(And I don't even know if I believe in this stuff)
Here it is...my demons right there in my weekly horoscope:
http://astrostyle.com/Scopes/Weekly_Scope/index.htm#gem
And my monthly horoscope:
http://astrostyle.com/Scopes/Monthly_Scope/monthly_gemini.htm
Showing posts with label Self-Acceptance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Self-Acceptance. Show all posts
Monday, November 3, 2008
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Tears of Recognition
I saw a seizure specialist for the first time today. It was a fiasco getting there. The hospital was completely disorganized, and the right hand did not know what the left was doing. I was sent to three different locations (in two different buildings)-- and had an inquiry by my name placed in two different computers by two different hospital staff people-- before finally being sent to the correct location for the seizure clinic.
The clinic is part of Harvard Medical School. For a good portion of my young adulthood, I wanted to attend Harvard Medical School. Life meanwhile took another direction. It was odd now to be driving past the school as a patient, and to have (presumably) one of its students (a resident perhaps?) conduct my patient interview and physical exam.
After finishing the interview and the exam, this doctor-- who I will call the "interview doctor"-- left the room, and he came back about ten or fifteen minutes later with the doctor to whom I'd originally been referred, who I will call the "recommendations doctor." She made the recommendations for next steps.
Basically, there are two things the "recommendations doctor" would like to do, to get a better understanding of what is happening in my brain. First, she would like to send me home with a portable EEG unit that I will keep on for 48 hours. During this time, it will take intermittent recordings. G. can also turn it on to do a recording if she feels I am spacing out. This provides a panaromic view of the electrical activity in my brain. The EEG I had done a while back was only a snapshot, and although it came back abnormal, provides little information.
The other thing the "recommendations doctor" would like to do is a high resolution MRI. Though the MRI I recently had been done was with contrast dye, giving us a good amount of information, the high resolution MRI will give us even more information.
The "recommendations doctor" explained to me that she is guessing I am having seizures that are impacting a large part of my brain, or indeed the whole thing. My symptoms would be more localized if the seizures were more localized.
When she first came into the room, the "recommendations doctor" asked me some clarifying timeline questions. Since my memory has been impacted in the course of my symptoms, the timeline had been difficult for me in the first place. But basically what I explained to the "interview doctor" was that I don't remember being especially symptomatic until maybe about five years ago. It has gotten slowly but progressively worse since then, and only within the last year or year and and a half was it bad enough that G. was alarmed to the point of forcing my hand so that I would see a doctor.
The clarifying questions were interesting. The "recommendations doctor" was able to use certain periods of time (for example, classes I took in high school) to help me create a better timeline. It was during that conversation when I remembered some experiences in school from early childhood. They may have been early symptoms. Tears began streaming down my face as the memories poured in. For years, those memories were markers of low academic self-esteem. Suddenly, those memories were also transformed into potential markers of a seizure disorder.
I was overcome by the need to apologize to the doctors for my tears. I felt so silly, sitting there in the clinic crying as I remembered little hardships about being a young student. The "recommendations doctor" let me know it was okay to cry. She said, "It seems to me we get a lot of tears around here. I think they are tears of recognition." Indeed.
She said that the seizures can go unnoticed for years and years even if they occur for say, as long as 30 or 45 seconds. She said she felt like intelligence could make up for large chunks of missing time. The brain just does double-time. I guess she was saying I am smart ;-). But this gets challenging as we get older, she explained, because our brains end up doing more multi-tasking as we balance our jobs and our families, and so forth. When we are younger and more focused on something like school, we have more reserves for a brain doing double duty. I don't have that luxury now, which may be why things are progressing and I was finally pushed to see a neurologist. Apparently, this isn't rare.
I had been thinking about my case as a "new(ish) onset" of seizures. Hmmm.
What an interesting day it has been.
The clinic is part of Harvard Medical School. For a good portion of my young adulthood, I wanted to attend Harvard Medical School. Life meanwhile took another direction. It was odd now to be driving past the school as a patient, and to have (presumably) one of its students (a resident perhaps?) conduct my patient interview and physical exam.
After finishing the interview and the exam, this doctor-- who I will call the "interview doctor"-- left the room, and he came back about ten or fifteen minutes later with the doctor to whom I'd originally been referred, who I will call the "recommendations doctor." She made the recommendations for next steps.
Basically, there are two things the "recommendations doctor" would like to do, to get a better understanding of what is happening in my brain. First, she would like to send me home with a portable EEG unit that I will keep on for 48 hours. During this time, it will take intermittent recordings. G. can also turn it on to do a recording if she feels I am spacing out. This provides a panaromic view of the electrical activity in my brain. The EEG I had done a while back was only a snapshot, and although it came back abnormal, provides little information.
The other thing the "recommendations doctor" would like to do is a high resolution MRI. Though the MRI I recently had been done was with contrast dye, giving us a good amount of information, the high resolution MRI will give us even more information.
The "recommendations doctor" explained to me that she is guessing I am having seizures that are impacting a large part of my brain, or indeed the whole thing. My symptoms would be more localized if the seizures were more localized.
When she first came into the room, the "recommendations doctor" asked me some clarifying timeline questions. Since my memory has been impacted in the course of my symptoms, the timeline had been difficult for me in the first place. But basically what I explained to the "interview doctor" was that I don't remember being especially symptomatic until maybe about five years ago. It has gotten slowly but progressively worse since then, and only within the last year or year and and a half was it bad enough that G. was alarmed to the point of forcing my hand so that I would see a doctor.
The clarifying questions were interesting. The "recommendations doctor" was able to use certain periods of time (for example, classes I took in high school) to help me create a better timeline. It was during that conversation when I remembered some experiences in school from early childhood. They may have been early symptoms. Tears began streaming down my face as the memories poured in. For years, those memories were markers of low academic self-esteem. Suddenly, those memories were also transformed into potential markers of a seizure disorder.
I was overcome by the need to apologize to the doctors for my tears. I felt so silly, sitting there in the clinic crying as I remembered little hardships about being a young student. The "recommendations doctor" let me know it was okay to cry. She said, "It seems to me we get a lot of tears around here. I think they are tears of recognition." Indeed.
