Monday, May 30, 2016
Goodbye, Dad
My Dad passed away at 5:46 pm. I was with him and holding his hand as he went. It was very peaceful.
An amazing thing happened as Dad was taking his last breaths. The hospital bed had built-in music and had been playing this quiet classical music. As his breathing slowed and the monitor showed that his heart was stopping, there was a sound of bells ringing. At first I thought it was an alarm on the monitor, but I realized that wasn't it. The bells got louder and louder. My friend was with me and we were stunned, as it felt like bells from Heaven, but we were still on earth in a hospital room in Sun City! We finally realized that the music had changed and the bells started ringing just as Dad's body was letting go. It went on for a few minutes. The nurses came into the room and were also struck with wonder. It was amazing. One of them said, "It's like the bells of Heaven welcoming him." I think that's just what it was.
It was so amazing that I can't even wrap my head around it.
Dad started to feel sick at the care center last night and eventually became unresponsive. They took him to the hospital, where he never regained consciousness. As it turns out he had a severe urinary tract infection that led to sepsis. (He had been fighting a UTI for years and could never shake it. In fact, several of his hospitalizations were due to UTI and sepsis.) He also had acute pancreatitis and a blockage in one of his bile ducts. His organs were shutting down. His heart could not pump hard enough to perfuse his organs--his blood pressure was so very low. It is almost certain that he had suffered an anoxic brain injury; his pupils weren't responsive. He needed special medicines to keep him alive while the doctors ran lab tests and performed their evaluations. As the big picture became clear, it was evident that Dad's body was finally saying, "I'm done."
During all of this, I held Dad's hand and told him that we loved him. Incredibly, at one point he actually opened his eyes and looked at me. It took a few seconds for him to focus, but he looked me in the eye. I told him again that he was loved and I mentioned all 5 of his children by name. I really think that he was with me for about a minute before he closed his eyes again and I kissed him on the forehead.
So we stopped the medicines that were making his heart pump and let God take over. I sat holding his hand for about 20 minutes before he took his last breath. Once or twice I thought maybe he would rally--maybe this wasn't really going to happen--but I knew. He went very peacefully and quietly.
And then the bells rang out.
It was his time. There is no doubt. It was coming for years, yet it seemed so fast and sudden.
My Dad was a good man. He could be a huge pain-in-the-backside and he knew how to push people’s buttons (especially mine these last few years), but he had a special bond with each of his children. He had a silly sense of humor and could be very mischievous. He hated the food at the care center (he never liked anything nutritious!) and insisted on using his debit card to call in orders for pizza all the time, and we had many arguments over that. Yet, I am thrilled that his last meal was pizza!
This whole day seemed prearranged by fate. I knew it was coming and I even knew that it was likely to be that damned UTI that somehow would be responsible. And yet I sit here in disbelief. People who are close to me know that my Dad could drive me crazy and I stressed over making sure he was cared for and happy. In the last few years I was more of a life manager than a daughter. All those daughter feelings are rising up to the surface now and I am grieving the loss of my Daddy.
My Dad saved me when I was about 14 years old. My family life was not good and I had tried to commit suicide and I had run away from home multiple times. I was failing in school. I was in danger of getting into the juvenile justice system until my Dad said, "Wait. I want her." And he took me to live with him. He had his flaws and he was not the perfect father, but he always loved me unconditionally. He always believed in my potential. Within a few weeks I was on the honor roll and stayed there throughout college. I developed a very close bond with him. While life changed for both of us over the years, that bond remained.
I owe a lot to my Dad. My life could have gone in a completely different direction if he had not loved me and believed in me. The power of unconditional love is beyond description. Even when we had our differences these last few years, there was that powerful bond and now he trusted me to do what was right for him. It was hard watching his body break down, but he always maintained his sense of humor and he was never shy about telling everyone how great all his kids are and how much he loves them and is proud of them. He really thought I walked on water and could do no wrong. We all know that's far from the truth, but it's sure nice to know that my Daddy believed that.
I know his spirit will live in me and my sisters and brother. I'm glad he is no longer suffering, and that we don't have to suffer for him anymore. I am sad and feeling the loss deep in my soul, but I am also grateful that our bond came full circle and I could be there to see him off, and to hear the bells of Heaven ringing as his soul was welcomed home.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Selected Nepal Journal Entries: Here We Go!
One year ago this month I was in Nepal. That trip was a defining experience for me. I am, of course, richer for having experienced a new culture and from seeing Mt Everest. It is definitely a notch on my belt, an accomplishment that I can be proud of. But the personal, internal changes that resulted are still being processed. It has been a year already and I realize that I am not the person I was when I got on the plane last September. In fact, my life and my identity have changed significantly since then.
To commemorate the anniversary of my trip, I pulled out my journal and decided to share some of the personal details. It was not simply a trek in the Himalayas. It was the start of a more spiritual type of trek for me.
