My daughter and I participated in the March for Our Lives this past Saturday. While we know and love several gun owners, we also think the safety of our kids and society in general should be addressed in a variety of ways, which would include more regulations on the way guns are procured and who can get them. In a discussion of good will I have on an ongoing basis with a good family friend, he let me know that he is most concerned about the mental health issues facing anyone who might use guns for ill and how can we better address that aspect (since I am a mental health professional).
It makes me think of one of the signs at the March on Saturday, it read: This Is Not Normal.
Well, what does that mean? What is not normal? The number of students killed in school shootings in 2018 so far? The number of deaths by suicide in which a gun was used? A President who, to put it mildly, seems to have disdain for women? A population of people who are so angry and afraid of one another that they can't speak and listen like grown ups?
You guys know me - I am a big advocate of paradox. As a therapist, I am often one to say, "There is no normal." There are so many variations of brains and bodies and hearts and souls and that is one of the most beautiful and astounding aspects of being human. But also, sometimes it helps to have some kind of range. I had a therapist who used to repeatedly ask me, "If we were watching the movie of this, what do you think the audience would be saying?" (Her implication was that the audience would be like "oh shit, this is NOT normal.") It helps to have perspective.
So when my friend asks me about mental health and helping people on the fringe - adults, kids, white, black, and mostly male, I think it takes a lot of nuanced and mature thinking to parse through it.
Another friend talked to me recently about her "quirky kid." She worries about her kid who is not 'diagnosable' and does not look different on the outside but relates to other people in a different way. My friend worries about her kid being socially ostracized. She worries about her child's boundaries and vulnerabilities. She worries about her child's current and future struggles. And my friend has gotten her kid every intervention known to parent-dom. This is not a kid who hasn't had support, love and resources. This is not about getting the quirkiness out of her kid, this is now about helping create a world where the child's quirkiness may have a place.
What is or is not normal? How do we relate to those who are not 'normal'? As adults? As youth? What do we model to our kids about this?
It seems like being 'normal' is the lowest bar in kid-dom. In kid-dom, a lot of people actually want to be better than normal. I remember in 7th grade, a girl I looked up to a lot was just COOL. (Yes, Stephanie, it's you.) She could write bubble letters without practicing, her jean jacket collar stayed up at just the right angle, her hair always looked good and the song lyrics she wrote on her folder were effortlessly perfect. I had to study and practice and really, really think about all that she did to get even a fraction as cool as she was.
I think about how this kind of dynamic permeates through to adult life. Some people are cool, some people don't care and are still cool, some people try and are not cool, some people don't care and just really don't care. We have PTSD from being kids, in a way - no one wants to have cooties, but we also often remember the kid with cooties. It's a terrible part of 'normal' childhood and it probably continues on in a muted form to adulthood.
In the end, I think both of my friends are worrying about social isolation - one very personally, and one from more removed point of view. What can be done to prevent social isolation? To 'treat' social isolation? I don't think it's right or realistic to think everybody should 'just be friends.' We can't force genuine relationships.
As I've been writing this, I've been going over in my mind how 'quirkiness' is seen in adult world and I am relieved to notice that there is a wide range of quirkiness that I think just doesn't matter in adult world and/or you can certainly find friendships even if you say...love poetry or something really weird like that.
But what I think continues to trouble adults and I also remember it from being a kid, is how to relate to people who have different boundaries. Perhaps different physical boundaries - they touch or talk close up, they might talk too long in meetings or after church service, they might not have typical hygiene, they might seem angry or sullen but have outbursts that they want others to acknowledge at times that aren't convenient. I think these are the kinds of quirks that even wise adults struggle to understand and have compassion for. But I think this is the challenge we are asked to undertake now. Both for our selves and to model for our children.
We need to be empowered to be both courteous and straightforward. To ask more questions and voice our own needs and wants in a compassionate way.
For example, if I interact with an adult who is talking too close to me, it would be very difficult, but I actually think I need to say, "Could you please take a step back." Or to say to the colleague who is might be having a monologue at 5pm, "I need to get home now, the end of the work day isn't a good time for me to talk."
I think when we become more comfortable saying what we need or what boundaries are ok for us, we also model this for our kids and we take away the stigma or fear. Sometimes I think we humans act ugly toward others when we are afraid...afraid we don't know what to do or how to handle a situation. I think being ignored and brushed over might be the worst part of social isolation. Honest, compassionate communication is a form of connection, to me.
When I worked in hospice, I learned that you could just about say anything to a person, it just depended on how you said it. I talked to people about everything - from how they pooped to how their body would shut down when they died. I know we can do better with one another, but we have to be willing to look at what makes us uncomfortable.
Maybe it is looking at our own fears, our own shortcomings, our own lack of knowing the answer.
Here is something I do know - I'm not so worried about 'normal.' I think it's a better tool to use to ask, "If we were watching the movie, what would the audience be saying?" I think the audience would know that many factors contribute to gun violence and social isolation is only one of those factors. I think the audience would also know that social isolation is the result of yet again, many factors. Sorry everybody...this is a complex world.
One aspect of social isolation is our aversion to our own weirdness and our own fear that we don't know how to address other people's weirdness. That's ok. We can work with that!
My bubble letters may never be the right amount fluffy, but I am going to keep practicing compassionately and courageously setting boundaries, knowing that honest communication is one way I can show deep respect for another human being.
Showing posts with label mental health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mental health. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 27, 2018
Monday, February 19, 2018
Paradox, Poetry, and Healing Our Big, Little Selves
In the two weeks since I last wrote, I started several different blogposts - about sex and intimacy, about talking with your teenager, about why it's hard to say 'no', about Valentine's Day and being single, and now this one. It's been difficult to focus my attention on one thing because so much has happened to shift what I think is meaningful to write about on any given day. So while I think all of those topics are interesting and I will probably revisit them. We've had another mass, school shooting in the past week and there is much talk about mental health - something about which I am supposed to be an expert. It seems the most pressing thing.
In times of great sadness and fear, when the weight of being human and the call to do something to help presses on me, when it feels that I don't have any ideas or energy left, I often go to poetry to comfort me. And this week, I found myself with a poem that I've loved since I took my first writing workshop with Colleen McKee, a St. Louis poet, in 2006. It's from a book called The Writer's Companion by Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux and it taught me about how to bring a character to life and how poetry can be written in simple, straightforward language. It's by Susan Browne, who I think is a Buddhist.
POEM IN MY MOTHER'S VOICE
When my mother meets God,
she says, Where the hell have you been?
Jesus Christ, don't you care about anyone
but yourself? It's time you wake up,
smell the coffee, shit or get off the pot.
You must have won your license in a fucking raffle.
You're grounded, and I don't want any back-talk.
In fact, don't talk at all until you can say something
that is not a lie, until you can tell the truth.
You know, the truth? Something in sentence form
that comes out of your mouth and is not a lie.
Could you do that for me? Is this possible
in my lifetime? Don't ever lie to me again
or I'll kill you. And get off your high-horse.
WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?