She said that the seizures can go unnoticed for years and years even if they occur for say, as long as 30 or 45 seconds. She said she felt like intelligence could make up for large chunks of missing time. The brain just does double-time. I guess she was saying I am smart ;-). But this gets challenging as we get older, she explained, because our brains end up doing more multi-tasking as we balance our jobs and our families, and so forth. When we are younger and more focused on something like school, we have more reserves for a brain doing double duty. I don't have that luxury now, which may be why things are progressing and I was finally pushed to see a neurologist. Apparently, this isn't rare.
I had been thinking about my case as a "new(ish) onset" of seizures. Hmmm.
What an interesting day it has been.
Monday, June 30, 2008
On the Importance of Pride
It is still (g/l/b/t/q) pride month, after all, so I might as well use this time to reflect and post a little more on the topic of being a biaffectional woman married monogamously to another woman, and having children together.
It's funny how with time, we come to insulate ourselves from some of the harshness of life. Important for survival, really, but also in some ways destructive because it allows prejudice and discrimination to become unchallenged, especially to the extent it is subtle (racism, for example, is so insidious now-- and dangerous in a significant but historically different way-- in large part because in many areas of the U.S. it has become incredibly subtle).
G. and I are certain that we were born to be the way we are. We are educated enough on the destructive nature of the "ex-gay" movement, and the ineffectiveness of the work of those who claim they are "curing" gays, to feel confident that trying to change this aspect of ourselves could literally kill us. I also feel theologically, morally, and ethically comfortable with my belief that our love for one another is true and worthy, and that real love-denied is God-denied. Our love does a dis-service to no one. If someone wants to claim otherwise, I defy them to provide real, solid, scientific proof. It just isn't true.
Since I am comfortable with who I am, and with who G. and I are as a couple, being a same-sex couple has become sort of a footnote in our lives. Contrary to what "gay liberationists" might claim, I haven't assimilated. I simply have integrated all the aspects of who I am into a whole being. I could want nothing more for my children than for them to live fully into their wholeness, and so it is also a gift to myself to do so. This is of great service to me and the other people in my life.
I always wanted to be a mother, since I was a very young child. Now I am. I have always wanted to get married, to live a married life. Not because that is an expectation placed on me by society as much as I find the idea of committing myself to someone in a monogamous relationship to be a spiritually, emotionally, physically, and mentally fulfilling approach to life. I am actually probably too lazy to do anything else, too.
I am true to myself, and that is something about which I feel very good.
G. and I are so comfortable with who we are, that we rarely any more feel the need to either fly a banner or to hide it. We do enjoying "flying the banner" at pride events and gathering with others who have experienced similar things to us at times, and at other times we are too scared to hold hands, for example, when we are taking a walk on the beach. Sure. We once were walking down the street without touching one another at all, not even talking in any way that indicated we were a couple, and a man spat at us and shouted in our faces "Fucking dykes. 9-11 is YOUR fault!"
But in our day-to-day life, we just are who we are. We get up, we go to work, we take care of our kids, we have doctor's appointments and parties to attend, we mow our lawn and fix the faucet, etc. etc. In all this, there are only brief, fleeting moments when I choose between living a life of truth vs. hiding. An example of one of those moments: when chatting with the grocery store clerk about why I can't remember the pin number on the debit card (embarrasing story from the other day), do I say, "my wife" or "my partner" (to make it more gender neutral) or "my husband" (I NEVER make this choice anymore...I don't want to live a lie) doesn't feel like changing the pin number to something I can remember. And if I make it gender neutral, how do I end the sentence without saying, "she?"
Despite those fleeting moments, I have found that 90% of the time, if I approach my relationship comfortably when relating to others, they do too. Our neighbors, the other mommies at my kids playgroup...whoever...even if they skip a beat, they too are able to generally integrate the wholeness of who we are into their understanding of the world and, often, embrace us. I even like to think that by us being who we are, they come to understand us no longer as some abstract threatening concept, but as real, kind, and loving human beings who are doing no harm by being who we are.
But sometimes the "skipping a beat," the difference between whether we are tolerated, or accepted, or embraced, and if just tolerated, at what level, those fleeting moments...they do come to weigh down on us, to harm us, and they do impact our quality of life and also the type of life our children will experience.
Within the last month or so, our family attended an event of significance. Our children were playing happily a short distance from us, and someone we didn't know who was standing just a step or two from them commented that they were cute and asked the hosts "whose children?" The hostess replied that they are ours, gesturing toward G. and myself. "Ooooooh," the questioner replied with some indication of discomfort and/or disapproval in her voice, "I didn't know THEY had kids."
I pretended not to hear because it just seemed easier, and I certainly didn't want to cause any disharmony at this occassion. I never know how to handle these situations, no matter how much they come up. But I am becoming more and more aware that my kids are listening to *everything,* and they do hear this stuff, and it does come across to them as an invalidation and questioning of their very family. As benign as this described scenario sounds, just imagine its weight on a small child, especially given that it is not an isolated type of incident.
Some have used this to argue that same-sex couples shouldn't have children at all. I find that argument utterly ridiculous. Should racial minorities not have children to protect young ones from racism? I mean, REALLY.
As I play the scene I just described back over and over in my mind, I can imagine different responses. Perhaps I could have said, for example, "Yes," as I walked over to my children, "they are ours." This would have said to my children, "I am proud and unashamed of our family." But I didn't, and honestly, I don't know if there is ever a perfect response to bigotry, even subtle, insidious bigotry.
So here we are, people whose very essence and value and basic human rights are questioned daily...right in front of our own children, even.
Recently, as if to remind me of the work still needed on this issue (and believe me, this is work I'd rather not have to do), I moved over 3000 miles with my family to a new home, a new community. All that insulation I had created was stripped. We were vulnerable again.
