Taking (Guilt Free) Stock of My Goals - How I'm Doing Fighting Racism and Writing a Book

In the past year or so, there are two tangible, specific goals I've shared in my blog:  1) That I am working on a book about grief and 2) That I made a pledge through my church involvement to help end racism.

On these two goals, I give myself a C.  My inner school marm gets a lot of satisfaction out of giving grades.

So, I'll just get it out there - I have not finished the book, nor made much progress on it this year.  And while I feel I have taken some tangible steps in racial justice and equity work, I know I have more to do.  From a purely measurable outcomes assessment, this is where the C comes from.

However, because I talk with people all day most days about their hopes and longings and failures and goals (and other things too), I think that sharing both the outer process and the inner/emotional process (what I've learned) might be useful for some readers -  who in some of the long hours of darkness at this time of year, might also be taking stock of 2018.

First, the book:  In late 2017, I started writing a book about grief - anecdotes of my work in hospice and as a grief therapist, connecting it to my own life experiences. I've tried to illuminate what I've learned about bodies, inadequacy, selflessness, illness, despair, hope, and courage.  It's really difficult for a person like me who is more naturally drawn to writing poetry to write prose in such a long format.  I'm impatient.  I like to see a finished product, which is why both poetry and the blog can be so satisfying.  So, I attempted to do that with the book - creating small chapters in an A-Z format, i.e., A is for Afterlife, etc.

Yet, writing a book is big and cumbersome; it's easy to get bogged down even with short chapters.  And when I shared the 75 pages or so that I'd written with other writers or people who I admire for their brains and point of view, I think they liked it but they didn't have that 'click' we feel when we read something we can't put down and just want more of (of course this is the kind of book I want to write).  The general encouragement was - 'this is good - keep writing, but you might want to change the format as you go along - the A to Z might just be the hook to get you in to the meat of the book.'  (I thought 75 pages was pretty meaty).

And when I take the most objective look at the writing that I can...I agree!  In fact, in writing workshops, one typical saying is 'Kill Your Babies.'  Most writers and artists get ego- attached to some phrases, scenes, introductions, or whole pieces of writing; but sometimes you have to edit that stuff.  Get ride of it, change it, 'kill it.'  That A-Z format probably needs to go.

And as I wrote more and more, I set weekly goals for myself - pages to write.  And I began to find that  I resented the writing time.  That's a red flag for sure.  I find that if I am not doing something with some degree of joy, I probably should not be doing it.  But I wanted to understand myself honestly, if I were going to take a hiatus from the book project.

One of the inner lessons I've continued to learn this year is about limitations, boundaries, and bringing the right amount of reverence to the meaning of Time.  And here is the truth that I began to feel and accept more fully:

I am a single mom and I own and run my own business, which I try to do with care, integrity, and competence.  I am responsible for my home and to some degree, three human beings (including me) and a dog.  I like to have friends and spend time with them.  I like to exercise.  I like to try to do a little bit of volunteer work.  I like to pretend to try to date or at least 'put it out there' in the universe that I might like to date 'some day' (whatever that means, but you know...)

It would be realistic to see that I am already working toward goals that are important to me - raising good human beings, being a responsible, productive adult human myself.  And, I need to be humble in a good way and prioritize my time appropriately and in a way that fits my values.  Like all of us, I am at my best when balanced - responsible, ambitious, and also having fun and relaxing.

So, I gave my self permission to GO SLOW with the book.  I don't have to chuck it, but I changed my process and mindset.  I became respectful of my own time and energy.  It is not that I am saying 'I can't do it,' but I am allowing myself limits and boundaries.  As I heard in an Al-Anon meeting one time - 'it's not that I can't do it.  But if I can't do it without hurting myself, then it's not the right thing right now.'  I will trust that when the time is right for me, I will have the words, make the time, and experience the pleasure of that writing and I believe it will shine through in what I write.  And I can pick it up and write a few pages here or there whenever I want.

Now...on to the goal/my progress in helping to end racism.

Here are some things I have done:  I've had more conversations about race with more people across a variety of formats.  One on one conversations with white people and people of color.  People I've known for years and people I've just met.  I've introduced myself to people for the sole purpose of making these connections.  Some of these conversations - maybe half - have been with white people who seem to disagree with me about the state of race relations in our country and the need for equity.  I've communicated in social media and also in private emails.  My intent for my words and my listening are to be a part of a process of truth, justice, and hopefully peace.

I've made conscious choices to buy goods and services from businesses owned by people of color.

I've written publicly about my involvement in this issue.

I've written a letter to my local city council about hiring concerns.