At about 9:45 this morning, Debbie arrived at my house to take me to the airport. She gave me this journal...and the pen, too! Debbie is a true blessing in my life. Over the last few months, during the buildup to today, I've spent a lot of time reflecting on the many blessings in my life. There are some truly incredible people in my life.
Something I'm also coming to realize and accept is that I am a truly incredible person in my own right.
It's 1:16 pm and I'm on a plane to Houston. Waiting to take off.
It begins. Here come the tears...
-----------------
On the flight to Houston--
It embarrasses me that I cry so easily and so often. On the other hand, I see it as proof that I am a good person. I feel things. I go deeper than I think many people do and I value that. I wish I could control it sometimes. I wish I didn't feel like it makes me appear weak--I actually think I am one of the strongest people I know!
And here I am on my way to Khatmandu.
How strange it is to say that! Those words are coming out of ME! I keep hearing that Bob Seger song running through my head--I think that's where I first heard the word "Khatmandu." I never thought, way back when I first heard it, that it would be a place I would go.
I first heard of Nepal while watching "Raiders of the Lost Ark" many, many years ago. Again, never associated it with me. Just thought of it as some faraway, exotic, fantastical place out of my reality.
And Mt Everest? Ha! I wonder when it hit me that I could see and experience these places? How did I arrive here--on this plane, on this adventure? How is it possible that my small world has become so large and I am stretching my limits and pushing past boundaries that I never realized were there? When did they disappear?
I suppose they were never there, not really. Or that was a different reality. What is reality?
Wow, that's a whole other direction I may go in at another time. For now, I'm just amazed that I am here on this plane, beginning a journey that actually began a long time ago.
What will happen to me on this trip? What will I see? Who will I meet? I expect to meet myself, if that makes any sense. I'm thinking I will have some interactions with God. I will face fear. I've already faced fear just by booking the trip and getting on the plane. How will my body handle the altitude? How will my psyche handle the discomforts, the physical challenges, the emotional challenges of traveling alone?
We're landing in Houston.
Houston International Airport
It truly is international, but I think the Doha airport is going to seem much more exotic to me. I had to walk quite a ways to an area of the airport that I imagine most people I know never see. I walked past Emirates Air, which I've seen advertised at pro tennis tournaments. I even have a "Fly Emirates" cap. And then there's Qatar Air.
Quite a variety of people. Mostly they look Indian or Sri Lankan to me. But my experience with that part of the world is limited, so maybe they were Pakistani or Afghani(?) or some other nationality.
Backtracking a bit...
I met a woman on the flight to Houston who is traveling to meet up with her husband for their 35th wedding anniversary celebration. He lives in Oklahoma temporarily because of his job. She was impressed by what I'm doing. I think 35 years of marriage--especially happy marriage--is impressive.
I spoke with my friend, Lesley, while waiting for my flight in Phoenix. Lesley was so excited about this trip and asking a million questions. "I get to live vicariously through you," she said. Lesley has an awesome husband and is raising an amazing little boy. I think what she's doing--raising a child--is a pretty impressive undertaking. I think it takes more courage to live her life.
Back in Phoenix I lost a jacket I was carrying. I had to walk back to where I left it and as I got there I saw a bright, shiny, heads-up penny on the floor. It was right there in the middle of the walkway just waiting for me. In the past few weeks no pennies had shown themselves until the last few days. They were all tails-up, though, so I flipped them for the next person. Today--at the airport--was the perfect time for MY penny to show up!
We are backing away from Gate D7 in Houston. I'm in the window seat, 24K, looking at the bright crescent moon. Cute guy in 24I. Lots of military on this flight. I see one other solo white girl. Here we go. All the middle seats are open. Cool! We can spread out some.
Ok, I'll be back. Got 14+ hours in 24K.
To commemorate the anniversary of my trip, I pulled out my journal and decided to share some of the personal details. It was not simply a trek in the Himalayas. It was the start of a more spiritual type of trek for me.
September 30, 2011
I can't really say this is the beginning because this trip has been in the works for years. For years it was just a dream, and then, literally, for the last two years I've been making the real, solid plans: settling on an itinerary, choosing an outfitter, accumulating the necessary gear, conditioning my body--not to mention my mind--and working out care for my beloved cats and my house for the month that I will be gone. All of this has taken so much time, so much energy, and immeasurable emotion.At about 9:45 this morning, Debbie arrived at my house to take me to the airport. She gave me this journal...and the pen, too! Debbie is a true blessing in my life. Over the last few months, during the buildup to today, I've spent a lot of time reflecting on the many blessings in my life. There are some truly incredible people in my life.
Something I'm also coming to realize and accept is that I am a truly incredible person in my own right.
It's 1:16 pm and I'm on a plane to Houston. Waiting to take off.
It begins. Here come the tears...
-----------------
On the flight to Houston--
It embarrasses me that I cry so easily and so often. On the other hand, I see it as proof that I am a good person. I feel things. I go deeper than I think many people do and I value that. I wish I could control it sometimes. I wish I didn't feel like it makes me appear weak--I actually think I am one of the strongest people I know!
