought that my diet was the cause of all of my challenges. The fact that I didn't consume any of the foods that he mentioned was apparently beside the point. I don't drink soda, any soda, and haven't for years. This fact seems to puzzle doctors especially those who see case after case of health issues related to eating high sugar/highly processsed foods. It seems inconceivable to many doctors who believe this way that traumatic stress could damage the endocrine system significantly or that head trauma could unbalance the major hormones of the body.
I listened, though reluctantly, to a doctor who prided himself on taking a drug to lower his already normal cholesterol even though there is significant research that offers a different perspective. Inflammation, aggravated by stress along with numerous other things, is being shown more and more to be a major indicator of illness. My inflammation level has been elevated for years. Because of my years of elevated stress along with the long term effects of my traumatic brain damage, I have had quite a hit to my adrenal glands which I believe are contributing to my array of symptoms. As I search more and more for natural answers to my challenges, I am sad to say I am seeing a very disturbing pattern.
More and more medical professionals are not only not talking about the effects of trauma but they are out and out denying it. When I asked this specialist about the effect of stress on someone's health, his response was: "It's minimal at best." I almost could not believe what I had heard! Is anyone truly so vain that they would walk up to anyone with traumatic brain damage and say: "Yea, so that war, abuse, humiliation, beating, neglect thing, it doesn't matter. Just suck it up." Stress, if prolonged and/or severe enough, can tax the adrenal glands to the degree that they stop working entirely and then hormones need to be replaced for the rest of one's life. To suggest that the pain of trauma is a minor disruption is to be closed off from the reality that is! Trauma is real! It's life altering! It disrupts our body in a myriad of ways and to be blind to it is nothing short of criminal in my opinion!
I have almost given up the concept of a family doctor who knew the history of his/her patients, their families, and the stresses of life. I don't expect a visit with a psychologist when I see a physician, but I do expect that my trauma which has forever changed my life not be overlooked! It's painfully clear that human suffering is often dismissed in a way that seems quite beyond humane! The medical profession is so divided into specialties that few doctors even have a basic understanding or appreciation of head trauma and its prevalence in our society.
I remember seeing a poster that showed different faces of people of various ages and ethnicities with the caption of "what alcoholism looks like". It stays as a very powerful part of my memory. The arrogance and ignorance of believing that someone, anyone, knows what disabilities look like takes me somewhere deep into my own rage. Invisible disabilities are everywhere. Just because there is not a cane, a wheelchair or a walker does NOT mean there is not a disability! How dare anyone be so conceited as to determine the worthiness of disability based on age, gender, ethnicity, military service, or physical size!
The US is now a country that is seeing very young veterans returning home disabled. This is not the first time in history when this has occurred. Veterans of another time are often shocked to see the results of those coming back from down range. Civilians disabled by the abuse, addictions, and mental illness of others is a nasty blemish on the perfect American dream. Those of us who are forever changed by the behavior of others have been silenced for too long, least of which is by the medical professionals trained to supposedly help us! Enough!
I am aware of the Hippocratic oath which seems to be lost somewhere in the chaos of insurance, pharmaceuticals, office appointments, arrogance, and entitlement. There are some genuinely kind and compassionate physicians for whom I am most grateful. As for those, both medical and non medical persons, who choose to believe that they know all of what is wrong with another without even considering the traumatic side of life, I wish you insight. I wish you compassion and in order to do so, I must find a place inside for my own compassion to grow. Perhaps my own arrogance has limited my ability to see the compassion in others, if so, I sincerely apologize. If not, I seek to offer a different perspective and one that needs to be seen, heard, and felt. Let us take time to acknowledge the pain in another and that does not happen by assuming we already know.
http://www.sott.net/article/242516-Heart-surgeon-speaks-out-on-what-really-causes-heart-disease
http://www.nih.gov/news/pr/sep2002/nichd-09.htm
I listened, though reluctantly, to a doctor who prided himself on taking a drug to lower his already normal cholesterol even though there is significant research that offers a different perspective. Inflammation, aggravated by stress along with numerous other things, is being shown more and more to be a major indicator of illness. My inflammation level has been elevated for years. Because of my years of elevated stress along with the long term effects of my traumatic brain damage, I have had quite a hit to my adrenal glands which I believe are contributing to my array of symptoms. As I search more and more for natural answers to my challenges, I am sad to say I am seeing a very disturbing pattern.
More and more medical professionals are not only not talking about the effects of trauma but they are out and out denying it. When I asked this specialist about the effect of stress on someone's health, his response was: "It's minimal at best." I almost could not believe what I had heard! Is anyone truly so vain that they would walk up to anyone with traumatic brain damage and say: "Yea, so that war, abuse, humiliation, beating, neglect thing, it doesn't matter. Just suck it up." Stress, if prolonged and/or severe enough, can tax the adrenal glands to the degree that they stop working entirely and then hormones need to be replaced for the rest of one's life. To suggest that the pain of trauma is a minor disruption is to be closed off from the reality that is! Trauma is real! It's life altering! It disrupts our body in a myriad of ways and to be blind to it is nothing short of criminal in my opinion!
I have almost given up the concept of a family doctor who knew the history of his/her patients, their families, and the stresses of life. I don't expect a visit with a psychologist when I see a physician, but I do expect that my trauma which has forever changed my life not be overlooked! It's painfully clear that human suffering is often dismissed in a way that seems quite beyond humane! The medical profession is so divided into specialties that few doctors even have a basic understanding or appreciation of head trauma and its prevalence in our society.
I remember seeing a poster that showed different faces of people of various ages and ethnicities with the caption of "what alcoholism looks like". It stays as a very powerful part of my memory. The arrogance and ignorance of believing that someone, anyone, knows what disabilities look like takes me somewhere deep into my own rage. Invisible disabilities are everywhere. Just because there is not a cane, a wheelchair or a walker does NOT mean there is not a disability! How dare anyone be so conceited as to determine the worthiness of disability based on age, gender, ethnicity, military service, or physical size!
The US is now a country that is seeing very young veterans returning home disabled. This is not the first time in history when this has occurred. Veterans of another time are often shocked to see the results of those coming back from down range. Civilians disabled by the abuse, addictions, and mental illness of others is a nasty blemish on the perfect American dream. Those of us who are forever changed by the behavior of others have been silenced for too long, least of which is by the medical professionals trained to supposedly help us! Enough!
I am aware of the Hippocratic oath which seems to be lost somewhere in the chaos of insurance, pharmaceuticals, office appointments, arrogance, and entitlement. There are some genuinely kind and compassionate physicians for whom I am most grateful. As for those, both medical and non medical persons, who choose to believe that they know all of what is wrong with another without even considering the traumatic side of life, I wish you insight. I wish you compassion and in order to do so, I must find a place inside for my own compassion to grow. Perhaps my own arrogance has limited my ability to see the compassion in others, if so, I sincerely apologize. If not, I seek to offer a different perspective and one that needs to be seen, heard, and felt. Let us take time to acknowledge the pain in another and that does not happen by assuming we already know.
http://www.sott.net/article/242516-Heart-surgeon-speaks-out-on-what-really-causes-heart-disease
http://www.nih.gov/news/pr/sep2002/nichd-09.htm
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Compassion
We all use a variety of measures for determining our development throughout life. At the moment, my focus would be on compassion both for myself and others. There is a lot of spiritual literature which speaks to the oneness of us all. This can present a real challenge when some of those around us are individuals who seem to be irritating to our core. I have had more than a few of these folks around me throughout my life. I have reflected on why it is that these certain people have brought up the feelings in me that they have.
Sometimes it's the exaggerated, reactive behavior of these folks that causes me to feel unsettled. What might trigger their next reaction? The instability and intensity of their reaction causes me to brace for the next explosion. I do my best to minimize my time around these people but sometimes that's just not an easy choice. I can certainly feel the fear in these people. Situations that could be easily managed are often intensely seen and felt by these individuals. Day to day life stresses seem to cause them to fall into panic mode more often than not.
Perhaps the intensity of these folks would bother me less if others would stop reacting to them. I often think it feels easier for the people around them to indulge them their emotional outbursts than to constantly redirect them or ignore them. I have disconnected myself from some of these people in my life. Their intensity and constant swirling of emotions feels very exhausting to me. Sometimes this is not possible. People do overreact and some much more than others. It seems like often there is a pull of extremes: those who under-react are attracted to those who overreact. Usually this combination exhausts both parties who can't seem to understand the opposite.
I was thinking of the phrase: "Rather than get pulled into their chaos, pull them into your peace." I really am working with this. There will certainly be people I find exhausting yet clearly they have a right to be who they are. I would also state that the consequences of their behavior are theirs and theirs alone as well.
After years working with a diagnostic manual of mental health disorders, I could rattle off several labels for these people. However I know that in doing so, it would soothe and settle nothing. Some individuals are dominated by fear and anger and chaos is what they know. Some people know violence, hatred and pain and respond in kind. It's a challenge to move away from this type of person, who seems so lost, because for me there is that need to want to help make things better. It's been a tough lesson for me to learn that some folks are not ready or willing to shift. Where they are in their lives is where they choose to stay. It feels sad to hear people speak in victim terms, but being a powerless victim with them is no help either.
Learning to love, let go, and allow is perhaps one of the most difficult lessons in life. There are so many voices of shame and should in life today that it takes a lot of courage and self-love to step away from earthly pain and into God's grace. I cannot say I do it all the time or that I'm always graceful in doing it. I can honestly say I'm working on finding and keeping peace and giving God the chaos that is not mine to accept.
Sometimes it's the exaggerated, reactive behavior of these folks that causes me to feel unsettled. What might trigger their next reaction? The instability and intensity of their reaction causes me to brace for the next explosion. I do my best to minimize my time around these people but sometimes that's just not an easy choice. I can certainly feel the fear in these people. Situations that could be easily managed are often intensely seen and felt by these individuals. Day to day life stresses seem to cause them to fall into panic mode more often than not.
Perhaps the intensity of these folks would bother me less if others would stop reacting to them. I often think it feels easier for the people around them to indulge them their emotional outbursts than to constantly redirect them or ignore them. I have disconnected myself from some of these people in my life. Their intensity and constant swirling of emotions feels very exhausting to me. Sometimes this is not possible. People do overreact and some much more than others. It seems like often there is a pull of extremes: those who under-react are attracted to those who overreact. Usually this combination exhausts both parties who can't seem to understand the opposite.
I was thinking of the phrase: "Rather than get pulled into their chaos, pull them into your peace." I really am working with this. There will certainly be people I find exhausting yet clearly they have a right to be who they are. I would also state that the consequences of their behavior are theirs and theirs alone as well.
After years working with a diagnostic manual of mental health disorders, I could rattle off several labels for these people. However I know that in doing so, it would soothe and settle nothing. Some individuals are dominated by fear and anger and chaos is what they know. Some people know violence, hatred and pain and respond in kind. It's a challenge to move away from this type of person, who seems so lost, because for me there is that need to want to help make things better. It's been a tough lesson for me to learn that some folks are not ready or willing to shift. Where they are in their lives is where they choose to stay. It feels sad to hear people speak in victim terms, but being a powerless victim with them is no help either.
Learning to love, let go, and allow is perhaps one of the most difficult lessons in life. There are so many voices of shame and should in life today that it takes a lot of courage and self-love to step away from earthly pain and into God's grace. I cannot say I do it all the time or that I'm always graceful in doing it. I can honestly say I'm working on finding and keeping peace and giving God the chaos that is not mine to accept.
It hurts my heart
Being from New Jersey during a lot of the racial tensions happening in the US, I saw first hand the confusion and pain that comes from deep rooted fear. When I was a small girl, my parents had neighbors who were a family that had multicultural relationships several generations back. Two of the daughters were in high school in the early seventies and I remember one of them saying: "I don't want to have to pick a side. I just want to learn." Even as a young child I felt her pain in not wanting to choose a racial identity. She was the child of many cultures: Native American, African American and an array of European ethnicities. It hurt me to hear this young woman speak so passionately on how she was forced to choose or have her loyalty be chosen for her.
While working in Atlantic City, most of the members of my closest circles were African Americans. I remember the looks when we would walk into a nightclub and I was usually one of only a handful of Caucasians. My friends were very loyal and their response to most of the judgmental sentiment around was: "She's with us". I did my best to return the favor when a friend, who was African American, and I went to lunch. The wait staff was less than thrilled of who my dining partner was and little things began to add up. My salad was prettier than hers. My refills were faster. My dessert looked just a bit nicer than hers. I was enraged; my friend was aware. We decided that a tip that reflected OUR service was to make one point and a chat with the manager was to make another. I remember that day and I remember feeling horrible about what happened. My friend did her best to explain to me how often these kinds of things happened to her. We made a pact that day that others' biases would not stop our friendship or our enjoying life! The shame I felt for the behavior, which was not my fault, stays with me to this day.
I remember applying for a job working in the changing county welfare system in Atlantic City. My interview questions were direct and powerful and I watched as my multicultural interviewers shifted in their opinion of this "white girl". I got the job and I remember the biases of my co-workers when I went to go sit and visit with our clients. None of them, regardless of race, even seemed to see me when I was with our clients. Apparently some biases go way beyond race.