Running around the world
like a goddamn maniac, creating havoc. You have lost
the good sense you were born with. Shape up or ship out
I can't believe we're related.
My mother lights a cigarette, pitches the match
through the strings of a harp, inhales profoundly,
letting the smoke billow from her nose.
Her ruby lips press together in a righteous grimace
of disgust. She never stops watching God.
I've really had enough this time.
What do you take me for? A fool? An idiot? A patsy?
Some kind of nothing set down on earth for your convenience,
entertainment? A human punching bag? For your information
I was not born yesterday. I know what you're up to.
I have been around the block a few thousand spins of the wheel.
I have more compassion in my little finger
than you have in your entire body. I am a mother.
I care. Maybe you don't care, but I do. Care.
Do you know what that word means? Bring me the dictionary
and I will tell you what the word care means. Never mind.
How could you find a dictionary in that dump you call a room.
The whole universe of care down the toilet
because of your dirty socks. Do I look like a maid?
Did you think the purpose of my existence was to serve you?
You are barking up the wrong tree. We need to get something
straight. I am not here for you. I am here for me.
But I care. Can you possibly, in your wildest imagination,
hold two ideas in your tiny mind at the same time?
This is called paradox. Par-a-dox. We need the dictionary.
No, we need to talk. What do you have to say for yourself?
"I'm sorry," God replies.
You're sorry. Well, that's not enough. Wash that sullen look
off your face or I"ll wash it off for you.
And quit looking down. Look at me!
God lifts his heavy head,
falls into the fierce love
of my mother's green-blue eyes.
Grow up, she says.
What comforts me about this poem is that it reminds me that our human condition is a paradox.
People might not think poetry is practical, but it is.
When we are straightforward and realistic, when we engage in political and civic thought and discussion, we are 'fighting' about whether this problem we have in our country is guns or mental health. It is both. We have to hold two ideas in our minds at one time. More, even.
When we look at our technology, our phones, social media, the immediacy of all the information and opinions available to us, we wonder "Is this good or bad?" It's both.
We ourselves are paradoxical - look at the mom in this poem. What Susan Browne shows is that her mom can yell and cuss and berate, but something about her particular mom comes through - fierce love. I don't think every parent who yells and berates also conveys fierce love, but this one does.
One of the most difficult things about being human right now is that there are many forces in the world that want to dumb you down. To reduce you to your simplest form.
They want you to be smaller than your are - to think smaller than you are, to feel more petty that you are. These forces are in the media, in social media, in the things you are addicted to or nearly addicted to, in the people who might be in your life.
At the end of the poem, the mom tells God to "Grow up." That makes me laugh, but I think it's what embracing paradox is about. There are moments in the media coverage of the aftermath of the shooting in Florida last week, where I see that the students are more grown up than many of the adults who also have a media platform on these issues.
I guess that's the paradox and wisdom of this poem too. In some sense it's playful and simple, and in other ways it's very grown up and complex. Sometimes people will say to me, "I read your blog and it seems like you've got it all figured out." I don't. I am trying, I make mistakes. My kids might write funny poems about me one day, because I'm kind of weird. But, I try to both play and be a grown up.
One of the things that has enhanced my weirdness is working in dying and grieving for so long. And believe it or not, I am going to bring up back to paradox with a little anecdote about a makeup/skincare party I attended on Friday at a friend's house. I don't always sit around thinking deep thoughts. Sometimes I think about makeup. This particular line of makeup is supposed to be natural and carcinogen-free. That is it's mission. I found myself thinking - "Ah, so what. We're all going to die. I'm not opposed to wiping some carcinogens on my face. Especially if they reduce fine lines and wrinkles." This was not what I was supposed to be thinking. I was supposed to be fearful of dying and spend $80 on face cream. And I'm not opposed to that either, in theory. What I am saying is - I think often about how the time we get is limited.
We are small, but we are big. In what you do, in what you say, in how you love and who you love. We all will be dead one day, but it matters. It is everything.
In times of great sadness and fear, when the weight of being human and the call to do something to help presses on me, when it feels that I don't have any ideas or energy left, I often go to poetry to comfort me. And this week, I found myself with a poem that I've loved since I took my first writing workshop with Colleen McKee, a St. Louis poet, in 2006. It's from a book called The Writer's Companion by Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux and it taught me about how to bring a character to life and how poetry can be written in simple, straightforward language. It's by Susan Browne, who I think is a Buddhist.
POEM IN MY MOTHER'S VOICE
When my mother meets God,
she says, Where the hell have you been?
Jesus Christ, don't you care about anyone
but yourself? It's time you wake up,
smell the coffee, shit or get off the pot.
You must have won your license in a fucking raffle.
You're grounded, and I don't want any back-talk.
In fact, don't talk at all until you can say something
that is not a lie, until you can tell the truth.
You know, the truth? Something in sentence form
that comes out of your mouth and is not a lie.
Could you do that for me? Is this possible
in my lifetime? Don't ever lie to me again
or I'll kill you. And get off your high-horse.
WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?
Running around the world
like a goddamn maniac, creating havoc. You have lost
the good sense you were born with. Shape up or ship out
I can't believe we're related.
My mother lights a cigarette, pitches the match
through the strings of a harp, inhales profoundly,
letting the smoke billow from her nose.
Her ruby lips press together in a righteous grimace
of disgust. She never stops watching God.
I've really had enough this time.
What do you take me for? A fool? An idiot? A patsy?
Some kind of nothing set down on earth for your convenience,
entertainment? A human punching bag? For your information
I was not born yesterday. I know what you're up to.
I have been around the block a few thousand spins of the wheel.
I have more compassion in my little finger
than you have in your entire body. I am a mother.
I care. Maybe you don't care, but I do. Care.
Do you know what that word means? Bring me the dictionary
and I will tell you what the word care means. Never mind.
How could you find a dictionary in that dump you call a room.
The whole universe of care down the toilet
because of your dirty socks. Do I look like a maid?
Did you think the purpose of my existence was to serve you?
You are barking up the wrong tree. We need to get something
straight. I am not here for you. I am here for me.
But I care. Can you possibly, in your wildest imagination,
hold two ideas in your tiny mind at the same time?
This is called paradox. Par-a-dox. We need the dictionary.
No, we need to talk. What do you have to say for yourself?
"I'm sorry," God replies.
You're sorry. Well, that's not enough. Wash that sullen look
off your face or I"ll wash it off for you.
And quit looking down. Look at me!
God lifts his heavy head,
falls into the fierce love
of my mother's green-blue eyes.
Grow up, she says.
What comforts me about this poem is that it reminds me that our human condition is a paradox.
People might not think poetry is practical, but it is.
When we are straightforward and realistic, when we engage in political and civic thought and discussion, we are 'fighting' about whether this problem we have in our country is guns or mental health. It is both. We have to hold two ideas in our minds at one time. More, even.
When we look at our technology, our phones, social media, the immediacy of all the information and opinions available to us, we wonder "Is this good or bad?" It's both.
We ourselves are paradoxical - look at the mom in this poem. What Susan Browne shows is that her mom can yell and cuss and berate, but something about her particular mom comes through - fierce love. I don't think every parent who yells and berates also conveys fierce love, but this one does.
