Radical Self Acceptance

Many roads keep leading me to this message but I'm not learning the lesson yet.  I think it's time I really started to try.

36 is going to be my year of radical self acceptance.  Here are some things about me:

I'm a good friend but not a perfect one.  I'm terrible at keeping secrets and I've lost friends over it.  I may again.  I'm not a great shoulder to cry on always but I'm exceptionally good at managing a crisis. 

I'm not as active as I want to be.  I've allowed my body to be in stasis as I'm try to figure out my mind.  My mind scares me because I feel patently inadequate all the time.  I feel so markedly inferior to my desired self that I'm hurting my partner by my inability to see my own good. 

I have advocated for children.  I made a difference and they have a better life for it and they loved me.

I've saved lives, human and animal.

I've lied.  Many times for many reasons.  I do it less now.

I'm anxious nearly all the time right now.  I'm grumpy sometimes--too often right now.  I'm scared to be happy.

I'm better than I was last year at being married.  I get better every year because I make an effort.

I tell funny stories.

I need to give myself a break.



I'm learning over the last few years that I'm totally incapable of allowing myself to feel proud of something I've accomplished.  I've managed to internalize a dialogue wherein anything I do is not nearly enough.  Dinner made and on time five nights this week?  Should have been seven.  And included lunches.  And doesn't a real wife make breakfast for her husband?  If I make a goal about my activity level and then do something, well, it's not a marathon.

This constant discounting, not allowing myself to feel happy or content has got to stop. 

My one-little-word to focus on for last year (2013, really, but I'm changing this to start on my birthdays) was 'better'.  I have done better.  We're eating better food.  We're more in control of our budget.  We moved.  And I made lots of that happen.  I did better.  And I have a few more months to focus on that. 

Next year, however, it's time for me to accept myself.  Warts and all.  Not to push forward, not to look back--just to be in the moments, occupy them fully and allow joy into my heart.  Radical self-acceptance.  Let's see what that looks like.

And then I was 35.

I spent most of this year thinking I was 33.  I was wrong.  Usually birthdays aren't a big deal for me.  Age isn't something I focus on but I remember that I was driving home from something and I know the exact spot on Babcock road where I realized, mid-September, that I would be turning 35 and I've been in a funk since then.  And then came Tuesday, I turned 35 and the world kept turning.

I'm out now, I think, or at least climbing up the side.  I also knew that the day would be hard because of the marked absence of a single friend.  It was.  But I lived through that too and the olive branch I hoped for didn't come.  But I lived through that too. 

My husband found just the right gift, replacing an earring from the set he gave me during our first Christmas.  Erin suggested 007 as a good movie so I got an afternoon date in a not-crowded movie theater and then we shared dinner with my in-laws and some family.

I know the narrative of the day is disjointed but it felt that way.  It feels like I'm middle aged.  I can see my blessings.  I logically understand how lucky I am.  I feel it in my heart.  And in my heart is also sadness for the things I haven't accomplished yet--that I haven't finished a degree, that I don't yet have a child, that I should have a thriving career--all these shoulds.  And I've just had to realize that my life is a work in progress.  I'm still here.  I still have time.  And the progress I make is going to be toward goals that interest me.  I'm still smart, vibrant, loved and lucky.  Even if I am 35.

Dear Paris Hilton,

I think I understand you better now.  You used to be a total mystery to me and I could not figure out your flitting and seemingly pointless life but now I've stopped working because I have the option to do so and you're starting to make more sense.  I wonder how I'll combat that.

Love,

Stephanie

Duties

Now that I'm at home full time again I find my anxiety about doing all the housework returning.  Right now there is a stack of dishes in the sink, fruit in the fridge that didn't get a lid and is drying out at we speak, a vacuum poised half way through the job in the formal living room and a desk full of correspondence that needs attention.

When I start to get totally overwhelmed I try to remind myself that this afternoon there are also foster families that are calmer, kids that are safer and one pair of pedicured toes to show for my day.  It may not be 'perfect' but it's what I've gotten done and now I'm going to start working on getting the little rocks to fit into my day.

It's all changing.

It's different now. 

We're thinking about children. Biological, maybe or adopted.  I don't mind either way.  We'll see.

There has been an exit from my life that has left a massive, gaping hole that makes me sad lots of the time.  I won't discuss it in more detail, but it's there.  Every day.

I went back to work.  I loved it.  We decided I'd stop in honor of the child plan and the amount of time we were missing together.  I love that too but I think I'll deeply miss working since there isn't a plan for me to go back to that any time soon.

I'm spending time thinking about the stories that have formed me.  I'm talking about them to a therapist and getting it all sorted out.  I  think it's helping me.

Next month I'll turn 35.  I'm middle aged.  I don't usually care about birthdays but this, to me, seems terribly significant. 

