Tag

being real

I can’t write

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I have sat down and tried to write a blog post countless times in the last two weeks.

I get bits and pieces down and then I get stuck. I can’t get more out. And then I get frustrated and put more pressure on myself which makes me more stuck and it’s a cycle (although isn’t everything?).

But I want to write, desperately. So I thought maybe I’d just say those bits and pieces and allow myself to leave it at that. Because it doesn’t have to be perfect. It doesn’t have to make sense. I don’t have to be perfect. I don’t have to make sense. Maybe there’s something empowering, powerful, about just being, in my rawest, truest, form. Maybe I will write and maybe it’ll be another two weeks before I can. Maybe it’ll make sense and maybe it won’t. Maybe I’ll lose readers. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe the only thing that matters is that I write when I want to. Even if it’s to say….well, nothing, really. So I’ll keep trying. When I can, and when I want to. And it will….well, it will just be. Whatever it is.

Finding myself

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When I put out a survey a while back, asking people to vote on what they were interested in reading about, one reader wrote, “liking yourself, being comfortable with who you are, finding a sense of self”. I have slowly been mulling that over in my brain, trying to piece together some words that make sense. This is what I’ve come up with.

I didn’t always love myself. I felt awkward and out-of-place for a lot of my childhood years. So I did what I could to try to feel normal. This included: reading teen gossip magazines, even though I didn’t like them, so I could be up on the latest celebrity news; watching TRL on Fridays, even though I couldn’t care less about music videos, so I could discuss them with peers; buying a shirt from Abercrombie and Fitch, even though I didn’t really like it that much, because that’s what everyone did. As I got older, it became: staying out late and going to a lot of parties; buying Uggs and other “trendy” clothing; pretending I liked watching football and other sports; the list goes on.

During my sophomore year in college, I hit a turning point. For various reasons, my life shifted a bit, and when that happened, some pieces fell into place. It’s funny how once a certain filter is removed, you see things differently. Once the shift happened, I realized: I didn’t like football. I didn’t like staying out late every night. I didn’t like bars. I craved my routine. I liked studying and spending my weekends studying with a friend and a coffee, and my evenings curled up on the couch, watching Grey’s Anatomy with my roommate.

So it was progress. I was realizing what made me feel good, and what made me, well, ME, but I still didn’t always do anything about it. Because honestly, I was terrified. If I showed the world who I was, what if they rejected me? Wasn’t it better to play it safe and at least know I sort of fit in? For a while my answer was yes. I knew some of what made me happy and what made me feel good, but I didn’t always act on it. I kept my mask on. I wanted to belong. And sure, I often felt happy and content. But it didn’t fill me up. It wasn’t as authentic as it could me.

When I started grad school, I started over. For the first time in years, I had a fresh start. I was feeling good, positive, and full of life. I no longer had illnesses or disorders standing in my way between me and happiness. I only had ME. I was my roadblock. So, I began grad school as my true, authentic self. I didn’t always wear makeup to class. I didn’t hide my perfectionism or anxiety. I talked to all sorts of people. I geeked out over things we were learning. I embraced awkward moments. And the result? I made friends. True, wonderful, forever friends. People liked me. They liked me for me. And the funny thing is – making friends and being liked was the easiest it had been, up until that point.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that this was when I fell in love – and even more so, when a man fell in love with me. When I met Jeremy, and as we began dating, nearly four years ago, I was determined to be me. Enough was enough, I had told myself. There was no point in faking it, in hiding who I was. If he didn’t like me for me, then that was okay, it just meant he wasn’t the one for me. I raised the bar, and told myself that I would not settle. I embraced myself and so somewhere out there, was someone else who would embrace me, too.

And that someone was Jeremy.

He loves me for my quirks. He loves me for my weirdness. He loves me for my personality. He loves me for who I am. He fell in love with ME. Not a shadow version of me, not a fake version of me, but just the real, true, authentic, unique, me. I am a person who was worth falling in love with. I am a person who is worth marrying. I am the happiest, truest, most real I have been in my entire life. He has not only accepted who I am, but embraced it, hugged it, nurtured it, and encouraged it. I blossom with him. I am the luckiest.

And so – I do love myself. I have embraced myself. I know that I love wine, but I don’t like beer. I know that I am a hardcore introvert. I know that despite being an introvert, I have wonderful friends. I know that I still wear mismatched socks. I know that four stuffed animals sit on our bed. I know that I make up words and songs as I go about my day. I know that I’d prefer reading to watching sports. I know that I prefer a few, true, forever friends, over a bunch of casual friends. I know that I love a handful of t.v. shows, but I don’t like reality t.v. I know that I love deep, intense novels, but dislike chick lit. I know that I am sensitive and often tear up. I know that I squeal when I’m outside in nature. I know that I kneel down to take pictures of snails, frogs, and worms. I know that I look up to take pictures of skies, trees, light. I know that I don’t really care about fashion, and often just reach for whatever colors feel right. I know that all of these things make me who I am. And I know that I am okay. That I am enough.