One of the most difficult things about being human right now is that there are many forces in the world that want to dumb you down. To reduce you to your simplest form.
They want you to be smaller than your are - to think smaller than you are, to feel more petty that you are. These forces are in the media, in social media, in the things you are addicted to or nearly addicted to, in the people who might be in your life.
At the end of the poem, the mom tells God to "Grow up." That makes me laugh, but I think it's what embracing paradox is about. There are moments in the media coverage of the aftermath of the shooting in Florida last week, where I see that the students are more grown up than many of the adults who also have a media platform on these issues.
I guess that's the paradox and wisdom of this poem too. In some sense it's playful and simple, and in other ways it's very grown up and complex. Sometimes people will say to me, "I read your blog and it seems like you've got it all figured out." I don't. I am trying, I make mistakes. My kids might write funny poems about me one day, because I'm kind of weird. But, I try to both play and be a grown up.
One of the things that has enhanced my weirdness is working in dying and grieving for so long. And believe it or not, I am going to bring up back to paradox with a little anecdote about a makeup/skincare party I attended on Friday at a friend's house. I don't always sit around thinking deep thoughts. Sometimes I think about makeup. This particular line of makeup is supposed to be natural and carcinogen-free. That is it's mission. I found myself thinking - "Ah, so what. We're all going to die. I'm not opposed to wiping some carcinogens on my face. Especially if they reduce fine lines and wrinkles." This was not what I was supposed to be thinking. I was supposed to be fearful of dying and spend $80 on face cream. And I'm not opposed to that either, in theory. What I am saying is - I think often about how the time we get is limited.
We are small, but we are big. In what you do, in what you say, in how you love and who you love. We all will be dead one day, but it matters. It is everything.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Angels with A**holes and God in a Google Search
I’ve written before about my professor, Reverend Beverly Asbury, Chaplain from Vanderbilt University, circa 1990s. He was my Religious Studies professor in undergraduate school and I adore him. I probably can’t measure the influence he’s had on me since I met him when I was 19 or 20 years old. One of his bits of wisdom, probably an offhand comment on his part, but something that made a profound impact on me was when he said, ‘You know, we humans are ALL just angels with assholes.’
I’ve found that to be one of the truest statements I’ve ever
heard. Each of us has potential to be an
angel of mercy and compassion, a symbol of hope, an act of love and
giving. Yet, each of us is bound by our
humanity. We are bodies. Sometimes we are full of shit. We are transcendent and just pretty regular
at the same time.
I am learning something about myself and in the end, maybe I
just want to put it in words, because that’s what I like to do. In my life, I have witnessed selfless
kindness, unimaginable courage, creative compassion, love overcoming fear (not
to mention overcoming rules), and humanity enduring with humor and love even in
the face of such horror as the Holocaust.
And I believe that when you see other people, you have the
opportunity to see the ‘angel’ in them.
The holy in them. If there’s holy
in us, I feel that there is holy out there, too. That’s just what I believe. Somewhat along the lines of Albert Einstein,
who said, “There are only two ways to
live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though
everything is a miracle.”
So, for me, as I get older, one of the intrinsic pieces of
my own ‘mental and emotional health,’ as I summarize in my ‘ google bio’, is my
spiritual life. When we talk about
spirituality, nothing is more frustrating that the limitation of words, but let
me give it a try. Even as a little kid,
I had lots of questions about God – “How could God always have been there? What came before God?” My mom even invited the minister over for
dinner to talk with me about it (a terrible explanation – ‘take it on faith’,
was what I was told.) Other questions – “why
should I want to be a good person, just to go to heaven? Is that really being a good person, if I just
want some reward?” And I took religious
studies classes in college. Death and
Dying classes when they were offered.
So, maybe it’s no surprise that this is where I am today.
Maybe you have an inkling that you’d like to pay more attention
to your spiritual life? If you do, found or been recommended a number of online resources that
create access to information, ideas, and community and I thought you might like
to take a look too. I hope you find this helpful:
Spirituality and Practice - www.spiritualityandpractice.com - can range from pop to academic, but pretty
straight up and diverse theology. I look
at it every day and am amazed as the breadth and depth of information,
inspiration and continuing education opportunities.
Patheos – www.patheos.com If you want to get an unfiltered universe of
every type of belief/opinion/pop culture blog community this is where to go. Every group from Pagan to Evangelical
Christian from Muslim to Unitarian Universalist is well represented here and
there is no editorial filter or preference.
You may not like or agree with everything you read, but everyone is
welcome here.
Belief - www.globalpost.com/globalpost-blogs/belief - This
is part of Global Post – an American online newsource that focuses on global
news. This page is where religion and
news intersect, primarily through current news events.
On Being with Krista Tippett - www.onbeing.org Her public radio show is available on podcast
here. Diverse and thoughtful, a
broad-ranging understanding of spirituality that encompasses science as well as
belief.
Daily om - www.dailyom.com: kind of new-agey/Buddhist writing. Something to think about in small
nuggets.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
can we prove heaven and why do we want to?
It is 2004 and I am relatively early in my work as a hospice social worker. I have one young child - about a year old. One of my patients is also a mother. She is 43 and a Bosnian Muslim refugee. She is dying of cancer and being taken care of by her two teenage kids and whatever neighbors from the Bosnian community could help out. She is divorced. In Bosnia, she'd been a teacher, but in the U.S., she's not been able to get a job above minimum wage. The family is poor. Though her English is spotty, her oldest daughter helps translate.
Despite the language barrier, my patient and I connect over being mothers. She asks to see a picture of my son (which, I happen to carry with me - this is before iphones). She holds the picture, gazes at it and much to my surprise, she kisses my son's face in the picture! It's such a sweet and tender gesture. The kind of thing mothers everywhere can understand, as if every little child were your little child and you could love every single one of them with your whole self.
On another occasion, she asks her daughter to fetch her her orange sweatshirt. She hands it to me and speaks, but not in English. Her daughter translates: "She wants you to have it. She thinks the color will look pretty on you." "No, I can't take that," I say. She insists. I see that it will be an insult to her if I don't accept, so I do, and I thank her. As the daughter walks me to the door that day, I hand the sweatshirt back to her - "I am so honored, but I just can't take this." They have so little in the way of possessions. I feel I could never be worthy enough of this gift she has given me.
#####
I recently finished Proof of Heaven, by Dr. Even Alexander, a neurosurgeon who writes of his transformation from agnostic scientist into an advocate and educator about life after death because of his personal 'death' and resurrection after a massive brain infection. It's a very popular book right now, probably because it is not the 'typical' near death experience that focuses specifically on Jesus or Christianity, but represents an afterlife that is characterized by spirits and Loving Presence that don't represent one religion in particular.
As a grief therapist, I listen daily to the stories of the mysteries of life and death. Do I think that many of our human anxieties and ills are rooted in grief and/or anxiety about our fears of our own death or not being able to touch and hold people we love who have died? Absolutely.
