My 46th birthday was last week and as my daughter likes to remind me, that means I'm in my 47th year.
I'm not one of those people who will tell you that I still feel 24. In fact, when I was 24, I said, "I feel 40." And now I don't know what age I feel - maybe every age, depending on the day.
I stumbled onto a poem the week of my birthday by Denise Duhamel, called, "Fornicating." Here is a quote from the poem, which I like very much (found in the The Best American collection from 2015):
"Anne Sexton wrote
Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself..."
Maybe a sign or something considering that I am undeniably middle-aged. And I've thought in the week since quite a bit about what it means to be seen as beautiful. And what if feels like to be seen as my Self.
For women, aging and beauty, visibility and invisibility, worthiness, desirability, and identity are often inextricably connected in ways that I think it's hard for men to understand. Well, truthfully, we women don't understand it, but we know it.
One way I count myself lucky is that I've been around 'old' people, through my work, but also through my writing life, for a long time. So, even as I rub on my face serum and anti-aging cream at night, I have a competing message that I have undeniably received from these 'old people.' It is realistic and foresighted. It says, "Your gonna have to let that go."
From my perch in my office chair, listening to women of all ages sitting on my couch, I hear vicious attacks. The attacks are on themselves and the script started when they were very young and the words and meaning came through in secret and sad ways. The script says things like, "You are more loved if you are more beautiful. You are more loved if you are thinner. But don't get too beautiful or too thin, because then you will be uppity and threatening. But if you have to err on some side, err on being thin and beautiful."
The biggest problem is that for many women (at least ones in the United States, as far as I can tell, but it's probably more global than that), somehow being 'pretty' gets conflated with being loveable or being loved.
When I hear women talking cruelly to themselves - about being invisible as they age, about no one ever loving them because they weren't found beautiful enough, about mothers who rejected them because they weren't thin enough or feminine enough, I feel deep down sad, but my sadness is in part for myself because I also have received and taken to heart some of those messages.
But, because of my job, I've also been grappling with these issues of aging and physical change, since I was 32 years old. And here's the deal, fellow women. We have to start paying attention in new ways to what love and power really mean. And we need to teach our daughters and sons to use different guides than the ones we may have been given:
First - What is real love? We have to learn to recognize it, value it, and not settle for less than it. And, I don't just mean romantic love, I mean any love at all. When I was married, I had a thought hidden at that time from my waking mind, but a thought that drove some things about me nonetheless: that is was really important that I stay attractive. I never felt like I could dye my hair in front of my ex, or go without makeup on Christmas morning. I felt that he required some artifice on my part. I know now that was a sign that I wasn't really loved. I didn't feel that being plain old me was enough. It was unconscious, but I hoped that in being a shiny version of me, that I would be more loved, more acceptable. I wish I had paid attention to the wrongness of that. I have yet to fall in love in this middle part of my life, but I know in the wisest part of me - and you know this too - when someone is really loved, appearance seems an afterthought. How many times have you gotten to know someone as a human being and they become MORE attractive to you? Or their attractiveness seems inconsequential. When you love someone, you see them in a whole way without making a decision or effort to do so - you see the essence of them when you look at them and it's beautiful to you.
And, this is the most important part: by those who love you, you are seen the same way. Let yourself feel that. If you are not around people who love you for who you are, that is what needs to change. That's the place to put your energy - not into how to lose 25 pounds or can you afford to get a tummy tuck?
Second, we need to pay attention to our elders who are aging with wisdom, grace and energy and see what it is they have that we might want to cultivate in ourselves. Older women, especially women who were known as beauties in their younger years, often tell me how hard it is to feel overlooked or invisible. Losing part of your identity is, of course, demoralizing. Losing perhaps your feeling of desirability, losing perhaps your sense of power. But when we accept that our power and desirability can be so much more than perky boobs or a lack of crows feet, we allow in a fuller sense of what power might be. My guess is that our power and desirability and energy and joie de vivre is rooted in what gives us creativity, ignites our passion, connects us with something essential in us, and lets us live truthfully and fearlessly.
Listen, I come from a long line of vain women, so I have a lot to overcome. My grandmother, in the hospital at age 92 looked at me from her bed and said, "Kate...you look terrible." What?! "You need a little lipstick." Even on her death bed, my Gran wore lipstick.
But mostly, in my 47th year, I am going to remember that the most beautiful thing to be is myself.
A second quote from the poem, Fornicating, sums up a bit of what I wrote above...
"it's easy to feel unbeautiful
when you have unmet desires."
Hey women - I know it may be easy to feel unbeautiful, but easy feelings are not always true. Unmet desires are difficult (I have them too), but they are not as a result of lack of beauty.
Here is my wish for women, whether 6 or 46 or 96 - to know that you are loveable, worthy, and beautiful. To know your own power, so that you experience the joy of being seen for your Self, but also so that you see your True Self.
Tuesday, September 18, 2018
Tuesday, September 4, 2018
In Memory of Reverend Bev Asbury: Death, Religion and Human Meaning Revisited
My college roommate, one of my dearest friends, sent me a text this weekend that read, "I don't know if you'd heard this, Katy, but I thought you would want to know. Bev Asbury, Conscience of Vanderbilt, dies.
How one sentence can bring so much to you instantaneously, is a mystery. It's like being enfolded in your own history, your feelings for a person, your wistfulness at the briefness of life and of having lost touch, and gratitude for another's existence - all of it happens at once and is outside of time. That's how I felt when I received Krissie's text.
Reverend Bev Asbury, or Rev Bev, as we called him when I was in college, was both the university chaplain and a professor of religious studies and I met him, in a sense by accident (if you believe in accidents), when I signed up for a class he taught called, "Death, Religion, and Human Meaning." I had no idea, not even a little inkling, that one day I would work as a hospice social worker. Or that I would be a 'grief therapist.' I just knew that the questions of human meaning, those examined in literature, drew me in. I thought I might be a teacher or a lawyer - I really had no idea what I wanted to do with my life.
And I found myself in this class of about 15 students around an long rectangular table, where Rev Bev sat at the front, teaching and listening. I can still hear the sound of his soft, gravelly voice, like Winnie-the-Pooh, but deeper and more resonant. This was not an ordinary class - we were flexible - sometimes meeting in the evening to watch a movie like Harold and Maude (I'd never seen anything like it). We talked about moral relativism - when do we know something is wrong or evil - is female genital mutilation evil? Is abortion evil? What is taking a life? Is all life equal? How could a loving God allow atrocity? If there is an all knowing, all powerful God, where is God in history? Where was God in the Holocaust?
One thing I learned from Rev Bev is that great faith and great doubt may be hand in hand.
We went to his house as a class experience - this beautiful retreat in the woods and we ate lunch with his wife and took a walk through the woods, evening drinking fresh water from the fresh spring on his property. He was generous and open, treated us as equals and conveyed adult expectations.
And over the course of the semester, Rev Bev became my friend. He was in charge of a program on campus called Project Dialogue that he asked me to join - it was a board of students and faculty who brought speakers to campus to instigate dialogue in the community - lawyers, celebrities, provocateurs, politicians. People like Sarah Weddington, who argued Roe v. Wade, or Sandra Bernhard, who at that time, was seen as an outrageous voice for feminism. Sometimes Rev Bev and I would just sit in his office and talk. I distinctly remember one moment in his office - he'd situated his desk so that he looked out the window while he worked - I was getting ready to bounce off to do whatever sorority thing or studying thing I had to do and we were both looking out the window together at a wintry day, a rare Nashville snow flurry. I realized, "If he were 40 years younger or I was 40 years older, we'd probably fall in love.' And it was a good, weird, wise feeling. There was never anything romantic in the friendship - not one untoward moment or even an inkling of a flirt. But, our friendship gave me a deep sense of connection and time. I thought about how we are little blips on this planet and we intersect with other little blips and how we are lucky to intersect with certain people at all. Just the overlap gives me a sense that something mysterious and big is going on.
When I moved to DC after college graduation, Rev Bev and I saw one another a couple of times, as he sat on the board of the Holocaust Museum there. He met one of the boys I dated at that age- an Irishman from Belfast- so charming and witty. But Rev Bev said, "Katy, he doesn't have kind eyes. I would be careful." And when we broke up, I felt quite good about it, as if Rev Bev knew some secret of the universe and kind eyes had something to do with it and I would look for that from now on. (I will speak to Bev about this when I get to wherever he is - I'm not sure kind eyes is the key to lasting love, but I'm open to hearing more!)
We exchanged Christmas cards over the years, but he and his wife, Vicky moved a number of times. I tracked him down out West in 2009 and we shared a few emails and I shared some poetry with him. I lamented that I didn't have enough time for all the poetry and writing I wished for and he reassured me that life is long and there will be different times - a time for more poetry too.
Rev Bev really molded my interests and what I thought of myself, where I found my identity, at a pivotal time. While I was a cheerleading co-captain and president of my sorority and pursued outward accolades and leadership, Rev Bev saw in me an academic. Or an artist. Or a young woman who would thrive in the questions as much as the answers. I don't know if I would have found that in myself, if not for him. I think his influence rippled out into all the choices I've made and what I've gotten from the richness of a life of questions, rather than answers, is everything to me. He called himself a post-Holocaust Christian. Or an Agnostic Christian. He didn't fit the mold and he gave me a vision of how to live my life in a way that doesn't fit the mold.
