Days of Grace: 316/365
By · Comments- This morning was gorgeous.
- On time. ON TIME!!
- A really interesting interview.
- The main story for my magazine is done.
- Holding my tongue has not killed me … yet.
Days of Grace: 315/365
By · Comments- A gorgeous, sunny, wonderfully springy day
- Air popped popcorn with real butter
- The basement is straightened out, even if not clean
- Just Dance for the Wii, especially the ass-slapping routine to Ring My Bell (my favorite song when I was Lauren’s age)
- Steve’s all lovely today
King for the day
By · CommentsSteve does not like celebrating his birthday.
He told me this long ago, and I came to believe he does not like his birthday because he didn’t have many celebrations as a kid. So, I set about fixing it and changing his mind. I have made sure, for the past four birthdays we’ve been together, that he has had a great time. Each year has topped the previous year, with last year–his 40th–culminating in a trip to Napa. Hard to top that.
This year, I asked him to request March 11 and 12 as vacation days, and I started looking for a place for us to go within a few hours of Denver. Usually, I love trip planning–finding the perfect place to stay, searching for bargains, figuring out the right balance between scheduled activities and free time. This year the whole thing was a struggle. I was so frustrated I put out a Very Personal Ad here and got no responses. (Universe–trying to tell me something? Hmmm?) Steve’s boss owns a place in Summit County, and had offered it to us a no cost, so Steve said he’d ask if we could use it that weekend.
He didn’t. He didn’t even ask for the time off until this week. And when he told me he couldn’t have those days off next week, I freaked out, because I felt like he sabotaged the whole thing.
The energy in our house has been out of whack. Last weekend was fight central. Many shoes were hurled. The rain of shoes–some intentional–continued through Wednesday, culminating in much nastiness on my part and my husband evacuating the house for a couple of hours.
During the ugliness, he told me that he NEVER wanted another acknowledgment of his birthday. EVER. Not a card. Not a dinner. Not a present. Fine, I told him. And later, I cried. I was so frustrated and hurt.
Birthdays have always been important to me. Growing up, they were one of the few days of the year when my whole family, including grandparents, would come together. Birthdays meant feeling special and loved and it being OK to ask for what I wanted. I’ve always made a big deal about my birthday, taking the day off–last year, taking two weeks off. I planned elaborate dinner parties for my ex-husband’s birthday, some of my happiest memories with him. And Lauren’s birthdays, at least until the divorce after which her dad somehow took them over, were always a source of love and pride. I orchestrated huge celebrations for both of my parents’ 60th birthdays, ensuring that far-away friends and relatives attended.
In other words, birthdays allow me to express my love for someone in a special way. And today, it hit me that Steve’s rejection of his birthday and his sabotage of my plans for it this year feels like rejection of ME. Rejection of my love. It’s like I’m a child who’s made a special art blob for a parent and the parent threw it in the trash before my eyes.
And yet, I now understand he is rejecting acknowledgment and celebration of his birthday … not me. Huh.
Bloggers and coaches Havi Brooks and Hiro Boga talk about the concept of sovereignty–the quality of owning your own space, of being so safe being you that nothing can shake you, of not giving a damn what anyone thinks because you are king/queen of your own realm (quote/endquote). I’m working on getting to sovereignty. Today I realized that Steve is also allowed to work toward his own sovereignty … or not. When I do things like force unwanted birthday celebrations on him I am not allowing him to be who he is. I am letting my stuff try to run his stuff. And that doesn’t work for either of us.
That’s why he sabotaged my plans–from my point of view–or didn’t do what I wanted him to do–from his point of view. His birthday and how he celebrates it (or not) is his sovereign choice. And I should honor him perhaps by asking him what he wants to do (if anything) and respecting his wishes, even if it’s not what I want. Even if it feels wierd or uncomfortable. On that day especially, he should be king.
