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.
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
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.
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