I learned a couple months ago that someone in the church quit immediately upon my hire, after reading my biography in which it is honestly stated that I am married to G. and that we have two children. This actually stunned me. In my life as a religious professional to date, it hasn't been an issue. I grew up so isolated from this type of thing, and my faith community (the same one I grew up in) is known for its welcoming of families like ours. So I nearly fell off my chair when I found out, but it is the ugly truth. Now, as our congregation moves slowly toward possibly working toward official "welcoming congregation" status, while the majority of the congregation is supportive or at least neutral, some of that prejudice is surfacing. I have already been questioned for not choosing to live in hiding. Like I said, it's not like I am waving the banner around or anything, but I am comfortable with who I am as well. Is this something unique to congregations in my new geographical region, or something more endemic that I have somehow been sheltered from in my approximately 30 years (give or take) in this faith?
It just goes to show, the prejudice is still there. The silent and muttered disapproval is burning a hole in my stomach, really. And for the sake of my children and yours, we ought to call it like we see it (all of us, gay, straight, or anywhere in between) so we can one day find these wounds finally healed...
Here's to doing my small part.
It's funny how with time, we come to insulate ourselves from some of the harshness of life. Important for survival, really, but also in some ways destructive because it allows prejudice and discrimination to become unchallenged, especially to the extent it is subtle (racism, for example, is so insidious now-- and dangerous in a significant but historically different way-- in large part because in many areas of the U.S. it has become incredibly subtle).
G. and I are certain that we were born to be the way we are. We are educated enough on the destructive nature of the "ex-gay" movement, and the ineffectiveness of the work of those who claim they are "curing" gays, to feel confident that trying to change this aspect of ourselves could literally kill us. I also feel theologically, morally, and ethically comfortable with my belief that our love for one another is true and worthy, and that real love-denied is God-denied. Our love does a dis-service to no one. If someone wants to claim otherwise, I defy them to provide real, solid, scientific proof. It just isn't true.
Since I am comfortable with who I am, and with who G. and I are as a couple, being a same-sex couple has become sort of a footnote in our lives. Contrary to what "gay liberationists" might claim, I haven't assimilated. I simply have integrated all the aspects of who I am into a whole being. I could want nothing more for my children than for them to live fully into their wholeness, and so it is also a gift to myself to do so. This is of great service to me and the other people in my life.
I always wanted to be a mother, since I was a very young child. Now I am. I have always wanted to get married, to live a married life. Not because that is an expectation placed on me by society as much as I find the idea of committing myself to someone in a monogamous relationship to be a spiritually, emotionally, physically, and mentally fulfilling approach to life. I am actually probably too lazy to do anything else, too.
I am true to myself, and that is something about which I feel very good.
G. and I are so comfortable with who we are, that we rarely any more feel the need to either fly a banner or to hide it. We do enjoying "flying the banner" at pride events and gathering with others who have experienced similar things to us at times, and at other times we are too scared to hold hands, for example, when we are taking a walk on the beach. Sure. We once were walking down the street without touching one another at all, not even talking in any way that indicated we were a couple, and a man spat at us and shouted in our faces "Fucking dykes. 9-11 is YOUR fault!"
But in our day-to-day life, we just are who we are. We get up, we go to work, we take care of our kids, we have doctor's appointments and parties to attend, we mow our lawn and fix the faucet, etc. etc. In all this, there are only brief, fleeting moments when I choose between living a life of truth vs. hiding. An example of one of those moments: when chatting with the grocery store clerk about why I can't remember the pin number on the debit card (embarrasing story from the other day), do I say, "my wife" or "my partner" (to make it more gender neutral) or "my husband" (I NEVER make this choice anymore...I don't want to live a lie) doesn't feel like changing the pin number to something I can remember. And if I make it gender neutral, how do I end the sentence without saying, "she?"
Despite those fleeting moments, I have found that 90% of the time, if I approach my relationship comfortably when relating to others, they do too. Our neighbors, the other mommies at my kids playgroup...whoever...even if they skip a beat, they too are able to generally integrate the wholeness of who we are into their understanding of the world and, often, embrace us. I even like to think that by us being who we are, they come to understand us no longer as some abstract threatening concept, but as real, kind, and loving human beings who are doing no harm by being who we are.
But sometimes the "skipping a beat," the difference between whether we are tolerated, or accepted, or embraced, and if just tolerated, at what level, those fleeting moments...they do come to weigh down on us, to harm us, and they do impact our quality of life and also the type of life our children will experience.
Within the last month or so, our family attended an event of significance. Our children were playing happily a short distance from us, and someone we didn't know who was standing just a step or two from them commented that they were cute and asked the hosts "whose children?" The hostess replied that they are ours, gesturing toward G. and myself. "Ooooooh," the questioner replied with some indication of discomfort and/or disapproval in her voice, "I didn't know THEY had kids."
I pretended not to hear because it just seemed easier, and I certainly didn't want to cause any disharmony at this occassion. I never know how to handle these situations, no matter how much they come up. But I am becoming more and more aware that my kids are listening to *everything,* and they do hear this stuff, and it does come across to them as an invalidation and questioning of their very family. As benign as this described scenario sounds, just imagine its weight on a small child, especially given that it is not an isolated type of incident.
Some have used this to argue that same-sex couples shouldn't have children at all. I find that argument utterly ridiculous. Should racial minorities not have children to protect young ones from racism? I mean, REALLY.
As I play the scene I just described back over and over in my mind, I can imagine different responses. Perhaps I could have said, for example, "Yes," as I walked over to my children, "they are ours." This would have said to my children, "I am proud and unashamed of our family." But I didn't, and honestly, I don't know if there is ever a perfect response to bigotry, even subtle, insidious bigotry.
So here we are, people whose very essence and value and basic human rights are questioned daily...right in front of our own children, even.
Recently, as if to remind me of the work still needed on this issue (and believe me, this is work I'd rather not have to do), I moved over 3000 miles with my family to a new home, a new community. All that insulation I had created was stripped. We were vulnerable again.