The more time goes on, the more I am convinced that we are asking ourselves the wrong question. I don't think the helpful question is, "Is there life after death?" Or even, "is there proof of a loving God?"
The lady I described above gave me little glimpses of what I would call 'Holy'. There is Goodness, Generosity, Abundance, and Love even in the midst of sorrow and tragedy. It is yours not only to receive, but to give to others. When you look for ways to give and receive these gifts, you may find, as I have found, that while there is a lot of the universe I don't understand, I can name this giving and receiving Heaven or God or Love or Beauty or not. It's not the naming, but the experiencing and that's all the proof of anything that I need.
Despite the language barrier, my patient and I connect over being mothers. She asks to see a picture of my son (which, I happen to carry with me - this is before iphones). She holds the picture, gazes at it and much to my surprise, she kisses my son's face in the picture! It's such a sweet and tender gesture. The kind of thing mothers everywhere can understand, as if every little child were your little child and you could love every single one of them with your whole self.
On another occasion, she asks her daughter to fetch her her orange sweatshirt. She hands it to me and speaks, but not in English. Her daughter translates: "She wants you to have it. She thinks the color will look pretty on you." "No, I can't take that," I say. She insists. I see that it will be an insult to her if I don't accept, so I do, and I thank her. As the daughter walks me to the door that day, I hand the sweatshirt back to her - "I am so honored, but I just can't take this." They have so little in the way of possessions. I feel I could never be worthy enough of this gift she has given me.
#####
I recently finished Proof of Heaven, by Dr. Even Alexander, a neurosurgeon who writes of his transformation from agnostic scientist into an advocate and educator about life after death because of his personal 'death' and resurrection after a massive brain infection. It's a very popular book right now, probably because it is not the 'typical' near death experience that focuses specifically on Jesus or Christianity, but represents an afterlife that is characterized by spirits and Loving Presence that don't represent one religion in particular.
As a grief therapist, I listen daily to the stories of the mysteries of life and death. Do I think that many of our human anxieties and ills are rooted in grief and/or anxiety about our fears of our own death or not being able to touch and hold people we love who have died? Absolutely.
The more time goes on, the more I am convinced that we are asking ourselves the wrong question. I don't think the helpful question is, "Is there life after death?" Or even, "is there proof of a loving God?"
The lady I described above gave me little glimpses of what I would call 'Holy'. There is Goodness, Generosity, Abundance, and Love even in the midst of sorrow and tragedy. It is yours not only to receive, but to give to others. When you look for ways to give and receive these gifts, you may find, as I have found, that while there is a lot of the universe I don't understand, I can name this giving and receiving Heaven or God or Love or Beauty or not. It's not the naming, but the experiencing and that's all the proof of anything that I need.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Beyond 'Girls' and Boys
With the return of HBO’s hit series, Girls, I’ve recently
read an onslaught of newspaper and
magazine pieces speculating about dating, sex, and gender issues in the lives
of 20-somethings. I guess we’re supposed
to find them endlessly fascinating. It’s
especially curious, because I’m reading these articles in the New York Times
and the New Yorker, places that I am sure have a median age readership far
older than 24 years. So, I find myself
more concerned with older people and our obsession with youth than I am about ‘hook
up culture’ and what it means for dating.
I am a middle aged person, more or less, and this is what I’d
like to say to us: we would do better not to think about the Girls and Boys so
much. If you want to get older and enjoy
yourself, start thinking about and spending time with older people. Instead of looking at where you’ve already been,
start thinking about where you’re going and who you might want to be when you
get there.
This can work in two helpful ways. It can help show you what you don’t want to
be and it can help point you in the direction of what and who you DO want to
be.
The first time I became fully aware of the “Don’t Want To Be”
category of older people was when I
lived and worked in Washington, D.C. I was in my early 20s. It was a high pressure/low pay job, though my
superiors were very well paid, and growing more well-paid every year (the dot
com years!). People who were ‘old’ to me
then, ranged in the ages from 35 to 50. Not
all, but more than several really struggled mentally and emotionally with the
stress of their lives and balancing work and family.
I remember working on a particular Saturday at my ‘cube’, when a project
manager, who was probably 35 to 40 came to me crying. “Will you talk to my husband on the phone?”
she asked. “He doesn’t believe me about
how stressful this is. He doesn’t understand
how mean our boss can be. Will you tell
him?” I did NOT want to be this person
in ten years! I began to examine the
contributing factors to the panic and neuroses around me. I began to envision my life going in a
different direction than the direction I seemed headed.
Conversely, I have had the opportunity in the past ten years
to be around some vibrant, curious, wise older people, who have ranged in age
from 50 to 95 years old. Not only have I
had friendships and mentoring relationships with some, some I have had the
privilege to be with as a hospice worker or therapist. When I am with an older person, I listen
carefully. Here are some characteristics
I notice in people who age with grace and complexity:
1)
They take risks – they take classes or travel or
try new hobbies
2)
They find the humor in life and in themselves
3)
They are flexible with their time and flexible
with their minds. They don’t get stuck
in one way of thinking, but continue to learn
4)
They stay curious about the world and show an
interest in things that are ageless – music, art, reading, politics
5)
They have friendships with people of different
ages
6)
They accept their age and don’t try to be
younger (is it self-serving to say that I think dying the grey out of your hair is okay?!)
7)
They balance quiet time with activity.
I’ve heard, that when you’re mountain biking, you need to
look at where you want to go, not where you don’t want to go. Don’t look at the big boulder that you're trying to avoid, look at the smooth path you want your bike to follow.
Our individual and collective mental health would benefit from valuing and thinking about age at least as much as youth. I'd like to see some more articles in the New Yorker about that.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
U.S. drones in Pakistan and other wake up calls
I dreamed about war last night and weapons. I think this may be rooted in information shared this past week in the Spirituality class I assist at Wash U. After a student presentation about spirituality in the military, another student, who is from Pakistan said, 'I'd like to share something about the U.S. use of drones in Pakistan.' She went on to explain that most Americans don't know about drone use there, but drones are unmanned aircraft that are controlled remotely. They are used to bomb sites where suspected Muslim extremists may be gathering. Unfortunately, there are many inaccuracies with such a remote system and many, many civilians - including women and children have been killed.
The woman who shared this anecdote is a lovely, intelligent, and thoughtful young woman. I had a deeper sense of both connection to her and also a sense of guilt and culpability after she talked. I have heard her describe her city, her mother, and now how her fellow citizens are hurt by the actions of my government. I just read a statistic online that nearly 75% if Pakistanis consider the U.S. an enemy. For a pretty balanced report, I've attached a Wikipedia entry on 'u.s. drones in Pakistan.' http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Drone_attacks_in_Pakistan
I can't tell you how many times before this I'd heard about drones on the news or read about them. At least the word 'drone'. Why did I not pay more attention? Why have I not used my curiosity to find out more about what my government is doing and where, as a representative of me? What does this have to do with emotional health?