My kids and I communicate about these issues on an almost daily basis - analyzing how we get our news, who tells us our information, and what biases we have that inform how and what we believe.

I have learned a few things about myself as I try to be part of something that feels dear. What I've learned is that I am not much of a warrior.  My primary drive is not rage or outrage. I have appreciation for some people's passion and rage.  To create change, I think anger is often needed.  To overcome injustice, anger is a necessary human emotion.  It's not that I don't get angry about injustice, I do.

What I've learned is that we all have innate gifts and skills that we use to navigate the world and one of mine is translation/communication.  I've also learned that my energy is best spent places where I feel effective and I feel effective in matters of racial equity when I use my words and whatever ability I have to translate so that people hear one another in different ways.  I hope, in ways that open minds and hearts.   Maybe this has to do with being a writer (most writers are observers as much or more than participants).   Maybe this has to do with being raised by parents who were civically minded but always worked within systems, rather than from the outside?  I am sure there are other influences.  I check myself...am I just staying in my comfort zone?  Am I afraid?   I'm sure that's some of it too.

Maybe it isn't particularly universal to write about my individual goals/ resolutions.  But I know that it is universal to assess where we are in different ways and in different facets of life.  (It strikes me that my time of life is particularly an assessing one - I see this in my clients from about 40 years old to 60).  Am I where I want to be in general?  Am I where I wanted or hoped to be a year ago.  So not only is it the time of year that is reflective, it is my time of life.

One thing that makes me feel sad is when clients say to me, "But I'm already at THIS (take your pick) stage of life and this is all I have to show for it!"  I wish I could take that away from them.  Whatever that self-flagellation and guilt is, it doesn't help because it discounts all the life experience that got you HERE.  Here might not be what you imagined, but it's YOUR LIFE.  Each day takes a different amount of courage to live, but sometimes it takes a lot of courage.  And what we do, even if it is folding laundry, uses both time and energy.

A client asked me recently what kind of therapy I do and it made me step back and think about it from a fresh mind.  I hadn't thought about that question in a while in quite that specific way.  Logotherapy is what Viktor Frankl named therapy that helps people create and understand the meaning of their particular life. I guess that's what I do.  I do that with myself too.  The meaning of my life (or yours) - to my way of thinking - isn't bestowed on me by God or forced on me by life circumstances.

We have life circumstances and we choose what the meaning is.  It's very powerful.  Making goals and pursuing them and seeing where they take you is part of making the meaning of your life.

In this weird time we live in where we have other people's achievements, vacations, jobs and lives marketing to us on social media, I think we do too much comparing 'where we are' to others. I always hope that my sharing my experiences - both hiccups and joys, will help normalize being human. 

A friend and mentor (I call her that not because we work in the same field but because she is just an AWESOME lady and that's another goal I aspire to) used to write me emails of encouragement as I worked on a rather fundraising project for church a number of years ago.  She'd always close with one final word, a word that strengthened my heart to take the next step forward.

Onward!

Are We Supposed to Forgive and What Even IS Forgiveness? Some Thoughts As We Head Into the Holiday Season

A few years ago, when I was not yet, but almost divorced, I went to coffee with a minister friend and asked him about forgiveness.  I wanted to know if some things are unforgivable and what does Christianity say about forgiveness that I might not know.  I knew I was far from forgiveness and I wanted to know what his thoughts were about how I might get there or if I even should strive for that.  I said, "I think God is big enough to forgive, but I don't think I am.  I will leave it to God."

I think he had higher hopes for me than that.  My minister friend confirmed one part of the Christian perspective I knew already, but he also helped me with a nuance I hadn't put together.   The thing that I knew was that it would be, from his Christian theology, part of my spiritual work to try to forgive.  But here's the part I hadn't considered exactly -  he assured me that there was a huge difference between forgiveness and reconciliation and that God did not ask for me to make a reconciliation of any kind, including friendship.  That distinction between reconciliation and forgiveness was significant to me.

As we all have begun the holiday season and will be spending time with family, and as I work with clients at this time of year, I realize forgiveness may not be the first word that we think of, but it might be tapping at us from the corners of our minds and hearts more than usual.  The holidays bring us to our younger selves, old patterns, in the middle of long-term family dynamics, grief, and changes from the past year or many years before.  They can bring us face to face with our unfinished business and unresolved anger and hurts revisit us.

So...forgiveness.

I've read books about forgiveness, I've looked up articles about forgiveness in individual lives, community lives, and even in the history of nations.  I read about people who have endured much - Nelson Mandela, Elie Wiesel, Malala.