I learned a couple months ago that someone in the church quit immediately upon my hire, after reading my biography in which it is honestly stated that I am married to G. and that we have two children. This actually stunned me. In my life as a religious professional to date, it hasn't been an issue. I grew up so isolated from this type of thing, and my faith community (the same one I grew up in) is known for its welcoming of families like ours. So I nearly fell off my chair when I found out, but it is the ugly truth. Now, as our congregation moves slowly toward possibly working toward official "welcoming congregation" status, while the majority of the congregation is supportive or at least neutral, some of that prejudice is surfacing. I have already been questioned for not choosing to live in hiding. Like I said, it's not like I am waving the banner around or anything, but I am comfortable with who I am as well. Is this something unique to congregations in my new geographical region, or something more endemic that I have somehow been sheltered from in my approximately 30 years (give or take) in this faith?
It just goes to show, the prejudice is still there. The silent and muttered disapproval is burning a hole in my stomach, really. And for the sake of my children and yours, we ought to call it like we see it (all of us, gay, straight, or anywhere in between) so we can one day find these wounds finally healed...
Here's to doing my small part.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Shout-Outs
You may have noticed I don't have any links, including links to other blogs, on the sidebar of this blog. Long story...but it is an OCD thing.
Anyway, it seems I at least ought to periodically post some shout-outs to those folks with whom I am keeping in touch. So here is what is up with some of the folks "in the neighborhood."
Anyway, it seems I at least ought to periodically post some shout-outs to those folks with whom I am keeping in touch. So here is what is up with some of the folks "in the neighborhood."
- My friend Sara introduced me to "flat traveling," an idea with which I immediately fell in love. Check it out: http://learningumbrella.homeschooljournal.net/2008/05/29/flat-traveling/ Turns out, though, it can be a bit of a disappointment in practice if you don't do it with folks you know who actually follow-through. So basically I've decided I need to secure myself a pal for my kidos in each state and elsewhere around the globe...sometime in the next couple of years ;-). Good thing my kids aren't quite old enough for this yet. It's bought me a little time LOL.
- Quinn from one of my parenting boards is worrying about her body, which makes me think of my little girl and whether she'll worry about her body too. Still, it is a big struggle I can relate to and I appreciate Quinn's honesty: http://rainbowmamajourney.blogspot.com/2008/05/i-am-not-beautiful.html
- My mom is introducing me to some fun animation set to music at http://ragtagsf.blogspot.com/. I never got into animation much, but this stuff is beautiful and interesting, and yes, appeals to me.
- The Rev. Ford passed on this artistic depiction of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights: http://monkeymindonline.blogspot.com/2008/05/universal-declaration-of-human-rights.html (advance notice: this declaration has thirty articles, so the video is about twenty minutes, but visually really interesting...I'd be interested in seeing artistic spin-offs of any type)
- The Rev. Ketchem is thinking about science and religion: http://mskittyssaloonandroadshow.blogspot.com/2008/05/importance-of-science-to-unitarian.html. I'm looking forward to when she posts her sermon because I love both science and religion, and I too find them closely intertwined in my life.
- The Rev. Ms. Peacebang is doing those new to ordained ministry a great service by sharing more good tips, this time on graveside services: http://www.peacebang.com/2008/05/29/graveside-ceremony/. It's actually an interesting read for *anyone* who might be attending a graveside service and is not experienced in such services. She also posted a book recommendation that sounds really interesting: http://www.peacebang.com/2008/05/29/practicing-resurrection-a-peacebang-review/. Good thing I've been slow to finalize my 8 x 8 in 08 list ;-). Oh yes, and on her other blog, Beauty Tips For Ministers, she is offering a worthwhile reminder universal to any human being to periodically update one's underwear rather than wearing it ragedy ol' andy like I have been lately: http://beautytipsforministers.com/2008/05/25/a-festival-of-inappropriate-sharing-at-the-festival-of-homiletics/
- I continue to pray for Little Warrior. The latest update is here: http://uuminister.blogspot.com/2008/05/just-update.html. I'm also trying to incorporate love through action into my life, and hope to be writing Lizard Eater with some stories soon: http://www.lovethroughaction.blogspot.com/. I encourage you to join me, even if you have no idea who this little kido is. Here is the short story at the top of the blog: "Little Warrior is my daughter. She's almost three and she's fighting cancer for the second time. Friends far and near have asked what they can do. We said, 'Show love through action.' Do a good deed, then let us know. We'll compile these in a book for Little Warrior to show her how love for her made the world a better place." If you want to better understand the idea you can check out: http://uuminister.blogspot.com/2008/05/what-you-can-do.html. Finally, I highly recommend you check out Little Warrior's "Happy Birthday" video. What a cutie: http://lovethroughaction.blogspot.com/2008/05/happy-third-birthday-little-warrior.html
And lastly, some "posting anytime soon?" shout-outs:
- My oldest sister hasn't posted for a little while, probably busy with the end of the school year and travel to VT and all. Last I heard, she was promising tips on moving. In the meantime, if you haven't visited her site (at least not recently), check out her new project, a rainbarrel: http://awfulbrothers.blogspot.com/2008/05/say-say-oh-playmate.html.
- My "little" brother (http://www.sunthroughleaves.blogspot.com/) and his wife (http://www.chickadeescout.blogspot.com/) are probably doing the newlywed bliss/lovebird hide-away time, or maybe they are traveling (I never did ask them about post-wedding plans), but before the wedding my brother did post some thought-provoking conversation starters on polar bears, government, and responsibility. And his wife-- also before the wedding, of course-- has been posting some great photos including of some delicious looking food she and my bro have whipped up and some of the plants in their lives.
- My nephew is apparently too busy learning how to use "the force" lately to post on his blog, but he's a cutie so here's my little auntie brag: http://amazingadventuresofdante.blogspot.com/2008/04/force.html
- My dad is a "weekend poster" and seems to have been too busy with the wedding and related travel, work crunches, etc. to have posted too recently, but I really, really appreciated his post on what a college education should be about: http://colin-quodlibet.blogspot.com/2008/05/what-to-learn-in-college.html. By the way, I heard a piece on NPR about a book discussing and critiquing universities as businesses as much as educational institutions, etc. Sounded interesting.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Anxiety
Let me be a little vulnerable here.