I am sad that now I am living on an earth where I cannot track down Rev Bev and catch up. But he lived a long, productive life and I am probably one of the hundreds, if not thousands, of people he shaped, challenged, saw or lifted. We used a book in his class, The Denial of Death by Ernest Becker, where Becker says that almost all human endeavor is a denial of death - if nothing else, we work toward some legacy that will be eternal - whether it is our vocation, our art, or our children. Rev Bev, I think, would say, that this is a fool's errand and that nothing is eternal. But I hope, wherever he is, that he knows I am part of his legacy. His Causa Sui.
I am a grief therapist who knows that grief comes in many shapes and sizes and flavors. This is one. I mourn the death of someone who may have been greatest influence on my life aside from my family.
I hope that if you've read this far, you will read more about Reverend Beverly Asbury's life. I also hope you will take some time to think about the people who have shaped you outside of your family and the gifts they have given. If you don't have someone like that, may these ideas guide you along your way - may you choose mentors, teachers, and even hero(ine)s who don't force or even ask you to fit a mold - who encourage you to expand and grow and choose.
How one sentence can bring so much to you instantaneously, is a mystery. It's like being enfolded in your own history, your feelings for a person, your wistfulness at the briefness of life and of having lost touch, and gratitude for another's existence - all of it happens at once and is outside of time. That's how I felt when I received Krissie's text.
Reverend Bev Asbury, or Rev Bev, as we called him when I was in college, was both the university chaplain and a professor of religious studies and I met him, in a sense by accident (if you believe in accidents), when I signed up for a class he taught called, "Death, Religion, and Human Meaning." I had no idea, not even a little inkling, that one day I would work as a hospice social worker. Or that I would be a 'grief therapist.' I just knew that the questions of human meaning, those examined in literature, drew me in. I thought I might be a teacher or a lawyer - I really had no idea what I wanted to do with my life.
And I found myself in this class of about 15 students around an long rectangular table, where Rev Bev sat at the front, teaching and listening. I can still hear the sound of his soft, gravelly voice, like Winnie-the-Pooh, but deeper and more resonant. This was not an ordinary class - we were flexible - sometimes meeting in the evening to watch a movie like Harold and Maude (I'd never seen anything like it). We talked about moral relativism - when do we know something is wrong or evil - is female genital mutilation evil? Is abortion evil? What is taking a life? Is all life equal? How could a loving God allow atrocity? If there is an all knowing, all powerful God, where is God in history? Where was God in the Holocaust?
One thing I learned from Rev Bev is that great faith and great doubt may be hand in hand.
We went to his house as a class experience - this beautiful retreat in the woods and we ate lunch with his wife and took a walk through the woods, evening drinking fresh water from the fresh spring on his property. He was generous and open, treated us as equals and conveyed adult expectations.
And over the course of the semester, Rev Bev became my friend. He was in charge of a program on campus called Project Dialogue that he asked me to join - it was a board of students and faculty who brought speakers to campus to instigate dialogue in the community - lawyers, celebrities, provocateurs, politicians. People like Sarah Weddington, who argued Roe v. Wade, or Sandra Bernhard, who at that time, was seen as an outrageous voice for feminism. Sometimes Rev Bev and I would just sit in his office and talk. I distinctly remember one moment in his office - he'd situated his desk so that he looked out the window while he worked - I was getting ready to bounce off to do whatever sorority thing or studying thing I had to do and we were both looking out the window together at a wintry day, a rare Nashville snow flurry. I realized, "If he were 40 years younger or I was 40 years older, we'd probably fall in love.' And it was a good, weird, wise feeling. There was never anything romantic in the friendship - not one untoward moment or even an inkling of a flirt. But, our friendship gave me a deep sense of connection and time. I thought about how we are little blips on this planet and we intersect with other little blips and how we are lucky to intersect with certain people at all. Just the overlap gives me a sense that something mysterious and big is going on.
When I moved to DC after college graduation, Rev Bev and I saw one another a couple of times, as he sat on the board of the Holocaust Museum there. He met one of the boys I dated at that age- an Irishman from Belfast- so charming and witty. But Rev Bev said, "Katy, he doesn't have kind eyes. I would be careful." And when we broke up, I felt quite good about it, as if Rev Bev knew some secret of the universe and kind eyes had something to do with it and I would look for that from now on. (I will speak to Bev about this when I get to wherever he is - I'm not sure kind eyes is the key to lasting love, but I'm open to hearing more!)
We exchanged Christmas cards over the years, but he and his wife, Vicky moved a number of times. I tracked him down out West in 2009 and we shared a few emails and I shared some poetry with him. I lamented that I didn't have enough time for all the poetry and writing I wished for and he reassured me that life is long and there will be different times - a time for more poetry too.
Rev Bev really molded my interests and what I thought of myself, where I found my identity, at a pivotal time. While I was a cheerleading co-captain and president of my sorority and pursued outward accolades and leadership, Rev Bev saw in me an academic. Or an artist. Or a young woman who would thrive in the questions as much as the answers. I don't know if I would have found that in myself, if not for him. I think his influence rippled out into all the choices I've made and what I've gotten from the richness of a life of questions, rather than answers, is everything to me. He called himself a post-Holocaust Christian. Or an Agnostic Christian. He didn't fit the mold and he gave me a vision of how to live my life in a way that doesn't fit the mold.
I am sad that now I am living on an earth where I cannot track down Rev Bev and catch up. But he lived a long, productive life and I am probably one of the hundreds, if not thousands, of people he shaped, challenged, saw or lifted. We used a book in his class, The Denial of Death by Ernest Becker, where Becker says that almost all human endeavor is a denial of death - if nothing else, we work toward some legacy that will be eternal - whether it is our vocation, our art, or our children. Rev Bev, I think, would say, that this is a fool's errand and that nothing is eternal. But I hope, wherever he is, that he knows I am part of his legacy. His Causa Sui.
I am a grief therapist who knows that grief comes in many shapes and sizes and flavors. This is one. I mourn the death of someone who may have been greatest influence on my life aside from my family.
I hope that if you've read this far, you will read more about Reverend Beverly Asbury's life. I also hope you will take some time to think about the people who have shaped you outside of your family and the gifts they have given. If you don't have someone like that, may these ideas guide you along your way - may you choose mentors, teachers, and even hero(ine)s who don't force or even ask you to fit a mold - who encourage you to expand and grow and choose.
Sunday, August 19, 2018
I Enjoy Being A Girl - Getting Along with Women and Female Friendships
'Let kindness win,' a friend of mine wrote recently on facebook when posting pictures of the start of school for our middle school age daughters. I hear, see and feel both the anxiety of moms who have 'been there' and know what it's like to navigate female friendships at this age, as well as witnessing the awkward identity exploration that my own kid is living. I guess I've been thinking about female friendships lately.
But it's not just kid friendships I've been thinking about. Adults too. Another woman I know - a leader in my community in the area of racial equity, who really puts herself out there in vulnerable ways, lamented in the past week about the way competition, conformity, and conditional connection impact women's (white progressive women in particular) relationships.
A part of me recognizes that this dysfunction in women's friendships is founded in some reality. Yet, I also find myself irritated that women have a reputation (even among ourselves) for being fickle, critical, backbiting or petty, because the larger part of me doesn't find this to be true, or that it is an oversimplification. It's not that I haven't had negative or stereotypical experiences with women's friendships - for me, these were in the teen/early 20s years, and I am sure I was at the time, also trying to find my way to myself and my own sense of identity.
Since being an 'adult', I've found that my friendships and even acquaintance relationships with women have been full of generosity and kindness, moments of deep honesty, and also deeply hilarious moments. But I hear from other women that this is not always the case. If you are concerned about your female friendships or the way women relate to one another in the workplace, as volunteers, friends, etc., I share a few pieces of my personal experience as food for thought.
1. I don't like being part of a group or clique. I love my friends and some of them are part of a group or clique, but I prefer being on the periphery of that. I think I am just that amount introverted. I also really appreciate having friends in a variety of areas - friends from growing up, friends from the neighborhood, friends from work, friends who are writers. I think this has added to my positive experiences of women friends and I've found that I have not been required to conform.
2. As an adult, I have let go of whether I am liked, and I am much more interested in liking other people. I've written about that before - as a human being, regardless of gender, I find it transformative to look for what is loveable and likeable in others and appreciate that. Even people who, on the surface, seem to annoy me. I know that people who annoy me might be entirely loveable to someone else and if I need to get along with that person on a team or in a friend group, I will be more at peace if I look for what is likeable/loveable in them. I also recognize that on rare occasions, someone might be really toxic. In that case, I don't try to change them or talk bad about them. I simply minimize my contact with that person.
3. I am genuinely happy for the achievements of my women friends. I believe there is enough of everything to go around - there's enough love to go around. There are enough achievements and accolades to go around. I am PROUD - beyond proud - and energized by what the women I know are out in the world doing. Being moms, running businesses, living overseas, going back to work, leading community organizations, changing faith organizations. Go Friends! Go Women!
4. I try to practice being a good listener. And I try to practice having hard, awkward conversation in a gentle way. Being able to communicate about tough stuff makes relationships better. My sister told me, when she was about 19 and I was about 23, "You have to quit treating me like a child." It was a pivotal moment and not easy, because it was true. She said it and I could hear it.