A lot of people I know are working on forgiveness in one form or another.  I've heard the saying, and I'm sure you have too (I think this is attributed to the Dalai Llama) - that to hold anger and to NOT forgive is like drinking poison and hoping the other guy will die.  At some level we know that when we hold our grudges, our bitterness, our deep hurts, we are not only living in the past, but we punish ourselves from fully enjoying our present.

But I also suspect that our words for what we are trying to do are inadequate - I believe there are different sorts of transgressions and different sorts of forgiveness.  A friend who doesn't invite you to a holiday party would require a much different sort of action to forgive than the forgiveness that someone might work toward if they'd been sexually abused by their uncle.  I worked with a woman who'd been robbed at gunpoint and beaten - she found that she was able to forgive in her own way.  She said the biggest thing she learned as she worked on the trauma of that assault was that it wasn't personal.

This is an important and confusing point, but here's an illustration:

One morning in college I was out 'speed walking' the Loop around campus.  It was just before a big football game and our opposing team was waking up to tailgate.  I was zooming around, probably sporting a sorority t-shirt with my walkman on, when a car brandishing the flag from the opposing team drove by and some male voices screamed at me, "You walk like you're retarded!"  I remember this was stinging and embarrasing.  But those guys did not personally dislike me.  It wasn't personal.  I was around and got in the way of their shit.  Whatever their shit was - gender, alcohol, competition.  Who knows.  It's a paradox - it happened to me, but it wasn't about me.

This is the way that many of our experiences are that might call us to forgive.  We are the recipient of mistreatment, but it isn't because we deserve it or asked for it.  We are not personally responsible for it, even though many of us somehow want to think we are.

If you are considering where forgiveness fits in your life, here are some things I've found are important to think about:

1.  What sort of wrong was done?
2.  Is it part of a pattern?
3.  Do you believe the person you might want to forgive has your best interest at heart?
4.  Do you believe the person you might want to forgive is trustworthy - which is to say, do their words and actions match AND do they demonstrate that integrity in a consistent way over a period of time?
5.  Do you feel stuck in anger, resentment, or in the past in general?
6.  What would it mean to forgive that person, but not have a relationship with them going forward?

Forgiveness is a tough mother - I see it as an action and not a stagnant state that we reach and stay there.  I am pretty sure we have to work for it, rather than wake up one day, Buddha-like, in a peaceful and forgiving state.  I understand a lot of the human experience and human nature, but I understand anger much more than I understand forgiveness.

And, you might be surprised to know that I don't think forgiveness is always the right thing to do right now (and I hope my minister friend will bear with me while I talk this through).  There is a gem near the end of the book Codependent No More by Melodie Beattie and she does a beautiful job of reflecting the trouble with forgiveness for some people,

"Compulsive disorders such as alcoholism twist and distort many good things, including the great principle of forgiveness.  We repeatedly forgive the same people.  We hear promises, we believe lies, and we try to forgive some more...Then we feel guilty because someone asks, 'Why can't you just forgive and forget?' ...For many of us, the problem is not forgetting.  Forgiving and forgetting feed our denial system.  We need to think about, remember, understand, and make good decisions about what we are forgiving, what can be forgotten, and what is still a problem....I believe we need to be gentle, loving, and forgiving with ourselves before we can expect to forgive others."

So maybe we need to look at what brings us into balance.  I know people who, on a daily basis, tend to feed the anger in their hearts and tend to have more rigid boundaries - maybe for those people, working steadily on forgiveness and openness helps to bring them into balance.  For others of us who have tended to forgive and forget quickly, we would be more wise to keep Melodie Beattie's advice top of mind and slow down our forgiveness process.

But if we think we need to forgive, if we are stuck in past bitterness or just the past.  If we are closed to people we would like to be open to, then the question changes-  how do I forgive?  What do I do to make that happen, what would that look like and feel like inside me?  How will I know if I've forgiven?

One guy I know whose ex-wife cheated on him years ago says, "I don't forgive her.  But I don't think about her either.  She is not part of my day to day life and thinking.  But I also don't forgive her." He's gone on to remarry and has a very happy life.  I wonder if it's just semantics, then.  If he's moved on and enjoys his life fully and doesn't chew to cud of the past, perhaps this is at least some form of forgiveness even if he doesn't call it that?

Yet, I suspect that many of us have a feeling that forgiveness is a spiritual process and a mysterious one.  If there are different types of forgiveness, that's the one that I'd like to know more about.  I wish I could tell you that I have a formula or that my conversation with my minister friend led to a revelation for me, but I continue to take little bites out of understanding and experiencing forgiveness as my life goes along too.