I've had a lifelong relationship with slightly-higher-anxiety-than-the-average-bear. Bear in mind, I am going to put a spotlight on that here, so please don't take this as a truly objective or wholistic perspective. I cannot be objective, nor does the spotlight allow for a wholistic perspective.
In my second year at university, I finally had my first no-doubt-this-is-what-is-going-on-here panic attack. I experienced it as something rather debilitating, and it has taken a lot of work on my part not to live in that space perpetually.
It's been interesting to observe myself during this cross-country move, to watch how I've responded to the inevitable anxieties of such major change.
I'm realizing now that my anxiety is somewhat cyclical in nature. When under stress of most types, I will go through periods of feeling clear and being able to respond to my anxiety without getting swept in. These are productive periods, happy times, and periods when I am able to empower others effectively while maintaining a healthy sense of boundaries. I am able to take a compliment, and generally process negative and positive feedback in the healthiest way I can (though I tend to do best with small, informal doses at one time, dispensed in loving, gentle, and personal formats). I go into "planning" mode. I am decisive. I am able to see my own vision-- for anything I'm working on-- and map out a way to get there. I communicate lovingly and effectively overall. I am in touch with my "better self."
Then, something will happen, and the anxiety will sweep over me again. All stress feels too much to bear. I cry and am irritable. I feel unclear. I can map out a way to get somewhere, but I feel doubtful about where I am headed and the steps feel so shaky that I can't tell if I am on the right footpath. I become frightened of my own inadequacies, and I can't thus empower others because it is too scary to give up control. And yet, I am too paralyzed by my own fears to do anything. I procrastinate. Negative feedback, even in loving, gentle, small, and personal doses, throws me off kilter. I can't find my footing. I lose my voice. I become out of step with my community.
On the outside, I can sometimes go through an anxious phase and even manage to maintain some semblance of normalcy. But as soon as I am "caught," I feel trapped and even more afraid. I don't like being vulnerable like that, so I push others away. I am ungracious, unforgiving, defensive, and restless.
I resort to coping skills that serve me in some ways, diminish me in others. I use my sense of humor. I put off my biggest tasks and do only very small bits. I sleep. I vent to my wife. I avoid human contact.
Again, I've worked a lot on this over the years. I go to therapy weekly. I attend to my prayer life, to the extent that I can manage at this time. I have taken herbal supplements like Saint Johns Wort and also used Rescue Remedy as a homeopathic treatment. I've taken courses in meditation, and I practice little skills when I don't have time or energy for something more intensive.
I am most conscious that I need to be careful to role model healthy rather than unhealthy coping skills to my children, that I need to be careful that they aren't exposed to the full extent of my anxiety, and that sometimes I just need to "get over" something and do it (like actually talk to a server at a restaurant rather than having my wife do it because I am feeling socially anxious) so that I am more comfortable and so are those folks around me (especially the kids).
But because of the immensity of change in my life this year, I find that just as soon as I start to catch my breath, something pushes me back under water and I can't quite find the strength to pull myself out as easily as years when I've had a little less going on (hah! when was that?).
I am learning, through this experience, those things that help me find success:
Internal
I've had a lifelong relationship with slightly-higher-anxiety-than-the-average-bear. Bear in mind, I am going to put a spotlight on that here, so please don't take this as a truly objective or wholistic perspective. I cannot be objective, nor does the spotlight allow for a wholistic perspective.
In my second year at university, I finally had my first no-doubt-this-is-what-is-going-on-here panic attack. I experienced it as something rather debilitating, and it has taken a lot of work on my part not to live in that space perpetually.
It's been interesting to observe myself during this cross-country move, to watch how I've responded to the inevitable anxieties of such major change.
I'm realizing now that my anxiety is somewhat cyclical in nature. When under stress of most types, I will go through periods of feeling clear and being able to respond to my anxiety without getting swept in. These are productive periods, happy times, and periods when I am able to empower others effectively while maintaining a healthy sense of boundaries. I am able to take a compliment, and generally process negative and positive feedback in the healthiest way I can (though I tend to do best with small, informal doses at one time, dispensed in loving, gentle, and personal formats). I go into "planning" mode. I am decisive. I am able to see my own vision-- for anything I'm working on-- and map out a way to get there. I communicate lovingly and effectively overall. I am in touch with my "better self."
Then, something will happen, and the anxiety will sweep over me again. All stress feels too much to bear. I cry and am irritable. I feel unclear. I can map out a way to get somewhere, but I feel doubtful about where I am headed and the steps feel so shaky that I can't tell if I am on the right footpath. I become frightened of my own inadequacies, and I can't thus empower others because it is too scary to give up control. And yet, I am too paralyzed by my own fears to do anything. I procrastinate. Negative feedback, even in loving, gentle, small, and personal doses, throws me off kilter. I can't find my footing. I lose my voice. I become out of step with my community.
On the outside, I can sometimes go through an anxious phase and even manage to maintain some semblance of normalcy. But as soon as I am "caught," I feel trapped and even more afraid. I don't like being vulnerable like that, so I push others away. I am ungracious, unforgiving, defensive, and restless.
I resort to coping skills that serve me in some ways, diminish me in others. I use my sense of humor. I put off my biggest tasks and do only very small bits. I sleep. I vent to my wife. I avoid human contact.
Again, I've worked a lot on this over the years. I go to therapy weekly. I attend to my prayer life, to the extent that I can manage at this time. I have taken herbal supplements like Saint Johns Wort and also used Rescue Remedy as a homeopathic treatment. I've taken courses in meditation, and I practice little skills when I don't have time or energy for something more intensive.
I am most conscious that I need to be careful to role model healthy rather than unhealthy coping skills to my children, that I need to be careful that they aren't exposed to the full extent of my anxiety, and that sometimes I just need to "get over" something and do it (like actually talk to a server at a restaurant rather than having my wife do it because I am feeling socially anxious) so that I am more comfortable and so are those folks around me (especially the kids).