I also remember one of my hospice patients asked, "How will I die? Will you sit down and tell me what will happen to my body and what it will feel like for me?" I sat on the side of her bed, while she patted my leg in a grandmotherly gesture, and I said to her, "I don't know exactly, but if you want me to tell you the best I can guess, I will tell you." "Yes," she said. And I did. And she said, "You are good at your job."
Practicing talking about hard things in a truthful, but kind way makes all our relationships better.
5. I am not finished growing, and I hope I never will be, but I try to be clear about what I'm about and who I am. I know that some people think I'm wishy washy or that my blog might be a place for me to take a more strident stand, but I guess that the spiritual part of me strongly believes that to combat hate, we need warriors and healers. We need translators. We need teachers.
What does this have to do with being female? Or getting along with other women? Maybe this addresses the conformity issue again and maybe competition - I believe we need all kinds of women and men who are good at different things. I don't need you to be like me.
6. I see other people's husband's and boyfriend's as 100% off limits. When I was in my 20s I cheated on a boyfriend. I felt so crappy and awful about my actions. And that was me cheating. I also deeply know what it is like to be betrayed. The whole thing is a mess. I've found that the thrill of sexual attraction is an unpredictable power. It is most often a short term thrill that can have long term consequences. Maybe because of working in hospice, I have a strong long-term perspective. I hope that makes sense.
7. I try to be understanding of the ebbs and flows of friendship and closeness. It's not that I haven't felt the sting of friendships that were once close and then seem not to be. That is an awful sting. But I try to remember that people have their own stuff going on that probably has nothing to do with me. And if it has to do with me, a really good friend will find a way to tell me in a kind way. And I will try to give that respect to my friends too. One of my dearest friends found herself talking negatively about another friend more frequently than she was comfortable with. She told me, "I believe I am a better friend to that woman by NOT being her friend." I thought that was so wise.
So those are some aspects of my adult experience with women's friendships and relationships and what guides or influences me that I think have opened very enriching personal and professional relationships for me.
When I graduated from college, I spent one week at home and then drove with my mother across the country to Washington, D.C. for a job. I was moving into a Georgetown townhouse with three guys. Mom, I'm sure, had some concerns about moving me into a house with three guys, but if she did, she kept it to herself. One was my friend from college who was a year older and the other two were friends of his. I lived with those guys about 8 months before my best girl friend from St. Louis moved to DC and I moved in with her at that point. But I loved living with those guys. We ate Dominoes pizza every Sunday and watched football, they took me everywhere and knew about all things 'DC.' I was the youngest and least responsible. I don't think I did chores without cajoling. You know the disco song, "It's ladies' night and the feelings right?" They used to sing it to me once a week on trash night, "You know it's ladies' night and the feeling's right. It's ladies' night - TAKE OUT THE TRASH!" This was their nudge (which I found so funny), that I should do a little work.
I've always had guy friends who are very important to me. But, I am not a guys' girl. I am a girls' girl. What I mean is, if I had to pick a team - I really think I'm lucky to be a woman.
I hope this isn't oversimplifying, but I think that the things that go wrong with women's friendships, that seem stereotypical - things like competition, or psychological punishment are often part of a greater human struggle. The struggle to be loved, to feel powerful or important, to be seen. I think men grapple with these things too, but their tools may be different. Perhaps less subtle (take out the trash!).
As I was telling my son that I was writing a blog about female friendships in response to some of my recent observations, my Young Naysayer/ENTP said, "Are you going to blame toxic masculinity and the Patriarchy?"
I said, "No, I'm going to blame Capitalism."
"You're a gross person, Mom" he said.
And you know what my daughter said? "I love it, Mom. This will be the best one you've ever written."
But it's not just kid friendships I've been thinking about. Adults too. Another woman I know - a leader in my community in the area of racial equity, who really puts herself out there in vulnerable ways, lamented in the past week about the way competition, conformity, and conditional connection impact women's (white progressive women in particular) relationships.
A part of me recognizes that this dysfunction in women's friendships is founded in some reality. Yet, I also find myself irritated that women have a reputation (even among ourselves) for being fickle, critical, backbiting or petty, because the larger part of me doesn't find this to be true, or that it is an oversimplification. It's not that I haven't had negative or stereotypical experiences with women's friendships - for me, these were in the teen/early 20s years, and I am sure I was at the time, also trying to find my way to myself and my own sense of identity.
Since being an 'adult', I've found that my friendships and even acquaintance relationships with women have been full of generosity and kindness, moments of deep honesty, and also deeply hilarious moments. But I hear from other women that this is not always the case. If you are concerned about your female friendships or the way women relate to one another in the workplace, as volunteers, friends, etc., I share a few pieces of my personal experience as food for thought.
1. I don't like being part of a group or clique. I love my friends and some of them are part of a group or clique, but I prefer being on the periphery of that. I think I am just that amount introverted. I also really appreciate having friends in a variety of areas - friends from growing up, friends from the neighborhood, friends from work, friends who are writers. I think this has added to my positive experiences of women friends and I've found that I have not been required to conform.
2. As an adult, I have let go of whether I am liked, and I am much more interested in liking other people. I've written about that before - as a human being, regardless of gender, I find it transformative to look for what is loveable and likeable in others and appreciate that. Even people who, on the surface, seem to annoy me. I know that people who annoy me might be entirely loveable to someone else and if I need to get along with that person on a team or in a friend group, I will be more at peace if I look for what is likeable/loveable in them. I also recognize that on rare occasions, someone might be really toxic. In that case, I don't try to change them or talk bad about them. I simply minimize my contact with that person.
3. I am genuinely happy for the achievements of my women friends. I believe there is enough of everything to go around - there's enough love to go around. There are enough achievements and accolades to go around. I am PROUD - beyond proud - and energized by what the women I know are out in the world doing. Being moms, running businesses, living overseas, going back to work, leading community organizations, changing faith organizations. Go Friends! Go Women!
4. I try to practice being a good listener. And I try to practice having hard, awkward conversation in a gentle way. Being able to communicate about tough stuff makes relationships better. My sister told me, when she was about 19 and I was about 23, "You have to quit treating me like a child." It was a pivotal moment and not easy, because it was true. She said it and I could hear it.
I also remember one of my hospice patients asked, "How will I die? Will you sit down and tell me what will happen to my body and what it will feel like for me?" I sat on the side of her bed, while she patted my leg in a grandmotherly gesture, and I said to her, "I don't know exactly, but if you want me to tell you the best I can guess, I will tell you." "Yes," she said. And I did. And she said, "You are good at your job."
Practicing talking about hard things in a truthful, but kind way makes all our relationships better.
5. I am not finished growing, and I hope I never will be, but I try to be clear about what I'm about and who I am. I know that some people think I'm wishy washy or that my blog might be a place for me to take a more strident stand, but I guess that the spiritual part of me strongly believes that to combat hate, we need warriors and healers. We need translators. We need teachers.
What does this have to do with being female? Or getting along with other women? Maybe this addresses the conformity issue again and maybe competition - I believe we need all kinds of women and men who are good at different things. I don't need you to be like me.
6. I see other people's husband's and boyfriend's as 100% off limits. When I was in my 20s I cheated on a boyfriend. I felt so crappy and awful about my actions. And that was me cheating. I also deeply know what it is like to be betrayed. The whole thing is a mess. I've found that the thrill of sexual attraction is an unpredictable power. It is most often a short term thrill that can have long term consequences. Maybe because of working in hospice, I have a strong long-term perspective. I hope that makes sense.
7. I try to be understanding of the ebbs and flows of friendship and closeness. It's not that I haven't felt the sting of friendships that were once close and then seem not to be. That is an awful sting. But I try to remember that people have their own stuff going on that probably has nothing to do with me. And if it has to do with me, a really good friend will find a way to tell me in a kind way. And I will try to give that respect to my friends too. One of my dearest friends found herself talking negatively about another friend more frequently than she was comfortable with. She told me, "I believe I am a better friend to that woman by NOT being her friend." I thought that was so wise.
So those are some aspects of my adult experience with women's friendships and relationships and what guides or influences me that I think have opened very enriching personal and professional relationships for me.
When I graduated from college, I spent one week at home and then drove with my mother across the country to Washington, D.C. for a job. I was moving into a Georgetown townhouse with three guys. Mom, I'm sure, had some concerns about moving me into a house with three guys, but if she did, she kept it to herself. One was my friend from college who was a year older and the other two were friends of his. I lived with those guys about 8 months before my best girl friend from St. Louis moved to DC and I moved in with her at that point. But I loved living with those guys. We ate Dominoes pizza every Sunday and watched football, they took me everywhere and knew about all things 'DC.' I was the youngest and least responsible. I don't think I did chores without cajoling. You know the disco song, "It's ladies' night and the feelings right?" They used to sing it to me once a week on trash night, "You know it's ladies' night and the feeling's right. It's ladies' night - TAKE OUT THE TRASH!" This was their nudge (which I found so funny), that I should do a little work.
I've always had guy friends who are very important to me. But, I am not a guys' girl. I am a girls' girl. What I mean is, if I had to pick a team - I really think I'm lucky to be a woman.
I hope this isn't oversimplifying, but I think that the things that go wrong with women's friendships, that seem stereotypical - things like competition, or psychological punishment are often part of a greater human struggle. The struggle to be loved, to feel powerful or important, to be seen. I think men grapple with these things too, but their tools may be different. Perhaps less subtle (take out the trash!).
