ruminations
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11222
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about personal responsibility.
The idea that not only do we get to choose how we show up in the world, but we also get to choose how we want to live. Unless everything is predetermined. But that’s a whole different conversation.
I spend most of my days existing in the world in a way that does a couple things – allows me to be as comfortable as possible (health-wise, in our home, etc) and allows me to fall asleep at night feeling at peace with who I am, what I did/said/acted upon/put out into the world. I’ve spent so much time in the past few years reading philosophy and religion (and everything in between and around) and there is obviously no ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ way to be.
Every time I start to get frustrated (for various reasons, but currently due to the opposing positions that my in-laws and I take on pretty much everything) I remind myself that all the things I’m wondering — how do they sleep, how do they feel okay with the way they behaved, etc etc – is because they frame their lives, their interactions and their opinions within a completely different framework than I do. Like most of us (myself included) they are the heroes of their story. So even though they are not heroes to me —and from their point of view, I’m the villain- their belief would be that they are behaving in the correct way and everyone else is incorrect/rude/wrong. So we are stuck at odds, believing totally different things but also NOT believing totally different things (morals, etc) just framing them and interpreting them completely differently.
I don’t know that they spend any time considering my position in the same way I consider theirs but …. perhaps they do. I just don’t know.
I find my heart full of angst and my brain full of frustrated questions about how they can possibly put themselves into the world in the ways in which they do, only to circle around to the fact that they do no believe they are doing anything harmful, but rather that harm is being done to them.
I could not imagine myself not taking responsibility for myself, for my own personal well-being, for my safety and for my understanding. I just … I don’t understand. It makes me work hard to not only comprehend, but have compassion.
Xox, g
10222
Today was one of those days that ended up feeling like a hangover from the past few days.
I think adrenaline got me through most of yesterday – just the uncertainty and having to be ‘on’ all the time. And then today dawned and my body told me – quite firmly – not today.
Which I completely ignored because I had plans.
It ended up being a good day – good lunch, good conversation. I even had a decent workout (until the last five minutes when my legs were just d-o-n-e).
As I was falling asleep I remembered I hadn’t blogged. And I knew I couldn’t fall asleep having remembered. So up I got, eyes full of ointment, hands in gloves and slathered with Aquafor. It made me think of a conversation I had yesterday about my skin.
I’ve always been kind of a skincare nut. My mother was a nut, my grandmother was a nut, my aunt is a nut. It’s a nighttime (day time/all the time) ritual that I find comfort in, relaxation. But as I told my mother-in-law yesterday, my skin isn’t just a result of skincare. And it doesn’t happen overnight.
Most things in life – like my skin, or my legs, or my hair or anything really – are the result of putting in the time and working toward a goal (or a standard, depending on what it is). My skin is about what I eat, how much water I drink, how much sleep I get, how I deal with stress, etc etc. And people can use all the same products I use but their skin won’t look like mine — because it isn’t just the moisturizers and the exfoliators and the serums. It’s everything. Consistently.
Like my eye drops to keep my eyes lubricated. And gloves and aquafor to keep my hands moisturized. It’s about consistency. Not losing sight of the reasons for doing it in the first place.
I’m rambling because I’m tired but I think there’s a point in there somewhere.
Off to get my eight hours.
Xox, g
08222
I was thinking today about how I used to believe that I only wrote well when I was sad. Not just a little sad; desperately, deep depression sad. As though the sadness somehow tapped into whatever potential existed within me.
Spending some time this year re-reading old blog posts, I’ve realized that my writing is good when it’s good … and sometimes my life is good at the same time. Depression and sadness aren’t my muse.
It’s funny when something we believe so strongly is suddenly disproved. John and I spent last night having one of our more intense conversations — difficult, sad, devastating. There were moments when I know I made him think about things in ways he’d never contemplated before. And it was uncomfortable for him.
I find that when I am caught in those moments – the really uncomfortable, I’d rather be anywhere else thinking about anything else moments – my initial reaction is denial. I try to find any way to maintain the status quo, to disprove the information that caused the discomfort in the first place.
Sometimes that lasts for hours. Or days. Or weeks. Sometimes it only lasts for moments. The more I practice it, the easier it becomes to let go of all my pre-conceived notions, all the things I’d believed for as long as I’d believed. But it doesn’t make it more fun. It doesn’t change the devastation that comes when our perfect glass houses come crashing down.
You can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube. No matter how hard you try. Some things just cannot be unknown.
Xoxo, g
07222
Today has been excruciating.
I think I hit what might be identified as my breaking point. I got to the point where nothing seemed worth it to keep up a charade that has been slowing eating away at my self-worth, self-esteem and happiness for years.
