Technology restriction
Today I’d like to do a little experiment in technology restriction. I have about 3 things that I absolutely HAVE to get done today, the not-doing of which will bring out some serious self-loathing that will keep me up tonight. So, seeing as how my computer has consumed about 83% of my waking hours lately, I’m going to restrict a bit. After this post, I will actually power down my laptop – that’s right – not just put it to sleep with it’s little head down. I don’t have any new DVD’s from Netflix so that’s out of the question. That leaves me with reading, sewing, playing banjo, walking the dog and actually doing what I need to get done today (oh how I loathe laundry). Wish me luck!
In other news I leave Tuesday at the crack of dawn (4:30 am) for my travels to NC for job interviews and househunting. I’m anxious but also really excited. It will be a high energy week of zooming here to there with my googlemaps directions and my snack bars in the rental car. Lots of cell phone calls and chaos. I’ve looked up the schedule at a reputable yoga studio and added it to the Microsoft Word document containing all the pertinent details of my trip (current document is currently 5 pages long). I’ll download some good podcasts to encourage me to take walks between interviews. And I’ll bring a journal. I’m basically trying to prepare for the stress and anxiety that will wind me up TIGHT all week and the pressure of decision-making on my own with no boyfriend-sounding-board to rely on. I’m going to try not to call my family either. I don’t want to be influenced on these decisions – I want them to be my own. I’m bringing my computer so perhaps I’ll blog about it to keep me a bit grounded. That’s the plan anyway…we’ll see how it goes.
I think I finally did some un-burdening in my IFS work the session before last. I’m not even sure I understand what happened but it seemed to help. The parts we were working with were ones that protected me ferociously from feeling intense emotions because of the ongoing threat from an early age (both spoken and implied) of impending bad things that happen as a result of feeling too much. The most obvious one being that my dad would kill himself if anyone let him see how much he hurt others. But there was a much more subtle insinuation that if you allow yourself to get really sad, your life will permanently fall apart. Even now my mom will say things like, “What does your therapist want you to do..lay in bed crying all day and not go to work and lose your job and have to be institutionalized?!” (okay so maybe the insinuations weren’t so subtle afterall…) The implication being that taking one day off (or even 3) to cry when you call of your engagement will lead your life into a rapid downward spiral to homelessness and straightjackets. There it is…the idea that even the smallest bit of sadness, anger, depression, hopelessness will suck you into a vortex of unending yuck. Others in my family are black-and-white thinkers, too, but mom I think was my greatest pedagogical influence in the ways of emotional restriction and detachment. And on the cusp of my big move and all the changes, I realize that she also has sent the message that if something is change for the better, then there’s no reason to feel sad about it. Relationships ending are a perfect example – I’m not sure she even grieved over her 16 year marriage to my father ending. Granted, it was on some levels a huge relief and I can imagine parts of her wanted to do a touchdown dance of freedom. But certainly some parts were really sad. So I haven’t really grieved my losses of the recent months. I’m leaving a place that holds many complicated and wonderful memories. I’m leaving a really awesome group of co-workers. The clinic that I worked for and invested so much of my heart in, is closing. I’m leaving behind a bunch of kids who I spend hours working with each week – some of whom I’ve grown to adore. I’m leaving the chance of bumping into J at the grocery store and I’m introducing the distinct possibility that I’ll never see him again. So much is there and I think it’s time to let it out. Most recently I’m grieving the few friendships I have here that are still young but could have potentially grown into something great. And certainly I’m grieving the loss of the most influential and amazing therapist I’ve had and my wonderful group. This is hard. This part doesn’t feel like it’s for the better. I am scared to move on.
So much is going on for so many of my parts right now. My managers are working diligently around the clock to coordinate the logistics of my move and all the transitions (enter “Things to Do Before I move” word document including such highlights as “oil change” and “sell used snow tires”). I need to take some time for the grief to swell. So power-down, dear computer. Take the day off, I’ve got some other plans.
transference? confusion of my subconscious?
I’m not good at endings. Or perhaps I’m too good at them, I’m not sure which. Metaphorically speaking, I sneak out the back door and slam it shut behind me. No turning back. No tears. No group hugs and exchanges of phone numbers and emails. Done. This is exactly how relationships end for me. Over it. “Next!”
But for one. A boyfriend in graduate school…B. The relationship was 14 months in duration, the breakup recovery was at least 4. I kept calling him and getting drunk and crying over him. I was just really sad and missed B to an extent unfamiliar to me then and now. We keep in touch now – just superficial correspondence through modern technologies – facebook and gmail chat. And while I realize that he is the only ex in my history that I still feel attracted to (he has a damn good profile picture, people!) I hadn’t thought much of it. Until tonight.