When I was in Trenton, I worked in an inner city methadone clinic. Methadone is a synthetic form of an opiate. It is often given to heroin dependent addicts in an attempt to wean them off of drugs and/or help them to work and be self sufficient while on a prescribed medication. Methadone is very addictive and I saw few clients actually be able to go drug free. What I did see was over a 60% full time employment rate, which was higher than most methadone clinics in the state. I had many clients who tested me to see if I could cut being their counselor. One of my most challenging clients was an African American woman who screamed at me: "How dare you care about me? Who the hell do you think you are?" She and I did come to some agreements and I watched her melt into an incredibly gentle, caring, kind person who was astonished that anyone, much less a white girl, could honor her being.
One of my other clients from that time was an African American man who struggled with alcoholism and was on parole for rape. He had deep eyes that could be amazingly gentle or hostile depending on the day. After testing me for months, he finally said: "Your kindness to me is surprising. I don't know why you are like this but I thank God for you."
I remember reading a story about two young boys who were from Newark who returned a wallet. They were both African American and the headline was about how wonderful it was that they were honest. A friend of mine from Newark, who was a very kind, honest, African American man said: "How sad is this that it made the headlines?" I would agree. This was also the same man who frequently got followed every night by the local police because he worked a late shift and walked from the train station to his apartment in a predominately Caucasian neighborhood.
Atlantic City, Trenton, Newark among other cities in New Jersey are known for having predominately minority communities. I was blessed to know some very loving people who resided in these places.
One of my most difficult experiences was working in Georgia in the 1980's. The program I speak of was for children and young adults who had mental health issues and had been caught up in the juvenile system. I was horrified to see our clients brought to us by law enforcement in handcuffs and shackles. This outrageous treatment of human beings was not the worst I saw in Georgia. The campuses of this program were still segregated, something which I thought had ended decades before. The biases of people in Georgia from the Caucasian director who found me way too opinionated for my own good, to my incredibly racist landlord, to my college experiences which involved being followed and ticketed because I dare befriend a classmate who was African American still are emblazoned in my heart. I was stunned over the outrageous prejudice and racism all around me.
Every storm has a gentle rainbow and for me it was my friendship with a co-worker who was an amazingly kind and loving man. He was a very religious, dark skinned, African American man who did his best to explain to my angry, hostile, narrow minded youthful ignorance that hate solved nothing. His words: "Sue, I've been hated for who I am and what I look like all my life. Hating solves nothing. Only love changes hate." I truly honored this man and was grateful he was one of the people the administration deemed professional. I watched our clients in that program be nurtured by him and our direct care staff, all of whom were African American. Most of the "professional" staff was Caucasian. I watched these children be loved and nourished by people the system deemed uneducated. Our kids got well despite our professional interventions in my opinion. Love is what healed them, I know. Georgia is still not a place I can think of without pain yet I learned so much during those times.
I have struggled to love that which I find painful, heartbreaking, cruel, violent, and dishonorable. This world is full of hate. It's all around us and sadly often within us. Loving that which is so wicked is not to give it power or justification. It is rather to honor the Divine and the power that faith, grace, and spiritual love can bring to any situation.
There are cultures, languages, countries, traditions, and behaviors I don't understand nor do I pretend to, that occur around me all the time. I am humbled by the power of God's love to transform hate. I don't honor cruelty, viciousness or bias. I am realizing more and more how hating hate solves nothing. Hate is so alluring. It gives such an illusion of power when in reality it is empty and impotent.
I believe the world is a violent and hateful place often, yet it is never without love, kindness and grace. I choose to live my life taking responsibility for my fears, biases, and confusion. I am an earthly mortal doing my best to honor my own spark of Divinity.
While working in Atlantic City, most of the members of my closest circles were African Americans. I remember the looks when we would walk into a nightclub and I was usually one of only a handful of Caucasians. My friends were very loyal and their response to most of the judgmental sentiment around was: "She's with us". I did my best to return the favor when a friend, who was African American, and I went to lunch. The wait staff was less than thrilled of who my dining partner was and little things began to add up. My salad was prettier than hers. My refills were faster. My dessert looked just a bit nicer than hers. I was enraged; my friend was aware. We decided that a tip that reflected OUR service was to make one point and a chat with the manager was to make another. I remember that day and I remember feeling horrible about what happened. My friend did her best to explain to me how often these kinds of things happened to her. We made a pact that day that others' biases would not stop our friendship or our enjoying life! The shame I felt for the behavior, which was not my fault, stays with me to this day.
I remember applying for a job working in the changing county welfare system in Atlantic City. My interview questions were direct and powerful and I watched as my multicultural interviewers shifted in their opinion of this "white girl". I got the job and I remember the biases of my co-workers when I went to go sit and visit with our clients. None of them, regardless of race, even seemed to see me when I was with our clients. Apparently some biases go way beyond race.
When I was in Trenton, I worked in an inner city methadone clinic. Methadone is a synthetic form of an opiate. It is often given to heroin dependent addicts in an attempt to wean them off of drugs and/or help them to work and be self sufficient while on a prescribed medication. Methadone is very addictive and I saw few clients actually be able to go drug free. What I did see was over a 60% full time employment rate, which was higher than most methadone clinics in the state. I had many clients who tested me to see if I could cut being their counselor. One of my most challenging clients was an African American woman who screamed at me: "How dare you care about me? Who the hell do you think you are?" She and I did come to some agreements and I watched her melt into an incredibly gentle, caring, kind person who was astonished that anyone, much less a white girl, could honor her being.
One of my other clients from that time was an African American man who struggled with alcoholism and was on parole for rape. He had deep eyes that could be amazingly gentle or hostile depending on the day. After testing me for months, he finally said: "Your kindness to me is surprising. I don't know why you are like this but I thank God for you."
I remember reading a story about two young boys who were from Newark who returned a wallet. They were both African American and the headline was about how wonderful it was that they were honest. A friend of mine from Newark, who was a very kind, honest, African American man said: "How sad is this that it made the headlines?" I would agree. This was also the same man who frequently got followed every night by the local police because he worked a late shift and walked from the train station to his apartment in a predominately Caucasian neighborhood.
Atlantic City, Trenton, Newark among other cities in New Jersey are known for having predominately minority communities. I was blessed to know some very loving people who resided in these places.
One of my most difficult experiences was working in Georgia in the 1980's. The program I speak of was for children and young adults who had mental health issues and had been caught up in the juvenile system. I was horrified to see our clients brought to us by law enforcement in handcuffs and shackles. This outrageous treatment of human beings was not the worst I saw in Georgia. The campuses of this program were still segregated, something which I thought had ended decades before. The biases of people in Georgia from the Caucasian director who found me way too opinionated for my own good, to my incredibly racist landlord, to my college experiences which involved being followed and ticketed because I dare befriend a classmate who was African American still are emblazoned in my heart. I was stunned over the outrageous prejudice and racism all around me.
Every storm has a gentle rainbow and for me it was my friendship with a co-worker who was an amazingly kind and loving man. He was a very religious, dark skinned, African American man who did his best to explain to my angry, hostile, narrow minded youthful ignorance that hate solved nothing. His words: "Sue, I've been hated for who I am and what I look like all my life. Hating solves nothing. Only love changes hate." I truly honored this man and was grateful he was one of the people the administration deemed professional. I watched our clients in that program be nurtured by him and our direct care staff, all of whom were African American. Most of the "professional" staff was Caucasian. I watched these children be loved and nourished by people the system deemed uneducated. Our kids got well despite our professional interventions in my opinion. Love is what healed them, I know. Georgia is still not a place I can think of without pain yet I learned so much during those times.
I have struggled to love that which I find painful, heartbreaking, cruel, violent, and dishonorable. This world is full of hate. It's all around us and sadly often within us. Loving that which is so wicked is not to give it power or justification. It is rather to honor the Divine and the power that faith, grace, and spiritual love can bring to any situation.
There are cultures, languages, countries, traditions, and behaviors I don't understand nor do I pretend to, that occur around me all the time. I am humbled by the power of God's love to transform hate. I don't honor cruelty, viciousness or bias. I am realizing more and more how hating hate solves nothing. Hate is so alluring. It gives such an illusion of power when in reality it is empty and impotent.
I believe the world is a violent and hateful place often, yet it is never without love, kindness and grace. I choose to live my life taking responsibility for my fears, biases, and confusion. I am an earthly mortal doing my best to honor my own spark of Divinity.
Thursday, April 16, 2015
Can you hear along with listen?
My husband has often said: "You're not like other people." In some ways that's true, in others it's not. One of his examples of this observation is that I really do my best to say what I mean and mean what I say. This is not just a recovery phrase for me. A little over three years ago, interestingly over Valentine's day I found myself in the emergency room of a heart hospital. I went there because I felt a heaviness in my chest. I was at the time overweight, stressed, still battling some asthma, and in my late 40's so I could see the reason for the staff's concern. They told me I was going to be kept overnight for observation because I came to the hospital in the late afternoon.
One of the first things I was given was aspirin and then a nitro glycerin patch. The first dose of over the counter pain pills was the first and last dose I was to receive. The headache, frequently associated with nitro glycerin, was dull and constant. The aspirin barely took the edge off of it. I was told the headache was due to the blood vessels dilating and the circulation significantly increasing. Although the stress test that followed the next morning showed my heart to be very healthy, there was another important event that occurred. In the twelve or so hours I was in the hospital, I lost over ten pounds of water weight. My swelling was noticeably decreased! As I brought this to the staff's attention, not a one of them could explain why it had happened. I mentioned it to my naturopath at the time, other doctors, nutritionists and none could explain it. Then I came across articles on nitric oxide. This led to finding out information on three American Nobel prize winners who were able to explain the action of nitro glycerin. Nitric oxide is a gas which majorly affects blood flow throughout the body. Cardiovascular health can be improved and stabilized with foods and supplements that support nitric oxide.
If nitric oxide levels decline due to stress, aging, or in my case a severe black mold exposure, then oxidative stress and free radicals can create inflammation and then edema. I had radically changed my diet, worked on emotional issues, and still questioned why my edema remained. The black mold, which I was around close to ten years, began the pattern of significant decline in my health. I began my life with circulatory, neurological, and emotional challenges. The mold magnified them and also reduced my nitric oxide levels. My aging and stress levels made things worse.
After over a week of craving red beet roots, I began to look into what nutritional properties beets had. They are one of the top foods for supporting nitric oxide levels according to Julian Whitaker, MD. I had juiced a small amount of them or ate some cooked beets. These made me feel a bit better but not great. I did notice that my vertigo had reduced since consuming them. As I read Dr. Whitaker's take on beets, I decided to try juicing more of them. Yesterday I consumed almost a full cup of beet juice. This morning I was up after 7 rather than my usual 10 hours of sleep. I improved on my vision therapy exercise and was very clear headed which is darn near impossible for me to achieve some days!
What the nitro glycerin gave me in the hospital is what my body longed to have. The other foods that minimally increased my nitric oxide levels were helpful but not enough. I was so confused as to why my practitioners dismissed my experience in the hospital. They all seemed so certain that my experience was meaningless and that I must fit into a category that THEY understood! I certainly am not one to fit into someone else's box! I searched and searched for someone other than my husband to listen. The research I found clearly stated the power of circulation and nitric oxide specifically. In the years I have looked for someone to listen, I found research that showed what I suspected.
It's a real challenge to walk away from the belief that others know what to do better than you do yourself. So many of us have been confused and told not to believe that our impressions, understandings and gut feelings are less than accurate. I KNEW deep within me that the nitro glycerin was showing me a huge piece of the puzzle and I waited for others to understand. Although I understand that all things come in time, I feel angry that my impressions were not heard.
As I move further into healing, with a naturopath who does her best to listen and hear I look forward to greater and greater health. Sometimes in life, we just need to stick true to what we know deep in our hearts and minds is right. The knowing and the honoring of what is our truth is a gift beyond measure.
One of the first things I was given was aspirin and then a nitro glycerin patch. The first dose of over the counter pain pills was the first and last dose I was to receive. The headache, frequently associated with nitro glycerin, was dull and constant. The aspirin barely took the edge off of it. I was told the headache was due to the blood vessels dilating and the circulation significantly increasing. Although the stress test that followed the next morning showed my heart to be very healthy, there was another important event that occurred. In the twelve or so hours I was in the hospital, I lost over ten pounds of water weight. My swelling was noticeably decreased! As I brought this to the staff's attention, not a one of them could explain why it had happened. I mentioned it to my naturopath at the time, other doctors, nutritionists and none could explain it. Then I came across articles on nitric oxide. This led to finding out information on three American Nobel prize winners who were able to explain the action of nitro glycerin. Nitric oxide is a gas which majorly affects blood flow throughout the body. Cardiovascular health can be improved and stabilized with foods and supplements that support nitric oxide.