And here I am on my way to Khatmandu.
How strange it is to say that! Those words are coming out of ME! I keep hearing that Bob Seger song running through my head--I think that's where I first heard the word "Khatmandu." I never thought, way back when I first heard it, that it would be a place I would go.
I first heard of Nepal while watching "Raiders of the Lost Ark" many, many years ago. Again, never associated it with me. Just thought of it as some faraway, exotic, fantastical place out of my reality.
And Mt Everest? Ha! I wonder when it hit me that I could see and experience these places? How did I arrive here--on this plane, on this adventure? How is it possible that my small world has become so large and I am stretching my limits and pushing past boundaries that I never realized were there? When did they disappear?
I suppose they were never there, not really. Or that was a different reality. What is reality?
Wow, that's a whole other direction I may go in at another time. For now, I'm just amazed that I am here on this plane, beginning a journey that actually began a long time ago.
What will happen to me on this trip? What will I see? Who will I meet? I expect to meet myself, if that makes any sense. I'm thinking I will have some interactions with God. I will face fear. I've already faced fear just by booking the trip and getting on the plane. How will my body handle the altitude? How will my psyche handle the discomforts, the physical challenges, the emotional challenges of traveling alone?
We're landing in Houston.
Houston International Airport
It truly is international, but I think the Doha airport is going to seem much more exotic to me. I had to walk quite a ways to an area of the airport that I imagine most people I know never see. I walked past Emirates Air, which I've seen advertised at pro tennis tournaments. I even have a "Fly Emirates" cap. And then there's Qatar Air.
Quite a variety of people. Mostly they look Indian or Sri Lankan to me. But my experience with that part of the world is limited, so maybe they were Pakistani or Afghani(?) or some other nationality.
Backtracking a bit...
I met a woman on the flight to Houston who is traveling to meet up with her husband for their 35th wedding anniversary celebration. He lives in Oklahoma temporarily because of his job. She was impressed by what I'm doing. I think 35 years of marriage--especially happy marriage--is impressive.
I spoke with my friend, Lesley, while waiting for my flight in Phoenix. Lesley was so excited about this trip and asking a million questions. "I get to live vicariously through you," she said. Lesley has an awesome husband and is raising an amazing little boy. I think what she's doing--raising a child--is a pretty impressive undertaking. I think it takes more courage to live her life.
Back in Phoenix I lost a jacket I was carrying. I had to walk back to where I left it and as I got there I saw a bright, shiny, heads-up penny on the floor. It was right there in the middle of the walkway just waiting for me. In the past few weeks no pennies had shown themselves until the last few days. They were all tails-up, though, so I flipped them for the next person. Today--at the airport--was the perfect time for MY penny to show up!
We are backing away from Gate D7 in Houston. I'm in the window seat, 24K, looking at the bright crescent moon. Cute guy in 24I. Lots of military on this flight. I see one other solo white girl. Here we go. All the middle seats are open. Cool! We can spread out some.
Ok, I'll be back. Got 14+ hours in 24K.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Avalanche---Christmas Eve 2011
For a woman who hates cold and snow, I find it curious that I am so enthralled by mountains, especially snow-covered ones. There's something very spiritual--divine, I think--about mountains. They reach up into the sky, above it all. There are closer to heaven than anyplace else upon which our own bodies can carry us. They are raw, harsh, desolate, and can be life-taking. Yet they are also life-giving. Life-changing.
A few nights ago I dreamed I was in a mountaineering class. We were being taught about avalanches. The instructor told us that 1/3 of people caught in avalanches land upside down, but that they can't tell that they are upside down. I don't know if this is true in reality, but it was important in my dream.
In the dream, I was not worried about being caught in an avalanche. After all, when am I ever close enough to a snowy mountain to be swept away? That was my thought.
Then, suddenly, I was swept away by an avalanche. No warning, no time to react. Just tumbling over and over and over. No control. No idea when it would stop. And then it did stop, but I was buried. And I could not tell whether I was right side up or upside down. I didn't know what to do, how to dig out. How far down I was buried, I did not know. I didn't know what to do. I felt panic---in my dream.
When I awoke I had a feeling of fear and overwhelm. And I remembered the dream. That in itself is amazing as I rarely remember my dreams, let alone the amount of detail I recalled from this one.
It was obvious to me why I had this dream. Dad was in the hospital again and dealing with him and his issues for the last 3 years has taken it's toll. I don't know what to do anymore--or not do. Work is another area where I'm not sure what to do. I recently met with my financial advisor and talked a bit about what I should do as far as my house and my underwater mortgage. And I had my 49th birthday, started Year 50 of my life. I've been doing a lot of soul searching.
Hence the avalanche metaphor. Climbing mountains can be life-affirming, confidence building, spiritually rewarding. It can also kill you.