As I was telling my son that I was writing a blog about female friendships in response to some of my recent observations, my Young Naysayer/ENTP said, "Are you going to blame toxic masculinity and the Patriarchy?"
I said, "No, I'm going to blame Capitalism."
"You're a gross person, Mom" he said.
And you know what my daughter said? "I love it, Mom. This will be the best one you've ever written."
Sunday, August 5, 2018
Not Exactly Oprah, But...My Favorite Things - Books I Want To Share With You
When I started my private therapy practice in 2010, I had to think a little bit about something that feels gross to a social worker: marketing myself. What would be my brand? What did I have to offer? I believe both love and business sense are needed to sustain a private therapy practice (not to mention, marriage).
I thought about my philosophy for therapy, what might make me different as a therapist.
One of these differences I articulated to myself was that I thought therapy could actually be fun. Why not? Not every moment of therapy, but mixed in with the grief or breakthroughs or grappling with inner demons, could be humor, fun, and play. And I created a little fantasy (which amused me, if no one else) that maybe I could be the Oprah of therapy and I could have a 'favorite things' day, where at the end of a session, I could get a mischievous gleam in my eye and say, "Look under your chair! Just feel around down there - each and every one of my clients today will get my latest favorite thing - A NEW LIP GLOSS!" (My ambitions were modest, and possibly sexist. Maybe men clients would get a lip balm...). But, just the vision was fun for me.
So now it is eight years later, and I've been thinking more about the idea of sharing my favorite things. Not lip gloss, but resources. I hold the old exuberance of sharing for the sheer joy of it, but also for practical reasons now (the old balance between love and business). People call me frequently for resources and I thought it might be a good idea to have a place to refer them - my blog. So, this will be the first of maybe a few 'favorite things' blogs during the next few months. And because I get to write it, I get to start in the place that is most inspiring for me:
Books. In my own, real, everyday life, some of my favorite things are books. Books make me feel peaceful and hopeful and reverent. When I go into a book store, sometimes it can be like going into church. I'm delighted and I feel magical and I love the smell.
I share the books below because they have impacted me, moving me toward something important in my mind, heart, or spirit. This is not a comprehensive list, but some of the books I recommend most frequently to clients. Ok! Here we go! Look under your chair!
BOOKS I LOVE THAT WILL HELP YOU THROUGH HARD TIMES - NON-FICTION
1. Peace Is Every Step - by Thic Nhat Hanh. He is a Buddhist monk and he will show you hos even washing dishes can bring you a feeling of peace. And even better, he'll show you how your inner peace will make the world more peaceful.
2. The Places that Scare You - by Pema Chodron. She will teach you that you have to practice self-compassion, especially around your own fears. Her words make it feel possible to be both gentle and a warrior at the same time.
3. When Bad Things Happen to Good People - by Rabbi Harold Kushner. He will help you when you feel the feeling - 'Why. Why did this happen. How could God let this happen. If there is a loving God, why is there so much suffering.'
4. The Four Agreements - by Don Miguel Ruiz . Even though there is a new-age-y element, this is a really practical book. If you practice the four agreements (Spoiler: the first two are to be totally honest in everything you say and the second is to take nothing personally), you will find your life changed. Seriously.
5. Man's Search for Meaning - by Viktor Frankl. This book will help you understand that no matter what difficulty you face, you are part of a larger human experience and both suffering and survival. You will be encouraged to find the meaning in your own life, no matter what.
6. Healing After Loss - by Martha Hickman. No other book is as good for grieving, in my opinion. Each page is one day of the year. If you are grieving, you only have to have the attention span for one page. The author does have a spiritual perspective, primarily Christian, so if you're atheist, you might bump into that. But I think there is beautiful writing and she touches on every part of grief and healing.
POETRY THAT INSPIRES AND CONSOLES
1. The Bible. The stories and Psalms and poetry are what I grew up with. If you grew up with a positive experience in the Christian church, you will also find wisdom and comfort here.
2. The Art of Losing - edited by Kevin Young. Kevin Young brings together poetry that touches on almost every part of grief, loss and continuing to live - from the people we lose to the rituals around death. Comprehensive and beautiful.
CHILDREN'S BOOKS THAT TELL STORIES OF THE HUMAN CONDITION WITH LOVE AND HUMOR. GROWN UPS NEED MORE OF THIS
1. Because of Winn-Dixie - by Kate DeCamillo. This book has great lessons about loving and letting go. It's funny and magical and poignant. When someone wants to leave you, you have to let them.
2. Owl At Home - by Arnold Lobel. This is a short, illustrated little kids' book. You will see your own anxiety and neuroses in Owl and you will laugh at yourself and maybe let go of your worry or self-pity.
3. Love That Dog - by Sharon Creech. Trying to push away your grief doesn't work in the end. Sometimes poetry and a good teacher can help you tell your story.
4. Walk Two Moons - by Sharon Creech. I like how this book helps kids (and adults) deal matter of factly with suffering and survival. Hard things happen and good things happen and we have to deal with reality.
5. The Graveyard Book - by Neil Gaiman. This is the Hero's Journey. It is about the patchwork of people (even if they are dead or undead) that it takes to raise a child and launch him (or her) into the world. It gives you courage to face scary things, understanding that you are not alone.
6. The Little Prince - by Antoin de Saint-Exupery. This book is full of mystery and wisdom, about life, love, death, survival and letting go.
7. The Thirteen Clocks - by James Thurber. Humor and Romantic Love and Chivalry. Poetry. And a Golux, who says, "I make mistakes. But I am on the side of Good."
8. Anything by Madeleine L'Engle, C.S. Lewis, J.K. Rowling, who write not so much about grief, but about hope, faith, friendship, family and destiny. The Hero's Journey.
ADULT FICTION THAT SHAPED MY WORLDVIEW
1. To Kill A Mockingbird- by Harper Lee. Most people have read this. I was required to do my freshman in high school composition about conscience about this book (Thank you, Mrs. Campbell, I still remember). No other book, in my opinion, will help you remember the feeling of being a kid in summer or remind you what it feels like to understand that people are complicated and that each person's story is deeper than what it looks like at first glance.
2. Catch-22 - by Joseph Heller. This is a book when that will remind you of the absurdity of our human experience. When you are caught in a no-win situation, it will help you endure it or figure out a way to get out. It will give you that little bit of anger and energy you might need to call bullshit on bullshit.
3. A Tree Grows In Brooklyn - by Betty Smith. This book will give you empathy for what it is like to be poor, have a drunk father, and have aspirations (and hope) to live a better life. Betty Smith's portrait of the human condition and the beauty and cruelty of people is just as true as it was when she wrote is 90 years ago.
4. Slaughterhouse Five - by Kurt Vonnegut. War is insanity.
I know it's not keys to a new car, but books, to me, are keys to other things.
And if you are wondering why I haven't written for a while..-it's because we got a new dog, which is like adopting a toddler. For me, I fluctuate between affection, fear, and simply enduring the chaos.
Maybe this is also why books are on my mind. When I am anxious, I need to rest my brain (why does a new dog make me anxious? A topic for another blog). My brain is resting with books and I'm I'm not sure if it's time to re-read Catch-22 or Peace is Every Step. Maybe both.
I thought about my philosophy for therapy, what might make me different as a therapist.
One of these differences I articulated to myself was that I thought therapy could actually be fun. Why not? Not every moment of therapy, but mixed in with the grief or breakthroughs or grappling with inner demons, could be humor, fun, and play. And I created a little fantasy (which amused me, if no one else) that maybe I could be the Oprah of therapy and I could have a 'favorite things' day, where at the end of a session, I could get a mischievous gleam in my eye and say, "Look under your chair! Just feel around down there - each and every one of my clients today will get my latest favorite thing - A NEW LIP GLOSS!" (My ambitions were modest, and possibly sexist. Maybe men clients would get a lip balm...). But, just the vision was fun for me.
So now it is eight years later, and I've been thinking more about the idea of sharing my favorite things. Not lip gloss, but resources. I hold the old exuberance of sharing for the sheer joy of it, but also for practical reasons now (the old balance between love and business). People call me frequently for resources and I thought it might be a good idea to have a place to refer them - my blog. So, this will be the first of maybe a few 'favorite things' blogs during the next few months. And because I get to write it, I get to start in the place that is most inspiring for me:
Books. In my own, real, everyday life, some of my favorite things are books. Books make me feel peaceful and hopeful and reverent. When I go into a book store, sometimes it can be like going into church. I'm delighted and I feel magical and I love the smell.
I share the books below because they have impacted me, moving me toward something important in my mind, heart, or spirit. This is not a comprehensive list, but some of the books I recommend most frequently to clients. Ok! Here we go! Look under your chair!
BOOKS I LOVE THAT WILL HELP YOU THROUGH HARD TIMES - NON-FICTION
1. Peace Is Every Step - by Thic Nhat Hanh. He is a Buddhist monk and he will show you hos even washing dishes can bring you a feeling of peace. And even better, he'll show you how your inner peace will make the world more peaceful.
2. The Places that Scare You - by Pema Chodron. She will teach you that you have to practice self-compassion, especially around your own fears. Her words make it feel possible to be both gentle and a warrior at the same time.
