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being real

Not the thoughts themselves

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(Sometimes I feel like a broken record, because I kind of say the same thing over and over again, just in different words and different ways. But maybe that’s kind of the point, because what we internalize and truly know in one moment, we doubt and don’t believe in another moment. So maybe the point is to keep saying it, over and over again, because each moment we capitalize on our truth is a moment that the truth solidifies more and more in our cores.)

I have been noticing lately (again) how the automatic thoughts that were such a part of my life for so long continue to linger. I have been empowered lately (again) that I have the choice to act on them or not.

One of the best, most freeing truths I ever came to internalize, was:

What matters is my reactions to the thoughts, not the thoughts themselves. 

Today, I felt embarrassed about the way I handled a conversation. I perceived myself as sounding incompetent, immature, and annoying. (And maybe I did sound that way, or maybe I didn’t, all the ruminating in the world won’t send me inside the other person’s head to know how she perceived me. It would be up to her to tell me – not my job to guess.) And it fascinated me how quickly after I heard the thoughts in my brain:

I am going to the gym right when I get home.
I am going for a run even though it’s hot.
I’m not going to eat dinner.

I no longer panic about those thoughts, though I don’t love them. But I’ve come to realize that my brain is wired this way. Maybe it’s genetic, maybe it’s neurological, maybe it’s synapses that were created in middle school and high school and college and still exist to this day. But also? Maybe it doesn’t matter why the thoughts come. Maybe (definitely) what matters is how I choose to react. And there’s nothing more empowering than that – knowing I have a choice.

I’m home right now. I’m sitting on my couch. I had a snack because working outside all day left me shaky and dehydrated. The air conditioning is on. I’m writing. I will eat dinner tonight. I don’t have the energy for the gym, so I won’t go tonight. I might go for a walk later if I want to gently, slowly stretch out my body. I will not harm myself. I will be gentle and kind.

Years ago? I didn’t have that separation between thoughts and actions. A thought was acted on, because there was no other option. But that’s no longer the case. And the presence of thoughts doesn’t erase years of progress, years of moving forward. It doesn’t mean failure and it doesn’t mean regression or relapse. The presence of thoughts means nothing except just that….that there are thoughts in my brain. (And? If I do or did act on the thoughts? That also doesn’t erase years of progress, moving forward, or mean failure. It means that all of us, myself included, are human. And perfection doesn’t exist. And that’s just life. And okay. And real.)

And so now I know.

I can notice the thoughts. Listen to them. Acknowledge them.

And gently send them away.

The beautiful gradient of being real

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Sometimes I think that we feel like it’s all or nothing – we either spill our guts and tell our inner secrets or we don’t say anything and stay closed up.

But it’s not black and white. It’s a beautiful, sparkling gradient of dancing flecks and sparkles of colors.

The gradient doesn’t require having full length conversations about things. It doesn’t require telling it all. Nor does it require sharing it with everyone. It doesn’t require you to be serious and it doesn’t require any further explanation.

The beautiful thing about the gradient is every little bit falls somewhere along it.

The empowering thing is that each time you share – a word, a sentence, a story, you are healing yourself, working towards bravery, combating shame, channeling compassion.

It’s when you are talking with a friend you trust, and you casually throw in a funny anecdote about what your therapist said to you. (and knowing that you don’t have to share any more than that. You don’t owe anyone an explanation.)

It’s when you state that a comment made by a co-worker, or student, or camper, triggered you. (and giving yourself the power – knowing you don’t owe anyone an explanation about why).

It’s saying, “I need a minute, I’m really anxious” (and only saying more than that if you want to)

It’s asking a friend to check in at the end of the day (and knowing that you don’t have to be in crisis to deserve support. You always deserve support).

It’s the time that you say, “Last night was rough.” (and leaving it at that.)

Is it not such a relief to say one of those things, and be met with a smile, a laugh, a compassionate or empathic response?