A few nights ago I dreamed I was in a mountaineering class. We were being taught about avalanches. The instructor told us that 1/3 of people caught in avalanches land upside down, but that they can't tell that they are upside down. I don't know if this is true in reality, but it was important in my dream.
In the dream, I was not worried about being caught in an avalanche. After all, when am I ever close enough to a snowy mountain to be swept away? That was my thought.
Then, suddenly, I was swept away by an avalanche. No warning, no time to react. Just tumbling over and over and over. No control. No idea when it would stop. And then it did stop, but I was buried. And I could not tell whether I was right side up or upside down. I didn't know what to do, how to dig out. How far down I was buried, I did not know. I didn't know what to do. I felt panic---in my dream.
When I awoke I had a feeling of fear and overwhelm. And I remembered the dream. That in itself is amazing as I rarely remember my dreams, let alone the amount of detail I recalled from this one.
It was obvious to me why I had this dream. Dad was in the hospital again and dealing with him and his issues for the last 3 years has taken it's toll. I don't know what to do anymore--or not do. Work is another area where I'm not sure what to do. I recently met with my financial advisor and talked a bit about what I should do as far as my house and my underwater mortgage. And I had my 49th birthday, started Year 50 of my life. I've been doing a lot of soul searching.
Hence the avalanche metaphor. Climbing mountains can be life-affirming, confidence building, spiritually rewarding. It can also kill you.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Good Energy
Last weekend someone said to me, "You have a really good energy." It was a completely unexpected comment, not something I'd ever even dreamed of hearing someone say to me. It meant a lot. There are a few things that people have said to me about myself over the years that stand out in my memory for the positive feelings they evoked. In my late 30s I played softball (3rd base) on a team with my physical therapy school classmates, all of whom were at least a decade younger. Out of the blue, one of my classmates told me that I was very athletic. The opposing team had made a comment about my "golden glove" and my ability to throw runners out at first base. It was a compliment that changed my perception of myself. When I mentioned it to my sister, she said, "You didn't know that you are athletic?" For years I had valued athleticism and dreamed of being good at sports, but always felt mediocre and unsure. I had no idea how others viewed me. When I found out, I felt really good. That was more than 10 years ago and the words still boost my self-esteem.
Until last weekend, it was the best compliment I'd ever received. When the compliment about being athletic came, I was just playing the game, doing my job, focusing, and being present. When Angie made the comment about my "good energy," I was not aware of or even thinking about how I was being perceived. I did not realize that I was having an effect on others. I was not self-conscious. This is a change for me. I was just being. However, I had noticed in the days before that people seemed to be responding to me differently than what I am used to. I had been having an unusual number of positive interactions with people and I did not feel as if I was behaving differently. So many people seemed to be uncommonly happy and friendly and helpful that it was making me feel really good about the human race. Something was different. I could feel it but could not explain it. It was happening so often that I'd started to think that maybe the difference was me, the only common denominator. Maybe something in me has changed and it's having a positive effect on people around me.
Maybe some of the spiritual/emotional work that I have been doing these last few months is making a difference. Self-esteem and worthiness have been the main areas of focus. I have struggled with these issues for as long as I can remember. It has been so difficult that I have contemplated suicide on many occasions. I even attempted suicide once when I was 14 years old. I hesitate to admit that because it scares people, but it's the truth. It is not something I would actually do. I have been on the other side of suicide; my uncle killed himself when I was 17 and I know what that does to the people who are left behind. I would never put my loved ones through that. I've also come to believe that our souls have certain lessons to learn and if we don't learn them, don't face our demons and expand ourselves through these difficult trials, then we will have to face them again in the next incarnation. I look at it as if I have no choice--I have to deal with these issues sooner or later. They will not go away, ever. I can choose to remain unhappy, sad, unfulfilled or I can choose an expansive, fulfilling, soul-nourishing life. It's really not a choice.
One of the things I realized is that self-esteem and feelings of worthiness come from within, but I've been trying to get them from outside myself. When I was in school, my validation came from good grades and kudos from my professors. When I was married, I lived for validation from my husband (which gave him a lot of control over me as I now see). While external validation can be helpful, it is just that: validation. It confirms something that already exists, that is already valid. In my case, I've spent most of my life trying to validate my own worth. Here, approaching a half century in, I am truly starting to recognize and accept my own value. For people who were born with (and then never lost) or whose families instilled this sense of their own worth in their psyches, it may be difficult to understand this concept. But for me, it is only recently that I have begun to recognize that I am worthy, I am valuable, I am good enough simply by virtue of the fact that I am.
I think this shift started when I entered physical therapy school. My classmates and I joked about the first semester of PT school being "PT boot camp;" where they break you down and then mold you into something new and better. Getting into PT school was extremely competitive and stressful. There were over 300 applicants vying for 62 spots. So we were all pretty much the cream of the crop academically. And then we started that first semester of anatomy. About half of us struggled to the point where we were offered special help. We were put in what they called "the elite group." All these academically gifted people from all walks were now in one place and a reshuffling started to occur. No longer was I at the top of my class, I was in "the elite group." There were lots of people as smart as, and obviously, smarter, than I. It was public. For me, it was emotionally devastating because my whole self-concept was wrapped up in my academic accomplishments. Yet, what came out of this was more valuable than any other learning I received from a book or classroom.