It just seems like everything is different now.  It's not bad.  It's just different.  I'm adapting. 

It is not so much that I miss you

By Dorothea Grossman

It is not so much that I miss you

as the remembering

which I suppose is a form of missing

except more positive,

like the time of the blackout

when fear was my first response

followed by love of the dark.

 

 

I found this today at exactly the perfect time.  Things are in transition here.  I have the strong possibility of working again.  The yard is coming along.  We're settling into the new congregation and carving out rhythms. 

 

Unrelated to the poem, last week I was able to spend time with my wonderful girlfriends in Utah and it highlighted how much I miss the chance to be with them on a whim.  The days were filled with plenty of laughter, teasing and the usual stresses of being with people you don't see often.  It was in the handling of those stresses that I find the strengths of our friendships.  We had some snarking but not too much and never without love, we were able to give each other space and time when needed and we all had the history to understand what was happening.  

 

This week is less busy than my weeks have been recently and I'm reveling in the quiet. 

I suppose I feel like writing.

I just looked up an old friend on Facebook. We used to be connected as friend on that platform and I found myself wondering today how he and his family are doing. I took a gander to find that we're no longer considered friends.

I hurt my feelings for a moment but I stopped to consider if that was the true emotion and discovered it was more like melancholy for life moving along, something sweeter than hurt.

Often I find myself wanting to hoard my friendships. I don't like it when anyone leaves the pack, it make me nervous and upset. I had a friend a couple of years ago that I enjoyed very much and suddenly he stopped talking to me. It was perplexing and it caused some reflection about how I treat friendships which was when I discovered my hoarding tendencies. Seriously, given an option I'd have 10,000 neglected friends so long as none were no longer my friend.

Having discovered that I've decided that when these feelings pop up I'm going to take a moment to remember the nice things about my previous friendship, the influences and the education gained from each individual, send them some love and light and then move forward. I'm taking more time to understand that not everything has to be current to be valid and important.

So today, to you Travis H., thank you for introducing me to Van Halen, Hilary, the glory of sleeping on trampolines and Magic the Gathering. You are beloved in my memory and I wish you all the best as we move along through life now memories to each other. Farewell, my friend. It really was a blast.

One Quarter Later

I haven't blogged much since arriving in San Antonio. Getting the house in order and our routines established was chaotic as ever after a move and then, in addition to the usual, I decided to start volunteering as a Court Appointed Special Advocate. This means that I volunteer my time to kids in the foster care system on a case by case basis and track their needs as their parents navigate the consequences of their actions.

Some of the stories you find in CASA are happy, motivating stories that light up a city but as often the stories are sad. I wasn't unaccustomed to brushing the extremes in human emotions--as a dispatcher you deal with that regularly--so I knew that I could handle the weight of being around kids that I couldn't help by focusing on the kids I am helping. And that often works, often I feel satisfied that my time is making a difference and things are getting better for my investment. On days like to day, however, I'm gobsmacked by the amount of work going undone.

I was visiting some of my children at an emergency shelter outside our city. They are there with several other young souls. One small person there was missing their mother very badly. Allow me a moment to share with you, reader, that when you go to these types of shelters the children you see remember you, even the ones you don't advocate for, and they need attention and love. I try to do that while also giving my kiddos special attention. Today this small person just kept wandering up, weeping and needing to be cuddled for a moment. Then I'd say, "Ok. That was a good time out to be sad. Are you ready to play again?" The small human would nod, give me five and try again to play and be happy. A few minutes later they were back and the cycle would repeat.

I was there just over an hour today, not long at all, but when I started to leave this small, wonderful, beautiful soul started screaming--I mean, folks, screaming and not the yelling some children do for attention or out of frustration and anger--the word 'no' over and over again. I kissed the beautiful head, touched their cheek and then walked away using all of my strength to put one foot in front of the other instead of falling at their feet and staying forever.

Tonight I'm a mix of emotion so heady that I'm physically ill in waves thinking about this small human, thinking of all the children there who don't have advocates--parental, familial or assigned--and how terrible I think it is that people have made these small ones and because of 'aren't' or 'can't' neglect or harm them and, in honesty, I'm punishing myself a little for walking away.

I understand there wasn't much of a choice to be made. I could not take that child and run away, keeping them safe forever. I couldn't just stay until the fear passed because there is nothing but transitions and good-byes in the next few months for that beautiful one either from parents, caseworkers or caregivers. I can't do justice to every child in CPS care city, county, state or nation wide though I'd honestly give a limb or two in order to have that ability. My only choice was to show all the love I could in the time I was present and then do what had to be done.

When I rounded the corner from the playground I had to stop, let the screams slash through me and brace myself against a wall for a moment, letting the cool sharp stucco ground me in reality, in something solid. I reminded myself about my kiddos, about doing all I can for the responsibilities I have and then I walked away.