If nitric oxide levels decline due to stress, aging, or in my case a severe black mold exposure, then oxidative stress and free radicals can create inflammation and then edema. I had radically changed my diet, worked on emotional issues, and still questioned why my edema remained. The black mold, which I was around close to ten years, began the pattern of significant decline in my health. I began my life with circulatory, neurological, and emotional challenges. The mold magnified them and also reduced my nitric oxide levels. My aging and stress levels made things worse.
After over a week of craving red beet roots, I began to look into what nutritional properties beets had. They are one of the top foods for supporting nitric oxide levels according to Julian Whitaker, MD. I had juiced a small amount of them or ate some cooked beets. These made me feel a bit better but not great. I did notice that my vertigo had reduced since consuming them. As I read Dr. Whitaker's take on beets, I decided to try juicing more of them. Yesterday I consumed almost a full cup of beet juice. This morning I was up after 7 rather than my usual 10 hours of sleep. I improved on my vision therapy exercise and was very clear headed which is darn near impossible for me to achieve some days!
What the nitro glycerin gave me in the hospital is what my body longed to have. The other foods that minimally increased my nitric oxide levels were helpful but not enough. I was so confused as to why my practitioners dismissed my experience in the hospital. They all seemed so certain that my experience was meaningless and that I must fit into a category that THEY understood! I certainly am not one to fit into someone else's box! I searched and searched for someone other than my husband to listen. The research I found clearly stated the power of circulation and nitric oxide specifically. In the years I have looked for someone to listen, I found research that showed what I suspected.
It's a real challenge to walk away from the belief that others know what to do better than you do yourself. So many of us have been confused and told not to believe that our impressions, understandings and gut feelings are less than accurate. I KNEW deep within me that the nitro glycerin was showing me a huge piece of the puzzle and I waited for others to understand. Although I understand that all things come in time, I feel angry that my impressions were not heard.
As I move further into healing, with a naturopath who does her best to listen and hear I look forward to greater and greater health. Sometimes in life, we just need to stick true to what we know deep in our hearts and minds is right. The knowing and the honoring of what is our truth is a gift beyond measure.
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
"To call you ultra sensitive is an understatement"
These were the words given to me yesterday. I had have always been called sensitive but to be told this by a remarkably sensitive holistic practitioner is a bit different. To many of the practitioners I've seen, I have been quickly misread. I am not a petite woman. I am 5' 5" and my bone size is large. My hour glass shape shows that I am not frail, weak, or delicate. My weight, which I wear quite well, has always been used to ground me to a certain extent. The practitioners who have not understood me have been those who assumed that because I am not a small woman, I am very insensitive on all levels and don't feel things deeply. Those people are missing who I truly am. It is my strong opinion that body size has nothing to do with the depth of sensitivity within someone.
I had a friend who told me many years ago that regardless of how small and thin she was, she felt fat. When she lost weight, she felt more comfortable and was able to reach her goals for health. Her view of herself and my view of myself were quite different. I am obtaining vibrant health which for me is strength, flexibility, and endurance on all levels. My sensitivities on the vestibular, visual, emotional, spiritual, and physical levels have led me to some harsh conclusions. Regardless of how many people claim that they can tolerate amusement parks, malls, loud music, processed food, little sleep, and lots of stimulants, I can't. My system needs lots of quiet, purposeful reflection, healthy lighting and food, gentle colors, and a very supportive environment. There is a certain feeling of grief or guilt about not being able to take what the world has to give, yet I know that busyness is not good for me or who I am.
I find a lot exhausting which is not because I am weak but rather because I am sensitive. The off gassing of furniture, be it at a store or a gym, is enough to kick my system into shut down. The intensity of a group of people be it at the movies, restaurants, stores, or even while doing hobbies, can be totally overwhelming to me. It has been a long time since I was able to have enough of the support I need to cope with the constant busyness of the world. As I continue to explore what brings me peace and what disturbs me, I am finding that I am not alone. Many of us just can't take the constant barrage of light, sound, movement, and expectations that today's modern pace demands. This would certainly explain a lot of our health issues, exhaustion, and erratic sleep patterns.
Certainly my practitioner's words about my sensitivity does put me into a class that is not shared by many, yet I am not without my peers. Many of us deeply enjoy and need a break from the intensity of the world. I appreciate technology and understand that the world is changing rapidly as I write these words. It's clear to me that the world is not meant to cater to my needs. If I am to heal fully, I need to be the one to set limits and boundaries on what I do and where I go. It's also my responsibility to understand to what degree I choose to push myself and then how much time I need to recover.
Being intuitive has its pros and cons. Once an awareness becomes our own, we then accept the responsibility for implementing it in our lives. Sometimes my sensitivities are a real drain to me and other times they give me perception and wisdom that I could never achieve without them. For me, it's not about denying who I am. It's about understanding and honoring who I am in the healthiest, most empowering means possible.
I had a friend who told me many years ago that regardless of how small and thin she was, she felt fat. When she lost weight, she felt more comfortable and was able to reach her goals for health. Her view of herself and my view of myself were quite different. I am obtaining vibrant health which for me is strength, flexibility, and endurance on all levels. My sensitivities on the vestibular, visual, emotional, spiritual, and physical levels have led me to some harsh conclusions. Regardless of how many people claim that they can tolerate amusement parks, malls, loud music, processed food, little sleep, and lots of stimulants, I can't. My system needs lots of quiet, purposeful reflection, healthy lighting and food, gentle colors, and a very supportive environment. There is a certain feeling of grief or guilt about not being able to take what the world has to give, yet I know that busyness is not good for me or who I am.
I find a lot exhausting which is not because I am weak but rather because I am sensitive. The off gassing of furniture, be it at a store or a gym, is enough to kick my system into shut down. The intensity of a group of people be it at the movies, restaurants, stores, or even while doing hobbies, can be totally overwhelming to me. It has been a long time since I was able to have enough of the support I need to cope with the constant busyness of the world. As I continue to explore what brings me peace and what disturbs me, I am finding that I am not alone. Many of us just can't take the constant barrage of light, sound, movement, and expectations that today's modern pace demands. This would certainly explain a lot of our health issues, exhaustion, and erratic sleep patterns.
Certainly my practitioner's words about my sensitivity does put me into a class that is not shared by many, yet I am not without my peers. Many of us deeply enjoy and need a break from the intensity of the world. I appreciate technology and understand that the world is changing rapidly as I write these words. It's clear to me that the world is not meant to cater to my needs. If I am to heal fully, I need to be the one to set limits and boundaries on what I do and where I go. It's also my responsibility to understand to what degree I choose to push myself and then how much time I need to recover.
Being intuitive has its pros and cons. Once an awareness becomes our own, we then accept the responsibility for implementing it in our lives. Sometimes my sensitivities are a real drain to me and other times they give me perception and wisdom that I could never achieve without them. For me, it's not about denying who I am. It's about understanding and honoring who I am in the healthiest, most empowering means possible.
What we had and what we thought we had
When I first learned the meaning of the word grief, I thought it meant the feeling you get when something you loved went away. It was a long time before I realized that we can grieve what we had and lost as well as what we were never able to have. I can apply this concept to lots of things. People who developed disabilities later in life have lots of grief and part of it can be about who they used to be and what they used to have. In my case, I've grown up not having certain abilities and didn't realize until much later in life what I "should" or could have had. I have always been very intuitive and I used to think most people functioned as I did when they made decisions and decided how they felt about someone or something. Having discernment strictly based on logic is very foreign to me.
Because I was born to parents who were substantially older than many parents, I arrived into a family that caused me to be between the generations. My closest cousins were close to 20 years my senior and even my siblings, who were from a previous marriage, were close to that age difference as well. One of my paternal aunts, with whom I was very close, died when I was in my late 20's. My grandmother and my first best friend died before I was in fourth grade. As my uncles, cousins, other aunts, classmates, and friends have died, I have shifted in the way I relate to life. I do my best to cherish moments because I know in a very deep way that nothing is promised and life, in this form anyway, is limited. I miss a lot of biological family who have died. Friends and acquaintances, many from another time and place, I miss and yet know our parting was meant to be.
The animals I have loved so dearly who have left my care have also changed me. Some have died due to old age, illness, by assistance of a veterinarian, or gone on to another home through adoption or foster care. When I think of the animals that have touched my life, I think of my father's bassets and my mother and her beautiful collies. The lovely gray and white tabby cats, wonderful potbelly pigs, regal Old English Sheepdogs and many more who have influenced my life in powerful ways have helped to mold who I have become.
Suffering upsets me quite a bit. It disturbs me far more to see suffering than to see death. I'm not afraid to die. I would miss those I love at this point in my life but I truly don't think it would devastate me. I honor the life and death cycle. I deeply believe that we are meant to live only as long as we are given, whatever time period that is. I've known people and animals who've died early in life and then those who have had long, vibrant lives. I don't feel cheated by their transitions. I don't feel like they have left me. I am grateful for their time in my life.
The deaths that have disturbed me the most are of those whose suffering has been long or those who have died suddenly by their own hand. I still struggle to understand suffering and its purpose in life. For now, I choose to honor the path that is unfolding in my life which ultimately I believe will have a balance of all things good and bad.
Because I was born to parents who were substantially older than many parents, I arrived into a family that caused me to be between the generations. My closest cousins were close to 20 years my senior and even my siblings, who were from a previous marriage, were close to that age difference as well. One of my paternal aunts, with whom I was very close, died when I was in my late 20's. My grandmother and my first best friend died before I was in fourth grade. As my uncles, cousins, other aunts, classmates, and friends have died, I have shifted in the way I relate to life. I do my best to cherish moments because I know in a very deep way that nothing is promised and life, in this form anyway, is limited. I miss a lot of biological family who have died. Friends and acquaintances, many from another time and place, I miss and yet know our parting was meant to be.
The animals I have loved so dearly who have left my care have also changed me. Some have died due to old age, illness, by assistance of a veterinarian, or gone on to another home through adoption or foster care. When I think of the animals that have touched my life, I think of my father's bassets and my mother and her beautiful collies. The lovely gray and white tabby cats, wonderful potbelly pigs, regal Old English Sheepdogs and many more who have influenced my life in powerful ways have helped to mold who I have become.
Suffering upsets me quite a bit. It disturbs me far more to see suffering than to see death. I'm not afraid to die. I would miss those I love at this point in my life but I truly don't think it would devastate me. I honor the life and death cycle. I deeply believe that we are meant to live only as long as we are given, whatever time period that is. I've known people and animals who've died early in life and then those who have had long, vibrant lives. I don't feel cheated by their transitions. I don't feel like they have left me. I am grateful for their time in my life.
The deaths that have disturbed me the most are of those whose suffering has been long or those who have died suddenly by their own hand. I still struggle to understand suffering and its purpose in life. For now, I choose to honor the path that is unfolding in my life which ultimately I believe will have a balance of all things good and bad.
Anger, the power and passion of it
One of the things I really like about myself is that I get angry about certain things consistently. I'm not one to get enraged over what I would consider minor things: last minute changes, losing something, getting lost, or lots of traffic on the road. My anger tends to be about intentional malicious behavior or people believing they understand when obviously they do not. I'm usually not one to ask several people what they think on an issue. If there is a spiritual or philosophical question I have, then I may ask people in my life but I don't live my life based on others' thoughts about issues.
I do not have a quick temper. It takes a lot for me to go from frustrated to downright anger. I have a very slow burn and a very long memory. I can forgive people for their choices in behavior. Once someone engages in something that feels very painful to me, I have a real challenge forgetting the incident. I can move on but often what happens is that I distance myself from the situation and the person.
I respect people that I can honorably disagree with and still hold a connection. I understand that we all see life and circumstances differently. One of my latest irritants is the pattern of some people with disabilities believing that know what it's like for others with disabilities. One disability does not equate to another. Just like there are various forms of learning disabilities, traumatic brain injuries, and neurological conditions among others, there are a plethora of ways of adapting to them. When someone takes a limited viewpoint and assumes others feel the same way, this can create a myriad of problems.
Perhaps I should not be surprised. After all, those without disabilities disagree on what's right and wrong and how life should be lived so why would those with disabilities be any different? Looking at life choices from a stance of fear, in my opinion, only leads to more fear, resentment and anger. I understand that we don't all need to agree. What pushes my anger button is the arrogance and ignorance that some have in assessing what is best for those of us with challenges. It's easy to become so short sighted that you believe your way is the only way.
There is definitely a line between standing up for yourself and finding compassion for others. Even very kind hearted people can miss the point of being helpful. I once knew a woman who insisted upon setting the brakes on a patient's wheelchair. The patient had her good days and bad and wanted to be more independent. When I suggested that perhaps the patient would like to do what she could, I was told: "I will help her. She needs me."
I want to be as independent as I can be. Some days that's more, some days that's less. Personally, I don't appreciate another's evaluation of what is best for me especially when it is based on opinions rather than quantitative facts.
Anger, I believe, is a fire that can be used to channel energy and motivation. It can also be destructive and destroy the one who holds it. For me, anger can be both. I'm still working on finding the balance between entitlement and empowerment.