3. When Bad Things Happen to Good People - by Rabbi Harold Kushner. He will help you when you feel the feeling - 'Why. Why did this happen. How could God let this happen. If there is a loving God, why is there so much suffering.'
4. The Four Agreements - by Don Miguel Ruiz . Even though there is a new-age-y element, this is a really practical book. If you practice the four agreements (Spoiler: the first two are to be totally honest in everything you say and the second is to take nothing personally), you will find your life changed. Seriously.
5. Man's Search for Meaning - by Viktor Frankl. This book will help you understand that no matter what difficulty you face, you are part of a larger human experience and both suffering and survival. You will be encouraged to find the meaning in your own life, no matter what.
6. Healing After Loss - by Martha Hickman. No other book is as good for grieving, in my opinion. Each page is one day of the year. If you are grieving, you only have to have the attention span for one page. The author does have a spiritual perspective, primarily Christian, so if you're atheist, you might bump into that. But I think there is beautiful writing and she touches on every part of grief and healing.
POETRY THAT INSPIRES AND CONSOLES
1. The Bible. The stories and Psalms and poetry are what I grew up with. If you grew up with a positive experience in the Christian church, you will also find wisdom and comfort here.
2. The Art of Losing - edited by Kevin Young. Kevin Young brings together poetry that touches on almost every part of grief, loss and continuing to live - from the people we lose to the rituals around death. Comprehensive and beautiful.
CHILDREN'S BOOKS THAT TELL STORIES OF THE HUMAN CONDITION WITH LOVE AND HUMOR. GROWN UPS NEED MORE OF THIS
1. Because of Winn-Dixie - by Kate DeCamillo. This book has great lessons about loving and letting go. It's funny and magical and poignant. When someone wants to leave you, you have to let them.
2. Owl At Home - by Arnold Lobel. This is a short, illustrated little kids' book. You will see your own anxiety and neuroses in Owl and you will laugh at yourself and maybe let go of your worry or self-pity.
3. Love That Dog - by Sharon Creech. Trying to push away your grief doesn't work in the end. Sometimes poetry and a good teacher can help you tell your story.
4. Walk Two Moons - by Sharon Creech. I like how this book helps kids (and adults) deal matter of factly with suffering and survival. Hard things happen and good things happen and we have to deal with reality.
5. The Graveyard Book - by Neil Gaiman. This is the Hero's Journey. It is about the patchwork of people (even if they are dead or undead) that it takes to raise a child and launch him (or her) into the world. It gives you courage to face scary things, understanding that you are not alone.
6. The Little Prince - by Antoin de Saint-Exupery. This book is full of mystery and wisdom, about life, love, death, survival and letting go.
7. The Thirteen Clocks - by James Thurber. Humor and Romantic Love and Chivalry. Poetry. And a Golux, who says, "I make mistakes. But I am on the side of Good."
8. Anything by Madeleine L'Engle, C.S. Lewis, J.K. Rowling, who write not so much about grief, but about hope, faith, friendship, family and destiny. The Hero's Journey.
ADULT FICTION THAT SHAPED MY WORLDVIEW
1. To Kill A Mockingbird- by Harper Lee. Most people have read this. I was required to do my freshman in high school composition about conscience about this book (Thank you, Mrs. Campbell, I still remember). No other book, in my opinion, will help you remember the feeling of being a kid in summer or remind you what it feels like to understand that people are complicated and that each person's story is deeper than what it looks like at first glance.
2. Catch-22 - by Joseph Heller. This is a book when that will remind you of the absurdity of our human experience. When you are caught in a no-win situation, it will help you endure it or figure out a way to get out. It will give you that little bit of anger and energy you might need to call bullshit on bullshit.
3. A Tree Grows In Brooklyn - by Betty Smith. This book will give you empathy for what it is like to be poor, have a drunk father, and have aspirations (and hope) to live a better life. Betty Smith's portrait of the human condition and the beauty and cruelty of people is just as true as it was when she wrote is 90 years ago.
4. Slaughterhouse Five - by Kurt Vonnegut. War is insanity.
I know it's not keys to a new car, but books, to me, are keys to other things.
And if you are wondering why I haven't written for a while..-it's because we got a new dog, which is like adopting a toddler. For me, I fluctuate between affection, fear, and simply enduring the chaos.
Maybe this is also why books are on my mind. When I am anxious, I need to rest my brain (why does a new dog make me anxious? A topic for another blog). My brain is resting with books and I'm I'm not sure if it's time to re-read Catch-22 or Peace is Every Step. Maybe both.
Tuesday, July 10, 2018
Losing Our Dog...a Hospice Story
"All I'm saying is that there are an awful lot of things in the world we don't understand, honey, and hidden connections between things that don't seem related at all."
Libby from Donna Tartt's novel The Secret Friend
When my kids were just babies, toddlers, early childhood - I worked as a home hospice social worker. Every morning before leaving the house to take them to day care, I would say, "I need you to be quiet now, because Mom needs to call Death." And every morning they would know that 'Death' told me about which of my patients died over night and what new patients I was assigned to help next. I didn't keep the phone on intercom, they didn't hear the details. I simply called a voicemail system where nurses who'd worked overnight (and sometimes social workers and chaplains) would relay this important information. Telling my children I called Death, I think, was my way of whistling past the graveyard. I always felt a deep, strange pull - something primordial and magnetic - about this twinning in my life of beginnings and endings. Of life (young life!) and death.
I wonder what seeped into my kids from hearing so much about death from a young age, how this influenced them.
***********
Our dog, Pearl, died four days before we left for an 8 day family vacation. Our energetic, loving girl, who'd started showing a tumor in her eye (the tumor started in her skull) last July and was given a year to live, lived almost exactly one year from her prognosis.
The day after she died, my daughter said to me, "Mom, all the stuff you've always said about hospice is true."
You see, she died on a Wednesday, but strange things were happening on Tuesday. On Tuesday, I left my daughter home for a couple hours while I ran into work. My son was at camp and due home on Thursday. The weather that week had been terrible - stormy for several days.
When I got home from work, my daughter was curled up on the floor, using the dog as a pillow. She hadn't done that in a long, long time - though as a young child, she let Pearl lick her on the mouth ad nauseam (literally ad nauseam) and liked nothing more than to lie beside her on the floor, because Pearl was a big dog and there is something very fun and comforting about snuggling with a dog who is bigger than you are.
I commented, "I haven't seen you do this in a long time."
Later that day, she said, "Mom...how old is Pearl in dog years?"
"Just about 70, " I said.
"That is not old, but it is not young. She still acts very young. Much younger than 70," she said.
That night, as we were getting ready to go to sleep, we noticed a variation in the routine. Usually I 'tuck in' my daughter even though she is big, too big for it. We both know this special time is kind of coming to an end and we don't adhere to the routine with the strictness we used to - I sometimes read a little to her (A Tree Grows In Brooklyn...we decided this is our last book aloud together) and we say prayers and the dog lies beside her bed and follows me to my room when I leave.
But that Tuesday night, Pearl stayed in my daughter's room. I fell asleep and woke at 2 am and she was still there. I woke at 5 am and the dog had migrated to her usual spot in my room. "Hmmm," I thought. "That's strange."
About 6:30 am, I decided to go for a short two mile run, and Pearl and I did our own routine - she jumped around and pounced here and there when she saw me get the leash. I pounced back until I "caught" her. She ran two miles and I noted that she really was slowing down a bit. I could tell she was tired.
I left for work. My daughter was going to hang out with my mom that day at my mom's house and they were going to head back to my house at 3 to take care of Pearl and hang out till I got home. I'd gotten notice that my son's camp was going to end early and he would be home that night, rather than the following afternoon, due to weather.
At about 3:15, while I was in session, my phone started blowing up, but I didn't know it.
At 4, I called home to my daughter crying. "Pearl's eye is bleeding and she is shaking and nervous and I think you better come home."
After talking with my mom, I rescheduled my next couple of clients for later in the week, and tried to get in touch with my son at camp. Thankfully, I was able to, "Pearl's eye is bleeding," I told him. I could hear that he was crying, but he is one of those kids who tries to be super stoic. "Do you want me to wait to take her to the vet until you get home? I will do it."
We were told that if her nose or eye started bleeding we would need to have her put to sleep then and both the kids knew this.
"Absolutely not, "he said.
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"Don't do that. She shouldn't be in pain for any more time," he answered.
"Do you want me to send you a picture of her or take some of her fur for you?"
"Send me a picture."
When I got home, Pearl was shaking and jittery, but so glad to see me. She wagged her tail and looked at me like, "You will fix this. I know you will fix this." That was the part that made me most sad. Because that is the trust animals and people have in you when you really love them and they really love you. It is a big responsibility, but one you must carry.
I think she knew this was the end. I just felt that.
When we took her to the vet, it all happened pretty quickly. The vet put a blanket down on the floor and Pearl sat on my lap, because even though she was huge and long and awkward, she would have liked to be a lapdog. A lapdog was her spirit animal. She licked the vet's face and she licked my daughter's face and she died. And we cried a lot together.
And when my son got home a few hours later he wanted to know everything, but he didn't let us see him cry. I said I regretted that we couldn't wait until he got home and he said, "I would have been mad at you if you waited."
So the next day is when my daughter said, "What you've always said about hospice is true." And what she meant was that I believe sometimes we have a deep knowing, a deep sensing. There are connections we make that are beyond fact and rationality. I saw that play out many, many times in hospice.