The end of violence
By · CommentsTonight I made it to the gym for the first time in a week, and for the first time on a weeknight since I don’t know when. It helps that it’s now light outside until after 6. It also helps that the gym is halfway between Judi’s office and home. I haven’t been working out lately beyond the shiva nata and Nia. Lifting, doing cardio–anything hard-core–feels wrong.
It feels violent.
I have spent most of my life beating the shit out of myself over my body. I have used exercise as a way to punish myself for being imperfect. I have exercised to the point of vomiting. I have trained so hard–especially on climbs on my bike–that I had asthma attacks. I have pushed myself to the point of injury, all the time calling myself weak and lazy and fat and useless and a loser when I quit. (Quit, not ’stopped’.) I didn’t do it to be healthy, I did it because I was a perfectionist. For a long time, my body responded by dropping fat, getting muscley. I could run hard or bike hard or lift hard for several months and rid my body of evidence of months of sloth. In 1994 my thyroid went kaput, and my body became sluggish in response. The cruel words my ex-husband threw at me was nothing compared to what I did to myself.
What I do to myself.
I can tell story after story of how I lost weight, then regained it. I can write about starving myself, punishing myself by deprivation. I can speak of violence.
Now, it seems the harder I push my body, the harder my body pushes back. In 2007 Steve and I did P90x, a very intense workout, for 12 weeks. My body responded by getting very strong (I could do almost 100 pushups over an hour’s time) but also refusing to drop any body fat. In retrospect, it’s like it was an abused woman who had finally put out a restraining order against her tormentor.
I didn’t think I knew how to do it any differently. I mean, to be healthy, you go to the gym and lift weights violently, push yourself through advanced yoga (yes, even yoga can be violent on the inside) and walk the treadmill at extreme angles, right? Nia doesn’t count as exercise because it’s gentle, and the shiva nata, well, that’s not exercise at all.
When I got to the gym tonight, I decided to try a kick boxing class. I always loved kickboxing, especially visualizing a particularly frustrating person’s face in the range of my fists. In the late 1990s, I belonged to a gym that let us wrap our hands and punch dummies and hand pads. The physical contact was thrilling and such a release. It was taught by a diminutive, bad-ass Vietnamese woman who used the class to make us women feel powerful, or so I told myself. Often, I’d push myself to the point of exhaustion so I’d barely be able to drag myself to the car. I motivated myself to do every rep through name-calling.
Tonight, though, it was different.
The teacher introduced himself as Mike Sucks. I considered leaving at that, but I thought, what the heck, I’m good at modifying. But there was no modifying in this class. I kept up for the first 20 minutes, and when I tried to modify pushups on my knees, Mike Sucks “encouraged me” by calling me out in class. And then, he instructed us to run sprints. I don’t run because childbirth stretched the tendons that hold my bladder in place, and when I run I wet my pants. But Mike Sucks “encouraged me” some more and I ran. And I wet my pants. And then, I couldn’t breathe. It’s been a long time since I’ve had an exercise-induced asthma attack.
In the past, I would have pushed through it, perhaps taking a short break for water, or running to the bathroom to empty my bladder and catch my breath. But tonight as my lungs closed up, my higher self called to me softly, telling me it was OK to stop. That stopping didn’t mean I am lazy, or not as good as the women in the class. For the first time, I listened to my truth, not my monsters. I waived goodbye to Mike Sucks–who said he was taking it easy on the class due to all the newbies–and walked out with no regrets.
Instead of throwing shoe after shoe at myself because I couldn’t hack it, I chose peace. I am proud of myself. I still don’t have a metaphor for exercise. But perhaps, with this change in behavior I won’t need one.
Days of Grace: 314/365
By · Comments- I was ITEMized on thefluentself.com. Woot!
- Which, in the midst of a really shitty day, gave me the thrill of 216 pageviews, the most ever. And another 127 today. I usually get about 50-70 on a post so what a thrill! Yeah, yeah, stats. But Woot!
- TiVo for fast forwarding through the atrocious AI results show.