I got an update that he had added a picture to his FB account (word to the wise – unfriend your exes on facebook. just do it.). Of course I clicked. In a flash I was staring at a 3×5 of him and his “new” girlfriend (they’ve been together at least a year and live together – facts which before tonight didn’t seem to bother me). But there I sat – transfixed on his tortoise shell glasses* and beaming grin – complete with perfect teeth. and hair. Arm wrapped around a beaming brunette with perfect makeup. and cleavage. tasteful cleavage that makes my little breasts ache with envy. and matching perfect teeth (god their kids are going to be gorgeous). And tears welled up. That hurt was there again as if it never left.
But wait. Aren’t I supposed to be crying over J? The man I was slated to marry? The one who until January I lived with? What’s going on? Why is my head so confused? What does it all mean (I mean, aside from the whole don’t be FB friends with exes part)?
*who the hell thought tortoise shell glasses could be sexy?!
Creativity tank is empty
so just a bulleted list for an update tonight:
-bought a kayak Saturday morning impulsively from my neighbor’s moving sale. haven’t used it yet but it remains my favorite purchase of 2009 despite this minor detail
-good visit with my grad school friend who flew up from DC. like-minded individual. good connection. honest conversation about things that are important to us each (honest without emotion? yes. but honest nonetheless)
-now advertising apartment available May 1. this means i’m moving to NC in the next 4-6 weeks. figure if my clinic is slotted to close april 30 i’m not going to stick around here unemployed!
-wanted to go for a run today. life got in the way. soaked up a little sunshine at the dog park, though.
-didn’t get groceries for the week. this could lead to some interesting improvisation in the kitchen.
-sleepy.
-increasing anxiety in anticipation of move. dealing with it pretty healthfully and mindfully at this point. thank goodness.
g’night.
A date with my dog
I have this amazing positive energy today. I want to bottle it up and stick a cork in it so that it’s dispensable on another day.
I bought bright white and orange new running shoes and laced up for a leisurely jog with my pup this afternoon. My ponytail flapping on my upper back, my sunglasses bouncing on my nose. Sam trotting along at my side, glancing up periodically with a panting grin.
I took a shower this evening and danced. I did a little striptease in the mirror to the sultry voice of Fiona Apple. I harmonized in the shower (and sounded damn good). I blowdried my hair all pretty and cranked up the music. Sung into my hairbrush. Sidestepped and sashayed in my slippers and a damp towel while Sam the dog looked on curiously.
I cleaned my house while Sam fished in his toy basket and dragged out every single item. He squeaked his squeakerball over and over and over. And for once, I wasn’t irritated. I patted him on the head and stole the ball, enticing him to chase me around the house.
I talked to him while I mixed up his special food mix (brown rice + pumpkin puree + kibble +herbal medicine for his tummy). I realized that being single means I can lavish my puppy with affection and praise. I can snuggle with him, spend as much money and time as I want on him and have Friday afternoon dates with him.
I’m not alone afterall.
Avett Brothers Dream
I sleep in blackness. Eyes close, world is black and quiet, eyes open in the morning. No dreams. No flying or swimming in chocolate or Patrick Dempsey with dripping candlewax. Empty silence – cold and predictable is my nightly fate. But every now and then, when Jupiter is aligned with the seventh moon of Pluto I wake up with a foggy quickly fading memory of a storyline from my sleeping subconcious. The occasion feels so unusual, waking up with photographic visual memories of the night before, that I’d like to share:
I was in a nice hotel or B&B with a lot of people who maybe felt like extended family but I didn’t know them. And the Avett Brothers (sans Bob – not intentional, I would’ve wanted Bob to be there!) had a room down the hall. At first I was too shy to approach or initiate any sappy “you guys are my favorite band” gush, but I decided the best approach was to act like they were just dudes and sort of omit the fact from my awarenss that they dominate my iPod. I wandered into their room post shower and asked to borrow a comb (interesting because I don’t use combs in my tangly mop) from Scott. Flash forward to the three of us sitting by the window and me combing Scotts long curls. Now I must clarify that this dream didn’t have any elements of wild passionate lust (although I would welcome such a dream in the future). It was more warmth, less fire, more talk, less touch, more hug, less hump. Perhaps my crush(es) on them were beneath the surface of our interactions but even my subconscious self seems to respect their marriages and hold in highest esteem the fact that they must be the best husbands in the world. Then Seth showed me the juicer they had in their room – squeezing an apple into oblivion and producing a delicious cup of fresh sweetness.
The brothers performed that night at what must have been the “main event” of the family gathering where I knew no one. And no one knew THEM. The dancefloor was totally empty. So I laced up my tall moccasin boots, cast my self-consciousness aside and danced my heart out.
Interpret if you will. I know that I felt connection in a dream where there otherwise wasn’t any. The Avett Brothers are welcome back in my dreams whenever they choose.