Two things: 1) how many of us go through life, or at least parts of our life, rather drone-like ourselves. As if we are unmanned vehicles just operating by some remote pilot. We don't pay real attention to our environment, the people around us, the colors of the trees, the road we are driving on, the expression on a friend's face. We zone out and don't listen and aren't fully alive. What are we missing out on? 2) We are individuals and we have an individual emotional/mental health - but we are also a society and we have an emotional character as such. What do we want that emotional character to be? Can we help shape that? If so, how? Paying attention is one way to start.
It reminds me of a quote that I've heard attributed to Adam Horovitz of the Beastie Boys. When asked about the way the band's image changed from frat party boys, to politically conscious activists, he said, "I'd rather be a hypocrite to you, than a zombie forever."
So whether zombie, drone, the matrix or whatever you want to call it - I don't want to contribute to a world in which we say, 'that's just the way it is and I can't make a difference.' That's not good for MY mental health. In a time of year where we are getting ready to pay special attention to giving thanks, I'd like to give thanks for moments that make me uncomfortable. The moments that wake me up.
The woman who shared this anecdote is a lovely, intelligent, and thoughtful young woman. I had a deeper sense of both connection to her and also a sense of guilt and culpability after she talked. I have heard her describe her city, her mother, and now how her fellow citizens are hurt by the actions of my government. I just read a statistic online that nearly 75% if Pakistanis consider the U.S. an enemy. For a pretty balanced report, I've attached a Wikipedia entry on 'u.s. drones in Pakistan.' http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Drone_attacks_in_Pakistan
I can't tell you how many times before this I'd heard about drones on the news or read about them. At least the word 'drone'. Why did I not pay more attention? Why have I not used my curiosity to find out more about what my government is doing and where, as a representative of me? What does this have to do with emotional health?
Two things: 1) how many of us go through life, or at least parts of our life, rather drone-like ourselves. As if we are unmanned vehicles just operating by some remote pilot. We don't pay real attention to our environment, the people around us, the colors of the trees, the road we are driving on, the expression on a friend's face. We zone out and don't listen and aren't fully alive. What are we missing out on? 2) We are individuals and we have an individual emotional/mental health - but we are also a society and we have an emotional character as such. What do we want that emotional character to be? Can we help shape that? If so, how? Paying attention is one way to start.
It reminds me of a quote that I've heard attributed to Adam Horovitz of the Beastie Boys. When asked about the way the band's image changed from frat party boys, to politically conscious activists, he said, "I'd rather be a hypocrite to you, than a zombie forever."
So whether zombie, drone, the matrix or whatever you want to call it - I don't want to contribute to a world in which we say, 'that's just the way it is and I can't make a difference.' That's not good for MY mental health. In a time of year where we are getting ready to pay special attention to giving thanks, I'd like to give thanks for moments that make me uncomfortable. The moments that wake me up.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
in praise of idleness and imagination
I almost bought a 1978 Ford F100 this week. While out running, I'd seen the truck on the street with a For Sale sign in it. It was beat up and rusted and it looked like something Tim Riggins would drive in Friday Night Lights (one of the best tv shows ever). Something about that truck was calling me. I have never in my life wanted a 'toy' - not like that. I never have given myself the room and frivolity to even consider a toy. Something about that truck was beautiful to me and I wanted it. And my sweet husband (who likes trucks), said, "why don't you call the guy and we'll test drive it."
I felt tingly inside, rejuvenated, just thinking about that truck. I imagined driving down the road to work with my hair blowing in the breeze. I imagined friends calling me to help them move stuff. It would be awesome. I liked the feeling that I surprised myself. When was the last time you surprised yourself? If you're a dutiful adult, it's probably been a long time.
One of the reaons, I think, we don't surprise ourselves, we don't see and feel the adventures and possibilities in life, is that we're too busy, a la the well-written op-ed from Tim Kreider in the past week's NY Times http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/06/30/the-busy-trap/?smid=fb-share about the pitfalls of busy-ness, and our false notions that busy-ness equated to our life's meaning and importance. I liked the article, though the tone is kind of scold-y.
I'll give you a couple less scold-y resources in praise of idleness and imagination - one of the best books, most uplifting fun and inspiring I've read- Brenda Ueland's, If You Want To Write. She praises idleness, but distinguishes it from laziness, "But if it is the dreamy idleness that children have, an idleness when you walk alone for a long, long time, or take a long, dreamy time at dressing, or lie in bed at night and thoughts come and go...with all my heart I tell you and reassure you: at such times your are being slowly filled and recharged with warm imagination, with wonderful, living thoughts."
You see, I think our imagination - me imagining myself in some new way, in the truck for example, is something that feeds our health and humanity. And we don't have to imagine ourselves, I think we could imagine anything - I am certain that Steve Jobs was a great imaginer. Our leaders in government would probably be serving us much better, if they were less 'busy' and more imaginative.
I am currently reading another book, My Stroke of Insight by Jill Bolte Taylor, PhD. She was a brain scientist who had a massive stroke in her mid-30s. She writes, "as members of the same human species, you and I share all but .01 percent of identical genetic sequences...Looking around at the diversity within our human race, it is obvious that .01 percent accounts for significant difference in how we look, think, and behave.
I love that! I think that idleness, followed by imagination leads to our soul's expression (if you don't believe in a soul, I really just mean the unique thing that is YOU).
So, you may be disappointed to know that I didn't get the truck. Not that truck. I am certain the right truck for me is in my future. And I also figured out that possessing the truck is not the important thing...it was the surprise of a mind (my mind) that was open to possibility, to imagining myself in a different way, of expressing myself in a different way, and in that imagining, feeling the wind and sun on my face, the open road ahead of me, feeling free.
I felt tingly inside, rejuvenated, just thinking about that truck. I imagined driving down the road to work with my hair blowing in the breeze. I imagined friends calling me to help them move stuff. It would be awesome. I liked the feeling that I surprised myself. When was the last time you surprised yourself? If you're a dutiful adult, it's probably been a long time.
One of the reaons, I think, we don't surprise ourselves, we don't see and feel the adventures and possibilities in life, is that we're too busy, a la the well-written op-ed from Tim Kreider in the past week's NY Times http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/06/30/the-busy-trap/?smid=fb-share about the pitfalls of busy-ness, and our false notions that busy-ness equated to our life's meaning and importance. I liked the article, though the tone is kind of scold-y.
I'll give you a couple less scold-y resources in praise of idleness and imagination - one of the best books, most uplifting fun and inspiring I've read- Brenda Ueland's, If You Want To Write. She praises idleness, but distinguishes it from laziness, "But if it is the dreamy idleness that children have, an idleness when you walk alone for a long, long time, or take a long, dreamy time at dressing, or lie in bed at night and thoughts come and go...with all my heart I tell you and reassure you: at such times your are being slowly filled and recharged with warm imagination, with wonderful, living thoughts."
You see, I think our imagination - me imagining myself in some new way, in the truck for example, is something that feeds our health and humanity. And we don't have to imagine ourselves, I think we could imagine anything - I am certain that Steve Jobs was a great imaginer. Our leaders in government would probably be serving us much better, if they were less 'busy' and more imaginative.