Pearl didn't die while we were gone away, with a housesitter or family friend. She had a really good last couple days. I think she said goodbye in her own ways.
******************
Our trip was a big one. To Ireland. I hadn't been overseas in 20 years and my kids never had been. One piece of the trip I enjoyed unexpectedly, was our travel guide, Scott. He was college professor-ly, but in a more young, fun way. He told us about the history of Ireland, the people, and the folklore. He told us about Brownies, Leprechauns, and Fairies and showed us a tree that was fabled to be inhabited by fairies. Fairies are powerful forces in Irish lore and disturbing them is bad luck. They are blamed for changelings and various other misfortunes. They are not to be trifled with. When we saw this tree - an unassuming, but big shrub on the side of the highway, Scott told us that the Irish people were so opposed to cutting down the tree because of it's fairy connection, that they spent an extra $7 million to reroute the highway. Folklore, Scott pointed out, tells us something about the human need to understand, the convey cultural ethics, and identity. I admire the juxtaposition of the old and the new in the Irish culture. Most sane people would say that fairies aren't real, but as a collective they spent quite a bit of money to honor the idea of them.
What can it all mean? Scott also pointed out that there is a distinction between good sense and common sense. But for the life of me, I can't remember.
********************
Several nights into our trip, I dreamed of Pearl. She was young and happy. Her eye, whole and healed. I petted her in the dream and I could smell her fur. It was a dream, but I swear to you, I could smell her.
Libby from Donna Tartt's novel The Secret Friend
When my kids were just babies, toddlers, early childhood - I worked as a home hospice social worker. Every morning before leaving the house to take them to day care, I would say, "I need you to be quiet now, because Mom needs to call Death." And every morning they would know that 'Death' told me about which of my patients died over night and what new patients I was assigned to help next. I didn't keep the phone on intercom, they didn't hear the details. I simply called a voicemail system where nurses who'd worked overnight (and sometimes social workers and chaplains) would relay this important information. Telling my children I called Death, I think, was my way of whistling past the graveyard. I always felt a deep, strange pull - something primordial and magnetic - about this twinning in my life of beginnings and endings. Of life (young life!) and death.
I wonder what seeped into my kids from hearing so much about death from a young age, how this influenced them.
***********
Our dog, Pearl, died four days before we left for an 8 day family vacation. Our energetic, loving girl, who'd started showing a tumor in her eye (the tumor started in her skull) last July and was given a year to live, lived almost exactly one year from her prognosis.
The day after she died, my daughter said to me, "Mom, all the stuff you've always said about hospice is true."
You see, she died on a Wednesday, but strange things were happening on Tuesday. On Tuesday, I left my daughter home for a couple hours while I ran into work. My son was at camp and due home on Thursday. The weather that week had been terrible - stormy for several days.
When I got home from work, my daughter was curled up on the floor, using the dog as a pillow. She hadn't done that in a long, long time - though as a young child, she let Pearl lick her on the mouth ad nauseam (literally ad nauseam) and liked nothing more than to lie beside her on the floor, because Pearl was a big dog and there is something very fun and comforting about snuggling with a dog who is bigger than you are.
I commented, "I haven't seen you do this in a long time."
Later that day, she said, "Mom...how old is Pearl in dog years?"
"Just about 70, " I said.
"That is not old, but it is not young. She still acts very young. Much younger than 70," she said.
That night, as we were getting ready to go to sleep, we noticed a variation in the routine. Usually I 'tuck in' my daughter even though she is big, too big for it. We both know this special time is kind of coming to an end and we don't adhere to the routine with the strictness we used to - I sometimes read a little to her (A Tree Grows In Brooklyn...we decided this is our last book aloud together) and we say prayers and the dog lies beside her bed and follows me to my room when I leave.
But that Tuesday night, Pearl stayed in my daughter's room. I fell asleep and woke at 2 am and she was still there. I woke at 5 am and the dog had migrated to her usual spot in my room. "Hmmm," I thought. "That's strange."
About 6:30 am, I decided to go for a short two mile run, and Pearl and I did our own routine - she jumped around and pounced here and there when she saw me get the leash. I pounced back until I "caught" her. She ran two miles and I noted that she really was slowing down a bit. I could tell she was tired.
I left for work. My daughter was going to hang out with my mom that day at my mom's house and they were going to head back to my house at 3 to take care of Pearl and hang out till I got home. I'd gotten notice that my son's camp was going to end early and he would be home that night, rather than the following afternoon, due to weather.
At about 3:15, while I was in session, my phone started blowing up, but I didn't know it.
At 4, I called home to my daughter crying. "Pearl's eye is bleeding and she is shaking and nervous and I think you better come home."
After talking with my mom, I rescheduled my next couple of clients for later in the week, and tried to get in touch with my son at camp. Thankfully, I was able to, "Pearl's eye is bleeding," I told him. I could hear that he was crying, but he is one of those kids who tries to be super stoic. "Do you want me to wait to take her to the vet until you get home? I will do it."
We were told that if her nose or eye started bleeding we would need to have her put to sleep then and both the kids knew this.
"Absolutely not, "he said.
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"Don't do that. She shouldn't be in pain for any more time," he answered.
"Do you want me to send you a picture of her or take some of her fur for you?"
"Send me a picture."
When I got home, Pearl was shaking and jittery, but so glad to see me. She wagged her tail and looked at me like, "You will fix this. I know you will fix this." That was the part that made me most sad. Because that is the trust animals and people have in you when you really love them and they really love you. It is a big responsibility, but one you must carry.
I think she knew this was the end. I just felt that.
When we took her to the vet, it all happened pretty quickly. The vet put a blanket down on the floor and Pearl sat on my lap, because even though she was huge and long and awkward, she would have liked to be a lapdog. A lapdog was her spirit animal. She licked the vet's face and she licked my daughter's face and she died. And we cried a lot together.
And when my son got home a few hours later he wanted to know everything, but he didn't let us see him cry. I said I regretted that we couldn't wait until he got home and he said, "I would have been mad at you if you waited."
So the next day is when my daughter said, "What you've always said about hospice is true." And what she meant was that I believe sometimes we have a deep knowing, a deep sensing. There are connections we make that are beyond fact and rationality. I saw that play out many, many times in hospice.
Pearl didn't die while we were gone away, with a housesitter or family friend. She had a really good last couple days. I think she said goodbye in her own ways.
******************
Our trip was a big one. To Ireland. I hadn't been overseas in 20 years and my kids never had been. One piece of the trip I enjoyed unexpectedly, was our travel guide, Scott. He was college professor-ly, but in a more young, fun way. He told us about the history of Ireland, the people, and the folklore. He told us about Brownies, Leprechauns, and Fairies and showed us a tree that was fabled to be inhabited by fairies. Fairies are powerful forces in Irish lore and disturbing them is bad luck. They are blamed for changelings and various other misfortunes. They are not to be trifled with. When we saw this tree - an unassuming, but big shrub on the side of the highway, Scott told us that the Irish people were so opposed to cutting down the tree because of it's fairy connection, that they spent an extra $7 million to reroute the highway. Folklore, Scott pointed out, tells us something about the human need to understand, the convey cultural ethics, and identity. I admire the juxtaposition of the old and the new in the Irish culture. Most sane people would say that fairies aren't real, but as a collective they spent quite a bit of money to honor the idea of them.
What can it all mean? Scott also pointed out that there is a distinction between good sense and common sense. But for the life of me, I can't remember.
********************
Several nights into our trip, I dreamed of Pearl. She was young and happy. Her eye, whole and healed. I petted her in the dream and I could smell her fur. It was a dream, but I swear to you, I could smell her.
Tuesday, June 26, 2018
Go Ahead, Go Grow Up
I started writing this blogpost the other night when I was pissed off. I'd had a bad day - my car had issues, all of which were due to someone else's error but caused me a big headache, a family member is facing serious health problems, I'd had a day where things were not going my way and I was slammed with other people's needs and struggles. Then, I came home to make dinner, listening to a podcast of Fresh Air Interview: First Reformed . Teri Gross interviewed Ethan Hawke, that actor who sort of is supposed to represent something of my Generation X. Reality Bites, etc. And he irritated me further, waxing 'poetically' about the questions this screenplay raised for him: What does it mean to be an adult? Am I supposed to be an adult? And I thought, "Fuck you, Ethan Hawke. I am an adult. I know what one is. And yes, you are supposed to be one."
So I started writing a very snarky blog and I felt I deserved to write that snarky blog, because I'd had a bad week and also, lots of people like to read pissed off and snarky blogs.
But then, I sat on it for a couple days just out of sheer busy-ness. I was too distracted with life tasks to finish and when I went back to look, things felt a little different.
Sometimes, when you are upset, waiting to react to something takes a lot of courage. (In this case, it was not so much courage, but my 'ego' as I writer - I want my blogs or poetry or essays to say precisely what I want them to say). But let's look at the big picture of waiting to react in general.
Lots of people tell me I am brave and strong. And the truth is, I have been through a number a pretty heightened experiences in my life, sadly, some of them very upsetting. But if I am strong or brave, I have to think it comes, in a large part, from my willingness to try different things and grow new emotional skills. And waiting...just giving your self time before you react to something is often one of the most important emotional skills we can develop.