Here are some more bits I know about this deeper sort of forgiveness:

As time goes on, it's important to honestly check in with yourself.  I believe that anger and bitterness can become a knee jerk reaction.  Maybe somebody brings up your old best friend from college and you automatically think, "that bitch."  Well, that's a habit and maybe you don't even feel that way anymore.  Check in with yourself about how you really feel, NOW.  Not how you felt in 2001.

First, forgive yourself if you need to.  Like Melodie Beattie says, before you can extend a loving heart to someone else, especially someone who causes you pain, extend that to yourself.  There will be time to forgive, whatever that means to you, but be good to yourself.

Know your intention and purposefully choose it.  I know a woman whose child was murdered.  She said that she knew she had to work hard and make choices to not be a bitter, unhappy person for the rest of her life.  I admire her very much, and believe that she is wise.  If we set a goal of not letting bitterness overtake us, we will naturally make choices toward some form of forgiveness, whether that is forgiving ourselves or the universe or, if we choose, the person who hurt us.

Pay attention to how you feel when you think about the person who hurt you - do you feel loose and relaxed or does your heart tighten and stomach clench.  Sometimes forgiveness is the feeling in your body that the person or memory of the person no longer has a hold over you.  If that's the case, let it go.  Maybe say a prayer, if that's your thing, that the person will not go on to hurt others and that you will continue to feel strong and free.

And that's it - that's all I've got for now on forgiveness.  What I know, what I am working on. 

Freedom from Fear: The Myth of Safety and How to Talk with Our Kids about It

We woke up yesterday morning to the news of another mass shooting.  I know many friends and fellow parents who feel at a loss and also outraged as to how to explain this world of violence, hate, and death to their kids (not to mention to understand it themselves).   Anyone who knows me, including my clients, knows that I would never presume to tell you how to respond or feel, but I am going to give you my perspective on how I think we become helpers and not hurters and how we can empower our kids, and hopefully reduce their fears.

I think we need to consider that we are the ones that are mistaken about the world.  What I mean is this - throughout history - every ancient religion, including Judeo-Christianity, explains our human experience through myth.  And every culture has a myth about the entrance of bad stuff into the world.  Whether it's Adam and Eve or Pandora or Australian Aboriginese, the people who came before us were given stories about the plague of death, evil, violence, hate and greed on humanity.  There may be caveats of hope, but mostly the stories affirm that bad things are abundant.  

Yet, we live in a relatively luxurious time now.   Many of us grew up in a place where death and disease seemed far away and murder and violence seemed like someone else's problem.   We have forgotten the stories that informed the many generations of people who came before us.  

Working in hospice I grew to have a different perspective.  I've known many, many people who have died.  When I began writing about my work in hospice, I tried to estimate how many patients I had from January 2004 through May 2010  and I figured it was around 1000.  And of course, like all of us, people I love have also died.  Loss and suffering did not seem far away.  So in terms of both physical and emotional safety, I've probably have to un-myth myself more than many people.  I even have a psychologist friend who says, "I don't even like to think about your job."  

We know loss and all it's causes are frightening for us, but other layers of fear and anxiety are added when we consider (or are forced to) talk with our kids about them.  And there's a lot to talk about:  School shootings and intruder drills and climate change and natural disaster.  Divorce and cancer and addiction.  Bullies and racism and rape. 

We long to protect our children from fear, to create their little world and maintain it for as long as possible - where everything is safe and kind and fair.  So when it comes to talking with our kids about the scary things in life, many times we don't know what to say. 

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When my daughter was three years old, a dear family friend was dying in the hospital after a long illness and I wanted to say goodbye.  I knew that he did not have long and it was important to see him.  My son was at preschool, but I did not have anyone available to take care of her.  I took her to the hospital with me.

I remember taking the elevator to his room.  I held her in my arms and I said, "We are going to see my friend, who is very sick and doesn't have long to live.  He will look strange.  There are special machines helping him breathe and the machines are noisy.  He is very skinny.  He will not be able to talk.  We will have to be very quiet and we won't stay very long, but I want to  say 'goodbye' to him."

Almost 10 years later, my daughter doesn't remember anything of this.  I know many parents may not have made this choice, and I myself felt a bit uncertain.

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Both the desire to live in a world with a freedom from fear and create that space for not only our kids, but future generations is a beautiful and generous human urge, but I suspect we accidentally create more fear when we protect our kids too much or for too long.  Like my daughter going with me to see my dying friend, we seem to cope better, be less afraid, and have a greater sense of our own autonomy, when we have information, or we make sure our myths have a healthy dose of truth.