What happened was that those of us in "the elite group" bonded. We studied together. We started carpooling together, having lunch together, socializing outside of school hours. I had not felt part of a social group in so long that I had forgotten how wonderful it felt. (What I realize now is that my self esteem was so pathetic that I did not know how to be part of a social group.) We cheered for each other and were there for each other. I remember one day we had a test, and my friends finished before I did. When I left the room, they were waiting in the hall for me. I was stunned, and touched so much that I remember it still. What I had observed so many times from the sidelines, what I thought only happened for other people, was finally happening for me! What other people expected and took for granted was huge for me. They waited for me because they cared and they were my friends.
I had given up ever expecting something as commonplace, as normal, as that. Most of my life I felt insignificant. I knew my family loved me, but I felt irrelevant to the rest of the world. One of my strongest memories is from when I ran in my very first 10k. I had never been a runner (remember how that compliment about being athletic was such a big deal), so training for this and getting up enough nerve to enter this race was challenging. I was really looking forward to it and was very excited. The morning of the race, my husband got mad at me. I have no idea why; I can't remember the details. I remember the big picture. The big picture was that at the last minute he decided not to go and cheer me on. I rode to the race with a friend and her husband, who finished ahead of me. When I crossed the finish line, I wanted to cry from my excitement of this accomplishment. I watched other people cross the finish line to cheers from their friends and hugs from their loved ones. When I crossed the finish line, I was alone. My friends were not waiting for me--they were off listening to the band. My husband had not come because he wanted to punish me for something. Which he did. The excitement faded and the accomplishment was hollow.
That's how I came to expect everything to be. But now people were waiting in the hall for me.
"PT boot camp" took away the validation I had always gotten through my academic performance. It gave me the opportunity to start finding validation within myself. The Universe provided some amazing people to help me begin this journey. They saw some value in me just because I was me. And when my husband decided he wanted a divorce, the words, "well, you've got your school friends" and "you're just going to leave me for someone you meet at school anyway" told me that he sensed a change in me that shook the foundation of our marriage. My value to him was that I needed him to provide my sense of self-worth. In that way, he was important. When I started to develop some self esteem, I lost value because I did not need him for that any longer. I did not realize this at the time, of course. It's only in hindsight that I can put it all together. That was the start of "Me, Part Two" I believe.
Obviously, I have always relied on other people to make me feel good about myself. If they deem that I am worthy, then it must be so. If they deem otherwise, then that must also be so. I gave, and still give, that power to other people. That was the case with my ex-husband, who I allowed to manipulate my feelings about myself for many years. It has been the case in many of my relationships, both romantic and platonic. In fact, I think it is the reason that many relationships have never developed at all. While my ex-husband used to call me a snob and labelled me "antisocial", the real reason that I have trouble initiating friendships is that I have not felt worthy. I would not call people or invite them to do something with me because I did not feel like I was good enough to do so. If they thought I was good enough to be with them, they would reach out. How could I presume to walk up the street and just start talking to the neighbor uninvited? What gave me the right to call someone's home? Somewhere along the line I started to look at other people and wonder, "What makes them any more valuable than I am?" The answer has started to emerge: nothing. Nothing makes them any more valuable than I am.
It has been a long, painful, and very lonely process to exhume positive, loving feelings toward myself. They are down there; I must have been born with them and learned to bury them. I'm an expert at it. Although I have come a long way in the last few years, with a huge acceleration in recent months, I still fight a constant internal battle. It is more natural for me to think that I am secondary and other people's opinions are more important, their desires are more important, their inherent worth is greater than mine than it is for me to think that I am as important and valuable as anyone. It takes a conscious effort to keep from sinking into that dark abyss. It is getting easier. I am starting to accept that I have an inherent value to the world. It is not enough to realize it, I have had to actually accept it. It's okay to believe that I am okay. And believing that I am okay, that I'm actually pretty amazing, makes me a better person to be around. It leads to good energy.
Although I do not rely on other people's judgments of me anywhere nearly as much to determine how I feel about myself, it's still really nice to hear, "You've got a really good energy."
Until last weekend, it was the best compliment I'd ever received. When the compliment about being athletic came, I was just playing the game, doing my job, focusing, and being present. When Angie made the comment about my "good energy," I was not aware of or even thinking about how I was being perceived. I did not realize that I was having an effect on others. I was not self-conscious. This is a change for me. I was just being. However, I had noticed in the days before that people seemed to be responding to me differently than what I am used to. I had been having an unusual number of positive interactions with people and I did not feel as if I was behaving differently. So many people seemed to be uncommonly happy and friendly and helpful that it was making me feel really good about the human race. Something was different. I could feel it but could not explain it. It was happening so often that I'd started to think that maybe the difference was me, the only common denominator. Maybe something in me has changed and it's having a positive effect on people around me.