But because of the immensity of change in my life this year, I find that just as soon as I start to catch my breath, something pushes me back under water and I can't quite find the strength to pull myself out as easily as years when I've had a little less going on (hah! when was that?).
I am learning, through this experience, those things that help me find success:
Internal
- My prayer practice. If I can't attend to my prayer life in full, I ought to at least find time to do a very small amount each day.
- Recognizing that most folks struggle with their own perceived inadequacies, anxieties, and so forth. That is, normalizing my challenges rather than using them as further tools for my own isolation. This also helps me in the sense of ministering to others.
- God. My therapist told me a little while back that when I get into "what if" thinking, I should have a word that I can use to finish that sentence to help me keep out of my own spiral of anxious thoughts. So now when I hear myself starting to say, "what if," and getting catastrophic in my thoughts, I say "what if God?" It instantly helps to soothe me. **Note: I've never shared this with anyone before, so you can imagine what a private practice it is for me. Not sure I would take too kindly to someone else trying to say it for me LOL.
- Empowering others and being gracious, even when I don't feel like I can. I've found that this can start another type of spiral. A much more positive, healthy one.
- Being clear about ownership. I own my power, and my therapist has helped me understand that my cycle of anxiety involves a point (usually very early on) when I decide to let others define my worth, the worth of what I do, and the power of my contributions. I inevitably not only give away my power, but I also choose to "hear" only the negative, only those non-affirming things. Even when I am arguing against them in my mind, they eat away at me because I don't own anything positive. And so ultimately, I am not just giving my power to others, but also giving my power to those things that don't affirm my worth. I do this because it is familiar-- it's a long-time pattern of thought for me-- and what is familiar is always less scary than what is unfamiliar. When I do this, I get so scared. I am not able to affirm other folks in their goodness or in their power. How can I possibly affirm goodness and power in others when I can't even find it in myself? I find it really helpful to own in myself a sense of competence and worth, and then to use that sense of self-worth to help light the candles of others (remember that when one candle lights another, it does not diminish that first light). When I do this, and I feel others reaching out to me in diminishing ways, I can set my self apart from that behavior, often without setting myself apart from the person.
- Assuming competence. Placing trust in my self, my intuition, and the value of my contributions is critical. When I am in a place of self-trust, I don't need to worry. I know that one way or another, a wave can rush over me without pulling me under. I can trust that I know where I am headed. I can trust my own instinct and tools to get me there. AND, even better, I find myself assuming that about others too. I can let the birds fly without trying to control where they are going and how they get there.
External
- A mentor. I am considering paying to see a spiritual guide. I know those unfamiliar with such a practice will wonder why one might get paid for it. But like therapy, I think it can compliment my other work. I realize now that I had a spiritual guide (of the kind I didn't pay)-- someone who had the skills I am learning to develop-- back in my old state, but I don't here. A mentor would help me in life's constant discernment that I feel is critical to growing in healthy ways, both personally and professionally.
- Compliments. The other day my assistant told me I was "one of the highlights" of her year. As I debate about whether regularly praising my kids will slow their development of internal rather than external motivation, I am realizing how much I benefit myself from praise. Because I am prone to anxiety, and I easily get into distorted internal thinking, it helps to have benchmarks...affirmations...that help restore me to clearer thinking and yank me out of my distorted internal dialogue.
- Recognition of my best self. I am realizing how much I benefit from living in an environment where others see the self that I am not always able to see, and are able to help me hold that understanding constantly through all the trials and tribulations of the life's work I have taken on: my marriage, my vocational call, and my call to parent. I am really missing my friends and colleagues and all the folks at the foster care department back in my old state because this is exactly how they related to me. Some people are motivated by constant feedback, both positive and negative. That's how they learn. Because the negative becomes so amplified for me, I benefit more from the motivation of an understanding of how good I am. I benefit from regular reminders that accessing that self is not as hard as I work it up to be. One of the things that has sustained me through this trying and exhausting year was one of my last conversations with my former supervising minister. He, who had become a beloved friend and colleague, as much as a supervisor, looked me straight in the eyes and said "Just remember how good you are." I truly could not have made it this year if I couldn't hear those words in my head, affirming my best self. And I know he believed it because there was not a moment when I didn't feel that way with him, even in the handful of times he gave me directions or corrections or even constructive criticism (which he only gave when absolutely necessary...he knew that I was critical enough of my self for the both of us). And he spoke always highly of me among our shared and separate colleagues. I try to take this approach with those I supervise now. It is a basic part of learning theory that we learn best when we feel safe. I assume that we will all be growing in our lives and that we can grow best when others see the people we are becoming.
- Knowing where I stand. When my wife comes to me and affirms my place in our family, and then gives me some gentle, loving, constructive criticism, but is direct with me, I avoid the spiraling inventions in my head that grow out of my anxiousness. "Is she going to lose it someday and not be able to tolerate this any longer? What then?" "How long was this bothering her before she ever told me?" "Is this worse than it seems?" "Does this represent some greater ill in her perception of our marriage?" "Is this a bottom line thing for her?" "Does she feel like we can make it through this?" I was always the kid who physically felt like she had to vomit when called to the teacher's desk. In my mind, I was going to be caught in something awful I didn't even know I did. Tears would well up in my eyes before I even arrived at the desk. That's why for me, (1) spontaneous feedback helps-- because then I don't start cycling into the anxiety before I even have heard what needs to be said-- I don't cry my way to the desk, (2) gentle, loving feedback helps because I don't start questioning my place and worth as I am prone to do, and (3) direct feedback in small doses helps because it requires less interpretation and leaves less room for distorted thinking. Back when my former supervising minister and I began working together (and he knows this because I later shared it with him), his quiet-nature often brought out my anxiousness. He would be completely still and silent as I spoke, and I would start going a million miles a minute in my mind: "I wonder if he is mad. What if he didn't like what I just said. What if his silence is a sign of dismissal." etc. I quickly began to learn the way my internal dialogue was distorting reality to a point of paralyzing anxiety, and it was completely unnecessary because he had a great respect for me and my work.