I included a painting by Norman Rockwell from the 1940s, called Freedom from Fear at the beginning of this post.  He paints an alluring picture of what Freedom from Fear might look like - he was part of creating an American myth.  And as I mentionted earlier, myths are influential and living stories that shape much - from our countries to our families.  Think about the family you came from or the family you have created - there is a story or a myth you've been a part of forming or buying into.  You might have the big, chaotic family where everyone is welcome and it's always a mess.  You might be in the party family.  You might be shy to admit it, but when forced, you have the perfect family where everyone is attractive and high achieving.  You might be from the do-gooder family or the farm family or the camping family.

Myths are an important part of identity, but my first thought about cultivating resilience is to combine myth with a little Midwester Matter of Fact-ness .  It's quite unpoetic, but part of the family myth I perpetuate in my home is "Shit happens."  Really, what I want my kids to know is the Truth as I see it...Things don't always go our way.  Sometimes we have good luck and sometimes we have bad luck.  Sometimes things aren't fair, but we keep trying anyway. 

The problem with certain kinds of myths is that they are very dramatic and they don't allow room for change and variation (which, as the Buddhists will tell us is the one things we can count on in life).  So, the way I tell stories, including discuss the news, in my family is pretty mundane and matter of fact.  The words I use are calm.  Here are some underlying messages in the way I give information to my kids:

While bad things can happen, mostly good things happen.  When bad things happen, you can choose how to respond to that.  You can choose what kind of person you want to be.  Adults have struggles and are imperfect.  We ask for help when problems seem too big.  We help other people when we have extra to give. How things look on the outside is not always how they are on the inside. I have found that God strengthens me in hard times.

I don't rage about Donald Trump, even though I believe the tone and tenor he sets for our country are extremely damaging and perhaps dangerous.  I don't 'go off' about gun control, even though I believe strongly that we need more common sense gun laws.

Please don't get the impression that I am the picture of calm. Weirdly, the little things can throw me in a tizzy.   A kid falling off his bike on the way to school or the dog getting diarrhea can elicit tears from me at times.  And when people in my life die,  I've really cried about that in places where my kids have seen and heard.  As parents, we don't need to show NO emotion, but the story that might empower our kids is to hear us articulate  the difference between anxiety and truth or grief and self-pity.

Part of our job as parents is to keep figuring out who we really are (rather than perpetuate a myth) and reflecting to our kids who they are and who they are growing into. 

As life happens and we respond, our stories and myths about ourselves may grow and change, and if we are open to it, that will strengthen our foundation.

I think about a man I know whose wife cheated on him.  He said, "I always thought I was the kind of person that if my wife cheated on me, that would be IT.  I wouldn't try to reconcile.  But I did try to reconcile until it became clear that the marriage was really over for her."  He went on to say, "I always thought I was the kind of person who would be strong in a very bad situation.  And I was very strong.  I didn't let this throw me into depression or self-doubt.  It's good to know that I am strong in the ways I always thought I was."

For this man, as for so many of us, having awful experiences in life, gives us new insights that strengthen our foundation as a person, because we find out A)  I can endure and thrive after a really hard thing and B) I have evidence of how I respond under duress.   One part of our deep fears is the unconscious thought, "I don't think I could handle x, y, or z."  A silver lining at times, of surviving hard times is an increased confidence, a deep knowing -  "I can handle things." 

In a way, we really don't want NO bad luck or misfortune ever to come into our kids' lives.  Well, in some kind of ideal utopia, then yes, we want no misfortune for our children - but in the real world we live in - the one where Pandora's Box is open, some misfortune can help them test and know WHO THEY ARE.  This sense of inner strength and fortitude will not keep them from fear, but will be a foundation to respond to and thrive after frightening times, because it is based on experience, not myth.

If we are really LIVING our lives, there is no safety.  The reason for this, is that when we really live, we LOVE.  We love people, we love animals, we love this beautiful planet.  When we are open to love and loving, the great danger and truth is that sometimes we will lose.  But we keep loving anyway.   That is not a myth.  Love is the truth that does not erase fear, but is the balm and the strength and the promise to our children.

Missing in Action, Ambiguous Loss, and Grieving When Someone Is Still Alive

When my marriage was coming to a painful end, I remember having many laborious, often traumatic conversations with my now ex.  During one phone call I remember well, I said, "I thought our marriage had chronic asthma, but you knew we had stage 4 cancer and you didn't tell me." 

Having worked in hospice and being a grief therapist, I look at many things through a lens of disease, grief and loss. 