All of those times – and so many more – put you on the path, away from the darkness and into the light. All of those times prove to yourself – I can be real. I can share. I can do this. And the more that we practice this, bit by bit, the easier it gets. The more we are real, the more we give others permission to do the same.

And we heal. Bit by beautiful bit.

What I want to tell you

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Here is what I want to tell you.

That you don’t ever have to give me a reason for your struggles. There isn’t always one. If there is, you can tell me why. And if there isn’t, it doesn’t matter. It makes you no less deserving of a hug, of a listening ear, of a compassionate smile.

That you can say to me, “I’m so anxious,” or “I’m super down today” or “I’m miserable” and I won’t expect you to know why.

That in sharing where you’re at – to me, to someone else – you are engaging in self-care. Reaching out and allowing others to have compassion for you is self-care. It will in turn allow you to have compassion for yourself.

That you deserve to accept that compassion. That there is nothing so flawed about you that makes you unlovable. That we are all a perfect mess. That however much the fear in your brain tries to spin it, to convince you that you are not deserving of love, of compassion, of self-care, it’s wrong. And if you don’t believe that the voice is wrong, let me remind you it is.

That you will believe it some day. I promise you that.

That I, and many of us in your life, have walked this same path. And we’re still walking it. And we get it. And you are not alone, contrary to that voice in your brain that tells you otherwise. I know that voice. It’s wrong.

That there are no bad feelings. Hard ones, sure. Uncomfortable and painful and sometimes debilitating ones. But they’re not bad. And you’re not bad.

That you can feel what you feel, and walk through the path that you’re going through without judging yourself for it. That you get to  accept it and experience it mindfully.

That the goal of getting through a hard time isn’t to push away the hard feelings, thoughts, or memories. It’s to mindfully experience them. I know that seems counter-intuitive. But if we only embraced, enjoyed, and accepted happiness, joy, and content, we’d only be present for about half our lives.

So: Stay present. Through the pain, tears, memories, heartache, grief. Feel it all. It feels like it will rip you in two. I know. It won’t. I promise. You’re resilient and this will not break you.

<!–noadsense–>

To my dear friend, when you forget:

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It is so easy, so damn easy, to assume that everyone else is normal and we are the screwed up ones. But in reality, there is no normal. There might be a more common, but not a normal. Just because you cry at times others wouldn’t, and get deeply affected by events others don’t, doesn’t mean something is wrong with you. The way in which you react to a tough situation isn’t good or bad. It just IS. and you get to own that, without  apologizing for it, without judging it.

When we apologize for how we are, how we feel, how we think, we are essentially saying, “something is wrong with me. I am flawed, to the point where I need to apologize for it.” (The exception being, if you hurt someone or hurt yourself, of course you apologize. But the reality is, you don’t hurt people that often. You just worry that you do.)

You get to not apologize for crying. For spinning. For feeling. You get to not apologize for worrying. For ruminating. Because it’s who you are, it’s your wiring. And just because others don’t do or feel those things doesn’t mean you are in the wrong. It doesn’t mean anything. It just IS.

The reason you apologize after breaking down, after crying, after being you, is because you feel shame. You feel that something is intrinsically wrong with you and you just did something that you shouldn’t have done. And you worry that by doing what you did, you have made yourself fundamentally unlovable. But try, just try, to embrace it. This is who you are. And you can trust yourself that the person on whom you just unloaded loves you because of you who are, not in spite of it. And don’t apologize. Because this is you, there are no other you’s in the world, and this person loves you and cares about you and how beautiful is that?

So. Do not apologize to me for venting. For coming into my office and breaking down. For emailing long strings of thoughts. For talking and talking until you’ve let it out. Rest assured that at this point in my life, I no longer expend energy on unhealthy relationships. Which means that if you’re a part of my life, it’s not because I feel obligated or because we are unhealthily intertwined. You are in my life because I care about you, and I want to hear you, to listen to you, to hold your pain when you can’t breathe.

And so, you just be you. However and whatever that means and looks like, and I promise you, I will love you through it.