Listening to my body
or perhaps I should’ve titled this post “Shame on me for not listening to my body”. My wrist, my right very important and frequently used wrist, is painful. This has been a nagging injury that consumed my life February through June of last year, which does not bode well for my level of optimism that this is just a “brief” injury. MRI’s, X-rays, casting, splinting, bracing and a second opinion were all in agreement: diagnosis unknown. Well fuck you, medical profession (which I sheepishly admit to being part of)! Fuck you healthcare diagnostic technology! And a double fuck you to my insurance deductible!
The wrist has been sore now for perhaps six weeks – nothing major – just an occasional reminder that I have a dainty (translation: weak ass) wrist. But yesterday there was the vegetable chopping that went on and on for about forty minutes – whose idea was it to make soup, anyway? The turnip and the sweet potatoes, butternut squash, celery, onion, tomatoes all sliced and diced with an increasing amount of discomfort in a certain joint. I knew I was overdoing it and the excruciatingly dull knife wasn’t helping my cause. But this voice (which sounded exactly like my mother) said, “You can’t stop mid-soup! Suck it up!” So I pressed onward.
If there was a purple heart of soup making, I earned it. I also earned it for papercrafting several years ago when I gave myself a nerve compression injury to my thumb from cutting for about 4 hours during a paper flower craft activity. Oh no, I can’t injure myself in any athletic endeavor or rescuing a puppy from a burning building. Apparently I’m hard-core, X-games worthy domestic. Martha Stewart + Mountain Dew.
So yoga tonight was pathetic. Every posture I had to think about and figure out a not too awkward accommodation. Transitions into and out of postures were wobbly and I’m sure my sighs of annoyance were, well…annoying to others. I cried in Shavasana. Initially because the frustration over my wrist spilled over into hatred of my whole body right now (did I mention I gained weight and am now wearing a fat suit? yes, my thighs touch each other just south of my groin and it is repulsive.). But a few minutes later I was crying because I was staring up at the ceiling with nothing but blank walls in my peripheral vision and I began to feel trapped and alone. The world suddenly felt huge and I felt tiny and unanchored and the vulnerability dripped in hot salty tracks from the corners of my eyes and puddled in my ears.
Friends
What does a Saturday spent with female friends mean to me? It means that Sunday can be spent sewing, cooking, working out, cleaning all without even for one second feeling lonely. I’m not so needy that I can’t bear to be alone for an hour. In fact, my mom reportedly gets confused because I send mixed messages of enjoying alone-time but hating to be alone. It’s true. I guess this does sound confusing.
I guess I need solid friendships in which I really feel known and valued in order for alone time to feel tolerable – even enjoyable. So rather than feeling like today was a sad pathetic exercise in tolerating excruciating emptiness and solitude – it was more like a treat. I got to spend the day doing whatever I wanted and relax my social muscles after a big day yesterday. Quality time with good women friends is so nourishing to me. I’m still figuring out why friendships are hard for me and romantic relationships jump in the way so frequently.
Scatterbrained
I just realized it’s daylight savings time tonight. I guess we’ll be springing forward which means more daylight in the evenings, spring is on its way and I will be very confused about what time it is for the next few days. My first client at 7:30 monday morning will feel like 6:30. (Or is it 8:30???? like I said, confused, disproportionately so)
I felt a residual yuckiness in my body on Thursday and Friday – fatigue and general malaise which CranioSacral Therapy seemed to help work out of my system. Although I came home from it slam tired and slept for about 3 hours worth of nap. Feeling like Friday and Saturday were a blur -a good blur but just busy. The downtime I have had in the house seems to have been monopolized by DVD’s. I wish I was spending more time reading, crafting or walking but apparently that’s just not the place I’m in. I think the veg-out place is more pleasant than the hamster-wheel mania and I must say I’m surprised by how relaxed I am in the face of upcoming transitions: moving to another state (perhaps feels a little less momentous since it’s my homestate), finding a new job, the closing of my clinic, leaving my therapist (ugh) and my group (ugh some more). Does the lack of anxiety mean that I’m doing the right thing? Is there really a “right” thing to do? I’m just following my gut, but as I’ve said before, this is momentous for the girl who generally follows her man. My mom said I sounded centered today – that felt like a really nice compliment and I’m really taking it to heart. I sound centered. I am self-led right now. ED isn’t in charge. A man or relationship isn’t in charge. Anxiety and fear aren’t in charge. Just me. Directing my own course. How novel.
I’ve been something of a blog-slacker lately but no apologies. I think it’s probably indicative of me being a bit more social as well as just being in a better head space. The need to blog is heightened when I’m depressed or struggling. Is it this way for everyone, I wonder?