Maybe some of the spiritual/emotional work that I have been doing these last few months is making a difference. Self-esteem and worthiness have been the main areas of focus. I have struggled with these issues for as long as I can remember. It has been so difficult that I have contemplated suicide on many occasions. I even attempted suicide once when I was 14 years old. I hesitate to admit that because it scares people, but it's the truth. It is not something I would actually do. I have been on the other side of suicide; my uncle killed himself when I was 17 and I know what that does to the people who are left behind. I would never put my loved ones through that. I've also come to believe that our souls have certain lessons to learn and if we don't learn them, don't face our demons and expand ourselves through these difficult trials, then we will have to face them again in the next incarnation. I look at it as if I have no choice--I have to deal with these issues sooner or later. They will not go away, ever. I can choose to remain unhappy, sad, unfulfilled or I can choose an expansive, fulfilling, soul-nourishing life. It's really not a choice.
One of the things I realized is that self-esteem and feelings of worthiness come from within, but I've been trying to get them from outside myself. When I was in school, my validation came from good grades and kudos from my professors. When I was married, I lived for validation from my husband (which gave him a lot of control over me as I now see). While external validation can be helpful, it is just that: validation. It confirms something that already exists, that is already valid. In my case, I've spent most of my life trying to validate my own worth. Here, approaching a half century in, I am truly starting to recognize and accept my own value. For people who were born with (and then never lost) or whose families instilled this sense of their own worth in their psyches, it may be difficult to understand this concept. But for me, it is only recently that I have begun to recognize that I am worthy, I am valuable, I am good enough simply by virtue of the fact that I am.
I think this shift started when I entered physical therapy school. My classmates and I joked about the first semester of PT school being "PT boot camp;" where they break you down and then mold you into something new and better. Getting into PT school was extremely competitive and stressful. There were over 300 applicants vying for 62 spots. So we were all pretty much the cream of the crop academically. And then we started that first semester of anatomy. About half of us struggled to the point where we were offered special help. We were put in what they called "the elite group." All these academically gifted people from all walks were now in one place and a reshuffling started to occur. No longer was I at the top of my class, I was in "the elite group." There were lots of people as smart as, and obviously, smarter, than I. It was public. For me, it was emotionally devastating because my whole self-concept was wrapped up in my academic accomplishments. Yet, what came out of this was more valuable than any other learning I received from a book or classroom.
What happened was that those of us in "the elite group" bonded. We studied together. We started carpooling together, having lunch together, socializing outside of school hours. I had not felt part of a social group in so long that I had forgotten how wonderful it felt. (What I realize now is that my self esteem was so pathetic that I did not know how to be part of a social group.) We cheered for each other and were there for each other. I remember one day we had a test, and my friends finished before I did. When I left the room, they were waiting in the hall for me. I was stunned, and touched so much that I remember it still. What I had observed so many times from the sidelines, what I thought only happened for other people, was finally happening for me! What other people expected and took for granted was huge for me. They waited for me because they cared and they were my friends.
I had given up ever expecting something as commonplace, as normal, as that. Most of my life I felt insignificant. I knew my family loved me, but I felt irrelevant to the rest of the world. One of my strongest memories is from when I ran in my very first 10k. I had never been a runner (remember how that compliment about being athletic was such a big deal), so training for this and getting up enough nerve to enter this race was challenging. I was really looking forward to it and was very excited. The morning of the race, my husband got mad at me. I have no idea why; I can't remember the details. I remember the big picture. The big picture was that at the last minute he decided not to go and cheer me on. I rode to the race with a friend and her husband, who finished ahead of me. When I crossed the finish line, I wanted to cry from my excitement of this accomplishment. I watched other people cross the finish line to cheers from their friends and hugs from their loved ones. When I crossed the finish line, I was alone. My friends were not waiting for me--they were off listening to the band. My husband had not come because he wanted to punish me for something. Which he did. The excitement faded and the accomplishment was hollow.
That's how I came to expect everything to be. But now people were waiting in the hall for me.
"PT boot camp" took away the validation I had always gotten through my academic performance. It gave me the opportunity to start finding validation within myself. The Universe provided some amazing people to help me begin this journey. They saw some value in me just because I was me. And when my husband decided he wanted a divorce, the words, "well, you've got your school friends" and "you're just going to leave me for someone you meet at school anyway" told me that he sensed a change in me that shook the foundation of our marriage. My value to him was that I needed him to provide my sense of self-worth. In that way, he was important. When I started to develop some self esteem, I lost value because I did not need him for that any longer. I did not realize this at the time, of course. It's only in hindsight that I can put it all together. That was the start of "Me, Part Two" I believe.