I do not have a quick temper. It takes a lot for me to go from frustrated to downright anger. I have a very slow burn and a very long memory. I can forgive people for their choices in behavior. Once someone engages in something that feels very painful to me, I have a real challenge forgetting the incident. I can move on but often what happens is that I distance myself from the situation and the person.
I respect people that I can honorably disagree with and still hold a connection. I understand that we all see life and circumstances differently. One of my latest irritants is the pattern of some people with disabilities believing that know what it's like for others with disabilities. One disability does not equate to another. Just like there are various forms of learning disabilities, traumatic brain injuries, and neurological conditions among others, there are a plethora of ways of adapting to them. When someone takes a limited viewpoint and assumes others feel the same way, this can create a myriad of problems.
Perhaps I should not be surprised. After all, those without disabilities disagree on what's right and wrong and how life should be lived so why would those with disabilities be any different? Looking at life choices from a stance of fear, in my opinion, only leads to more fear, resentment and anger. I understand that we don't all need to agree. What pushes my anger button is the arrogance and ignorance that some have in assessing what is best for those of us with challenges. It's easy to become so short sighted that you believe your way is the only way.
There is definitely a line between standing up for yourself and finding compassion for others. Even very kind hearted people can miss the point of being helpful. I once knew a woman who insisted upon setting the brakes on a patient's wheelchair. The patient had her good days and bad and wanted to be more independent. When I suggested that perhaps the patient would like to do what she could, I was told: "I will help her. She needs me."
I want to be as independent as I can be. Some days that's more, some days that's less. Personally, I don't appreciate another's evaluation of what is best for me especially when it is based on opinions rather than quantitative facts.
Anger, I believe, is a fire that can be used to channel energy and motivation. It can also be destructive and destroy the one who holds it. For me, anger can be both. I'm still working on finding the balance between entitlement and empowerment.
Monday, March 2, 2015
Who were you?
For many people, the person that holds the title "father" is a very loving and supportive soul. That was not the case for me. I had no stepfather or substitute dad, I had only one biological father. My father was named after the Jewish prophet, Saadiah Goen. My grandfather, Benjamin, was a great student of literature and Jewish history and he felt his youngest son best fit the passion of this leader. Intensity was not something my father lacked. He was a man who was a mixture of intellect, rigidity, kindness, stubbornness, pride, sadness and anger.
He had great respect for his parents, both first generation immigrants. To him, their sacrifices and wisdom were to be honored. Although my father, Sid, was not in any way a religious man, he did identify his ethnicity as Jewish. He was not quite the atheists my grandparents were, but he definitely questioned the spirituality of life. Ironic that my grandparents and my father were quite intuitive.
My father was 48 years old when I was born. My mother was his only wife who he married two years prior. He was a good provider and treated my mother's children from a previous marriage in a respectful manner. My father was a kind man. He often helped to care for the pets of friends and neighbors. Frequently, he would offer a ride to a stranger or be particularly helpful to the family of friends.
There was however another side to this man. After the years of neighborhood baseball and pick up football games, jobs in canning factories, and being a hired hand at local farms, he took to being in the Navy for a year and then two decades in the Merchant Marines. His service time encompassed World War II and his love of travel and anthropology took him to many countries around the world. There were many things my father never talked about. He rarely spoke of fellow servicemen, battles, or casualties. His sentiment about the war was remarkable in some ways. Despite my aunt, his older sister, being very negative towards Germany after the war my father actually felt a great deal of compassion. He believed strongly that Germany had suffered a great deal during and after the war and that much of the cruelty that occurred was strongly guided by Russian rather than German forces.
He was a man who had very, very rigid beliefs about right and wrong. Although he had compassion for those who were struggling many times, there were several occasions where his sentiment was nothing short of ruthless and he displayed the violence to show it. For many years he was a very athletic man and even wrestled professionally before the antics of today's wrestlers. He believed strongly in defending what he believed was important and nothing, human or animal, could easily stop his force once initiated.
His temper, which he often described as causing him to see red, was something we all understood. There were certain things that were never said or done around him. It was just the way it was. He was adamant about being strong and weakness in most forms was completely and utterly unacceptable. I remember he was once in the hospital and had received a spinal block. As he was laying flat upon his bed, he demanded that my mother and I leave so we should not see him in a weakened state. Although he had some kindness towards those with certain illnesses, he was ruthlessly unforgiving for those who would choose to be weak. Strength was a most valuable virtue in his eyes.
I never heard the words: "I love you" or "I'm proud of you" ever leave my father's mouth though I would think on some level both were true. He made certain sacrifices for others: not playing football in high school so he wouldn't upset his mother, graduating high school so he would not disappoint his parents, leaving the house so my mother could meet with people he didn't like, and taking his daughter to dog shows so she could showcase her prized pup in a community quite a ways from home.
In retrospect, I can see some signs of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) in my father. He didn't like crowds, going out, most loud noises, or close interaction. Because he was away at sea early in my life, I never bonded with him enough to call him by anything other than his first name and even that wasn't until much later in my life. I never had a daddy and quite honestly I don't really think I had a dad either. I had a man, a stranger in many ways, who was my male biological parent.
Since living in the desert I have discovered a cactus called a cholla. Affectionately it's called a teddy bear cactus which I believe is a cruel joke. The barbs for this cactus can get in the skin and must be removed with pliers, a less than pleasant activity. These plants make the briars from back East look positively harmless. My father reminds me of a cholla in some ways. He could cause a violent impression and yet at times appear quite harmless.
I don't hate the memory of my father or even the man himself. I feel sad, jipped you might say. In the 7 years since his death at the age of 91, I still wonder about who this man really was. What thoughts and feelings did he have that none of us ever knew? Who was he really? I would like to believe that I have taken on the best of what this man offered me. He did teach me things and his love of childhood stories, mysteries, and diversity have left a huge impression upon me. The effects of having an emotionally distant, perhaps some would say broken, man as a mentor is something from which I am still recovering. Although the adult in me knows, he truly did do the best he could, the child in me wonders why I was not enough for him to be warm, loving, and gentle.
Recovery and spirituality have overlapped a lot for me. Recognizing that the behavior of others has little to nothing to do with me has been a real challenge for me to accept. Realizing that we all come from backgrounds that are less than what we wished they were is very real for most of us. My father, Sid, was in some ways a man among men. In other ways, he was a very fearful little boy afraid to give and receive love at the most basic of levels.
He had great respect for his parents, both first generation immigrants. To him, their sacrifices and wisdom were to be honored. Although my father, Sid, was not in any way a religious man, he did identify his ethnicity as Jewish. He was not quite the atheists my grandparents were, but he definitely questioned the spirituality of life. Ironic that my grandparents and my father were quite intuitive.
My father was 48 years old when I was born. My mother was his only wife who he married two years prior. He was a good provider and treated my mother's children from a previous marriage in a respectful manner. My father was a kind man. He often helped to care for the pets of friends and neighbors. Frequently, he would offer a ride to a stranger or be particularly helpful to the family of friends.
There was however another side to this man. After the years of neighborhood baseball and pick up football games, jobs in canning factories, and being a hired hand at local farms, he took to being in the Navy for a year and then two decades in the Merchant Marines. His service time encompassed World War II and his love of travel and anthropology took him to many countries around the world. There were many things my father never talked about. He rarely spoke of fellow servicemen, battles, or casualties. His sentiment about the war was remarkable in some ways. Despite my aunt, his older sister, being very negative towards Germany after the war my father actually felt a great deal of compassion. He believed strongly that Germany had suffered a great deal during and after the war and that much of the cruelty that occurred was strongly guided by Russian rather than German forces.
He was a man who had very, very rigid beliefs about right and wrong. Although he had compassion for those who were struggling many times, there were several occasions where his sentiment was nothing short of ruthless and he displayed the violence to show it. For many years he was a very athletic man and even wrestled professionally before the antics of today's wrestlers. He believed strongly in defending what he believed was important and nothing, human or animal, could easily stop his force once initiated.
His temper, which he often described as causing him to see red, was something we all understood. There were certain things that were never said or done around him. It was just the way it was. He was adamant about being strong and weakness in most forms was completely and utterly unacceptable. I remember he was once in the hospital and had received a spinal block. As he was laying flat upon his bed, he demanded that my mother and I leave so we should not see him in a weakened state. Although he had some kindness towards those with certain illnesses, he was ruthlessly unforgiving for those who would choose to be weak. Strength was a most valuable virtue in his eyes.
I never heard the words: "I love you" or "I'm proud of you" ever leave my father's mouth though I would think on some level both were true. He made certain sacrifices for others: not playing football in high school so he wouldn't upset his mother, graduating high school so he would not disappoint his parents, leaving the house so my mother could meet with people he didn't like, and taking his daughter to dog shows so she could showcase her prized pup in a community quite a ways from home.
In retrospect, I can see some signs of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) in my father. He didn't like crowds, going out, most loud noises, or close interaction. Because he was away at sea early in my life, I never bonded with him enough to call him by anything other than his first name and even that wasn't until much later in my life. I never had a daddy and quite honestly I don't really think I had a dad either. I had a man, a stranger in many ways, who was my male biological parent.
Since living in the desert I have discovered a cactus called a cholla. Affectionately it's called a teddy bear cactus which I believe is a cruel joke. The barbs for this cactus can get in the skin and must be removed with pliers, a less than pleasant activity. These plants make the briars from back East look positively harmless. My father reminds me of a cholla in some ways. He could cause a violent impression and yet at times appear quite harmless.
I don't hate the memory of my father or even the man himself. I feel sad, jipped you might say. In the 7 years since his death at the age of 91, I still wonder about who this man really was. What thoughts and feelings did he have that none of us ever knew? Who was he really? I would like to believe that I have taken on the best of what this man offered me. He did teach me things and his love of childhood stories, mysteries, and diversity have left a huge impression upon me. The effects of having an emotionally distant, perhaps some would say broken, man as a mentor is something from which I am still recovering. Although the adult in me knows, he truly did do the best he could, the child in me wonders why I was not enough for him to be warm, loving, and gentle.
Recovery and spirituality have overlapped a lot for me. Recognizing that the behavior of others has little to nothing to do with me has been a real challenge for me to accept. Realizing that we all come from backgrounds that are less than what we wished they were is very real for most of us. My father, Sid, was in some ways a man among men. In other ways, he was a very fearful little boy afraid to give and receive love at the most basic of levels.
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Facing fear
In the late Fall of last year I went for a series of acupuncture treatments. I was not new to this modality. Acupuncture helped me to handle sciatica along with many other issues throughout the years. This time was different. One of the acupuncturists suggested that they do scalp points to help with my neurological issues. This was a very bittersweet suggestion. Although the needles did help me to have broader peripheral vision and clearer focus, another pathway was unleashed. The panic from very early in my life was also opened, much like Pandora's box. Driving which I had done for over 3 decades suddenly became absolutely terrifying. I wasn't afraid of another car hitting me or some other vehicular issue. I just couldn't integrate all that I was now seeing. Another issue had occurred as well. My midline, or one's perception of the middle of one's own body, was changed. I just couldn't quite "find" midline.
To suddenly have panic when there was none at all is particularly disturbing. I just couldn't "make" myself suck up the fear. In the past when there was lots of traffic or a setting where there were many distractions, I could block most of the issues so I could still function. This time I was forced to face a side of myself I never knew was there. Because my traumatic brain injury affected my parietal lobes which affected spatial reasoning, it's actually pretty remarkable that I learned to drive at all much less feel comfortable doing it. Although the SPECT scan showed restricted blood flow in my brain, I had learned to cope with the issue. The acupuncture expanded my abilities and in doing so opened up absolute panic in processing certain things. Interestingly during my evaluation for vision therapy, it was determined that my midline was "off" yet many of my mechanical visual skills were in tact. It would seem to me that my terror from so many years ago has affected so much in my life to include the way I literally "see" the world. Vision therapy has given me several skills and tools to expand and integrate my visual processing. Physical therapy gave me something else.
I had seen a previous physical therapist who identified that I have a processing delay more significantly on my right side yet she totally missed how my neurological functioning was affected by fear. In so many ways, I appear "normal". I've had enough Feldenkrais, yoga, one on one exercise training, and spiritual guidance to "appear" much higher functioning in some ways than I actually am. Because my processing struggles tend to be outside of the verbal skill set, very few people notice my issues in most settings. It isn't until I'm asked to spatially interact with the world that the disabilities become clear. This combination of gifted and challenged is more common than most of us like to believe. We all want to fit in and for those of us who struggle in certain areas, we often have difficulty accepting help for something we've tried to hide most of our lives.
Yesterday when my husband and I went out together, I wanted to try driving. My current physical therapist, Emily, taught me how to reset my midline. Once I understood that, I was able to find my center and drive with little to no fear. I knew I had the ability to drive. I just needed to neurologically and emotionally remember how it all worked again. My husband who believes in me when often I question my abilities was right there "knowing" deep down that I had the ability in me all the time. Emily is a very gifted person. She is remarkably observant, kind, firm, and genuine. Because she took the time and the intention to "see" me for who I truly am she saw my challenges. Numerous times she's mentioned how subtle my struggles are and has acknowledged how much I work to improve my skills. It's not Emily's praise that touches me so deeply, it's her courage. Somewhere deep inside of this young woman's heart is a warrior. She works with people every day who have been wounded one way or another. Her desire to empower people to take back their independence is impressive. I'm sure not everyone appreciates her as I do. Wayne Dyer once said: "Some people will recognize us immediately, some will never see us." Emily "sees" deeper and more bravely than most. When I think of the people who have had the greatest impact on my life, I think of those who have chosen to "see" me for who I am. They are the ones whose own fear has not blocked their ability to see mine.