And what I was grappling with at that point is the same thing many of us grapple with - our human need to not only grieve, but understand when to grieve, and also to know just what it is we are grieving.  When it comes to loving someone, we are wired to be hopeful.  And when we are wired to be hopeful, we are also wired to stay in denial as long as possible when it comes to grief.

What I struggled with in the waning years of my marriage, and what many people struggle with in a variety of circumstances, is the problem of  ambiguous loss - a very grief therapist term.  The term ambiguous loss was coined in the 1970s to talk about the challenges of grief for family members of service members MIA in Vietnam.  Should you grieve if someone might still be alive?  Can you grieve if you haven't seen your loved one's deceased body?  Are you a bad person if you 'give up hope?'  How do you go on with your life, when part of your life is on hold?

This is the challenge of acceptance, when you don't know if you have really lost someone.  My bias plays out this way:  there are many ways relationships are lost - not just through death.  And, the painful puzzling to understand that the relationship is gone or has shifted in some profound way and will never be what it once was - that is the ambiguous loss. 

I see ambiguous loss and a feeling of being stuck between hope and grief in a few typical scenarios:
when someone we love has dementia, when someone we love is an addict, and when someone we love has vastly different wants and needs for a relationship, but hasn't clued us in on that. 

Dementia is just one of several medical condition that robs someone's mental/emotional capacity.  Many times these illnesses have a slow onset, and years of decline - a sense of losing someone you love in a thousand pinpricks.  I remember a husband I supported in hospice...his wife was finally in the end stages of her decline with dementia and he'd been her caregiver for over ten years.  In the last couple of years, the family moved her into a residential dementia care facility and he visited her every day.  In the meantime,  he developed a romantic relationship with another woman.  This romance did not interfere with his care  of his debilitated wife, but his adult kids were terribly angry with him.  This whole situation was rife with ambiguous loss.  Dementia can be particularly hard to accept and grieve, because is varies day to day and moment to moment in the beginning stages.  Your mother might be confused when you sit down to lunch, but a few minutes later seem just like herself.  Family members often experience a lot of anger and frustration at this stage.  First, the anger may be at the person with dementia.  The anger itself is a part of grief, perhaps it's even a form of bargaining, as if subconsciously we think, 'If I get mad at you, it will be like a bucket of ice water thrown in your face, and you'll be shocked into being yourself again.'   As time goes on, the anger may be at other family members.  In this situation, the husband realized he did not have the partner he once had, the wife.  He grieved that relationship.  His kids weren't in the same spot and didn't want him to be where he was either.  It's tough for everyone.

Not totally unlike dementia,  is grieving someone who is in addiction.  Their body is still there, but as addiction progresses you lose that person in deeper and more profound ways.  Here's an amazing video that my kids were shown in elementary school as part of their drug and alcohol awareness education  Nuggets  If you've ever loved someone in addiction, you will recognize this terrible representation.  If you've loved someone with addiction, denial can be part of your own disease.  What does it mean to 'accept' the addiction or the addict?  Does it mean giving up hope?  Does it mean putting up with stealing, lying, cheating and other poor treatment?  (I'd say an emphatic 'no' to the last one.)

Much of 12-step literature uses the language of 'detaching', which to my way of thinking is similar to grieving, accepting, letting go.  If you are trying to accept that the addict you love is missing in action, you might hear this, "Detach with anger or detach with love, but just detach."

A lot of clients ask me 'yes, but what does that mean?'  It means practicing and practicing and practicing new ways of interacting and thinking.  It means not offering help or solutions, whether they are explicitly asked for or not.  It means giving up your own ego because the ego will tell you, 'I'm the one person who can probably help.'  Instead, it means saying, "I know you will figure this out," to the person who is in addiction.  One day, after practicing this for years, you might wake up and feel not responsible for the addicted person's actions, successes, failure, or death.  All the while, you will be straining in ambiguous loss, but you will be learning to ACCEPT that the person you love is both there and not there.  Not unlike a person with dementia.

And this leads me to the  most frequent ambiguous loss I see.  The type of loss where it is extremely helpful to bear in mind this pithy statement found in the journal of a dramatic 23 year old Special Events Coordinator circa 1995.  (Me)  No matter what people say, they do what they want to do.

You see, one of the greatest causes of suffering in ambiguous loss that I see with clients are people who are confused/in denial because they are dealing with someone they have loved who is MIA, but present in their day to day life in the role that they have always been in.  That person can be a spouse, a parent, an old friend.  That person is saying, "We're good. I love you."  But that person is not showing up in ways that feel like care or love.