Month-old journaling bits, day-old responses

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I want to write, so badly, that I can’t. This is not a new feeling. I keep opening word documents, blank blog posts. I know I just need momentum. I know once I get going, I’ll go. But that blank page – it puts pressure on me, to write something extraordinary. And the more pressure, and the more want, the less I can do it. I go back and forth between “I have so much to say” and “I have nothing to say”. I have thoughts, snippits, of ideas of topics – but when I allow them to settle into my fingers, I get all blocked up. Every idea and thought I have sounds stupid.

Just write, just let the words pour out of your fingers. There is no expectation, there is no requirement. You write for you, and therefore, whatever you say is just fine.

Sometimes I wish I wrote fiction.

You could. You could write fiction. Just like you could write poetry. There are no standards, just the ones you fear exist.

I wanted to write about the “too much” vs. “not enough” thing. I don’t really know how to explain it, though, only just feel it. With someone people I worry I’m too much. Too needy, too anxious, too dependent, too self-centered. With others, I worry I’m not enough. Not caring enough, I don’t check in enough, not funny enough, not supportive enough. I’m not good enough in general. And all of that results in a lot of spinny thoughts, ruminations, anxieties. I wonder what it would be like to just…be. I wonder why I automatically jump to the conclusions and fears of being simultaneously too much and not enough – and I wonder, does anyone else do that? Is it yet another “Jen thing” or can anyone else relate? What is it like to just be and do without a constant analysis of real and perceived events and outcomes?

Remember that you certainly do not always feel this way. It’s been a theme in your life, but it is not a constant of a day to day. Remember how many interactions and moments you have now that you don’t analyze or question, and you felt this way in this moment when you wrote this, but you don’t feel this way all of the time. You are very good at just being. You’ve come so far. Remember that your analytical, anxious, obsessive brain will always have a tendency toward this, but it no longer consumes you. Remember that presence of thoughts matters far less than reactions to those thoughts.

Half an inch

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And as the seamstress asked, “Do you want me to take it out half an inch, and not pin it so tightly?” I smiled, and said, “Yes.”

Let me back up.

I was at the seamstress for my second wedding dress fitting. She had tentatively pinned several parts of the dress that needed to be taken in, and I was trying it on to confirm before she cut into the fabric. (Let me just say that no matter what size you are, no matter what shape, no matter what your history with your body, it’s never a super comfortable feeling for someone to pull fabric tight around every crevice of your body). She zipped the dress and I immediately felt like I needed to suck in.

“Remember, you want to be able to sit down, you want to be comfortable,” my mom said, as she caught my eye, watching me note that it was a little tight in one part of my back. And I needed that reminder of her saying that, because all along, that was my criteria with my wedding dress. I wanted to feel beautiful in it. And I wanted to be able to breathe. I did not want to spend my wedding day focusing on sucking in my stomach or breathing with shallow breaths because a full, deep, wonderful breath was restricted by my dress. I didn’t want my dress to restrict anything. Of all days, I do not want any restrictions on my wedding day.

I thought about it. I focused on my body. I noticed that I could only take shallow breaths, with the dress pinned that tightly. I noticed that I wanted to suck in my stomach. My initial reaction, which I think will always be my initial reaction, was to think, Okay. I can do this. Challenge accepted. I’ll cut out a few calories. Go to the gym more. Lose a half inch in the circumference of my back. Then it will fit perfectly. Perfect. This is perfect. 

And I did at first, say to the seamstress and my mom, “No, I think it will be okay.” But my voice trailed off. And my mom knows me better than that. So as she said, “Are you sure?” I thought.

The difference between Then and Now, is my reactions to those thoughts. I used to panic when I noticed the thought. I thought that meant I had failed, that I would always been trapped by the thoughts. It took a lot of time, and work, to realize that the thoughts are going to come. They just are. Maybe they don’t come for everyone, but everyone’s story is different, everyone’s reasons and causes are different, everyone’s wiring is different. And for me, the thoughts will come from time to time. But that actually doesn’t matter. Because what matters is my reaction to the thoughts, not the thoughts themselves. If I act on them or not. If I let them become actions and reality.