Embracing myself does not mean always being happy. Those things couldn’t possibly be synonymous. But embracing myself does mean accepting all parts of me. Working towards acceptance of where I’m at, in each moment. Having compassion for myself, in a variety of situations. Knowing that despite the external circumstances, I am at peace in my core.

Without judgment

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Today was a gloomy, rainy, gray day. I hate feeling cold – internally, down-to-my-soul cold, and at times I did. I hate when my feet are wet in my flats, and they were. And I felt a few rushes of sadness come over me, as I often do on gray and gloomy days. And at first my brain automatically responded, with “Stop, don’t be sad” and “Try to be happy” and “Why are you sad, there’s no reason to be sad” but in the spirit of noticing and observing without judging, I gently reminded my brain, “I can feel sad. I have a wave of sadness right now and that’s actually okay. And embracing the wave makes it less scary and less intense. It’s when I judge and criticize it that it gains power.” And it worked, and I felt a wave of sadness but it wasn’t all-consuming by any means. And I had a meeting for work this afternoon, so I went, and I left driving in the rain, and I went to the gym because today, in that moment, the gym felt like self-care, and right now, in this moment, I feel good. And whatever the next moment brings, it’s okay. Because I’ll be there, too. Embracing it, whatever it is.

There’s something to be said for staying present, staying mindful. Noticing. Observing. Without judgment.

Things I know

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I have a lot of little thoughts in my head. (I know, you’re shocked)
These are the things I know.

–Our education system is so broken. I don’t know how to fix it, and I wish I did.

–So much of life is about finding balance. Really about everything. Food, sleep, socialization, work, cleaning….it’s all a balance. Sometimes needing one extreme over the other. Sometimes needing the middle ground. I’ve been thinking so much about that word lately, as it comes up everywhere.

–Writing is therapeutic for me. It also makes me be brave. And Be Real.

–It is the other person’s job to tell me if he/she is upset with me. It is NOT my job to be a mind reader and be able to guess. (*credit to this one is my wonderful, dear friend, T. I cling to this statement when I’m in an anxious or spinny place)

–Blame and anger can be separate equations. (*Also from T. She is very very wise)

–Trauma comes in a lot of different forms. Past experiences that seemed unimportant at the time might have had a lasting impact. You will figure it out and deal with it when life is ready for you to. You get to NOT second guess your experiences.

–We are all lovable.

–Rain can sometimes be soothing and sometimes be sad.

–This will not break me. (Whatever “this” is. Whoever “me” is. It will not break you.) (*Ok, this is also from T. I probably should just write an entire post about all her wise words.)

–People deal with so many things. Look beyond the stereotypes. You can suffer from depression and still be able to get out of bed. You can have anxiety yet get through a day calmly. You can struggle with your body image yet be an “average” weight. You can have a learning disability yet do great in your classes. You can have ADHD and not get up from the table and run around every five minutes. You can be a victim of sexual assault without being held at gunpoint by a stranger in a park at night. You can be a lesbian and love makeup and dresses. The world would be a better place if we saw things for what they truly are – a continuum, a spectrum, a myriad of people and examples, not a one-size-fits-all universe.

What do you know?

 

So raw

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Today I am raw.
Like there is no outer layer of skin protecting me and everything is getting through. I’m hyper-porous and permeable and feelings, thoughts, memories, are all swirling around inside, filling me up up up and I think I might burst. Tears have pricked my eyes so many times today, threatening to spill over into sobs. It’s all too much.

As with the weather, the seasons, the tide, it just happens. I have an idea of a few contributing factors, but the factors are influential, not causal. Which is hard to accept, because it means accepting that this is my wiring. That I can’t control it. That I can’t make it start or stop.

So what do I do? Do I fight the feelings, the memories, the frustration, the disappointment, the fear, the sadness, the heaviness? Do I ride it out until it recedes (as it always does, but I always fear it won’t)? That’s the constant struggle – try to feel it and ride it even as I feel consumed. Even as it weighs so much I’m pulled down. To just…..be.

The One With The Poochy Stomach at Yoga

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Last Monday evening, I wanted to go to a yoga class that my favorite instructor was teaching.
My stomach was “poochy” (i.e., distended, sticking out, bloated).
I noticed that observation, then got dressed and went to class.