I recently re-watched When Harry Met Sally, and Carrie Fisher's character has been having an affair with a married man for years, though she is single and longing to be married herself.  She says to Meg Ryan's character during several scenes, things like this, "I saw his credit card bill.  He just bought his wife a new coat.  He's never going to leave her.'  And Meg Ryan affirms, 'He's never going to leave her.'  Carrie Fisher's character is in denial.  She is suffering from ambiguous loss.  The guy is both there and not there for her.  Her problem is denial and his problem is being a jerk.  He's a jerk, because he's trying to have it both ways and isn't honest with her about his wants and needs.  I see this all the time in the work I do.  It's not just with married people - people can be motivated by all kinds of selfishness. 

There is also ambiguous loss in relationships where one person's wants and needs are simply vastly different from the another's, but this is a change from the way the relationship once was.  I see this with adult children and their parents, as one example.  Some adult children have the hope and desire for their parents to be present and involved with their lives and the grandkids' lives.  Yet, the parents have the expectation that this is 'their time' to do what they want.  It can also be vice versa - where parents have hopes for a certain kind of closeness with their adult kids but the adult kids have really created a life separate from the 'childhood' life.

I also see this with friendships, whether it be my middle school-aged child or in my own life (not to mention stories I hear from clients).  While it might make things clearer if we could all be so honest with ourselves and friends to be able to say things like, "I'm just needing a little space in our friendship right now."  Or, "My priorities have shifted since my kids are in college, and I want to spend my time in other ways,"  I am not always sure the types of hurt we would endure would be worth it.  Sometimes, we might withdraw from friendships or experience others' withdrawing from us.  Should we take it personally?  Should we grieve?  Maybe the other person doesn't even notice?  It's ambiguous and that makes it highly uncomfortable. 

Unlike with dementia or addictions, sometimes we will not have specific answers for why a relationship changes.  Why someone we love goes MIA.  That's another way that working in death, dying, and grief have influenced me - I accept and encourage you to accept, that sometimes there is no knowable reason WHY.  

Now, I am - Holy Crap! - twice the age I was when I wrote, "No matter what people say, they do what they want to do."  It's true that I have a more nuanced understanding of human relationships, so while overall, I think it's a good rule of thumb, let me now say it like this: 

Try to be straightforward in your communication with all people and ask for what you want and need from others.  Take people at their actions.  Listen to your intuition.  Deep down, do you believe this person has good intentions and loves you?  If so, be patient with the ebb and flow of life.  If not, your loss is no longer ambiguous.  It is time to grieve.  Let yourself do that and then re-focus on relationships that are fulfilling for you.

Maybe now you know that you are trying to grieve an ambiguous loss.  Maybe having the words helps.  There's really no answer for grief, no cure (though some people say time).  It's a natural process and individual to each person.  It makes me think of a  friend from high school whose mom has dementia.  He's beginning to use this experience in his act.  He's getting a good response.  How do we grieve?  We accept.  We share.  And we laugh.  We have to.

#BelieveWomen, Sauerkraut, and 7 Ideas to Help Men Listen to Women and Other Survivors of Sexual Violence

I have to confess how I went into the Kavanaugh hearings last week.  Since I'm a therapist and I often write about women's issues and relationships, sex, politics and religion, you might be surprised to hear that I felt uninterested.

My sister called me, enraged, prior to the start of the hearings and trying to commiserate. I was having none of it.  I didn't have the energy to bond -  I said, "I have to be honest, I'm so cynical...I'm probably corrupted or something. Even if Kavanaugh and I disagree on everything, who can prove assault from 30 years ago.  He'll be on the Supreme Court anyway."  I admitted to myself that with so many allegations of assault from years ago being aired at this time and with such a burden of proof - maybe women are undermining the cases that are current and can be proved.  Then, I think "Is this Stockholm Syndrome?"  I just don't know.  And like many people, sometimes, I just try not to think too much.

That was my mindset going in.  For better or worse.  I had no intention of listening to the proceedings.

But, I got off work at literally the same time Judge Kavanaugh started testifying and I almost always listen to NPR on the way home.  And then I couldn't stop.

I was appalled and riveted and have since found myself trying to put words to much that I find difficult to explain.  The women I am connecting with seem to 'get it.' (An unhelpful and vague phrase, I know).  Yet some men I know seem to push back and question the anger or the process of the topic - and this pushback can hint at disbelief.  The therapist part of me believes most people are of good will, but we struggle because of communication.  Some men seem to be missing the mark in their response to women who are not just asking, "Believe her" but also asking, "Believe me."