So I took a shallow breath, because that’s all I could do with my diaphragm compressed that tightly. And as the seamstress asked, “Do you want me to take it out half an inch, and not pin it so tightly?” I smiled, and said, “Yes.”

It’s a half an inch. Barely noticeable. Makes no difference. And back Then, a half inch would have been everything. But Now, that half inch is nothing. Comfort is everything. Feeling beautiful is everything. Breathing is everything. And if it takes a half inch for that, it’s okay by me.

Stop the glorification of busy

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stop the glorification

I saw this on elephant journal’s Facebook today, and shared it. And then the words came, from my heart and my head and my core and they tumbled out and here they are:

Yet one more effed-up societal belief that has been instilled in our culture is that the busier you are, the more admirable it is. Think about it. You admire your coworker who works a full day, and got up at 4:30am to go to the gym, and picks up her kids after work and brings them to their after-school activities, and still cooks a family dinner, and cleans the house, and spends time with her husband. Wow, you think. I don’t know how she does it all! And you tell her that. And you realize, or maybe you don’t, that it’s making you feel worse and worse. Because, you slept until 5:45. You went to work, and had a busy day, the kind with about 10 free minutes to gobble down your lunch. And then you were spent. You went home, deciding to ditch the gym that afternoon because you needed some down time. You sit on the couch with a book and end up napping for half an hour. You wake up and manage to get dinner together for you and your fiance. The two of you eat dinner, you do the dishes, make your lunch, preset the coffee pot for the next morning, straighten up the living room, and then when it’s 8:30pm and he asks, “Do you want to get in bed and read?” you happily say yes, and you two happily read in bed together for an hour and then at 9:30 he turns the light off, curls his body around you, and you both fall asleep.

And you judge yourself for it. You think, That’s ALL I could do today? I barely did anything. My friend/coworker/neighbor/sister did so much more than I did. She’s better than I am. I’m unproductive, I didn’t accomplish anything. And then you feel worse and worse about yourself. Because we know, or we think we know, that busier = better.

But if I reframe this, if I take a step back from it and look at it with fresh eyes? There’s nothing unproductive about my day. I worked hard at work. I put my all into all of my therapy sessions with my kids. I listened to my body and didn’t push it. I let myself relax, renew, restore. I fed and nourished myself. I spent time with my love. Yes, I could’ve gone to the gym. I could’ve cooked something more elaborate. I could’ve vacuumed or cleaned the bathroom. I could’ve sent a few emails to friends. But I didn’t, and that’s actually okay. That doesn’t make me lazier or less worthy than others, though that may be the whisper into my mind.

Some people thrive on being busy. Some don’t. Some people need structure and some don’t. For me currently, I am operating best with a balance of structure and unstructure. I need a good amount of down time to sit, to read, to have quiet, to write, to nap, to recharge. And I get to not feel guilty for that. There were times in my life, mostly in college, where I wanted and needed to be busy. I needed to be doing something (usually studying or working) most moments of the day because being busy kept my brain from thinking about things I didn’t want it to, kept it from ruminating on topics that were detrimental to my health and well-being. During college, being very busy was something I needed. Now? Not as much.

We worry we are perceived as something other than outstanding and admirable and perfect. We worry we aren’t worthy of rest, of complaint, of frustration. I bet at least one of you reading this has thought, How can I complain about being exhausted when my coworker was up all night with her 3 year old and my friend is going to her second job at 4pm and I slept through the night and can go home after work? But therein lies the problem. It’s not a contest. It’s not a hierarchy. We get to feel however we feel independent of others. So if you’re tired, you’re tired. If you’re frustrated, you’re frustrated. Nobody has to give you permission to feel how you feel.

And as for what’s admirable? I think deep down, in my core, where all of my truths are, I believe that what’s admirable is not being busy. And it’s not doing nothing. It’s listening to yourself. It’s giving yourself what you need – whatever that may be.