- Contact with others. I am finding the more social contact I have with others, as much as it sometimes *gives* me anxiety to have it, ironically makes me less likely to get into my out-of-control, spiraling cycle of anxiety. I think moving into a more walker-friendly area of this city, and into more of a neighborhood will be *tremendously* beneficial to my mental health. Even my house-warming party I think will be helpful. Next year I am also going to keep tighter office hours with my assistant, so I can spend less time alone in my office. Additionally, I am going to try to spend more of my lunches at the staff lunch (folks generally eat at the dining table together at noon), since being on a different level of the building than all but my assistant contributes to my feelings of isolation and lack of coordination with others here.
- And beyond just contact with others, I do best in an environment of routine and activity. Nothing hugely fast paced (I am finding myself having a very hard time adjusting to the pace of the east coast...and even my wife, who grew up out here, is saying the same thing about herself), but for example, when I went to water aerobics twice a week with one of my wife's co-workers, it really did me a lot of good. I've got to find that sense in my new life here as much as possible because that is how I thrive.
I am finding that when I assume others have fairly similar needs, the quality of all my relationships, both personal and professsional, is deeper, more sustaining for everyone, more loving, more compassionate, more joyful, more powerful, and more healthy. And it makes me more effective in my ministry to boot. Interesting stuff.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
A Tribute to Artists and Reflections on my Childhood
Disclaimer in Advance: The following are my own impressions and memories, which of course are colored by the perspective of years and my own feelings. As other family members frequently find my various memories to be inaccurate, I am writing this as a tribute based on my impressions, which may or may not be particularly historically accurate.
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I grew up in a home filled with music of all kinds, and colors rich and deep, and words artfully arranged, and images of intrigue.
This is my mother, the brilliant artist and writer with a creative and powerful mind:
http://www.sarahfishburn.com/ (note if you are at work and want to wander onto her blog to turn down your speakers, as there is music, which you can control using a fixture on the right column of her blog.)
This is my father, the brilliant musician and engineer with a creative and powerful mind:
http://colin-quodlibet.blogspot.com/
If you scroll down the links to other blogs on my mother's blog, you can see the type of people with whom we associated as I was growing up. http://lisahoffman.typepad.com/ and the likes.
We moved around a bit, but my childhood home always included art everywhere, not just on the walls but on and in our cupboards, on top of shelves, on the floor, painted onto furniture...everywhere. For some period of time, if you were a friend visiting my home, and you decided to snoop around in our bathroom cabinets, you would be greeted with a line of those funny fat little plastic troll dolls, artfully arranged as entertainment for the "snooper," which I think my mother might assume we all are.
It also included lots and lots and lots of books, tucked all over the place but many of them on this huge bookshelf made from old barn doors or an old barn fence or something like that. I wonder, mom, if you have photos of that, so people can get an idea of what I am talking about?
Creativity and clarity of thought were values in my home of origin. As was a wonderful, complex intermingling of notions of both simplicity and the value of beautiful things.
We read constantly, and art was a part of our daily lives. We also played a lot. We hiked and camped and played wall-ball and four-square and basketball and frisbee and all sorts of things. My mother does not drive. My father does but hates it. We walk and rode our bikes a lot. I started riding the city bus at a young age. At first my mom was nervous about it, but then she considered my ability to use my cunning conversational skills to get through almost anything ;-).
I mostly would walk around talking to myself. For a while I had a collection of imaginary friends with funny names like "Bookie," and "Stampie," and my "best friend" who I called "Maradawn" (I have no idea how that would be spelled). After my imaginary friends began to fade away, I would talk myself through my imaginary games: I was the attorney, the teacher, the mom. Eventually my self-conversations began to just be fairly straight-forward conversations with myself, imaginary play loosely tossed in throughout. I was always processing! There was so much to take in, in my world.
My siblings still tease me about the ski pole. I used to take one of our ski poles and walk around the back yard at our duplex, jabbing it into the ground and talking away to no one but myself. The kinesthetic feeling of it striking the ground and then pushing it through the resistant soil helped me think. For a long time I have felt ashamed when my siblings would talk about the ski pole. Now I see that child self walking through the yard with it, and I feel so loving and understanding toward her. I am a little neurodivergent afterall, and that is what they call "heavy work" and "joint compressions" and "cognitive ordering through speech" now in my children's occupational, educational, and speech therapy. I am lucky that I had parents who let me do my thing. I was able to develop my cognitive abilities without unecessary impediments that result when one's neurological system is trying to regulate and order the world and is supressed in its natural efforts to do so.
My mind went constantly. It still does. It happens with all of the members of my family of origin including my older sisters, I am guessing, but I've noticed it is especially true in the case of my younger brother and me. When we shared a room, we would talk nonstop until we fell asleep. Deep conversations, I am sure, for people 5 and 7 years old or whatever.
My brother's mind seemed to work mostly in images and words. He was and is an amazing artist. Mine almost always worked in words. And also in feelings. Often thoughts would pass through me as feelings alone. For someone so verbal, so wordy, it is hard when you can't articulate a thought because it comes in a wordless form. But it would happen. It still does. Sometimes I start writing something, and I feel perfectly clear and the words are flowing right out of me, and then suddenly the thoughts come to me instead in waves of purely gut-level feelings, and I will only be able to scribble. If you were to look at a journal of mine, you would find pages filled with just scribbles. At the time I made them, these would be very clear thoughts. But totally nonverbal. Somewhere there is an abstract artist in me who is working through these images, though the images themselves are very unskilled, unpracticed, and completely child-like.
This might be a part I of a II part series. I have to post this before my laptop battery runs out because I don't know where the charger is right now (the red light is flashing-- ack!). I may or may not have more to say in this tribute at this time...we'll see tomorrow or sometime later this week.
---------------------------------------------
I grew up in a home filled with music of all kinds, and colors rich and deep, and words artfully arranged, and images of intrigue.