But reaching that point has also put a glaring light on something that John + I never discuss/deal with/acknowledge. It’s been our dirty little secret for most of our relationship. And having to face it has pushed our relationship into a pressure cooker. He feels attacked, trapped … whatever he’s feeling that I don’t know because he gets deadly quiet and doesn’t talk at all. And I’m feeling sad and alone. But also unable to apologize or make things ‘right’ like I have in the past because doing that is in direct contrast with taking care of my own mental health.
On the plus side, for the first time in the years that we’ve been doing this dance with his parents, he conceded that they do treat me the way I say they do. That he sees it and he doesn’t know what to do. Which sounds awful typing, but was actually a relief for me. Because until that moment, I was sure that he just thought they were justified in their behavior. And I turned a blind eye, because I love my husband deeply. It was like an unspoken agreement that we would just stay quiet about it all – but especially the really tough stuff. That our love would somehow get us through it every time.
I know that the pain he must be feeling right now is awful. Facing the infallibility of our parents isn’t easy. It sort of disassembles so much of what we as people grew up believing. And that can be devastating.
My heart is sore but I also know that I cannot stay stuck in this loop of denial and avoidance. Because inevitably it leads to me getting physically and mentally sick. And that just sucks.
Anyway. Today has not been the best day.
xox, g
06222
It’s one thing to talk the talk. It’s entirely different to walk the walk.
Today was an epic fail of me walking any type of decent human walk. I know I don’t usually get into specifics but we spent the day driving my in-laws to the hospital for my father-in-law to have surgery later this week. The hospital in question is NIH and the drive from their house is not short.
It’s a lot of time in an enclosed space with humans who just don’t share many of my thoughts or ideas about life. That’s a wide net to cast, but it needs to be because I have very little in common with my in-laws. Other than my husband. And I continually find it hard to believe that a man as good as my husband came from two people who just … aren’t that good.
Anyway. It’s very easy in theory to understand the dynamics between John and I and his parents. But in practice, in real life, all that rational thought goes out the window and I struggle to just be basically kind. It’s such a constant onslaught of uncomfortable conversations, judgement and condescension that I lose myself completely. Only after it’s all over and I’ve had a little time to decompress do I realize that I have once again failed.
And then I get to the point of fatigue with the repetitive interactions that I decide it’s all insanity on my part — repeating the same actions with the hope of a different outcome – that I don’t want to try anymore. Haven’t I learned?
But you don’t get that reprieve with family. Family never leaves, family never relents. It’s ongoing and stressful and unrewarding.
And that was today. And Wednesday. And then hopefully not again for a very, very long time.
Xox, g
05222
There are so many things no one tells you.
As though it’s a rite of passage to learn difficult lessons. As though we all should feel lost, afraid, angry and alone at multiple times in life for multiple reasons, and no one is compelled to help us out.
Like how life can feel happy and settled and you can feel blessed and lucky and so overwhelmingly content and then a wrecking ball blasts through your whole world, taking no prisoners, leaving havoc in its wake.
Like how you think you’ve worked out all the kinks, done all the growing and learning and accepting but then still be knocked over by a feather. A tiny, inconsequential moment that would otherwise be forgotten before it’s even acknowledged …. But this particular feather dismantles your carefully built life with a swirl.
I’m having a day and I’m feeling painfully alone.
And I know I will survive. I will move through this as I’ve moved through all the obstacles I’ve faced to this point. But I know it will hurt. And I know things will be irreparably changed. And that knowledge hurts almost as much as the obstacle.
Xox, g
04222
I did a series of social posts today because – as usual – I had trouble sleeping last night and I occupied my mind by planning my outfit.
Medicine Day clothing is tricky, because it has to be super functional in a number of key situations (vein access, rest room usage, etc). But I don’t like repeating outfits two months in a row, and I don’t like looking a hot mess.
Mostly because when you go to the hospital to get an infusion for an autoimmune disease, you’re treated like you’re a hot mess, have no brain and possibly can’t speak (among other, de-humanizing things). So I like to look sharp, so that I am taken seriously. It’s my hope, at least.
Anyway. Thought I’d share them here. Because A. My outfit was in fact, on point. And B. It’s good info for future use.
Final pic is my workout. The longer I’m on Tysabri (at the start of my eighth year currently) the more tired I get on infusion days. And working out actually helps clear my brain. But getting motivated to work out is a challenge. I managed to do it today. I hit 1k rides on the Peloton.
Not so bad.
Xoxo, g
03222
At dinner this evening I stated to husband that I was no longer going to make any New Years Eve resolutions. I’m not sure where it came from but it came tumbling out of my mouth confidently and assuredly. Somewhere, during the course of this day – this random, not totally inconsequential day— I finally knew.
I knew that I needed until February to understand what my goals for the year were. Too much happens in December — my birthday, lots of other birthdays (Jesus, for the believers!). The anniversary of the loss of my mother. Too many things to have any additional time to contemplate changes for the new year. If I wanted to do that in a timely fashion, I’d have to make the decisions in October or November. And I certainly couldn’t make those kinds of new year, new you decisions months in advance. Too much changes.