- Another good Judi session, with a plan for a core balance next week. Today, I just needed to talk about all the times in my life I’ve felt silenced in a big way–either by someone else or by myself–in this lifetime and in those before this one (unveiled with past-life work with a psychic I trust on Saturday). Next week, I’m letting ALL of this shit go. I feel really excited.
- I found a promising feng shui practitioner to help me deal with my office, and she’s coming next Thursday.
Oldie but Goodie: Why I’m here
By · CommentsWritten Feb. 4, 2008
I’ve come to believe that part of my life path is to release the habits of perfectionism, hyper-criticism, judgment, pettiness and control–especially of the world and people around me. That behavior is so “last lifetime.” As my friend Rob keeps telling me, it’s time for me to learn to go with the flow, to stop fighting to be right at all costs. I am fully able to admit when I’m wrong and apologize and make amends. I am also fully able to look at my behavior as it is happening and notice its effect on those around me. And I am fully able to figure out what is triggering the behavior if I have enough time and I’m not mired in fury–the coverlet for hurt.
I also know that the work I need to be doing–instead of trying to fix everything around me–is inside of me. I need to create some order inside of myself, trust that other people can take care of themselves and the world will carry on just fine without me hawking over every detail. Part of this is learning to be more present in the moment instead of worrying over (pre-controlling) the future or ruminating the past. First things first is developing some actual compassion for myself, give myself unconditional love and work toward a peaceful me instead of the harsh, critical, tumultuous inner life I now lead.
I find it interesting that this is exactly where my whacky therapist has been taking me for the past six months. He recommended a book, “The Wisdom of No Escape” by Pema Chodron. I haven’t gotten very far, because I keep re-reading the first page.
“There’s a common misunderstanding among all the human beings who have ever been born on the earth that the best way to live is to try to avoid pain and just try to get comfortable … To lead a life that goes beyond pettiness and prejudice and always wanting to make sure that everything turns out on our own terms, to lead a more passionate, full, and delightful life than that, we must realize that we can endure a lot of pain and pleasure for the sake of finding out who we are and what this world is, how we tick and how our world ticks, how the whole thing just is. If we’re committed to comfort at any cost, as soon as we come against the least edge of pain, we’re going to run; we’ll never know what’s beyond that particular barrier or wall or fearful thing.”
That last emphasis is mine. How much of my life has been spent being committed to comfort at any cost? How many situations and things and people have I tried (successfully and unsuccessfully) to control to avoid that least edge of pain? How many miles have I run to get away from that barrier or wall or fearful thing, only to find that my finger is still stuck in the proverbial dike and the thing is still there, I haven’t moved at all, and nothing has changed but wasted time like water under the bridge?
I like this Pema Chodron, who is a Buddhist nun. I have a meditation CD of hers I’m starting to use, and I know that learning to get still will help me. But her way of meditation is not close-your-eyes and block out everything but your breath, as I’ve been taught before. She teaches that you must be aware of your surroundings, and put your mind on an object (the breath), but keep your eyes open so you’re IN the moment, rather than escaping from it into the darkness of your subconscious. And she teaches that you notice only the exhalation, and especially the brief gap of letting go at the end–the moment just before you inhale. In that moment, you must trust that another breath is coming. You have no choice. It’s a lesson, that moment, about all of life.
I grew up with enough stuff. I rarely wanted for a thing–except for the stuff I really wanted. Those things: unconditional love and acceptance. So I learned that controlling situations and people got me some of that. But I believed–and still do–that I do not deserve to be provided for or taken care of. I don’t believe I’m good enough to have the things I want, that someone will ever just give those things to me, so I coerce.
I don’t need to change that behavior. There is nothing wrong with it, and it has served me well. What I can do is begin to be more patient and gentle with myself when I exhibit these behaviors, to be more peaceful with myself. To give myself the unconditional love and acceptance I’ve always craved.
Days of Grace: 313/365
By · Comments- Yesterday’s Detective Call, via Havi of www.thefluentself.com
- Tiny little candy sundaes at Sonic
- Tuesday dinners with Lauren
- 10 Days until more daylight
- Shiva nata