And now I'm not sure when I'll sleep again because all I can picture is that little face in a bed at a place that is not home, confused because people keep saying goodbye.

Not as we.

I think that when tragedy strikes there is a very clear dividing line about those to whom the tragedy directly involves and the rest of us.

A few days ago several officers served by my old dispatch center were shot, one fatally. I'm devastated. I'm feeling even worse that I wasn't there to help. I wish daily that there is something I could do to really give aid to those unsung heroes.

In all of this I'm feeling distinctly 'former'. Even if I'd stayed with the dispatch center up until the day we moved, I'd have missed this moment. I wasn't meant to be there. That doesn't change my sorrow at both being outside that community and helpless to alleviate their pain.

I think one of the most difficult things about moving is reestablishing the network of friends and like-minded locals. It's something I put great effort into every new place we go. Often I find that one of two of the people I meet in a particular location are life-long friends to me.

In the weeks before I find that community, that anchoring friend, I'm quite lonely and sometimes a bit depressed about the new location.

Michael has yet to experience this with me and he's quite concerned despite my protestations that this is simply my process. Every single move is nearly identical but similarity doesn't make them easier.

I'm sure I'll come out the other side. I'm sure I'll find friends and community here. I have some already and a great in-law family that are softening the blow. But for these few moments, watching the images of an officer laid to rest with his young family left behind, of a community I miss coming together to honor their police force, I'm feeling a particularly stinging sadness and loneliness. Instead of berating myself for this or feeling like I "shouldn't" be sad, I'm going to be sad, live with it, and make sure that I continue living and unpacking boxes, loving my husband in the meantime and soon I'll look around and wonder where the sadness has gone.

And then we moved to Texas.

Today we finished the last of our three day drive to San Antonio. The pugs and cat traveled well, which was a blessing indeed. We went out of Utah quietly and did so intentionally--both Mike and I hate goodbyes. It's probably not the best model for leaving a place we loved but it worked pretty well.

Christmas this year was hosted at our house and was a great success! To have such a loud, opinionated, loving family is wonderful. Also, on December 26th they started packing and our house never would have been ready without their hard work. It's tough to even find the words to thank them.

And now just days later we're here with my in-laws ringing in 2012 and getting ready for the new house. We finish the paperwork on Tuesday and I'm anxious to get inside, get some painting down and settle down to see what life will be like here. I can't help thinking we'll be in Texas longer than we were in Utah but I know it's not our 'forever' home.

What a year! I'll be sad to see it go but I'm excited for the new one!

I should know better.

Any time I make a time-specific goal for blogging I fail.

In early November I drove down to see Mike in Texas for a couple of weeks. Both doggies were with me. About a week before I was scheduled to be home, and over three weeks before we expected it, my baby sister called me and said, "Your new niece is going to make her entrance into this earth tomorrow morning. Can you come?"

Of course, I did. I flew home leaving the vehicles, the dogs, my husband and all products over 4 oz. in Texas and I've been flying by the seat of my pants since.

Elizabeth is beautiful and so very tiny. I was able to be in the room when she was born and capture the first seconds of her new life. It was a perfect way to start using my camera again and a moment I'll never forget. Lizzie weighed just over four pounds but was a long girl for that tiny weight and is the tiniest baby I've ever held. She's grown a bit but is still not over five pounds.

My parents got a last minute flight to come meet Lizzie as well so instead of a large family Thanksgiving with the Garis Clan it was just my parents and I celebrating. It was a good day but it did make me feel very far from my husband--it turns out I'm in love with him.

The rest of the month has been spent working out transportation, packing boxes, finding ways to work around the fact that we can't sell our house (the answer: renters) and making the arrangements for the new house.

Yeah, that's right. We manage to buy a new house in there too.

Then a couple of weeks ago I went up to Montana and just folded in on myself for a couple of days with my family. I'd made promises for that weekend that I didn't keep. I feel terrible about that. I hurt the feelings of a dear friend and I'm not quite sure how to fix it, but I'm trying.

I'm now six days away from the reunion with my doggies and my husband and I'm thrilled to be done with this separation. I don't think we'll be doing this again in mortality, it's simply too difficult. I truly have no idea how the partners of service people function!

And that concludes my excuses. Now you know. And next time I'll tell you how my new memoir will be called, "How the Turducken Killed Christmas."

A home, perhaps?

Today we looked at eight houses. We've narrowed it down to three. It's possible tomorrow that we'll have Mike's parents go with us to have some fresh eyes.

When we narrow it down I'll post some pictures.

I'd say more but I'm exhausted and I'm going to go do mindless things.

It's not my fault, it's Texas.