Obviously, I have always relied on other people to make me feel good about myself. If they deem that I am worthy, then it must be so. If they deem otherwise, then that must also be so. I gave, and still give, that power to other people. That was the case with my ex-husband, who I allowed to manipulate my feelings about myself for many years. It has been the case in many of my relationships, both romantic and platonic. In fact, I think it is the reason that many relationships have never developed at all. While my ex-husband used to call me a snob and labelled me "antisocial", the real reason that I have trouble initiating friendships is that I have not felt worthy. I would not call people or invite them to do something with me because I did not feel like I was good enough to do so. If they thought I was good enough to be with them, they would reach out. How could I presume to walk up the street and just start talking to the neighbor uninvited? What gave me the right to call someone's home? Somewhere along the line I started to look at other people and wonder, "What makes them any more valuable than I am?" The answer has started to emerge: nothing. Nothing makes them any more valuable than I am.
It has been a long, painful, and very lonely process to exhume positive, loving feelings toward myself. They are down there; I must have been born with them and learned to bury them. I'm an expert at it. Although I have come a long way in the last few years, with a huge acceleration in recent months, I still fight a constant internal battle. It is more natural for me to think that I am secondary and other people's opinions are more important, their desires are more important, their inherent worth is greater than mine than it is for me to think that I am as important and valuable as anyone. It takes a conscious effort to keep from sinking into that dark abyss. It is getting easier. I am starting to accept that I have an inherent value to the world. It is not enough to realize it, I have had to actually accept it. It's okay to believe that I am okay. And believing that I am okay, that I'm actually pretty amazing, makes me a better person to be around. It leads to good energy.
Although I do not rely on other people's judgments of me anywhere nearly as much to determine how I feel about myself, it's still really nice to hear, "You've got a really good energy."
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Finding My Voice
Somewhere deep inside me there is a writer. She has a strong voice that will speak to and for many people, including myself. I know that. Right? In moments of inspiration I get some clarity about who I am and what I want to say. I get excited and an idea of what I will say and how I will say it forms. Then I get to my computer, or find a private moment to write it down, and it fades. I sit and stare. I worry about who will want to read this, what people will think of me. I worry about people I know reading it and judging me negatively and then having to face them. I worry about offending people. I have a strong fear of opening myself up too much, of letting people see too deeply, too intimately, and how that will affect my life. Yet, I've found many times that doing just that opens doors and leads to amazing relationships and experiences.
Could that be the biggest thing that is holding me back? Fear? I've dreamed of being a writer since I was a little girl. I remember being in grade school and enthusiastically attacking any and all writing assignments. I do remember stumbling when trying to create fictional works--I have come to realize that I am not a fiction writer--but still I always loved to write. I fancied myself being a writer when I grew up. Somewhere along the way I let that dream get lost.
At the end of this year I will turn 50. I do not feel old, but the number, the sound of the word "fifty" is blowing my mind. How can this be? In my mind I am still the little girl in school excited to tackle a new writing assignment. I'm still taking a high school journalism class and considering being a reporter. I am keeping a daily diary, which I eventually edit and turn in to fulfill assignments in college classes on relationships and self-knowledge (I was going to become a family counselor by that time). The feedback I got on those assignments was always encouraging, validating. My professors got to know me on a very intimate level, but it did not extend past them--no one else saw that deeply into my soul. And I moved on after a semester and never had contact with them again. It
was actually pretty impersonal.
This writing has been a catharsis that fulfills my need to express myself. But I need more. On those few occasions when I have shared, my readers have responded in ways that have touched me and made me feel that I was helping them, too. Although I often feel like I'm the only one who feels a certain way, or notices something a certain way, when I do dare to share my perceptions and the related emotions in writing, I get feedback thanking me for expressing something that someone else has felt and been unable to express. Or maybe they just felt alone and it helped to know they are not. Recently I got what I consider to be my first fan letter. It was an email from a friend that I had not had much contact with in years. She had read my Christmas letter, which I send to old friends, and was touched by something I said. I mentioned how, despite all the amazing experiences and other facets of my life, I wish I could find a life partner. I hesitated about including that statement in my letter, but I opted to do so because I wanted people to know that my life is not perfect, no matter how awesome it sounds in those letters or on Facebook. I have dreams and unfulfilled wishes, empty spaces. This friend related to that and felt the need to thank me for those words. I was thrilled to receive her email and even now, months later, I am tearing up thinking about it.
To get back on track...I was talking about fear. I've been doing a lot of spiritual work these last few months as I try to make my 50th year the best year of my life so far. I am following two programs developed by Debbie Ford. I am working on "The 21-Day Consciousness Cleanse" and "The Best Year of Your Life." One of the things that Debbie asks is if I am acting from a place of faith or a place of fear. I am trying very hard to only act from a place of faith, but I have to admit that fear is holding me back in this particular area. It's not completely irrational. In my mind, I am also still the teenage girl with overwhelming emotions whose mother read her diary without permission. I burned that diary. I wish I still had it; I would really love to be able to recall who I was and how I saw the world then. I would like that tangible piece of my personal history. I am also still the grown woman, almost 40 years old, whose boyfriend snooped in her stuff and found her journal, then used things he read against her. Even now he still has copies of pages that contained very personal revelations that it took courage to write even believing it was for my eyes only. There are reasons for my fear. And blogging, not to mention writing a book that might get published and reach thousands of people, really puts me out there. I need to express the truth, I need to be authentic, but it sure is scary to think that some of my most intimate thoughts, dreams, feelings will be on display, public. And yet something is pulling me in this direction. I feel I have something to give.