This is my mother, the brilliant artist and writer with a creative and powerful mind:
http://www.sarahfishburn.com/ (note if you are at work and want to wander onto her blog to turn down your speakers, as there is music, which you can control using a fixture on the right column of her blog.)
This is my father, the brilliant musician and engineer with a creative and powerful mind:
http://colin-quodlibet.blogspot.com/
If you scroll down the links to other blogs on my mother's blog, you can see the type of people with whom we associated as I was growing up. http://lisahoffman.typepad.com/ and the likes.
We moved around a bit, but my childhood home always included art everywhere, not just on the walls but on and in our cupboards, on top of shelves, on the floor, painted onto furniture...everywhere. For some period of time, if you were a friend visiting my home, and you decided to snoop around in our bathroom cabinets, you would be greeted with a line of those funny fat little plastic troll dolls, artfully arranged as entertainment for the "snooper," which I think my mother might assume we all are.
It also included lots and lots and lots of books, tucked all over the place but many of them on this huge bookshelf made from old barn doors or an old barn fence or something like that. I wonder, mom, if you have photos of that, so people can get an idea of what I am talking about?
Creativity and clarity of thought were values in my home of origin. As was a wonderful, complex intermingling of notions of both simplicity and the value of beautiful things.
We read constantly, and art was a part of our daily lives. We also played a lot. We hiked and camped and played wall-ball and four-square and basketball and frisbee and all sorts of things. My mother does not drive. My father does but hates it. We walk and rode our bikes a lot. I started riding the city bus at a young age. At first my mom was nervous about it, but then she considered my ability to use my cunning conversational skills to get through almost anything ;-).
I mostly would walk around talking to myself. For a while I had a collection of imaginary friends with funny names like "Bookie," and "Stampie," and my "best friend" who I called "Maradawn" (I have no idea how that would be spelled). After my imaginary friends began to fade away, I would talk myself through my imaginary games: I was the attorney, the teacher, the mom. Eventually my self-conversations began to just be fairly straight-forward conversations with myself, imaginary play loosely tossed in throughout. I was always processing! There was so much to take in, in my world.
My siblings still tease me about the ski pole. I used to take one of our ski poles and walk around the back yard at our duplex, jabbing it into the ground and talking away to no one but myself. The kinesthetic feeling of it striking the ground and then pushing it through the resistant soil helped me think. For a long time I have felt ashamed when my siblings would talk about the ski pole. Now I see that child self walking through the yard with it, and I feel so loving and understanding toward her. I am a little neurodivergent afterall, and that is what they call "heavy work" and "joint compressions" and "cognitive ordering through speech" now in my children's occupational, educational, and speech therapy. I am lucky that I had parents who let me do my thing. I was able to develop my cognitive abilities without unecessary impediments that result when one's neurological system is trying to regulate and order the world and is supressed in its natural efforts to do so.
My mind went constantly. It still does. It happens with all of the members of my family of origin including my older sisters, I am guessing, but I've noticed it is especially true in the case of my younger brother and me. When we shared a room, we would talk nonstop until we fell asleep. Deep conversations, I am sure, for people 5 and 7 years old or whatever.
My brother's mind seemed to work mostly in images and words. He was and is an amazing artist. Mine almost always worked in words. And also in feelings. Often thoughts would pass through me as feelings alone. For someone so verbal, so wordy, it is hard when you can't articulate a thought because it comes in a wordless form. But it would happen. It still does. Sometimes I start writing something, and I feel perfectly clear and the words are flowing right out of me, and then suddenly the thoughts come to me instead in waves of purely gut-level feelings, and I will only be able to scribble. If you were to look at a journal of mine, you would find pages filled with just scribbles. At the time I made them, these would be very clear thoughts. But totally nonverbal. Somewhere there is an abstract artist in me who is working through these images, though the images themselves are very unskilled, unpracticed, and completely child-like.
This might be a part I of a II part series. I have to post this before my laptop battery runs out because I don't know where the charger is right now (the red light is flashing-- ack!). I may or may not have more to say in this tribute at this time...we'll see tomorrow or sometime later this week.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
It's Worth It
This documentary is worth the time:
http://www.hbo.com/docs/programs/autism/video/
I am not sure how long the documentary will remain online. HBO said it would be available online on March 30th. I watched it on that day. As of today, it took some serious hunting to find it again. If you have HBO and can get it on demand, that'd probably be the way to go.
My only disclaimers: It's a documentary. It is interesting. I like the personal growth that is evident among the parents over time. I really liked "hearing" Neal's voice at the end. I am not advocating for any position or approach any person takes in this documentary at any particular time. Some things I could relate to, some I could not. Some approaches I felt were useful, some not.
But the video itself is thought-provoking and well worth viewing, and I encourage you to find some time to sit down and enjoy the show before it is unavailable online (or save it to your Netflix).
On a personal note, I am going in for my MRI on Wednesday. I have asked that I get my "commemorative CD" of the images on that same day. This was noted on my chart. I hope they do indeed give it to me on that day, and if so, I will post some images. I am THRILLED about the idea of having a map of my brain.
http://www.hbo.com/docs/programs/autism/video/
I am not sure how long the documentary will remain online. HBO said it would be available online on March 30th. I watched it on that day. As of today, it took some serious hunting to find it again. If you have HBO and can get it on demand, that'd probably be the way to go.
My only disclaimers: It's a documentary. It is interesting. I like the personal growth that is evident among the parents over time. I really liked "hearing" Neal's voice at the end. I am not advocating for any position or approach any person takes in this documentary at any particular time. Some things I could relate to, some I could not. Some approaches I felt were useful, some not.
But the video itself is thought-provoking and well worth viewing, and I encourage you to find some time to sit down and enjoy the show before it is unavailable online (or save it to your Netflix).
On a personal note, I am going in for my MRI on Wednesday. I have asked that I get my "commemorative CD" of the images on that same day. This was noted on my chart. I hope they do indeed give it to me on that day, and if so, I will post some images. I am THRILLED about the idea of having a map of my brain.
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