So, here are some ways I think men could convey support and belief in women who report they have been sexually abused, harassed or assaulted:

1.  Listen to the whole story.   Say, "Tell me more."  "Is there anything else important for me to know."

2.  Don't assume that because you are discussing issues with a woman who is not crying or looking sad or victimized that she is not sad or has not been a victim.  Most women I know, including myself, have been the victim of some sort of sexual abuse ranging from harassment to violence.  When I talk about, write about, or discuss these issues with a man, even the most beloved men in my life, I feel vulnerable and sad, even when I look like a put-together, well-spoken wise woman.

3.  Ask yourself tough questions and answer honestly.  Realize your answers may color your non-verbal communication and come through in an attitude you convey:

• Do I believe that women are responsible for putting on the breaks if drinking/sex are at issue?
• Do I believe that men are wired (because of testosterone) so that they can't always restrain themselves?
• Do I objectify women?  If so, how? Do I routinely use the words, 'bitch' or 'slut?'  Do I routinely watch porn?  Do I put women on a pedestal?  Do I tend to distinguish between 'good' women and 'slutty' women?

4.  Don't assume that the way you personally treat women or feel about women is the place other men come from.

5.  Try to mute your natural defenses.  I know that it's our human condition to want to defend ourselves, to speak up for the 'other side,' to say, 'but I'm not like that.'  However, when you defend, or act as Devil's Advocate, the sharing of experience is inadvertently shifted to a conflict.  The person sharing their painful story, who perhaps entered that act of sharing with hope of being seen and heard, now feels unseen, undefended, and even afraid.

6.  Don't assume all victims of sexual abuse or violence are forever damaged and weak and in need of saving.  Many just want to be heard and to know that the men in their lives respect, care and will listen.  No different than anyone.

7.  Trust the process.  I think many men are afraid that innocent men will be wrongly accused and that any woman who has ever been looked at sideways will claim assault.  Women don't want this either.  In any shift in our society, we can't guarantee that all involved are mentally healthy and stable.  I imagine a few innocent men will be accused and that some women who actively flirted will claim harassment.  But, my experience tells me this is not a significant percentage.  I believe most women are sane, vigilant, and above all else, fair.  

Let me shift gears here:

I've always wanted a brother and when I lived in DC, I lived with 3 guys in a 'group house' in Georgetown and lots of guys were around, a lot.  And many of them are, to this day, like brothers to me.  I love them.  I couldn't have asked for men to care about me more or look out for me more.  And something about me...I don't know - I always wanted to see if I could be as cool or stupid or goofy as the guys I hung out with.

I remember one time they'd grilled a whole bunch of brats and burgers and we were playing board games and watching football.  There was a big bowl of sauerkraut on the table in the family room and I was going on and on about how much I loved sauerkraut (I was prone to hyperbole in those days).

"You love sauerkraut, huh?"  They laughed.  "How much do you love it?  Do you love it $80 worth?"  They each threw in a $20 and bet me that I wouldn't eat the whole big bowl of sauerkraut for $80.

"Oh, I'll definitely do that."  I bragged.  "No big deal."

As I started eating the bowl...I took my time.  There was no time constraint on the bet and  I didn't have to shovel it in...the guys started saying things like, "Your ass is going to burn tomorrow.  Oh my god, you're going to be in pain when that comes out."  They were teasing and torturing me just like I'd seen them do to one another about other things all the time.  But suddenly, I was the focus of it.  And suddenly, I didn't feel like I wanted to eat that bowl of sauerkraut anymore.  I wasn't really tough enough for the teasing and I wasn't really 'one of the guys.'  I felt stupid and embarrassed.

Those guys didn't make me feel that way that was how I had learned to feel from other experiences growing up female.  And when I bowed out and said, "Nah, forget it.  I don't want ya stinkin' 80 bucks," no one made fun of me or pressured me.  'Whatever', they thought.  'Its just a funny story.'

But I think it shows how hard it is to be female in both expected and unexpected ways, in the world.  You think you want to take part in things, but sometimes these things begin to feel too scary or that you're in over your head.  Lots goes on under the surface and informs us and men don't know or see it, because we've tried to be tough, or we've blamed ourselves for putting ourselves in certain situations, or we haven't spoken up because it didn't seem important.

I feel like this at times as a writer and a sharer of my feelings and experience.  What if I say what I think or feel and people are mean to me about it?  Am I up for it?  Am I strong enough?

In the end, we are at our human best when we are connected and we are most connected when we are both strong and vulnerable.  It is strong and vulnerable to tell your story.  It is strong and vulnerable to truly listen.

Light Topics for a Birthday' Hangover': Beauty, Aging, Love, And Being Your Self

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.

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.