So here are some emotional skills or ways of thinking that you might want to try - to practice - if you are suffering and in some part think you might need to be more of a grown up.
1) Distress Tolerance. This is what I'm talking about when I'm talking about waiting. This means that you will have to sit and wait with highly uncomfortable emotions like heartbreak, loneliness, fear and rage. It means not acting, screaming, drinking, fucking, or writing snarky blogs out of your reptilian brain's need for relief and release. What do you do when you are tolerating your distress? Have a mental breakdown? No. I promise you won't go crazy waiting. But whatever you do when you are simply re-acting, might cause a lot of craziness in your life. Not many people can just sit and meditate when they are distressed. It's good to have a plan for more realistic options - you can call a friend who truly lifts you up. You breathe deeply. You imagine what it will be like when things are better in your life. You watch something funny on Netflix. You pray. And you wait it out, knowing and accepting that you are going to feel kind of rotten for an impermanent period of time. That doesn't mean that you never do anything to stand up for yourself or blow off steam, but most people know when those actions are coming from the wise part of themselves and not the flailing mess part of themselves.
2) Practice being ok even if other people are upset with you. For the most part the people I surround myself with are highly responsible 'fixer' type people. Even my clients. If you are a highly responsible fixer, you 'fix it' whether it is trying to help the bagger at the grocery store with the bags, or make sure your spouse never has a moment of irritation. This is a nice quality, but can get totally out of balance and martyrs you. Practice more balanced thinking - is it realistic to think that nothing you do will ever be an inconvenience for anyone? No. Adult relationships are about give and take in balance.
3) Accept that suffering is a part of life. Every day is not going to be a good one. I listened to another interview on NPR this Spring - maybe a TED talk, where the interviewee said something like, 'I have to remember that happiness is a mood. Happiness is just a mood like having a bad mood. It's not a state of mind that you attain and stay in that place." I've heard 'contentment' offered as a more realistic goal for our grown up emotional state.
4) Practice Radical Acceptance. What does it mean to 'accept reality?' It means being able to tell yourself hard truths without crumbling. Things like: I am dissatisfied in my marriage. Or, my spending is out of control and I don't know how to stop. Or, I am jealous of my brother. Or, I've been a crappy parent. Or, I've surrounded myself with false friends. Or, I have hurt people I care about. Even good things may call for radical acceptance, i.e., I don't have to worry about money anymore. Or, I am actually safe and cared for. We have unconscious thoughts that drive us because we have shame, guilt and fear around them. If we radically accept our lives and our truth, we reduce shame and create space to deal with our reality. And while reality may bite, not dealing with reality bites worse.
5) In all things, balance. In my snarky version of this blogpost, I'd written a number of things like "Your kids come first." And, "Quit blaming other people for your problems." And, "You don't have to be perfect." But when I look at these tidbits, I also think, "but sometimes...not." Mostly, your kids should come first, but sometimes maybe not. Mostly you need to quit blaming others for your problems, but sometimes you need to acknowledge that wrong was done to you. And while you never have to be perfect, there are times of your life when your performance is meaningful. Those are just some examples. The grown up thought is this, "I have to use my best judgement." Which means taking time to really think about all the circumstances surrounding a given situation.
(Disclaimer: This is not a comprehensive list...just the ones coming to me today this week.)
I had a client who once pondered quitting drinking. She said, "Sometimes I wonder who I would be if I wasn't Drunk Jennifer. Would people like me as much? Would I be not as fun?
When we think about growing up, acting like grown ups, I think many of us have a similar thought - "Will I not be fun?" "Will life be a long boring litany of 'doing the right thing?'"
Yes! No! I don't know!!!! Maybe?
Maybe there is some part of many of us that secretly, in our deepest hearts, would like someone else to come and take care of things for us. This is a time for radical acceptance. Ain't no one going to take care of you but you. And when you look back on your life from your death bed, the fun times aren't going to look like the ones where you were self-destructive or unkind or let yourself get treated badly.
I have another friend who has been sober for over 10 years. She is one of the wisest people I know and when she talks about the possibility that young people in her life - people she loves deeply - might one day walk the path of addiction too she says, "I am here to tell them that there is fun and hope and love and real connection on the other side." This is what she has to offer.
One of my favorite books is The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman. Our hero, Nobody Owens, is a normal, but orphaned human boy being raised by the ghosts and one vampire, in an old graveyard in London. At the end of the book, he must go out on his own, no longer under the protection of the graveyard. He must join the living and live his grown up life. to go out on your own is scary sometimes and sometimes it is so raw and poignant it brings tears to my eyes. But that is the adventure and the promise of fully living your own life.
So go ahead.
Grow up.
So I started writing a very snarky blog and I felt I deserved to write that snarky blog, because I'd had a bad week and also, lots of people like to read pissed off and snarky blogs.
But then, I sat on it for a couple days just out of sheer busy-ness. I was too distracted with life tasks to finish and when I went back to look, things felt a little different.
Sometimes, when you are upset, waiting to react to something takes a lot of courage. (In this case, it was not so much courage, but my 'ego' as I writer - I want my blogs or poetry or essays to say precisely what I want them to say). But let's look at the big picture of waiting to react in general.
Lots of people tell me I am brave and strong. And the truth is, I have been through a number a pretty heightened experiences in my life, sadly, some of them very upsetting. But if I am strong or brave, I have to think it comes, in a large part, from my willingness to try different things and grow new emotional skills. And waiting...just giving your self time before you react to something is often one of the most important emotional skills we can develop.
So here are some emotional skills or ways of thinking that you might want to try - to practice - if you are suffering and in some part think you might need to be more of a grown up.
1) Distress Tolerance. This is what I'm talking about when I'm talking about waiting. This means that you will have to sit and wait with highly uncomfortable emotions like heartbreak, loneliness, fear and rage. It means not acting, screaming, drinking, fucking, or writing snarky blogs out of your reptilian brain's need for relief and release. What do you do when you are tolerating your distress? Have a mental breakdown? No. I promise you won't go crazy waiting. But whatever you do when you are simply re-acting, might cause a lot of craziness in your life. Not many people can just sit and meditate when they are distressed. It's good to have a plan for more realistic options - you can call a friend who truly lifts you up. You breathe deeply. You imagine what it will be like when things are better in your life. You watch something funny on Netflix. You pray. And you wait it out, knowing and accepting that you are going to feel kind of rotten for an impermanent period of time. That doesn't mean that you never do anything to stand up for yourself or blow off steam, but most people know when those actions are coming from the wise part of themselves and not the flailing mess part of themselves.
2) Practice being ok even if other people are upset with you. For the most part the people I surround myself with are highly responsible 'fixer' type people. Even my clients. If you are a highly responsible fixer, you 'fix it' whether it is trying to help the bagger at the grocery store with the bags, or make sure your spouse never has a moment of irritation. This is a nice quality, but can get totally out of balance and martyrs you. Practice more balanced thinking - is it realistic to think that nothing you do will ever be an inconvenience for anyone? No. Adult relationships are about give and take in balance.
3) Accept that suffering is a part of life. Every day is not going to be a good one. I listened to another interview on NPR this Spring - maybe a TED talk, where the interviewee said something like, 'I have to remember that happiness is a mood. Happiness is just a mood like having a bad mood. It's not a state of mind that you attain and stay in that place." I've heard 'contentment' offered as a more realistic goal for our grown up emotional state.
4) Practice Radical Acceptance. What does it mean to 'accept reality?' It means being able to tell yourself hard truths without crumbling. Things like: I am dissatisfied in my marriage. Or, my spending is out of control and I don't know how to stop. Or, I am jealous of my brother. Or, I've been a crappy parent. Or, I've surrounded myself with false friends. Or, I have hurt people I care about. Even good things may call for radical acceptance, i.e., I don't have to worry about money anymore. Or, I am actually safe and cared for. We have unconscious thoughts that drive us because we have shame, guilt and fear around them. If we radically accept our lives and our truth, we reduce shame and create space to deal with our reality. And while reality may bite, not dealing with reality bites worse.
5) In all things, balance. In my snarky version of this blogpost, I'd written a number of things like "Your kids come first." And, "Quit blaming other people for your problems." And, "You don't have to be perfect." But when I look at these tidbits, I also think, "but sometimes...not." Mostly, your kids should come first, but sometimes maybe not. Mostly you need to quit blaming others for your problems, but sometimes you need to acknowledge that wrong was done to you. And while you never have to be perfect, there are times of your life when your performance is meaningful. Those are just some examples. The grown up thought is this, "I have to use my best judgement." Which means taking time to really think about all the circumstances surrounding a given situation.
(Disclaimer: This is not a comprehensive list...just the ones coming to me today this week.)
I had a client who once pondered quitting drinking. She said, "Sometimes I wonder who I would be if I wasn't Drunk Jennifer. Would people like me as much? Would I be not as fun?
When we think about growing up, acting like grown ups, I think many of us have a similar thought - "Will I not be fun?" "Will life be a long boring litany of 'doing the right thing?'"
Yes! No! I don't know!!!! Maybe?
Maybe there is some part of many of us that secretly, in our deepest hearts, would like someone else to come and take care of things for us. This is a time for radical acceptance. Ain't no one going to take care of you but you. And when you look back on your life from your death bed, the fun times aren't going to look like the ones where you were self-destructive or unkind or let yourself get treated badly.