Today I will start to face that fear. People often ask me how I have the nerve, the courage, to do some of the things I do. (As this blog unfolds you will hear about some of those things. The most recent was a trip to Nepal to hike to Mt Everest Base Camp.) "Aren't you afraid?" The answer is an emphatic, "Yes!" I am afraid. Often. But that does not stop me. It may slow me down, but it does not stop me if what I want is truly meaningful to me. Today I am starting to face the fear that has prevented me from sharing what I have to say. Maybe my voice will be a voice for others, will help others find their own voice.
This is my first blog entry. This is the start of Me, Part Two.
Could that be the biggest thing that is holding me back? Fear? I've dreamed of being a writer since I was a little girl. I remember being in grade school and enthusiastically attacking any and all writing assignments. I do remember stumbling when trying to create fictional works--I have come to realize that I am not a fiction writer--but still I always loved to write. I fancied myself being a writer when I grew up. Somewhere along the way I let that dream get lost.
At the end of this year I will turn 50. I do not feel old, but the number, the sound of the word "fifty" is blowing my mind. How can this be? In my mind I am still the little girl in school excited to tackle a new writing assignment. I'm still taking a high school journalism class and considering being a reporter. I am keeping a daily diary, which I eventually edit and turn in to fulfill assignments in college classes on relationships and self-knowledge (I was going to become a family counselor by that time). The feedback I got on those assignments was always encouraging, validating. My professors got to know me on a very intimate level, but it did not extend past them--no one else saw that deeply into my soul. And I moved on after a semester and never had contact with them again. It
was actually pretty impersonal.
This writing has been a catharsis that fulfills my need to express myself. But I need more. On those few occasions when I have shared, my readers have responded in ways that have touched me and made me feel that I was helping them, too. Although I often feel like I'm the only one who feels a certain way, or notices something a certain way, when I do dare to share my perceptions and the related emotions in writing, I get feedback thanking me for expressing something that someone else has felt and been unable to express. Or maybe they just felt alone and it helped to know they are not. Recently I got what I consider to be my first fan letter. It was an email from a friend that I had not had much contact with in years. She had read my Christmas letter, which I send to old friends, and was touched by something I said. I mentioned how, despite all the amazing experiences and other facets of my life, I wish I could find a life partner. I hesitated about including that statement in my letter, but I opted to do so because I wanted people to know that my life is not perfect, no matter how awesome it sounds in those letters or on Facebook. I have dreams and unfulfilled wishes, empty spaces. This friend related to that and felt the need to thank me for those words. I was thrilled to receive her email and even now, months later, I am tearing up thinking about it.
To get back on track...I was talking about fear. I've been doing a lot of spiritual work these last few months as I try to make my 50th year the best year of my life so far. I am following two programs developed by Debbie Ford. I am working on "The 21-Day Consciousness Cleanse" and "The Best Year of Your Life." One of the things that Debbie asks is if I am acting from a place of faith or a place of fear. I am trying very hard to only act from a place of faith, but I have to admit that fear is holding me back in this particular area. It's not completely irrational. In my mind, I am also still the teenage girl with overwhelming emotions whose mother read her diary without permission. I burned that diary. I wish I still had it; I would really love to be able to recall who I was and how I saw the world then. I would like that tangible piece of my personal history. I am also still the grown woman, almost 40 years old, whose boyfriend snooped in her stuff and found her journal, then used things he read against her. Even now he still has copies of pages that contained very personal revelations that it took courage to write even believing it was for my eyes only. There are reasons for my fear. And blogging, not to mention writing a book that might get published and reach thousands of people, really puts me out there. I need to express the truth, I need to be authentic, but it sure is scary to think that some of my most intimate thoughts, dreams, feelings will be on display, public. And yet something is pulling me in this direction. I feel I have something to give.
Today I will start to face that fear. People often ask me how I have the nerve, the courage, to do some of the things I do. (As this blog unfolds you will hear about some of those things. The most recent was a trip to Nepal to hike to Mt Everest Base Camp.) "Aren't you afraid?" The answer is an emphatic, "Yes!" I am afraid. Often. But that does not stop me. It may slow me down, but it does not stop me if what I want is truly meaningful to me. Today I am starting to face the fear that has prevented me from sharing what I have to say. Maybe my voice will be a voice for others, will help others find their own voice.
This is my first blog entry. This is the start of Me, Part Two.
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