In the years I worked in the mental health field, I "saw" the effects of events that forever changed people's lives. In many cases I truly wondered how people were able to go on and for that matter even want to continue living. The courage I saw in these people was often hidden for a long time. They were not the obvious heroes we hear about. They were struggling, fearful, often lonely souls determined to make things different. As I reflect back on them, I see a huge mirror into myself. This round of acupuncture, despite my discontent for quite awhile, showed me how much courage I do have. It allowed me to see the faith I carry in my heart. As disturbing, unsettling, and downright terrifying as this experience has been, it showed me who I am at a very deep level. I am, some would say, damaged. There are parts of my functioning that just don't work right, or do they? Would I have been truly able to see the grace of God, the warrior within myself, and the love and support of others if I had not experienced struggle? The Divine is truly incredible. Because of my spiritual challenges, I have been allowed to see my spiritual strengths and for this I am forever grateful and changed.
To suddenly have panic when there was none at all is particularly disturbing. I just couldn't "make" myself suck up the fear. In the past when there was lots of traffic or a setting where there were many distractions, I could block most of the issues so I could still function. This time I was forced to face a side of myself I never knew was there. Because my traumatic brain injury affected my parietal lobes which affected spatial reasoning, it's actually pretty remarkable that I learned to drive at all much less feel comfortable doing it. Although the SPECT scan showed restricted blood flow in my brain, I had learned to cope with the issue. The acupuncture expanded my abilities and in doing so opened up absolute panic in processing certain things. Interestingly during my evaluation for vision therapy, it was determined that my midline was "off" yet many of my mechanical visual skills were in tact. It would seem to me that my terror from so many years ago has affected so much in my life to include the way I literally "see" the world. Vision therapy has given me several skills and tools to expand and integrate my visual processing. Physical therapy gave me something else.
I had seen a previous physical therapist who identified that I have a processing delay more significantly on my right side yet she totally missed how my neurological functioning was affected by fear. In so many ways, I appear "normal". I've had enough Feldenkrais, yoga, one on one exercise training, and spiritual guidance to "appear" much higher functioning in some ways than I actually am. Because my processing struggles tend to be outside of the verbal skill set, very few people notice my issues in most settings. It isn't until I'm asked to spatially interact with the world that the disabilities become clear. This combination of gifted and challenged is more common than most of us like to believe. We all want to fit in and for those of us who struggle in certain areas, we often have difficulty accepting help for something we've tried to hide most of our lives.
Yesterday when my husband and I went out together, I wanted to try driving. My current physical therapist, Emily, taught me how to reset my midline. Once I understood that, I was able to find my center and drive with little to no fear. I knew I had the ability to drive. I just needed to neurologically and emotionally remember how it all worked again. My husband who believes in me when often I question my abilities was right there "knowing" deep down that I had the ability in me all the time. Emily is a very gifted person. She is remarkably observant, kind, firm, and genuine. Because she took the time and the intention to "see" me for who I truly am she saw my challenges. Numerous times she's mentioned how subtle my struggles are and has acknowledged how much I work to improve my skills. It's not Emily's praise that touches me so deeply, it's her courage. Somewhere deep inside of this young woman's heart is a warrior. She works with people every day who have been wounded one way or another. Her desire to empower people to take back their independence is impressive. I'm sure not everyone appreciates her as I do. Wayne Dyer once said: "Some people will recognize us immediately, some will never see us." Emily "sees" deeper and more bravely than most. When I think of the people who have had the greatest impact on my life, I think of those who have chosen to "see" me for who I am. They are the ones whose own fear has not blocked their ability to see mine.
In the years I worked in the mental health field, I "saw" the effects of events that forever changed people's lives. In many cases I truly wondered how people were able to go on and for that matter even want to continue living. The courage I saw in these people was often hidden for a long time. They were not the obvious heroes we hear about. They were struggling, fearful, often lonely souls determined to make things different. As I reflect back on them, I see a huge mirror into myself. This round of acupuncture, despite my discontent for quite awhile, showed me how much courage I do have. It allowed me to see the faith I carry in my heart. As disturbing, unsettling, and downright terrifying as this experience has been, it showed me who I am at a very deep level. I am, some would say, damaged. There are parts of my functioning that just don't work right, or do they? Would I have been truly able to see the grace of God, the warrior within myself, and the love and support of others if I had not experienced struggle? The Divine is truly incredible. Because of my spiritual challenges, I have been allowed to see my spiritual strengths and for this I am forever grateful and changed.
Friday, February 13, 2015
The challenge is given
I am a fan of Wayne Dyer for many things and one of them is his humility. I have read these words before but today when I saw them, it felt different. The words were: "Relinquish the need to be right". It brought up lots of feelings for me. For many years I felt like when I spoke, people often didn't understand what I was trying to say. It has taken a lot of time and healing to realize that just because others can't relate to what I'm sharing doesn't mean it's not important. My frustration to be heard and understood is probably due to lots of things, not least of which are my platypus ways.
I had a friend who once told me that she believed that she could be right in a disagreement and that the other person didn't have to be wrong. Somewhere in my own chaos, I found that unsettling. I understood agreeing to disagree but I truly believed ultimately there was a right and a wrong to all topics. I've struggled to understand that we all see things from where our development has brought us. We all function at different levels in different ways and yet somehow I still believed all things boiled down to right and wrong.
I have never fit easily into a description of political party or social beliefs. I work at being very open minded to many different viewpoints even those I struggle with because they are so deeply rooted in fear. I have certainly disagreed with others desire to position me neatly into a box, yet Wayne's wording was still less than comforting. I didn't want to be judged yet I felt like if I didn't see things in a somewhat black and white manner, I would be lost. For the most part, I've made my peace between discernment and judgment. I deeply believe that only the Divine can offer judgment and that the type of judgement that occurs on that level is far beyond the understanding of most of us on earth. Discernment, I've come to understand, is deciding what fits best for me and is very subject to change.
I sat with why relinquishing the need to be right touched me so deeply. Was it about logic? Was it about worthiness or was it about something much deeper? After some reflection, I think I recognize what it is for me at this point in my life. Somewhere within me I believed that if I was right, I was justified and somehow safe. If I could show my point, and others could see it then some of the criticism and judgment would end. Part of this was family based, as I said I come from a family of debaters. I think a large part of this belief came from school and work settings. If you were bright and bold and had reason to back up your words, then you were considered someone to respect. It's probably why very quiet people confused me. I often knew that they were bright from conversations we had one on one but somehow they were not "seen" as bright. Emotion, passion and boldness pushed back the judgement others wanted to inflict upon me. Being right, which ultimately is impossible, was a belief that I used to justify my existence. If I could express myself and have others hear me, then I was considered worthy.
Interesting that in the time I've been taking to heal, where I infrequently see people, I feel far more empowered than I ever did in any debate. This blog shows I still need to express myself but perhaps it's far more for me to find and use my voice than it is for anyone to approve. Funny how these insights work. I still have my opinions and beliefs and certainly discern what's best for myself but if no one else "gets" it I may feel lonely, but not unworthy.
I had a friend who once told me that she believed that she could be right in a disagreement and that the other person didn't have to be wrong. Somewhere in my own chaos, I found that unsettling. I understood agreeing to disagree but I truly believed ultimately there was a right and a wrong to all topics. I've struggled to understand that we all see things from where our development has brought us. We all function at different levels in different ways and yet somehow I still believed all things boiled down to right and wrong.
I have never fit easily into a description of political party or social beliefs. I work at being very open minded to many different viewpoints even those I struggle with because they are so deeply rooted in fear. I have certainly disagreed with others desire to position me neatly into a box, yet Wayne's wording was still less than comforting. I didn't want to be judged yet I felt like if I didn't see things in a somewhat black and white manner, I would be lost. For the most part, I've made my peace between discernment and judgment. I deeply believe that only the Divine can offer judgment and that the type of judgement that occurs on that level is far beyond the understanding of most of us on earth. Discernment, I've come to understand, is deciding what fits best for me and is very subject to change.
I sat with why relinquishing the need to be right touched me so deeply. Was it about logic? Was it about worthiness or was it about something much deeper? After some reflection, I think I recognize what it is for me at this point in my life. Somewhere within me I believed that if I was right, I was justified and somehow safe. If I could show my point, and others could see it then some of the criticism and judgment would end. Part of this was family based, as I said I come from a family of debaters. I think a large part of this belief came from school and work settings. If you were bright and bold and had reason to back up your words, then you were considered someone to respect. It's probably why very quiet people confused me. I often knew that they were bright from conversations we had one on one but somehow they were not "seen" as bright. Emotion, passion and boldness pushed back the judgement others wanted to inflict upon me. Being right, which ultimately is impossible, was a belief that I used to justify my existence. If I could express myself and have others hear me, then I was considered worthy.
Interesting that in the time I've been taking to heal, where I infrequently see people, I feel far more empowered than I ever did in any debate. This blog shows I still need to express myself but perhaps it's far more for me to find and use my voice than it is for anyone to approve. Funny how these insights work. I still have my opinions and beliefs and certainly discern what's best for myself but if no one else "gets" it I may feel lonely, but not unworthy.
Thursday, February 5, 2015
I don't feel what you feel
My latest frustration is a reminder to one of my deeper issues. It is so confusing to me how others often believe that they know how I feel. I believe it's pretty insensitive and unrealistic to believe that any of us know exactly how someone else feels. For example, my vision therapist seemed genuinely perplexed that I was not delighted over her praise of my work. Frankly I don't feel I need it. I work a lot on my vision therapy exercises and I know I am making progress. My husband is a wonderful support and his praise I accept easily. To me, relationship and connection support understanding. Practitioners regardless of degree or training don't necessarily understand how I'm feeling even though they often think they do.
As the name of this blog suggests, I am not like a lot of folks. Maybe my genetic glitches, traumatic brain injury, dyslexia, or some unique light within me causes me to see, feel and process the world differently than others. I can understand that people who live in different places can't full understand my life in the Southeastern Arizona sun. As a matter of fact, someone in the Southeastern US which is known for its heat and humidity was commenting on the significant heat in Arizona. With all due respect, how is it you can know my experience when you've never been here much less know personally what it's like for me?
In the years I worked in the mental health system, I observed several biases. One that is still a stickler for me is gender bias. Domestic violence has frequently been described as men behaving violently to women. Although clearly this happens, there are many women who have been violent in word and deed to men. Women who have used their position or power to intimidate, dominate, and manipulate men. Both genders have exploited children and I tire of the bias that women are incapable of such things. Human beings are struggling mortals who are frequently overwhelmed by life and disastrous things can happen as a result.
Another pattern I have seen is that somehow those in affluent communities are immune to addiction, mental illness and violence. Few things could be further from the truth. I remember calling the police to investigate violence to a Caucasian, male adolescent and was told: "This doesn't happen in THAT neighborhood." The community in question was a very wealthy, professional neighborhood.
My husband has talked about how he spent years not realizing how prevalent addiction, mental illness, and violence was. Due to personal and professional experience, I know how epidemic these are.
Perhaps people want to support others and assume that because they want to understand, they do. Although this is an altruistic sentiment, it's untrue in my view. We all have biases and limitations in how we take in the world based upon our own views and experiences. I'm not angry because we all have sticking points. I'm angry because so many people refuse to acknowledge them. Practitioners of all types frequently want to genuinely help others. Somewhere in their desire to help and feel needed, they can get lost.
I once had a provider tell me that my functioning was similar to a great tree with a hole in the center. I think that describes me quite well. My executive functioning is quite high. My verbal skills are very good. My visual spatial issues are quite another matter. I struggle to make sense of spatial positioning and reasoning. Colors and patterns are a real challenge for me. My dyslexia is a great gift when I am doing broad reasoning and a real challenge when I'm attempting to make sense of a graph and details.
I respect people who have skills I don't. I think it's really cool to watch others whose proprioception and kinesthetic awareness are outstanding. I enjoy my vision therapy and look forward to more and more success. I don't do it to impress anyone. I do it because I see a void that I want to fill. I strive to be a more integrated human being.
Perhaps one of my lessons in life is to honor where I am and others are. I don't need to like it or get lost in it, I just need to honor it. It feels like a very delicate walk to balance my own opinions with those of others. I guess like is said in recovery circles: "I will take what fits and leave the rest".
As the name of this blog suggests, I am not like a lot of folks. Maybe my genetic glitches, traumatic brain injury, dyslexia, or some unique light within me causes me to see, feel and process the world differently than others. I can understand that people who live in different places can't full understand my life in the Southeastern Arizona sun. As a matter of fact, someone in the Southeastern US which is known for its heat and humidity was commenting on the significant heat in Arizona. With all due respect, how is it you can know my experience when you've never been here much less know personally what it's like for me?