I am currently reading another book, My Stroke of Insight by Jill Bolte Taylor, PhD. She was a brain scientist who had a massive stroke in her mid-30s. She writes, "as members of the same human species, you and I share all but .01 percent of identical genetic sequences...Looking around at the diversity within our human race, it is obvious that .01 percent accounts for significant difference in how we look, think, and behave.
I love that! I think that idleness, followed by imagination leads to our soul's expression (if you don't believe in a soul, I really just mean the unique thing that is YOU).
So, you may be disappointed to know that I didn't get the truck. Not that truck. I am certain the right truck for me is in my future. And I also figured out that possessing the truck is not the important thing...it was the surprise of a mind (my mind) that was open to possibility, to imagining myself in a different way, of expressing myself in a different way, and in that imagining, feeling the wind and sun on my face, the open road ahead of me, feeling free.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
after red flags...heroic questions and why I care
I wrote the other week about the Invisible Children/Kony 2012 video and I wasn't the only one. I've been interested to see how it's played out in the media, what others have made of it - positive and negative. It continued to ripple with me in several ways:
I intended Red Flags as a a cautionary piece about who and what we trust as sources of information and inspiration. Who do we make our heroes? What is heroic about them?
Being a public person or putting yourself out there as a potentially public persona is a responsibility and one in our culture that pretty much all of us should think about in some way - with FB, Twitter, blogging, etc, almost everyone has some version of a public face. I think we must constantly ask ourselves why we do what we do, say what we say, choose to be public with certain aspects of ourselves.
Why do I write this blog? Is it for ego? Is it to feel important or worthy? I must always be honest with myself, even if the answers are unflattering.
I used to feel critical of blogging...I thought it was kind of narcissistic and representative of a culture of reflection, i.e., "I exist because you see me existing. I am important because you (the viewer/reader) tell me I'm important." Yuck. Here is how I changed: I worked in hospice and I began writing. I feel a sheer pleasure from writing and attempting to have my thoughts organize themselves in a cohesive form. I also realize (this is the tricky, ego part), that my work in hospice gave me a unique perspective on life, mental health, and spirituality - my experiences shaped my thoughts and my thoughts shaped how and what I wrote about. I found that I had things I wanted to say and I felt it was okay to publicly claim that my voice and perspective might be helpful, might be worthy of being heard. I must check this voice constantly to make sure I am responsible with it, that I am true to myself as best I know myself at the moment I am writing.
My sister sent me a link http://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2012/03/the-white-savior-industrial-complex/254843/?single_page=true to this piece from The Atlantic; also a ripple from the Kony business. I try to be careful with my words and tone, but that doesn't mean I don't experience rage at times. I've found that rage is a step and sometimes a necessary one on a path. Some things are worthy of rage. I felt the rage from Mr. Cole's piece, particularly his tweets, and I understood it. I don't think he ends in rage, and I know I can't stay there either. Rage is it's own kind of enthusiasm (something Mr. Cole is quite critical of) and it's an emotion that we should treat with respect and caution.
I admire Mr. Cole's truth, his nuanced exploration of his response to the "White Savior Industrial Complex." I like that he raises more questions than he has answers. This is the type of thinking that is heroic to me.
Also for me, I must ask myself- what does this have to do with mental health? Emotional well-being? Here is one part of an answer: our media is a great part of how we experience this world we live in. It shapes our thoughts, feelings, actions. It is powerful in our lives. The more I write, the more I feel that media and politics are vehicles to explore what kind of people we are, and what kind of world we want to help create. That sense of being active participants and creators - not just receivers of information- is integral to our healthy and whole experience of our lives. That's what I'm thinking today.
I intended Red Flags as a a cautionary piece about who and what we trust as sources of information and inspiration. Who do we make our heroes? What is heroic about them?
Being a public person or putting yourself out there as a potentially public persona is a responsibility and one in our culture that pretty much all of us should think about in some way - with FB, Twitter, blogging, etc, almost everyone has some version of a public face. I think we must constantly ask ourselves why we do what we do, say what we say, choose to be public with certain aspects of ourselves.
Why do I write this blog? Is it for ego? Is it to feel important or worthy? I must always be honest with myself, even if the answers are unflattering.
I used to feel critical of blogging...I thought it was kind of narcissistic and representative of a culture of reflection, i.e., "I exist because you see me existing. I am important because you (the viewer/reader) tell me I'm important." Yuck. Here is how I changed: I worked in hospice and I began writing. I feel a sheer pleasure from writing and attempting to have my thoughts organize themselves in a cohesive form. I also realize (this is the tricky, ego part), that my work in hospice gave me a unique perspective on life, mental health, and spirituality - my experiences shaped my thoughts and my thoughts shaped how and what I wrote about. I found that I had things I wanted to say and I felt it was okay to publicly claim that my voice and perspective might be helpful, might be worthy of being heard. I must check this voice constantly to make sure I am responsible with it, that I am true to myself as best I know myself at the moment I am writing.
My sister sent me a link http://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2012/03/the-white-savior-industrial-complex/254843/?single_page=true to this piece from The Atlantic; also a ripple from the Kony business. I try to be careful with my words and tone, but that doesn't mean I don't experience rage at times. I've found that rage is a step and sometimes a necessary one on a path. Some things are worthy of rage. I felt the rage from Mr. Cole's piece, particularly his tweets, and I understood it. I don't think he ends in rage, and I know I can't stay there either. Rage is it's own kind of enthusiasm (something Mr. Cole is quite critical of) and it's an emotion that we should treat with respect and caution.
I admire Mr. Cole's truth, his nuanced exploration of his response to the "White Savior Industrial Complex." I like that he raises more questions than he has answers. This is the type of thinking that is heroic to me.
Also for me, I must ask myself- what does this have to do with mental health? Emotional well-being? Here is one part of an answer: our media is a great part of how we experience this world we live in. It shapes our thoughts, feelings, actions. It is powerful in our lives. The more I write, the more I feel that media and politics are vehicles to explore what kind of people we are, and what kind of world we want to help create. That sense of being active participants and creators - not just receivers of information- is integral to our healthy and whole experience of our lives. That's what I'm thinking today.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
why our election process might be bad for our mental health
Here is what I LONG to hear a candidate for President of the United States say: "I've got some good ideas for what I think will make this country strong, prosperous, and healthy. My opponent has some ideas, too. They're fine ideas, but I happen to disagree with some of them. The American people are smart people - listen to my ideas and listen to my opponent's...whichever ideas you think are better - vote for that candidate."
The way candidates typically speak to us in the election process in particular is not healthy for us as a country. It assumes that we are either too dumb or too angry to make an informed choice based on facts. It's demoralizing to be spoken to this way and it corrupts the democratic process. It incites fear, when fear is rarely a helpful response.
I've come to think that one of the greatest assets to our emotional well-being is to know and feel that we have a choice. In theories of job satisfaction, autonomy/a sense of having freedom of choice in your workplace procedure,s is one of the top indicators of satisfaction. Or in love - don't we feel more satisfied in our relationships when we feel we choose to be with someone or do something for our loved one, rather than that we're forced or obligated to? What about when we get up in the morning...if we pay attention, we know that we can choose our approach to the day - positive or negative - and it makes a difference. Even the language that we use. I chose to start this blog writing about what I would like rather than simply complaining about what I don't.