My dog had accupuncture yesterday. Yep, it’s true. Before leaving Vermont I decided to take advantage of the alternative medicine and bodywork for me and to share it with Sam the dog as well. His digestive woes have been ongoing for over a year and I’ve racked up quite the vet bills. So, I took him to a holistic vet who uses a Chinese medicine philosophy. He used accupuncture to diagnose Sam and described his conditions in the metaphors of eastern physiology. It was really interesting and I left feeling like I finally got the time and validation that my concerns merit. So we left with some herbal supplements and a follow-up appointment for a few weeks from now. Sam seemed to enjoy himself and was a snugglypup afterwards – thanking me perhaps.
So much to write. So little time.
Just a speedy post before therapy. Last night was monumental. I don’t even really know how to describe it because I am admittedly a little floored and overwhelmed right now.
I totally veg’ed last night – parked in front of a DVD with a steady stream of peanut butter intake. Went to sleep uneventfully but awoke around 3 flopping around uncomfortable. My back just couldn’t find a happy position. I had my third Network Chiropractic appointment yesterday and this need to move and adjust and mild discomfort is to be expected. So I actually laid on the hardwood floor for a moment because I felt that might make it feel better. To no avail. My stomach started to feel funny – no pain, just movement and sensation. So I had some tea and a snack. Nothing. I went back to bed and as I lay there in the dark a letter to my dad started pouring out of my head. I decided I probably wouldn’t be able to sleep until I got the words out so my laptop joined me under the covers and I typed. and typed and typed. Honest. Raw. Words that I’ve needed to say but only know fully understand. Our story. Why I parted ways with my father. How he hurt me. The confusing intoxication I had with him as a child – both drawn to his emotional energy and abandoned by him. And it ended with closure. A final request for him to leave me alone. For him to seek therapy. I spelled out the boundary and stated that if he couldn’t respect it I would go to any length to protect myself.
I finished the letter. Re-read it and a very clear voice in my head said, “When you send this, you need to say goodbye. You won’t open any more letters from him. You will block his emails. And it will be over.” And I wept. And wept. The grief washing over me. “I don’t know if I’m ready for it” a little voice cried. “Okay, you don’t have to send it now. You don’t ever have to. But if you ever feel ready, here it is.”
A different sort of yoga practice
Many of my posts seem to have a yoga slant lately. I guess that just reflects where I am – which isn’t such a bad place to be.
Last night there were only 2 of us at group and it was the yoga-only session but led by B. She offered us a different sort of practice and we took her up on it. We held different “gentle” postures for longer and spoke for different parts that came up so that she could help walk us through unblending with those parts and see what was underneath if those dominant ones could step aside. It was really good and fit perfectly with my desire to deepen my practice. Here are a few of parts that came up:
- comparison to my own high standards part: came up when I assumed a posture I used to be able to do “right” and now can only do about “halfway”. this same part jumps in sometimes related to weight, body image, athleticism. this part is concerned a bit with what other people think but this can be rationalized out of me (i.e. you wear a size 2 jeans – no one in this room would think you are fat; no one else in group can do this posture even as well as you so they aren’t thinking you suck). What my rationalizing part cannot negotiate is my own internalized high standards. This high standards part says things like “I know you’re doing it better than everyone else but that’s not enough – you have to do it PERFECTLY” or “if you did it once (or looked like that once) then it’s possible and imperative that you do it again. if not, you’re a failure”.
-scared parts: these were really a cluster of young exiled parts who were fearful of intense sensations in my body. A protector part would jump in and do a body scan to “fix” everything fixable about the posture to distract from the intense physical sensations (not pain, just intensity). The scared parts were terrified that the sensations were a precursor to some huge emotional release of parts I’ve never even met yet – the deep dark yuck parts.
-intellectual parts: these parts were frustrated that my neck wouldn’t relax and somehow felt that THINKING about it more and WILLING my neck to relax would make it happen (somehow I doubt “RELAX, damn it!!” would make anyone relax). This part was closely related to a frustrated part that doesn’t understand what it means to “breath into a body part” or “breath into the sensation”. Because I am so frequently detached from my body, I can’t even internally find my neck in order to “breath into it” (whatever that means). B. reassured me that “breathing into it” merely means bringing your attention gently to a sensation.
All in all it was a really interesting and gratifying exercise. I love how B. explains that the yoga mat is a microcosm that mirrors our daily lives. These same parts arise in difficult situations – the high standards “do it right” part, the terrified of intense emotions part, the distract from intense emotions part, the intellectual part that thinks I can think my way into control of situations and myself.
I’m not sure that I got all the way separated from all these parts to see what was underneath. But I was separate enough to observe and name them. To ask them why they’re there. And when working with the young terrified parts I felt my Self tell them, “I’m not scared of these feelings. I can handle them. But I’m not going to let you see them until you’re ready. I’ll keep you safe and protected even when I do let you see them.” It didn’t go much further than that – felt a little like a cliffhanger. But I definitely heard that strong voice comforting them, which is huge. My whole system was surprised – “who said that?!” my parts asked in unison.