In the years I worked in the mental health system, I observed several biases. One that is still a stickler for me is gender bias. Domestic violence has frequently been described as men behaving violently to women. Although clearly this happens, there are many women who have been violent in word and deed to men. Women who have used their position or power to intimidate, dominate, and manipulate men. Both genders have exploited children and I tire of the bias that women are incapable of such things. Human beings are struggling mortals who are frequently overwhelmed by life and disastrous things can happen as a result.
Another pattern I have seen is that somehow those in affluent communities are immune to addiction, mental illness and violence. Few things could be further from the truth. I remember calling the police to investigate violence to a Caucasian, male adolescent and was told: "This doesn't happen in THAT neighborhood." The community in question was a very wealthy, professional neighborhood.
My husband has talked about how he spent years not realizing how prevalent addiction, mental illness, and violence was. Due to personal and professional experience, I know how epidemic these are.
Perhaps people want to support others and assume that because they want to understand, they do. Although this is an altruistic sentiment, it's untrue in my view. We all have biases and limitations in how we take in the world based upon our own views and experiences. I'm not angry because we all have sticking points. I'm angry because so many people refuse to acknowledge them. Practitioners of all types frequently want to genuinely help others. Somewhere in their desire to help and feel needed, they can get lost.
I once had a provider tell me that my functioning was similar to a great tree with a hole in the center. I think that describes me quite well. My executive functioning is quite high. My verbal skills are very good. My visual spatial issues are quite another matter. I struggle to make sense of spatial positioning and reasoning. Colors and patterns are a real challenge for me. My dyslexia is a great gift when I am doing broad reasoning and a real challenge when I'm attempting to make sense of a graph and details.
I respect people who have skills I don't. I think it's really cool to watch others whose proprioception and kinesthetic awareness are outstanding. I enjoy my vision therapy and look forward to more and more success. I don't do it to impress anyone. I do it because I see a void that I want to fill. I strive to be a more integrated human being.
Perhaps one of my lessons in life is to honor where I am and others are. I don't need to like it or get lost in it, I just need to honor it. It feels like a very delicate walk to balance my own opinions with those of others. I guess like is said in recovery circles: "I will take what fits and leave the rest".
Am I really crazy?
The movie "Gaslight" was adapted from the UK version "The Murder in Thornton Square" which shows psychological manipulation now known as gaslighting. Dr. Robin Norwood's book "The Gaslight Effect" describes people who frequently fall victim to this behavior as bright, naive, kind, loving people. Because the behavior often begins in a very subtle manner, the person is often overwhelmed before they realize what is happening to them. Those who engage in gaslighting are often people who fit criteria or at least the traits of those who have Axis II or personality disorders such as antisocial, narcissistic, borderline among others. These people are inherently wired to behave in a manipulative fashion. Most of the time, they are not fully aware of their behavior or if they are seem quite unable to change it. This could be due to chemical, social, or physical effects present in and around them.
John Bradshaw, noted addictions counselor and educator, often used a mobile to describe family dynamics. His premise was that if one part of the mobile moved, then all the rest of the parts would be affected. This observation is very relevant to me. Lots of theories and observations are very narrow in scope. Life is not narrow and our experiences are multifaceted. Because of Mr. Bradshaw's observations, it's very clear to me that we are all made up of lots of different energies and when we interact with one another they are magnified. So for example, when I was growing up I had lots of dynamics at play. I was my mother's third child, my father's only child, my parents were older, much older, when I was born. My mother was 41 and my dad was 48. That in and of itself could set up a cascade for lots of issues. Throw in that like most families, mine had their own dysfunctions and trauma, and I have a genetic deletion along with early physical trauma and there is the beginning of a fast moving mobile.
I was raised in a very rural area with very limited opportunities for healthy interaction and I became very withdrawn. My sadness and isolation only grew in intensity until I began high school. It wasn't until then when I began to meet other people who I connected with and truly enjoyed being around. The last semester of my senior year of high school I was forced to limit my classes and begin taking courses through a junior college. That shift along with breaking up with a long time friend/boyfriend caused a huge upheaval in my world. Without the support I needed, I headed into my first unhealthy relationship. The young man who behaved as a small child fit almost every descriptor for a sociopath. My naive background did not prepare me for his host of tricks. I am so grateful that the Divine intervened and our relationship was cut short with him going off to prison. My family, and my uncle in particular, could not understand how I could possibly get involved with the likes of him. What my uncle didn't realize was that I genuinely wanted to help this boy and that no amount of logical reasoning from my aunts was going to replace the loving words this person gave me. Whether he meant them or not was irrelevant. I so desperately wanted and needed to hear them.
After several kind but unsatisfying relationships, I did well in college and still had my battles with very deep depression. I had no idea of my significant visual spatial impairments, dyslexia or the damage to my parietal lobes. I was still searching to understand my past and my ever frequent dissociation based drowsiness. By the time I was ready to leave New Jersey, I was pretty overwhelmed. I had a long stack of grief, depression that needed medication to stabilize, and neurological issues that were getting more pronounced as I grew older. When I met my ex-husband, he seemed like a genuinely nice man. He was bright and although rather quiet, he appeared to have a kind heart and a generous spirit. What I didn't know was how dark his internal world was. After years of being away from him, I am more fully realizing how challenged he was and how much he had been engaging in gaslighting. I began the relationship tired but still young enough to have fire to fight the good fight. By the end of 11 years, I was drained, exhausted and emotionally devastated.
Since that time, I have found a deep love for writing and seeing the world through a much more spiritual lens. My current relationship is not without issues but it is genuine, honest, kind and sincerely loving. Faith and connection have set the stage for my healing. Finding out how compromised my neurological system is hitting me very hard. Realizing how much grief, betrayal, trauma and dysfunction has affected me is still rocking my world.
Dr. Norwood talks about how gaslighting doesn't happen to people because they are stupid or foolish. Rather it's often because they are kind and loving people who want to see the best in others. Gaslighting can be very subtle or downright obvious, especially to those on the outside of the relationship. Finding trust and integrity in a world that can often appear to have none is a real challenge for me each day.
My energy levels, disabilities, trauma, and healing are guideposts that I sometimes still bump into when I least expect it. It's my hope that as we reflect back on our lives that we can see the good with the bad and come away from it knowing that our lives are very multidimensional and that just like John Bradshaw's mobile, they shift and re-balance often throughout our lives.
John Bradshaw, noted addictions counselor and educator, often used a mobile to describe family dynamics. His premise was that if one part of the mobile moved, then all the rest of the parts would be affected. This observation is very relevant to me. Lots of theories and observations are very narrow in scope. Life is not narrow and our experiences are multifaceted. Because of Mr. Bradshaw's observations, it's very clear to me that we are all made up of lots of different energies and when we interact with one another they are magnified. So for example, when I was growing up I had lots of dynamics at play. I was my mother's third child, my father's only child, my parents were older, much older, when I was born. My mother was 41 and my dad was 48. That in and of itself could set up a cascade for lots of issues. Throw in that like most families, mine had their own dysfunctions and trauma, and I have a genetic deletion along with early physical trauma and there is the beginning of a fast moving mobile.
I was raised in a very rural area with very limited opportunities for healthy interaction and I became very withdrawn. My sadness and isolation only grew in intensity until I began high school. It wasn't until then when I began to meet other people who I connected with and truly enjoyed being around. The last semester of my senior year of high school I was forced to limit my classes and begin taking courses through a junior college. That shift along with breaking up with a long time friend/boyfriend caused a huge upheaval in my world. Without the support I needed, I headed into my first unhealthy relationship. The young man who behaved as a small child fit almost every descriptor for a sociopath. My naive background did not prepare me for his host of tricks. I am so grateful that the Divine intervened and our relationship was cut short with him going off to prison. My family, and my uncle in particular, could not understand how I could possibly get involved with the likes of him. What my uncle didn't realize was that I genuinely wanted to help this boy and that no amount of logical reasoning from my aunts was going to replace the loving words this person gave me. Whether he meant them or not was irrelevant. I so desperately wanted and needed to hear them.
After several kind but unsatisfying relationships, I did well in college and still had my battles with very deep depression. I had no idea of my significant visual spatial impairments, dyslexia or the damage to my parietal lobes. I was still searching to understand my past and my ever frequent dissociation based drowsiness. By the time I was ready to leave New Jersey, I was pretty overwhelmed. I had a long stack of grief, depression that needed medication to stabilize, and neurological issues that were getting more pronounced as I grew older. When I met my ex-husband, he seemed like a genuinely nice man. He was bright and although rather quiet, he appeared to have a kind heart and a generous spirit. What I didn't know was how dark his internal world was. After years of being away from him, I am more fully realizing how challenged he was and how much he had been engaging in gaslighting. I began the relationship tired but still young enough to have fire to fight the good fight. By the end of 11 years, I was drained, exhausted and emotionally devastated.
Since that time, I have found a deep love for writing and seeing the world through a much more spiritual lens. My current relationship is not without issues but it is genuine, honest, kind and sincerely loving. Faith and connection have set the stage for my healing. Finding out how compromised my neurological system is hitting me very hard. Realizing how much grief, betrayal, trauma and dysfunction has affected me is still rocking my world.
Dr. Norwood talks about how gaslighting doesn't happen to people because they are stupid or foolish. Rather it's often because they are kind and loving people who want to see the best in others. Gaslighting can be very subtle or downright obvious, especially to those on the outside of the relationship. Finding trust and integrity in a world that can often appear to have none is a real challenge for me each day.
My energy levels, disabilities, trauma, and healing are guideposts that I sometimes still bump into when I least expect it. It's my hope that as we reflect back on our lives that we can see the good with the bad and come away from it knowing that our lives are very multidimensional and that just like John Bradshaw's mobile, they shift and re-balance often throughout our lives.
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
Sensitivity
In my search for healing, I've come across many things that have helped me. Because of my traumatic brain injury and other issues, I am very sensitive. Therefore I have chosen to use as many natural modalities as possible to support my recovery. One of the first areas I realized I was reactive to was scents. Room deodorizers, laundry soaps and fabric softeners, perfume and cologne, incense, and candles can cause me to react with sinus congestion and/or asthmatic flair up not to mention a very intense headache or nausea. To reduce this exposure, I use only borax or Dawn for stains in my laundry. I don't use fabric softener. I use my earthing sheet to remove any static electricity. I don't use most perfumes but have been known to use a very high quality, pure essential oil such as lavender or vanilla. The only candles I'll use are beeswax or palm wax with very light, natural scents. As for incense, I only use very, very pure ones and not often.
Light is another huge area of sensitivity for me. When I am in yellow or off white light, my eyes water, I may get a headache, or become extremely irritable and tense. I do my best to use very clean light. Revere light bulbs, natural sunlight unless it contains a lot of glare, or very minimal lighting suits me best. Fluorescent is by far the worst for me and I really can't tolerate it for long. I'm one of those people who hears the buzzing in them. Mega stores are not places I go to often.
Movement is another area of sensitivity. I am bothered by fast pictures, traffic, sounds, or movement of others. I can process things much better when things are slowed down. People don't need to speak excessively slowly but I do much better with little or no background nose or distractions.
Food is another gigantic area for me to handle. I do my best to avoid all conventional and most organic soy and corn, including high fructose corn syrup. I avoid processed food. I do my best to consume organic, non-genetically modified (non-gmo) foods. I will occasionally eat conventional wheat, sugar or flour but really keep it to a minimum. I don't eat dairy except for a rare occasion of butter. My diet is largely plant based.
I agree with David Wolfe, Daniel Vitalis, and many other whole food/raw food consumers that eating food as close to nature is important. I do take a few supplements but most of my nutrition comes from whole foods. I take raw cacao for magnesium and combine it with cinnamon along with some raw, unheated honey. I do use chaga, reishi and rhemannia herbs in teas. I take lion's mane mushroom capsules and gingko biloba for neurological support. I consume healthy fats to also help support my neurological system such as spirulina, coconut oil, krill or high quality fish oil, and COQ10.
When I was younger, I had chronic allergies and frequent colds. Because of my changes in diet, removing dairy specifically, I am rarely sick and my allergies at their worst can be dealt with by taking quercetin and/or nettles.
Even after years of black mold exposure, my system is healing. I particularly like non-gmo D-Ribose to help with energy. When my electrolytes are not up where they need to be, I turn to raw, unheated coconut water. It makes me feel better faster than anything else I've tried. I am not trying to be redundant in saying, raw and unheated. Sadly food labeling does allow for products to be labeled raw even though they have been heated. Heating does remove some degree of nutrition and when enzymes and phytonutritients are involved, heating doesn't allow for these precious nutrients to stay in tact.
I love the kirlian photography of foods that David Wolfe offers in his book Superfoods: The Food and Medicine of the Future. I can feel the difference in the types of foods I eat. I believe that spiritually we do receive energy from what we take into our bodies. If we eat or drink when we are angry, sad or fearful, we are not getting all that the food is capable of sharing with us. Eating like praying is sacred and I believe we need to consume our food with honor and gratitude.