I wonder what campaign speeches and debates were like in the 'old days' - did Abraham Lincoln call his opponent names or insult his religious background or personality? I somehow doubt it. As a nation, we will be better served to try to ignore candidates who appeal to our snarky and angry side. Just like in 'real life', paying a lot of attention to this type of person gives him or her more power than we really want to give them. We should also not forget our freedom to speak and ask for what we want - and I want a candidate who speaks the truth, which is: Almost always, ideas are just ideas - they are not inherently good or bad. I want to be spoken to as the emotionally mature person that I am. I want to make a choice to vote for or against ideas without being made to feel angry or afraid of the other guy or the other side.
The way candidates typically speak to us in the election process in particular is not healthy for us as a country. It assumes that we are either too dumb or too angry to make an informed choice based on facts. It's demoralizing to be spoken to this way and it corrupts the democratic process. It incites fear, when fear is rarely a helpful response.
I've come to think that one of the greatest assets to our emotional well-being is to know and feel that we have a choice. In theories of job satisfaction, autonomy/a sense of having freedom of choice in your workplace procedure,s is one of the top indicators of satisfaction. Or in love - don't we feel more satisfied in our relationships when we feel we choose to be with someone or do something for our loved one, rather than that we're forced or obligated to? What about when we get up in the morning...if we pay attention, we know that we can choose our approach to the day - positive or negative - and it makes a difference. Even the language that we use. I chose to start this blog writing about what I would like rather than simply complaining about what I don't.
I wonder what campaign speeches and debates were like in the 'old days' - did Abraham Lincoln call his opponent names or insult his religious background or personality? I somehow doubt it. As a nation, we will be better served to try to ignore candidates who appeal to our snarky and angry side. Just like in 'real life', paying a lot of attention to this type of person gives him or her more power than we really want to give them. We should also not forget our freedom to speak and ask for what we want - and I want a candidate who speaks the truth, which is: Almost always, ideas are just ideas - they are not inherently good or bad. I want to be spoken to as the emotionally mature person that I am. I want to make a choice to vote for or against ideas without being made to feel angry or afraid of the other guy or the other side.
Friday, July 29, 2011
little things make a difference
I'm trying to eat better.
What do I mean by better? Well, lots of things. In the past few years some new information has slowly been seeping into my brain and consciousness. It began when my daughter was born and people asked me if I was going to let her have regular milk or 'organic.' "You know," these people told me, '"all the hormones they give cows is what's making girls develop younger.'" Well, come to think of it, it did seem to me like teenage girls were much more 'developed' than when I was a teenager. (This is making me think of Judy Blume!) And as a parent, suddenly it seemed important to prolong childhood as long as possible. Despite my husband protesting about the expense of it, we began buying organic milk.
This is only to say that I am no saint. My motives aren't always, initially anyway, for world betterment. I'm just saying this is how my plan to eat better began. And as you read on, I guess I am going to grossly oversimplify a lot of what some really smart people have said.
In the past couple years, I also skimmed through The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan. Among other things, he suggests that a lot of what we eat, our grandparents wouldn't even recognize as food. He also talks about farming and environmental impacts of the way we farm and concerns about sustainability. Here's an article I just looked at in the past week. http://www.good.is/post/hold-the-lamb-eat-more-lentils-new-guide-ranks-proteins-by-carbon-footprint/
This past spring , I watched Food, Inc. and saw some of the conditions that some of our livestock are raised in and the copious amounts of corn fed to our cows, for example. I was amazed to learn about corn and its ubiquity in food and other products available in our grocery stores. I started reading labels. Wow. Corn.
Simultaneously, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer and I began facilitating a young women's breast cancer support group for the Cancer Support Community. I researched links between diet and breast cancer. New insights are gained all the time, but here is a reliable, balanced link: http://www.livestrong.com/article/377091-is-there-a-link-between-breast-cancer-diet/s
What does this have to do with mental health/emotional well being?
I'm about to make a weird leap, but I hope you'll stick with me: many people have heard of the Butterfly Effect, which is really a demonstration of 'chaos theory.' (A butterfly flutters its wings in Peru and it causes a wind effect that eventually leads to a hurricane in Australia). The idea is that seemingly chaotic, random events may be caused by a precise set of circumstances at the start - if we can isolate all the beginning variables, then we can understand how the so-called chaotic event happened.
Really, it's just that I believe everything is interconnected. How I care about myself, how I care about the planet, how I care about all living creatures makes a difference. How you care about yourself, the planet, others, makes a difference. We might make little differences - at least that's what we see, but it's possible, in the end, we make a big difference (just like the butterfly).
So, I'm eating more consciously. Not perfectly. It's just one little thing.
What do I mean by better? Well, lots of things. In the past few years some new information has slowly been seeping into my brain and consciousness. It began when my daughter was born and people asked me if I was going to let her have regular milk or 'organic.' "You know," these people told me, '"all the hormones they give cows is what's making girls develop younger.'" Well, come to think of it, it did seem to me like teenage girls were much more 'developed' than when I was a teenager. (This is making me think of Judy Blume!) And as a parent, suddenly it seemed important to prolong childhood as long as possible. Despite my husband protesting about the expense of it, we began buying organic milk.
This is only to say that I am no saint. My motives aren't always, initially anyway, for world betterment. I'm just saying this is how my plan to eat better began. And as you read on, I guess I am going to grossly oversimplify a lot of what some really smart people have said.
In the past couple years, I also skimmed through The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan. Among other things, he suggests that a lot of what we eat, our grandparents wouldn't even recognize as food. He also talks about farming and environmental impacts of the way we farm and concerns about sustainability. Here's an article I just looked at in the past week. http://www.good.is/post/hold-the-lamb-eat-more-lentils-new-guide-ranks-proteins-by-carbon-footprint/
This past spring , I watched Food, Inc. and saw some of the conditions that some of our livestock are raised in and the copious amounts of corn fed to our cows, for example. I was amazed to learn about corn and its ubiquity in food and other products available in our grocery stores. I started reading labels. Wow. Corn.
Simultaneously, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer and I began facilitating a young women's breast cancer support group for the Cancer Support Community. I researched links between diet and breast cancer. New insights are gained all the time, but here is a reliable, balanced link: http://www.livestrong.com/article/377091-is-there-a-link-between-breast-cancer-diet/s
What does this have to do with mental health/emotional well being?
I'm about to make a weird leap, but I hope you'll stick with me: many people have heard of the Butterfly Effect, which is really a demonstration of 'chaos theory.' (A butterfly flutters its wings in Peru and it causes a wind effect that eventually leads to a hurricane in Australia). The idea is that seemingly chaotic, random events may be caused by a precise set of circumstances at the start - if we can isolate all the beginning variables, then we can understand how the so-called chaotic event happened.