I decided – and then articulated – that I needed January to get my bearings for the new year. I needed January to decompress and get back into a rhythm. Get a feeling for where the next twelve months were leading me. I decided that January will serve as my ‘pause’ moving forward. January will be the moment when I catch my breath.
And so, as February dawns and we get into 2022 in earnest, I can more clearly see what I want to focus on, and what my goals are. Some things I try to do every year – read more, watch less TV (this resolution has taken years to make an impact, but I do actually read more and watch much less TV so I guess… worth it? 🤷🏻♀️). I usually hope I meditate more and practice the piano. Still working on consistency there.
But February brings with it clarity. It allows me to take stock of how far I’ve come, and how far I still have to go.
I’m not saying that husby and I are going to start Cross Fit tomorrow (or ever really; husby is deeply skeptical). And I’m not saying that my grand idea of a letter writing campaign will ever take flight. But I do want to lift more instead of only doing cardio. And I want to give my friendships the focus and attention and time they deserve. Life is short, and I want the people who matter to me to know they matter.
Anyway. Small goals. We’ll see how I’m feeling at the start of March.
Xox, g
31122
As I’ve written about in the past, the new year always finds me searching to grow, to molt my old skin and start anew. Often it comes in the form of “self-help” books, philosophy, yoga … Anything that pushes me out of my comfort zone and forces me to expand my mind (& in turn, how I think about things).
Sometimes I could talk about this for hours, but this year feels different – like I’ve molted a layer deeper, and am learning to stop and contemplate before speaking. I’m currently reading “Quit Like a Woman” (among other titles, but this currently & primarily) and what I am loving and finding so fascinating is that it isn’t really about quitting at all. It’s about learning to heal, learning to find grounding and truth and love. (I’m only halfway through so I reserve the right to be wrong about this! But it’s my impression thus far).
It’s definitely educating, and I’ve learned a lot about alcohol, its place in our society, its marketing plus its place and eminence throughout history. But mostly, as the book turned its first corner, I began to learn to see in myself the strength and the curiosity I have needed and called upon to begin to heal myself.
**
Tonight, as we watched the first press conference with the NY Giants newly appointed head coach Brian Daboll, I heard in his words some of the things I’ve begun to learn about truth and humanity. Brian Daboll, as journalists ranging from professional and polite to downright snarky asked some truly leading questions, maintained his message. And his message was simple — it’s about relationships, a shared vision, communication and authenticity.
These are not revolutionary themes. They are timeless. I felt a kinship to Mr. Daboll and he earned a ton of my respect for his openness, his honestly and his commitment to his message.
I love these moments, when things in my life dovetail together – when for a moment I glimpse the bigger, connected, energetic picture.
Xox, g
30122
I’m at a loss for what to write about.
My brain is full but I’m still chewing on things, figuring out how I feel.
I got a text the other day with an article. It doesn’t matter what it was about, but there was no context provided. Just an article, out of nowhere, from a person I haven’t spoken to recently. But I understood by the headline that it was an article about a commonality between us.
I opened it and read the first paragraph or two. I responded with an emoji, because I agreed with the article. I was familiar with the subject, and I’d read many things about it over the past few years. I knew how I felt.
My friend’s response was that perhaps the article got it wrong. I sighed and realized I’d have to read the whole thing to properly respond.
So I did. And my feelings didn’t change. I knew how I felt about the situation. I’d both read articles and observed/gathered my own impressions. I felt how I felt, and while I was open to a discussion, I wasn’t ready to change my mind. This specific article did not add anything new to the conversation or give new information.
That was a moment when I knew exactly what to write and how I felt.
That is not the case today. I’m tired and my brain is full of so many things. Thoughts about how life is, how we put people in boxes and try desperately to keep them there. How we are not open to change, we are not willing to see other people as different than who they’d always been in our own minds.
Except when it suddenly becomes socially acceptable to allow that someone has ‘matured’ or ‘evolved.’
It’s a tough nut for me to be chewing on. It’s uncomfortable to acknowledge my own biases and even more difficult to contemplate that perhaps, I am wrong. Not always, but not seldom, either. If I am asking grace of others, if I am working and always learning and changing, I have to grant that others are doing the same. And that is very difficult in certain cases.
As an example: must I be open to my ex-husband being a better person than the one who treated me badly, ripped me apart and left me shattered? Isn’t it easier and more comforting to continue to believe that he’s awful? …. I mean, easier, yes, but fair? Not at all. And if I want to keep growing, I must admit that just as I’m constantly evolving, so is everyone else, including that man. Otherwise I haven’t evolved or grown at all. I have just judged. Possibly unfairly.
Oof.
Yuck.
Asking others for grace means giving it myself. And that’s the hardest part, isn’t it? Learning and understanding that everything is a two way street.
Xox, g
D5 Creation