My sensitivity is something I have needed to accept about myself. Some people have honored it and some have critiqued it. I am not one of those types who can handle anything anywhere. I need to honor myself and accept that I do need quiet, peace, reflection, gentleness, and kindness. Sometimes it's a challenge to be so sensitive in such an insensitive world, yet I have found that if I honor this gift than interestingly so do others.
References:
http://www.earthing.com
http://www.danielvitalis.com
http://www.davidwolfe.com/
Wolfe, D. (2009) Superfoods: The Food and Medicine of the Future Berkely, California: North Atlantic Books.
Light is another huge area of sensitivity for me. When I am in yellow or off white light, my eyes water, I may get a headache, or become extremely irritable and tense. I do my best to use very clean light. Revere light bulbs, natural sunlight unless it contains a lot of glare, or very minimal lighting suits me best. Fluorescent is by far the worst for me and I really can't tolerate it for long. I'm one of those people who hears the buzzing in them. Mega stores are not places I go to often.
Movement is another area of sensitivity. I am bothered by fast pictures, traffic, sounds, or movement of others. I can process things much better when things are slowed down. People don't need to speak excessively slowly but I do much better with little or no background nose or distractions.
Food is another gigantic area for me to handle. I do my best to avoid all conventional and most organic soy and corn, including high fructose corn syrup. I avoid processed food. I do my best to consume organic, non-genetically modified (non-gmo) foods. I will occasionally eat conventional wheat, sugar or flour but really keep it to a minimum. I don't eat dairy except for a rare occasion of butter. My diet is largely plant based.
I agree with David Wolfe, Daniel Vitalis, and many other whole food/raw food consumers that eating food as close to nature is important. I do take a few supplements but most of my nutrition comes from whole foods. I take raw cacao for magnesium and combine it with cinnamon along with some raw, unheated honey. I do use chaga, reishi and rhemannia herbs in teas. I take lion's mane mushroom capsules and gingko biloba for neurological support. I consume healthy fats to also help support my neurological system such as spirulina, coconut oil, krill or high quality fish oil, and COQ10.
When I was younger, I had chronic allergies and frequent colds. Because of my changes in diet, removing dairy specifically, I am rarely sick and my allergies at their worst can be dealt with by taking quercetin and/or nettles.
Even after years of black mold exposure, my system is healing. I particularly like non-gmo D-Ribose to help with energy. When my electrolytes are not up where they need to be, I turn to raw, unheated coconut water. It makes me feel better faster than anything else I've tried. I am not trying to be redundant in saying, raw and unheated. Sadly food labeling does allow for products to be labeled raw even though they have been heated. Heating does remove some degree of nutrition and when enzymes and phytonutritients are involved, heating doesn't allow for these precious nutrients to stay in tact.
I love the kirlian photography of foods that David Wolfe offers in his book Superfoods: The Food and Medicine of the Future. I can feel the difference in the types of foods I eat. I believe that spiritually we do receive energy from what we take into our bodies. If we eat or drink when we are angry, sad or fearful, we are not getting all that the food is capable of sharing with us. Eating like praying is sacred and I believe we need to consume our food with honor and gratitude.
My sensitivity is something I have needed to accept about myself. Some people have honored it and some have critiqued it. I am not one of those types who can handle anything anywhere. I need to honor myself and accept that I do need quiet, peace, reflection, gentleness, and kindness. Sometimes it's a challenge to be so sensitive in such an insensitive world, yet I have found that if I honor this gift than interestingly so do others.
References:
http://www.earthing.com
http://www.danielvitalis.com
http://www.davidwolfe.com/
Wolfe, D. (2009) Superfoods: The Food and Medicine of the Future Berkely, California: North Atlantic Books.
Monday, January 19, 2015
Unique journeys
I was reading a friend's blog this morning, http://luminousblue5.com/, where she was talking about her feelings of grief. One of the most striking parts of her sharing was on how isolated she felt with some of her deepest feelings. It's not that she's lonely or even physically isolated, she's actually quite connected. The isolation she meant was about how some experiences in life are very uniquely our own. No one else can quite comprehend how these events have forever changed us. I can relate to her process.
Like many people I have experienced many losses yet there is one that is uniquely my own. I've had many discussions with people about the difference between losing something you once had vs never having it at all. This can be true for money, love, success, fame, functionality, pain, connection, spirituality and a host of others. Most of us, being the mortals we are, believe at a very primitive level that our experience is the most intense and for us, certainly it is. We know that our pain and heartache trumps others at some of the deepest parts of our being. To me, there is no way to compare experiences. Each of us have had the gambit of experiences that we call life.
As I have referred to earlier posts, I am unique in many ways. My perceptions of things are very similar to some and quite different from others. One of my differences is that I did not go through life as a high functioning person and then have my life fall into shambles because of an event. My experiences have almost always been bittersweet with a great deal of struggle. I am blessed to be bright and intuitive. A large portion of my struggles are due to damage to my brain. Seeing limitations in blood flow in parts of my brain, reduce volume, and thinning of matter explained in black and white print does not begin to express what it's like to live my life.
To add to this when practitioners learn that there was not one single event that caused it but rather a series of events that added to the damage, they seem unsure what to do with it. When they learn that my impairments are a combination of genetic and early childhood violence, they seem so stunned they can't move. In the years I worked in the mental health community, I saw violence. Whether it was veterans returning from war, survivors of family violence, or accidents that forever changed lives, the effects of trauma were everywhere. Trauma can be used to describe physical or emotional experiences. Physical traumas the world seems to handle better. It's interesting to me that if we can identify and see an impairment, we suddenly seem to be different with someone. If a person has struggles but no outward expression of it, we seem somewhat lost.
Just because someone uses a cane, walker, crutch, or wheelchair does not make them more or less disabled. It just means their lives are different from those who don't. For the many of us who struggle with chronic pain, brain dysfunctions, diabetes, immune challenges, colitis, Chron's disease, HIV, Hepatitis, or the ongoing list of invisible disabilities, we work to find a balance of asking for what we need and appearing as normal as possible. The journey for many of us is to grieve silently and hope somewhere, somehow we will find a place for expression and processing.
Spirituality is my foundation. It doesn't mean it should be for everyone. What I'm saying is that each of us needs to find something to use as our footing for going on and meeting another day. I have been blessed to not have lots of people telling me they understand how I feel and what I should be doing. I'm sure that is not everyone else's experience.
When my friend was writing she was talking about a very personal loss which is something that has forever changed her life. Her views and values in some ways are quite different from my own. We share certain core beliefs but her path through life has been different. One of the things I admire about her is her courage. I don't mean fancy, bold, public courage necessarily. I refer rather to her quiet, persevering, commitment to love. She is determined to live her life from a place of love rather than fear. That is not to say she is fearless because she is very human and able to feel it as much if not more than many. I do my best to face life from a place of love as well.
It's not that I couldn't make the choice to lose myself into despair. I've been to that place and choose sometimes several times a day not to return there. Choosing to fuss but not stay in anger. Choosing to see the light rather than the darkness of the days is what I decided I needed to do. Two of my favorite guides in my life have been Maya Angelou and Les Brown. Neither had an easy life and yet they chose to learn and grow through their traumas. As I have looked over their lives, I see they, like my friend, have chosen to live in love over fear. That is not to say we don't all have opinions and fire that burns deep within us. It is a choice to look up or down in life. It is a lie to believe that if you are a good person all will go easily for you. Reverend Michael Bernard Beckwith, another one of my favorite people, talks about choice and how important believing that we are not victims of circumstance is.
I honor my path even though some days I deeply tire from it. I honor others' paths. None of us know what lies before us and yet at a very profound level we all have a choice. Do we honor ourselves in this moment? Do we realize how we respond is up to us and no one else? May all of you have the opportunity to see the possibilities in your unique journey.
Like many people I have experienced many losses yet there is one that is uniquely my own. I've had many discussions with people about the difference between losing something you once had vs never having it at all. This can be true for money, love, success, fame, functionality, pain, connection, spirituality and a host of others. Most of us, being the mortals we are, believe at a very primitive level that our experience is the most intense and for us, certainly it is. We know that our pain and heartache trumps others at some of the deepest parts of our being. To me, there is no way to compare experiences. Each of us have had the gambit of experiences that we call life.
As I have referred to earlier posts, I am unique in many ways. My perceptions of things are very similar to some and quite different from others. One of my differences is that I did not go through life as a high functioning person and then have my life fall into shambles because of an event. My experiences have almost always been bittersweet with a great deal of struggle. I am blessed to be bright and intuitive. A large portion of my struggles are due to damage to my brain. Seeing limitations in blood flow in parts of my brain, reduce volume, and thinning of matter explained in black and white print does not begin to express what it's like to live my life.
To add to this when practitioners learn that there was not one single event that caused it but rather a series of events that added to the damage, they seem unsure what to do with it. When they learn that my impairments are a combination of genetic and early childhood violence, they seem so stunned they can't move. In the years I worked in the mental health community, I saw violence. Whether it was veterans returning from war, survivors of family violence, or accidents that forever changed lives, the effects of trauma were everywhere. Trauma can be used to describe physical or emotional experiences. Physical traumas the world seems to handle better. It's interesting to me that if we can identify and see an impairment, we suddenly seem to be different with someone. If a person has struggles but no outward expression of it, we seem somewhat lost.
Just because someone uses a cane, walker, crutch, or wheelchair does not make them more or less disabled. It just means their lives are different from those who don't. For the many of us who struggle with chronic pain, brain dysfunctions, diabetes, immune challenges, colitis, Chron's disease, HIV, Hepatitis, or the ongoing list of invisible disabilities, we work to find a balance of asking for what we need and appearing as normal as possible. The journey for many of us is to grieve silently and hope somewhere, somehow we will find a place for expression and processing.
Spirituality is my foundation. It doesn't mean it should be for everyone. What I'm saying is that each of us needs to find something to use as our footing for going on and meeting another day. I have been blessed to not have lots of people telling me they understand how I feel and what I should be doing. I'm sure that is not everyone else's experience.
When my friend was writing she was talking about a very personal loss which is something that has forever changed her life. Her views and values in some ways are quite different from my own. We share certain core beliefs but her path through life has been different. One of the things I admire about her is her courage. I don't mean fancy, bold, public courage necessarily. I refer rather to her quiet, persevering, commitment to love. She is determined to live her life from a place of love rather than fear. That is not to say she is fearless because she is very human and able to feel it as much if not more than many. I do my best to face life from a place of love as well.
It's not that I couldn't make the choice to lose myself into despair. I've been to that place and choose sometimes several times a day not to return there. Choosing to fuss but not stay in anger. Choosing to see the light rather than the darkness of the days is what I decided I needed to do. Two of my favorite guides in my life have been Maya Angelou and Les Brown. Neither had an easy life and yet they chose to learn and grow through their traumas. As I have looked over their lives, I see they, like my friend, have chosen to live in love over fear. That is not to say we don't all have opinions and fire that burns deep within us. It is a choice to look up or down in life. It is a lie to believe that if you are a good person all will go easily for you. Reverend Michael Bernard Beckwith, another one of my favorite people, talks about choice and how important believing that we are not victims of circumstance is.
I honor my path even though some days I deeply tire from it. I honor others' paths. None of us know what lies before us and yet at a very profound level we all have a choice. Do we honor ourselves in this moment? Do we realize how we respond is up to us and no one else? May all of you have the opportunity to see the possibilities in your unique journey.
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
I miss them so
Lately I have been reminded of several losses in my life. Rather than dwell on the deep sadness I feel, I would like to honor these special people in my life. First are my grandparents, Ben and Bess. My paternal grandparents were Slavic immigrants who came to the United States via Ellis Island. Bess was a woman who was deeply passionate about her children and her husband. If she loved you, you could do no wrong. If she didn't, truly, you could do nothing right. One of her best pieces of advice to her daughters was: "Love no man with all of your heart. Save some for yourself." Quite enlightened words for someone who emigrated when she was only twelve years old.
My grandfather loved music, poetry, and nature's beauty. He even named his youngest daughter Blossom in honor of the beautiful apple blossoms in the Spring in the Northeast. He also emigrated when he was quite young. Like my grandmother, he too worked in the sewing factories like many other immigrants of their time. Eventually they turned to farming, raising a family, and doing their best to live a spiritual but non-religious life. To them religion was rigid and unyielding whereas spirituality enriched their awareness and meaning of life.
I learned about leukemia and what it was during my first grade year in school. My best friend missed many days of class and yet when she was there, she was gentle and kind. I knew she was sick but I had no idea that she was to leave this earth so soon. In looking back I can understand why she and I got along. She seemed like the only one who seemed to not judge or critique my traumatic brain injury challenges. We both had our good days and bad. When I heard from a fellow student and then our teacher that my friend had died, I felt like the world was cruel. How could I lose my friend? Where did she go? Why could I not see her ever again? In the years that have passed, I have thought of her often. I feel blessed to have known her and am grateful for her friendship.