Really, it's just that I believe everything is interconnected. How I care about myself, how I care about the planet, how I care about all living creatures makes a difference. How you care about yourself, the planet, others, makes a difference. We might make little differences - at least that's what we see, but it's possible, in the end, we make a big difference (just like the butterfly).
So, I'm eating more consciously. Not perfectly. It's just one little thing.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Asking for help
In the past year or so a couple events arose in my life that gave me cause to ask for help. 1) My job was downsized and 2) my mom got breast cancer. To be blunt, those two life events sucked. But, my life hasn't sucked. There are many, many reasons my life not only hasn't sucked, but I would say has been overall, good. But, the one reason I want to talk about is how I learned to ask for help, what I am still learning about asking for help, and what I hope might be helpful to others from my experience.
For a long time I didn't know I ever needed help for anything. I come from a stubborn, proud Scotch heritage on my mom's side. My grandmother was often one to say, "Keep your pride." Asking for help, where I come from, is fine for other people, but not for us. One time I told my mom (when my kids were very small and my husband was travelling and I was working, etc.) that I thought I was having a nervous breakdown. "We don't have those," she replied. Nervous breakdowns, apparently, are not allowed in our genetic makeup. No one in my family was mean or cruel, but the idea was keep on keeping on. There's good to that, of course, but like all things, in moderation.
So, at some point, I realized that there were moments in life that I might need help - I might need someone to drive me to the airport, I might like someone to keep me company after a crime was committed in my apartment building, I might want someone to just listen.
Asking for help takes practice. It takes practice to identify when you might need it. It might take practice to overcome what you think of as your pride. It might be that the people you ask for help are not available physically or emotionally. That can be discouraging. Like everything, I've learned to keep practicing and cast a wide net.
When the tough stuff has come up for me recently, I've cast a wide net by using email. I emailed my personal, trusted extended group of friends. I pretty much said, 'keep me and my family in your thoughts.' The support, kindness, commiseration, and love I felt...well, I can't thank those people enough. Help came in many, many forms - from encouraging emails, to job leads, to articles about breast cancer.
In having some trouble asking for help, I know I am not alone. But, I think I'm doing a little better. Like most of what has worked for my mental health is - try giving it a try. Then, keep trying - if you ask the wrong people, try other people. If you don't get the help you want or need this time, tweak it the next time. Be specific. Acknowledge your losses, but be grateful for what you have.
On a slight tangent, I'd like to acknowledge my friend and fellow poet, Kelli Allen who is doing some awesome work with poetry and vets. If you love poetry and/or music lyrics, you may be especially interested and especially hopeful that this Missouri Warrior Writers Project might be the right help for some people at the right time. Here's a link to her blog: http://mowarriorwriters.wordpress.com/blog/
Take care!
For a long time I didn't know I ever needed help for anything. I come from a stubborn, proud Scotch heritage on my mom's side. My grandmother was often one to say, "Keep your pride." Asking for help, where I come from, is fine for other people, but not for us. One time I told my mom (when my kids were very small and my husband was travelling and I was working, etc.) that I thought I was having a nervous breakdown. "We don't have those," she replied. Nervous breakdowns, apparently, are not allowed in our genetic makeup. No one in my family was mean or cruel, but the idea was keep on keeping on. There's good to that, of course, but like all things, in moderation.
So, at some point, I realized that there were moments in life that I might need help - I might need someone to drive me to the airport, I might like someone to keep me company after a crime was committed in my apartment building, I might want someone to just listen.
Asking for help takes practice. It takes practice to identify when you might need it. It might take practice to overcome what you think of as your pride. It might be that the people you ask for help are not available physically or emotionally. That can be discouraging. Like everything, I've learned to keep practicing and cast a wide net.
When the tough stuff has come up for me recently, I've cast a wide net by using email. I emailed my personal, trusted extended group of friends. I pretty much said, 'keep me and my family in your thoughts.' The support, kindness, commiseration, and love I felt...well, I can't thank those people enough. Help came in many, many forms - from encouraging emails, to job leads, to articles about breast cancer.
In having some trouble asking for help, I know I am not alone. But, I think I'm doing a little better. Like most of what has worked for my mental health is - try giving it a try. Then, keep trying - if you ask the wrong people, try other people. If you don't get the help you want or need this time, tweak it the next time. Be specific. Acknowledge your losses, but be grateful for what you have.
On a slight tangent, I'd like to acknowledge my friend and fellow poet, Kelli Allen who is doing some awesome work with poetry and vets. If you love poetry and/or music lyrics, you may be especially interested and especially hopeful that this Missouri Warrior Writers Project might be the right help for some people at the right time. Here's a link to her blog: http://mowarriorwriters.wordpress.com/blog/
Take care!
Thursday, December 2, 2010
The beginning...
This blog is something I've been interested in doing for a while and I am ridiculously nervous to sit down and write my first entry. What's my intention? Why Thirteen Ways? What is going to happen here?
I'll start with Thirteen Ways; it's from the title of Wallace Stevens' poem, Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird , which is one of the first poems I ever loved. One aspect of the poem that is important to me and that I hope to generally convey here is that a blackbird can look like and mean and be many things. So can a poem. So can a life event. So can a person. So can mental health.
I hope this blog will be a vehicle to share, briefly, my own thoughts about - for lack of better words - "mental health," to sift through a little bit of media that I've found meaningful and that makes comment on the human condition. I'd like to encourage dialogue about the aspects of life that hold particular interest for me - creativity, compassion, working for peace, and spirituality.
In Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind, by Shunryu Suzuki the prologue states, "In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert's there are few." So, let that be about all I'll say. This writing project is full of possibilities and I hope you enjoy the journey with me.
To finish up this entry, I'd like to make a book recommendation: The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman . It's a young adult book that won the Newberry Award in the past couple of years. It was given to my son as a Halloween gift and luckily I took a close look at it and realized it was too scary for a first grader, but just right for me. I love the hero's journey and this book adds to that tradition, creating a world that is full of magic, fear, kindness, courage. Hope you like it.
I'll start with Thirteen Ways; it's from the title of Wallace Stevens' poem, Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird , which is one of the first poems I ever loved. One aspect of the poem that is important to me and that I hope to generally convey here is that a blackbird can look like and mean and be many things. So can a poem. So can a life event. So can a person. So can mental health.
I hope this blog will be a vehicle to share, briefly, my own thoughts about - for lack of better words - "mental health," to sift through a little bit of media that I've found meaningful and that makes comment on the human condition. I'd like to encourage dialogue about the aspects of life that hold particular interest for me - creativity, compassion, working for peace, and spirituality.
In Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind, by Shunryu Suzuki the prologue states, "In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert's there are few." So, let that be about all I'll say. This writing project is full of possibilities and I hope you enjoy the journey with me.
To finish up this entry, I'd like to make a book recommendation: The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman . It's a young adult book that won the Newberry Award in the past couple of years. It was given to my son as a Halloween gift and luckily I took a close look at it and realized it was too scary for a first grader, but just right for me. I love the hero's journey and this book adds to that tradition, creating a world that is full of magic, fear, kindness, courage. Hope you like it.
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