I spent the early days of this week in the long journey to San Antonio where I'll be until Thanksgiving weekend. It was as difficult as I remembered and far less fun without my husband beside me to mock and do most of the driving. The pugs kept me company but the result of that was needing the car detailed today and the poor worker saying to me, "I got most of the dog hair out but there's only so much I can do."

I just said, "Trust me, I understand."

Tomorrow is a big day of house hunting and finding our home for this city. I'm excited and somewhat daunted by the prospect but I'm looking forward to the process because, for the first time, we'll be doing this together.

That together thing? It's pretty great. I missed my big lug.

Guiding Light

At the end of this week it will be a full year since I was in Colorado for a workshop with Jen Lee. We had a quiet moment there where we talked about her idea for reaching more people than were able to attend our small gathering with her message of sharing stories, of healing and self discovery. Today, she's released that project. I would suggest kindly that if anyone is interested in discovering, documenting and directing their own stories you head over to her site and check it out.

Here's the video she made about the project:

Story Work is Soul Work from Jen Lee on Vimeo.

My favorite quote, summarizing the project perfectly is this: "It's about stopping people in their tracks. It's about bring something to the conversation that only you posses. It's about excavating your bravest, boldest self and letting yourself be seen like you've never been seen before. It's about time for you to stand up and be heard.

It's your story.

Tell it."

Ouch

I think that the world is thriving on making my plans liquid. I was set to leave early tomorrow morning for SAT and now I'm going to the dentist instead.

I'd write more but the tooth ache is so terribly intense that it makes opening my eyes painful and my lips feel like pressure dressings over the tooth. So, instead, I'll leave you with these few short words and the knowledge that I'm not off the band wagon yet!

Myers-Briggs

Living 1300 miles away from an INTJ leads an ENFP to want to slap someone.

It's probably not only the personality profiles making this separation difficult. I'm going to be happy on Thursday night when I'm back in Mike's arms and we can fight while hugging--which is the best way to fight.

Seriously, try it sometime.

Pancakes

I don't know how anyone else bases their memories but lots of mine are based around flavor or smell. This morning I woke up thinking about pancakes and it took me to quiet fall mornings in Missoula, sitting in Paul's Pancake Parlor and enjoying the mural of the local college team--The Griz--and laughing with my family. I remembered the tangy sourdoughs of my childhood often made on Saturday mornings before we started our work. And then I stumbled on a sweet memory of sitting with my friend Alycia on her back patio one morning sharing waffles and some amazing maple syrup, beautifully prepared fruit and conversation.

It just makes me grateful for pancakes.

Copious

The problem with having fewer people to talk to during the day is that now my thoughts end up in a back log. I process my thought verbally, you see. It's too distracting to try and hold on to the delicate thread of a thought unless it's formed into sound The pugs do the best they can but it's often difficult for them to express themselves in return. So instead I find myself talking very, very quickly on the phone to try and get EVERY SINGLE THOUGHT processed in a much shorter period of time.

This is to say, I miss my husband.

Recovery

I had the flu this weekend, or I'm pretty sure that I did. I didn't bother to go to the doctor to have that confirmed, I just lazed around bemoaning my fate. I think today is the first time in a few that I've felt very nearly peppy. I think a portion of that is the opportunity to talk to some people today and do a few random acts of kindness. That alone will make you feel better but it's also that today represents the 50% mark of my separation from Mike. It's all downhill from here. In two weeks I'll be on the road to see him and in just over two weeks I'll be back in those beefy, loving arms.

Yes, I did just say that.

Until them I'm going to try and focus a bit. Right now there a ladder sits in the middle of the kitchen waiting for me to replace the other two bulbs in the fan, several boxes are open and half filled, the laundry is somewhat done but not folded and I'm blogging.

My plan is to make another list--I love making lists!--of which things I need to finish before we leave on the off chance someone would like to see our house. I'm pretty sure I can do that.

And by 'that' of course, I mean making the list. Let's not push this accomplishment too far.

Blog my butt off--Day 1

Today begins that time of year when blogs are written on for at least three days straight--NaBloPoMo or "National Blog Posting Month". Since I've been terrible about using prompts and writing all of your feeds will not be subjected to one month straight of my musings.

I do not take responsibility for the psychological damage.

Prompt for today: Favorite thing about writing.

To be honest, I didn't realize there even were prompts until I had to google the exact spelling of the event but I was considering last night that without Mike at home I probably only speak three or four times a day--and then typically on the phone or things like, "Ziggy! Please! Stop picking on the dogs! You're a cat and you're behaving like a seven year old!"

Without the focus of conversation my thoughts remain in their fractured state and without writing that could quickly lead to insanity.

Also, it was one year ago this month that I went to Colorado for a weekend retreat that spurred me to write more in one weekend that I had in the last several months. I'm hoping that NaBloPoMo will do something similar.

And so it begins. An incoherent post, lots of promise and only 30 more days to go!