My paternal aunt Syl was Blossom's sister. Syl was an independent, opinionated, passionate soul who did her best to live her life deeply from her heart. She would often advocate for her patients despite the doctors' disapproval. During her nursing career, she went from conventional medical care to work using chelation to help patients detox and strengthen their systems. My aunt loved nature and deeply honored her family and was the glue that kept many of us connected. I remember the last day I saw her. She was in a hospital bed, dying of bone cancer. Despite her pain, she still reached out to me when I spoke to her. Even though she never opened her eyes that day, the warmth of her touch has stayed with me over twenty years later.
During my community college days, I met a gentleman who worked in the audio visual department. After an evening's performance of California Suite, he and I both attended the cast party. We had talked on occasions prior to that night and were friendly. That night he complimented me on the job I did in the play and asked me to dance. At the end of the night he walked me to my car and gently kissed me goodnight. This would be the last night I would see him. After the party, he went home and took his life. He was a very kind and pleasant man with a delightful sense of humor. On the outside, no one knew his pain. I remember walking past his office wondering how this man could be so alive and then so quickly gone from this earth. I felt a deep emptiness as I passed that department for months. Things would be forever changed without him.
The death of my father came at the end of a two week visit back East. My mother had called one night and told me that she couldn't handle him this night. She had been his primary care giver during the last eighteen months of his life while he had advanced Alzheimer's disease. This night she called for an ambulance to help get him up off of the floor and it was to be the beginning of the end. After a trip to the emergency room by ambulance, admission to the local hospital, he was discharged into hospice care over an hour from my parents' home. I remember the last time she and I saw him. We had already explained to his doctor that we didn't want him to suffer and that he should be made as comfortable as possible. The last day as he lay in bed unconscious, my mother and I said our goodbyes. It was not emotional or sappy, just as he would have wanted. That night we received the phone call that he had passed. During his funeral, I spoke and then I presented the honor guard. The military members who numbered more than our family at the service came out, did a twenty one gun salute, folded and then presented my father's military flag to my mother. It was during their brilliant performance that I sobbed. Perhaps it was for the amazing ritual I saw, maybe for the tears in my mother's eyes, or just maybe it was because the strongest man I ever knew was now being laid to rest. I cried like I never had before that day or after. To lose my father, who certainly was not flawless yet was my hero none the less, was an experience that has changed me forever.
I have lost other friends and family and numerous beloved animals which I may write about another day. This day is about honoring these very special people who touched my life and have moved on. Sometimes I miss them so much. Some days it's hard to remember details I swore I would never forget. Perhaps in understanding more of my own challenges, I feel it necessary to look at loss in a whole new way. Grief, like love, is ever changing and perhaps expanding. I have lost a lot of those I considered my closest family. My identity was wrapped into those people, schools, and moments. As I move along my journey to healing, I will treasure all that these wonderful people gave me and helped me to become.
My grandfather loved music, poetry, and nature's beauty. He even named his youngest daughter Blossom in honor of the beautiful apple blossoms in the Spring in the Northeast. He also emigrated when he was quite young. Like my grandmother, he too worked in the sewing factories like many other immigrants of their time. Eventually they turned to farming, raising a family, and doing their best to live a spiritual but non-religious life. To them religion was rigid and unyielding whereas spirituality enriched their awareness and meaning of life.
I learned about leukemia and what it was during my first grade year in school. My best friend missed many days of class and yet when she was there, she was gentle and kind. I knew she was sick but I had no idea that she was to leave this earth so soon. In looking back I can understand why she and I got along. She seemed like the only one who seemed to not judge or critique my traumatic brain injury challenges. We both had our good days and bad. When I heard from a fellow student and then our teacher that my friend had died, I felt like the world was cruel. How could I lose my friend? Where did she go? Why could I not see her ever again? In the years that have passed, I have thought of her often. I feel blessed to have known her and am grateful for her friendship.
My paternal aunt Syl was Blossom's sister. Syl was an independent, opinionated, passionate soul who did her best to live her life deeply from her heart. She would often advocate for her patients despite the doctors' disapproval. During her nursing career, she went from conventional medical care to work using chelation to help patients detox and strengthen their systems. My aunt loved nature and deeply honored her family and was the glue that kept many of us connected. I remember the last day I saw her. She was in a hospital bed, dying of bone cancer. Despite her pain, she still reached out to me when I spoke to her. Even though she never opened her eyes that day, the warmth of her touch has stayed with me over twenty years later.
During my community college days, I met a gentleman who worked in the audio visual department. After an evening's performance of California Suite, he and I both attended the cast party. We had talked on occasions prior to that night and were friendly. That night he complimented me on the job I did in the play and asked me to dance. At the end of the night he walked me to my car and gently kissed me goodnight. This would be the last night I would see him. After the party, he went home and took his life. He was a very kind and pleasant man with a delightful sense of humor. On the outside, no one knew his pain. I remember walking past his office wondering how this man could be so alive and then so quickly gone from this earth. I felt a deep emptiness as I passed that department for months. Things would be forever changed without him.
The death of my father came at the end of a two week visit back East. My mother had called one night and told me that she couldn't handle him this night. She had been his primary care giver during the last eighteen months of his life while he had advanced Alzheimer's disease. This night she called for an ambulance to help get him up off of the floor and it was to be the beginning of the end. After a trip to the emergency room by ambulance, admission to the local hospital, he was discharged into hospice care over an hour from my parents' home. I remember the last time she and I saw him. We had already explained to his doctor that we didn't want him to suffer and that he should be made as comfortable as possible. The last day as he lay in bed unconscious, my mother and I said our goodbyes. It was not emotional or sappy, just as he would have wanted. That night we received the phone call that he had passed. During his funeral, I spoke and then I presented the honor guard. The military members who numbered more than our family at the service came out, did a twenty one gun salute, folded and then presented my father's military flag to my mother. It was during their brilliant performance that I sobbed. Perhaps it was for the amazing ritual I saw, maybe for the tears in my mother's eyes, or just maybe it was because the strongest man I ever knew was now being laid to rest. I cried like I never had before that day or after. To lose my father, who certainly was not flawless yet was my hero none the less, was an experience that has changed me forever.
I have lost other friends and family and numerous beloved animals which I may write about another day. This day is about honoring these very special people who touched my life and have moved on. Sometimes I miss them so much. Some days it's hard to remember details I swore I would never forget. Perhaps in understanding more of my own challenges, I feel it necessary to look at loss in a whole new way. Grief, like love, is ever changing and perhaps expanding. I have lost a lot of those I considered my closest family. My identity was wrapped into those people, schools, and moments. As I move along my journey to healing, I will treasure all that these wonderful people gave me and helped me to become.
Friday, January 9, 2015
Quality of Life
The term "quality of life" means different things to different people. For me, it's shifted through the years. Being raised in the country, my family and I saw life as a cycle. We watched aging beings, both human and animal, live and die and we honored this process. There were occasions when we questioned what was happening and wondered why suffering happened in so many lives. As I got older, I realized that people have frequently been put in situations where life and death decisions need to be made. Having animals euthanized is never an easy decision, and as a dear friend of mine once said: "Putting an animal to sleep is not easy, nor should it be." However, in my belief system there does come a time, with some, where suffering needs to end with a helping hand.
In the human world, hospice has been a tremendous opportunity for cultures to process their grief and transitions. Funerals have never been a ritual that feels right to me. Memorials on the other hand seem to make sense to me and help with the processing of such deep emotions. After a year and half of enduring Alzheimer's disease, my father was unable to stay at home and have my mother be his primary caregiver. When he was in the hospice unit those last few days, I remember the compassion of his doctor. The man honored my father when he spoke of his military service in World War II and the years he was a merchant marine. The doctor has also served as a merchant seaman. He told my mother and me that he could make my father comfortable with morphine even though it would shorten his life. My dad was 91 and his organs were tired and shutting down. We immediately and without a doubt told the doctor to make him comfortable. My mother and I said our goodbyes to a body whose spirit was leaving and that night, my father left this world. The kindness shown to my parents and me by this doctor and his staff was something that deeply touched me. To them, peace and comfort were guiding principles in quality of life.
One of my paternal aunts was dying in a hospital of bone cancer in the early 1990's. She recognized my voice and could reach out for me even though she never opened her eyes. The last day I saw her alive, she was in pain. The hospital's rules forbid giving her enough medication to make her comfortable. Hospice was not an option she was given. I remember leaving her room, walking into the hallway and sobbing into a friend's arms. It hurt me that someone who spent decades being a nurse to comfort the suffering was not able to find peace in her dying days. I choose to believe that death gave her the comfort she sought.
I'm writing about this topic because today was the day my husband and I decided to yet again address the quality of life of one of our animals. This time it is a young cat whose neurological issues are impairing her quality of life. As we keep her comfortable, waiting to see if there is a change, we somehow deeply know that the time for her to transition on is sooner than later. This has been a pattern for us over the last year. August brought us saying goodbye to our just shy of 13 year old Bouvier des Flandres dog. April had us saying goodbye to our first Bouvier, sister to the one in August, and our big beautiful black and white kitty. It has been a huge set of transitions and even now the concept of quality of life is no clearer in our minds and hearts.
My husband and I are both spiritual people and for me I deeply believe death is just part of our cycle of life. My husband is still shifting through the old messages of death and suffering. As I reflect on life and death and quality of life, I think of my own mortality. My life has been a lot of things and suffering has been a part of it. I don't enjoy the suffering part. I do my best to honor it. As Les Brown says: "This has not come to stay. It has come to pass." Lots of events, moments, losses, and joys have come and passed to some extent. I am forever changed by the occurrences in my life and for the most part I would say broadened and deepened by them.
It is not without sadness that I face my mortality and that of others. It is with perseverance and strong spiritual faith that I face what is to come. I am grateful for the connection I've had with those who have crossed on.
Maya Angelou was a great influence in my life and her transition deeply saddened me. I know her spirit and legacy will shine on and I am grateful for the gifts she brought and shared in this world. It's easy to get lost in what was and how things used to be. For me and the many transitions in my life, I am humbled and somehow empowered. Truly, this has not come to stay but rather it has come to pass.
In the human world, hospice has been a tremendous opportunity for cultures to process their grief and transitions. Funerals have never been a ritual that feels right to me. Memorials on the other hand seem to make sense to me and help with the processing of such deep emotions. After a year and half of enduring Alzheimer's disease, my father was unable to stay at home and have my mother be his primary caregiver. When he was in the hospice unit those last few days, I remember the compassion of his doctor. The man honored my father when he spoke of his military service in World War II and the years he was a merchant marine. The doctor has also served as a merchant seaman. He told my mother and me that he could make my father comfortable with morphine even though it would shorten his life. My dad was 91 and his organs were tired and shutting down. We immediately and without a doubt told the doctor to make him comfortable. My mother and I said our goodbyes to a body whose spirit was leaving and that night, my father left this world. The kindness shown to my parents and me by this doctor and his staff was something that deeply touched me. To them, peace and comfort were guiding principles in quality of life.
One of my paternal aunts was dying in a hospital of bone cancer in the early 1990's. She recognized my voice and could reach out for me even though she never opened her eyes. The last day I saw her alive, she was in pain. The hospital's rules forbid giving her enough medication to make her comfortable. Hospice was not an option she was given. I remember leaving her room, walking into the hallway and sobbing into a friend's arms. It hurt me that someone who spent decades being a nurse to comfort the suffering was not able to find peace in her dying days. I choose to believe that death gave her the comfort she sought.
I'm writing about this topic because today was the day my husband and I decided to yet again address the quality of life of one of our animals. This time it is a young cat whose neurological issues are impairing her quality of life. As we keep her comfortable, waiting to see if there is a change, we somehow deeply know that the time for her to transition on is sooner than later. This has been a pattern for us over the last year. August brought us saying goodbye to our just shy of 13 year old Bouvier des Flandres dog. April had us saying goodbye to our first Bouvier, sister to the one in August, and our big beautiful black and white kitty. It has been a huge set of transitions and even now the concept of quality of life is no clearer in our minds and hearts.
My husband and I are both spiritual people and for me I deeply believe death is just part of our cycle of life. My husband is still shifting through the old messages of death and suffering. As I reflect on life and death and quality of life, I think of my own mortality. My life has been a lot of things and suffering has been a part of it. I don't enjoy the suffering part. I do my best to honor it. As Les Brown says: "This has not come to stay. It has come to pass." Lots of events, moments, losses, and joys have come and passed to some extent. I am forever changed by the occurrences in my life and for the most part I would say broadened and deepened by them.
It is not without sadness that I face my mortality and that of others. It is with perseverance and strong spiritual faith that I face what is to come. I am grateful for the connection I've had with those who have crossed on.
Maya Angelou was a great influence in my life and her transition deeply saddened me. I know her spirit and legacy will shine on and I am grateful for the gifts she brought and shared in this world. It's easy to get lost in what was and how things used to be. For me and the many transitions in my life, I am humbled and somehow empowered. Truly, this has not come to stay but rather it has come to pass.
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