An anticlimactic, even boring story, right? But I couldn’t help but feel how powerful that moment was. There were years where that would never have been an option in my mind. My digestive system was completely messed up, my perception of myself and my body was messed up, and the quality of my days revolved around how I perceived myself to look, and how my stomach looked. Years ago, a poochy stomach would have been enough cause for me to put on a baggy shirt and sweatpants and hibernate on the couch all night. Last week? I put on my tank top and yoga pants, went to class, and sweat buckets, feeling strong and grounded and powerful the entire time.

Despite spending the past few years giving my digestive system all the TLC and healing it needs after years of misuse, disuse, and abuse, and making wonderful strides, I continue to have food intolerances, continue to have days where it all gets out of whack, continue to have times where my small intestine responds to food by ballooning out so far that I have to pick a bigger pair of pants to wear. And, I’m human, so I think I get to admit that I don’t particularly enjoy those times, that I still feel frustrated when that happens, that I don’t love my body every second of every day. (I don’t think anyone does, and I think that’s okay. And as a side note, here‘s an article that my wonderful friend Erika wrote, on that very subject, that I find truly validating.) BUT, the key difference between Then and Now is that it doesn’t ruin my day. I can concurrently feel uncomfortable, feel some dislike, feel discouraged, AND still go to work, enjoy my day, go out with friends…and feel a whole other range of positive emotions that are real and true and not tainted by dislike or discomfort. 

So I went to yoga, because Now my internal monologue was observatory rather than critical (Hmm. I want to go to yoga tonight. Oh, my stomach is poochy today. Ok, I’d better get dressed and head out). And it was one of those countless moments that I’ve had over the years of Now, where I have to stop and get a burst of joy because Holy crap, I am a different person. I am not the same person I was years ago, Then. I am free and I thought one day I’d get to this point but I am here, I’ve been here, and I will stay here. Any bumps in the road are not a return to Then, they are simply a normal part of Now.

And yoga was fantastic. And Katie, my teacher who I am honored to also call a friend, was reminded us to, “Do whatever you can do. Be wherever you are. Nobody needs a yoga hero.” And I was so in my body and so grounded and I want to go back in time and tell my teen and young adult self, as I have countless times during the years of Now, “Don’t worry. You’ll get there.” 

The time that I didn’t (fully) pass out

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The following is (as usual) completely unedited, completely unplanned, and a complete stream of consciousness. It also mentions fainting and throwing up. Just saying.

I have almost a perfect record of having a vasovagal syncope (i.e. fainting) during any type of medical procedure. Procedure isn’t even the right word, I have (thankfully) not had that many procedures. More like: TB tests, blood draws, chiropractor appointments, gynecology appointments….you name it, I have probably fainted or thrown up during it.

So when I went to the doctor’s office today for an examination that involved a scope up my nose and into my sinuses, I knew the odds were not in my favor. As the doctor explained to me about the lidocaine and the scope, I already felt my body start to struggle. I told the doctor about my history and she very nicely said that it would be no problem, that she would have ice packs ready and she would recline my seat a bit. So I did okay at first, she was reminding me to breathe, and I was, but there’s just a stupid something that gets to me as soon as my brain registers “Holy crap there is something inside of me/going on with my body and I can’t control it and it’s gross/weird/not cool” and I felt that all-too familiar tingling of my hands and my toes and kind of at the back of my throat. I tried to breathe through it but the thoughts of “Oh my god what if this happens what if I pass out what if I throw up will I make it to the bathroom and oh my god this is making it worse I’m going to go down what do I do” kept coming, so for the first time IN MY LIFE, rather than trying to fight it on my own (because, you’d think after 987123987 times of this happening, I would know that it’s the anxiety about it happening that makes it even worse, and when I try to make it stop happening, it only makes it happen sooner), I was honest.

My eyes still closed, I calmly said, “I am going to throw up.” The doctor put a trash can next to me and very calmly replied, “Okay, go ahead right to your right.” She then reclined my seat even farther back so my head was deep below my heart, and she got me ice packs for my wrists and a cold cloth for my head. And there I was, allowing myself to be as vulnerable as possible, lying in the chair with my eyes scrunched shut, trying to breathe, cold packs all over me…..and I accepted it. I accepted that this is where I was, and I accepted that my vision was going dark and I knew I was safe and I knew that if/when I threw up or fully fainted, it would be okay, because I didn’t have to be in charge. I didn’t have to fight it.

I’ve never done that before. I’ve always fought it off, then desperately announced that I needed a bathroom, barely making it to the bathroom before my stomach empties and I pass out, then having to get myself to the sink, clammy and sweaty and exhausted.

I don’t know why this time was different. But I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the very first time in my life that I was able to stop it mid-way, before I fully went into darkness, was when I was proactive, and honest, asked for help and told it like it was.

And ten minutes later, I sat back up. And I drove home. And I was tired, and drained, but I was okay. It was so empowering to be able to stop it mid-way for the first time. And so empowering to be so vulnerable and have it be so……okay.