I have another friend who has been sober for over 10 years. She is one of the wisest people I know and when she talks about the possibility that young people in her life - people she loves deeply - might one day walk the path of addiction too she says, "I am here to tell them that there is fun and hope and love and real connection on the other side." This is what she has to offer.
One of my favorite books is The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman. Our hero, Nobody Owens, is a normal, but orphaned human boy being raised by the ghosts and one vampire, in an old graveyard in London. At the end of the book, he must go out on his own, no longer under the protection of the graveyard. He must join the living and live his grown up life. to go out on your own is scary sometimes and sometimes it is so raw and poignant it brings tears to my eyes. But that is the adventure and the promise of fully living your own life.
So go ahead.
Grow up.
Tuesday, June 12, 2018
If You Love Someone with Depression
As someone who has worked in the field of death and dying for 15 years, I am still mystified by suicide. Of course, suicide has been much - too much - on all our minds recently. The CDC recently reported that deaths by suicide are up by 30% since 1990. And personally, I felt a poignant sense of loss when Anthony Bourdain died by suicide last week.
It's hard to write about suicide in any kind of coherent way, because suicide makes those of us who are left so overwhelmed that we are incoherent. Those of us living, who lost someone to suicide or who have witnessed dear friends cope with suicide in their family or even who know that someone we admired in the public eye who completed suicide, are left with confusion, sadness, guilt, helplessness, anger. We are left trying to pick up pieces and make sense of them in our own feeble ways.
I don't want to assume that all people commit suicide because they are depressed. I know that there can be varying factors - drug use, compulsive disorders, PTSD, some kind of terminal diagnosis. That being said, I am writing this today primarily for people who love someone with depression, because that comes with its own set of anxieties and vigilance. It's own long term pain.
It's hard to imagine, for those of us who haven't experienced crippling, chronic depression, what it's like to feel that way every day. (Though most people have had brief thoughts of suicide or escape from life in some way). And if someone you care about experiences this sort of depression, they probably aren't sharing the depth of it with you. I'm surprised about what people carry and hide from those they love. But if they are sharing it with you, the feeling you get is drowning. You offer idea after idea, or days of supportive love, love without advice, love with advice, hospital stays, doctor recommendations, mindfulness meditation books and articles from Google. Sometimes, there's a little movement, but then things seem to move back to the former heavy stasis. Today, I am writing for us - the witnesses and loved ones. The ones trying to make sense of this unknowable.
Several years ago, a client of mine with a more come-and-go kind of depression recommended a book to me - Hyperbole and a Half, a graphic novel written and illustrated by Allie Brosh. She is not only hilarious and insanely talented, but a person who deals with mental health issues too. She depicts depression in a way that gives me insight as a helper. After only half-reading this amazing book, I recommended it to a client of mine with deep, treatment resistant depression. We read it at the same time and we both had an a-ha moment that I will share below, using a frame from her book:
When you are in depression, all the stuff that everyone wants to tell you or ways that want to encourage you, including therapists, feel like bullshit. When my client and I read this book, I think it provided her some relief to laugh at me. And also some relief that I finally began to 'get it.'
There are some other good books about depression by people who have endured it, including suicidal thoughts. The ones I really like are The Noonday Demon by Andrew Solomon, A Hidden Wholeness by Parker Palmer (Not exactly about depression, but he uses examples from depressed periods in his life to talk about trust and vulnerability and relationships), and Man's Search for Meaning by Victor Frankl.
I wish I could give you an answer that will always work for helping your friend, your mom, your brother, your neighbor with his or her depression. But you already know that it's not possible.
When things are impossible, I turn to poetry, music and art. For me, these help get to that place beyond rational knowing, but a place I know to be truer than rationality. So... I'll share this last bit with you...a song that has a bittersweet place in my life history - Ripple by the Grateful Dead,
I remember riding in the backseat of my former in-law's car one gorgeous, cool, summer evening through the Green Mountains of Vermont. It was 2000 and my now ex husband and I were engaged. Life was before us. This song played on the car CD player and I began to cry quietly in the backseat. "There is a road, no simple highway, between the dark and the dawn of night. And if you go, no one may follow. That path is for your steps alone." Funny, but as I remember it, I don't think I shared with my fiance that I was crying. It felt too personal.
Something so exquisite flutters on the edge of our awareness, if we let it. It has something to do with being both intricately connected with others and all of creation and at the same time our life path is only our own. Those we have ever loved in our life are on their own path too.
Whether it is depression, addiction, bi-polar disorder, some combination of mental illnesses - even physical illness -- we on the sidelines hurt because we are limited. We are limited because this is what it means to be human. Our love has no limits, but our actions and control of another person have limits.
"Limited" is not to be judged bad or good. It just is. I'll let the lyrics finish the blog today, because I don't think I could say it any better. Take care of yourself, all you caregivers. Take care of yourself, all you who are hurting. National Suicide Prevention Hotline
Ripple by the Grateful Dead
It's hard to write about suicide in any kind of coherent way, because suicide makes those of us who are left so overwhelmed that we are incoherent. Those of us living, who lost someone to suicide or who have witnessed dear friends cope with suicide in their family or even who know that someone we admired in the public eye who completed suicide, are left with confusion, sadness, guilt, helplessness, anger. We are left trying to pick up pieces and make sense of them in our own feeble ways.
I don't want to assume that all people commit suicide because they are depressed. I know that there can be varying factors - drug use, compulsive disorders, PTSD, some kind of terminal diagnosis. That being said, I am writing this today primarily for people who love someone with depression, because that comes with its own set of anxieties and vigilance. It's own long term pain.
It's hard to imagine, for those of us who haven't experienced crippling, chronic depression, what it's like to feel that way every day. (Though most people have had brief thoughts of suicide or escape from life in some way). And if someone you care about experiences this sort of depression, they probably aren't sharing the depth of it with you. I'm surprised about what people carry and hide from those they love. But if they are sharing it with you, the feeling you get is drowning. You offer idea after idea, or days of supportive love, love without advice, love with advice, hospital stays, doctor recommendations, mindfulness meditation books and articles from Google. Sometimes, there's a little movement, but then things seem to move back to the former heavy stasis. Today, I am writing for us - the witnesses and loved ones. The ones trying to make sense of this unknowable.
Several years ago, a client of mine with a more come-and-go kind of depression recommended a book to me - Hyperbole and a Half, a graphic novel written and illustrated by Allie Brosh. She is not only hilarious and insanely talented, but a person who deals with mental health issues too. She depicts depression in a way that gives me insight as a helper. After only half-reading this amazing book, I recommended it to a client of mine with deep, treatment resistant depression. We read it at the same time and we both had an a-ha moment that I will share below, using a frame from her book:
There are some other good books about depression by people who have endured it, including suicidal thoughts. The ones I really like are The Noonday Demon by Andrew Solomon, A Hidden Wholeness by Parker Palmer (Not exactly about depression, but he uses examples from depressed periods in his life to talk about trust and vulnerability and relationships), and Man's Search for Meaning by Victor Frankl.
I wish I could give you an answer that will always work for helping your friend, your mom, your brother, your neighbor with his or her depression. But you already know that it's not possible.
When things are impossible, I turn to poetry, music and art. For me, these help get to that place beyond rational knowing, but a place I know to be truer than rationality. So... I'll share this last bit with you...a song that has a bittersweet place in my life history - Ripple by the Grateful Dead,
I remember riding in the backseat of my former in-law's car one gorgeous, cool, summer evening through the Green Mountains of Vermont. It was 2000 and my now ex husband and I were engaged. Life was before us. This song played on the car CD player and I began to cry quietly in the backseat. "There is a road, no simple highway, between the dark and the dawn of night. And if you go, no one may follow. That path is for your steps alone." Funny, but as I remember it, I don't think I shared with my fiance that I was crying. It felt too personal.
Something so exquisite flutters on the edge of our awareness, if we let it. It has something to do with being both intricately connected with others and all of creation and at the same time our life path is only our own. Those we have ever loved in our life are on their own path too.
Whether it is depression, addiction, bi-polar disorder, some combination of mental illnesses - even physical illness -- we on the sidelines hurt because we are limited. We are limited because this is what it means to be human. Our love has no limits, but our actions and control of another person have limits.
"Limited" is not to be judged bad or good. It just is. I'll let the lyrics finish the blog today, because I don't think I could say it any better. Take care of yourself, all you caregivers. Take care of yourself, all you who are hurting. National Suicide Prevention Hotline
Ripple by the Grateful Dead
If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine
And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung
Would you hear my voice come through the music
Would you hold it near as it were your own?
And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung
Would you hear my voice come through the music
Would you hold it near as it were your own?
It's a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken
Perhaps they're better left unsung
I don't know, don't really care
Let there be songs to fill the air
Perhaps they're better left unsung
I don't know, don't really care
Let there be songs to fill the air
Ripple in still water
When there is no pebble tossed
Nor wind to blow
When there is no pebble tossed
Nor wind to blow
Reach out your hand if your cup be empty
If your cup is full may it be again
Let it be known there is a fountain
That was not made by the hands of men
If your cup is full may it be again
Let it be known there is a fountain
That was not made by the hands of men
There is a road, no simple highway
Between the dawn and the dark of night
And if you go no one may follow
That path is for your steps alone
Between the dawn and the dark of night
And if you go no one may follow
That path is for your steps alone
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