|
aerieofgrace
|
read my profile
sign my guestbook
Interests: astrology, tarot, my calico Amber, my orange tabby Lil Mudd, my houseplants, music, dance, movement, feminism, recovery from childhood sexual abuse, economics, microfinance, leadership, ministry, discovering commonality and dialogue in the midst of religious differences, grace, grassroots social change, activism, skillful communication, ritual, laying new patterns in my soul/brain, having kids someday, shamanic journeying, art, swimming, beach vacations, down time, plotting updates and repairs to my 70 year old house, interior decorating, McCoy pottery, comfy but stylie clothes, retro accessories, assertiveness, boundaries, investing in myself, learning how to cope with bipolar II disorder and the effects of my medication, OkGo, finding a partner with whom to create a satisfying life
Expertise: finding God/Love/Hope/Possibility everywhere
Occupation: financial analysis / ministry
Industry: information technology
Message: message me
Member Since:
12/26/2006
|
|
| So in counseling Monday, we talked about the all-or-nothing, "is this the best use of my time" question. Tom suggested that I shift the question to, is this a creative use of my time? is this a good use of my time? is this a kind use of my time?
creative, kind, good . . . so much more spacious than "best"!
I've also expanded the scope of my accomplishments notebook at work to include anything and everything I've done, rather than just things that are hard for me. when I tried to decide whether something was hard for me, criticisms about how x "shouldn't" be hard for me would come up. instead of celebrating what I'd done, I pinned myself to the wall, over and over again. no more of that! I'm having a blast noting everything I'm doing and feeling great about my accomplishments. I do a lot more than I was giving myself credit for. it's like I thought nothing I did was worth celebrating, or even acknowledging. that I didn't deserve credit for the work I do. that's for the birds.
my list works like a reverse to-do list. everything that I've done gets noted. I started a notebook for home, too. I even include watching a TV show. (I haven't watched any TV in at least a couple years). it's kind towards myself and good for me to have some downtime, so into the notebook it goes.
somehow my intuition about what's important to me is working better, too. by not asking the impossible what's-the-best-use-of-my-time question, I free myself to consider the wide array of positive choices I could make. instead of agonizing over making the one "right" choice -- and feeling completely inadequate to doing anything positive for myself -- I am able to sort out what really would be good for me to do. and it's not in the framework of what would be an impressive accomplishment, something noteworthy or significant, which are such burdens! no, the framework is creative, kind, and/or good.
I feel really nourished by the acknowledgment I'm giving myself. I'm so glad I've stumbled on this practice of keeping accomplishment notebooks. I am a little afraid that it won't "keep working" for me, that I'll fall back into onerously critical self-talk again. right now, it's like I'm deciding again and again to speak/think kindly to myself.
I think one reason this is successful, is that it gives my monkey mind something to do. instead of worrying and obsessing and criticizing and judging -- paralyzing me into complete inaction -- it has something to do over and over again: notice and write down good, kind, creative things I *am* doing.
of course, it also helps that my work notebook is covered in shimmery pink fabric with sequins sewn on the front, and my home notebook is . . . purple!  they look great together. (I bring my home notebook with me to work in case I happen to do something non-work-related that I want to record). like call the pharmacy insurance people over lunch. or write this blog entry! I love looking over at my pretty books and thinking how full they are with good things I've done. and to think, someday I'll have notebooks full of things, piled high.
I admit, part of me is really skeptical of this new practice. (although it's really not new, I've been writing down hard things since the beginning of January). and part of me is very critical and snide/derisive about being so "pathetic" as to need to do this.
too bad, part of me that wants to be cool and perfect! this new practice is making me feel loved, appreciated, valued, respected.
which is way more important. | | |
| I keep having this sinking feeling. It happens when I question what I'm doing, how I'm spending my time in a given moment. I wonder, is this what I should be doing right now? what would be the best thing I could do with my evening?
by setting up the question as "the best thing", I'm approaching myself in a very all-or-nothing way. either I am doing the best thing or I'm not. there's success or failure, nothing in between.
I feel really stressed when I approach myself this way, as if my worth as a person is on the line. I feel scared. what if I don't pick the "right" thing?
and yet, I've been discovering that there's not one right answer for each moment.
what?!
I don't know why, but it's SO hard for me to let go of the idea that there's one right thing to be doing at any given moment.I remember my dad had this little question taped to his adding machine which sat next to the computer while I was growing up: is this the best use of my time right now? I would read that question over and over again, convinced I was not using my time in the best way. AND, I had no clue how to figure out what the best use of my time would be. everything seemed not important enough. I entertained these fantasies of greatness, of profoundly meaningful activity, and life just seemed so anti-climactic in comparison. nothing seemed worthwhile.
I still fall prey to the siren song of "greatness" . . . the idea of some shellacked, frozen "perfection", some ideal of eternal virtue completely cut off from the messiness of life. I still struggle with nothing seeming worthwhile.
hello, depression!
or perhaps, hello, human condition . . . I wonder about eastern ideas of enlightenment, western ideas of transcendence. so many ideas can be bent to dichotomous thinking where the body/mind and everyday experience are bad, while the dis-embodied spirit/soul soars to some perfect union with the divine.
which is ironic, because the places where I actually find God are in the details. in art that speaks to me. in the way hair falls across someone's forehead.
it's a mindset I want to cultivate: to see God's presence everywhere. to experience God in the ordinary.
wow, I've totally calmed myself down, but now it's time to go back to work and the prospect is intensely unappealing. I feel the familiar tension rising: it's time to work and focus and it all seems so unimportant. there's so much to do, where do I start? what is the "best" use of my time? perfection haunts me.
I have this idea that if I'm not perfect, I'm going to get fired, that I'll lose my job, that I won't be able to get another one. SCARY. more either/or.
| | |
| I did it. I talked to my dad about my being uncomfortable that his therapy appointment is the same night as mine. he sees a different therapist at the same practice. during the school year, my appointment overlapped a half hour with his and I would see his car in the parking lot when I arrived and I knew he saw my car in the parking lot when he left. I would hear him in the hall when he left his appointment. this summer my appointment was a half hour after his but he's often still there when I arrive. I dread running into him. I just feel really, really uncomfortable knowing he's there when I'm there or risking running into him. I feel scared.
I feel uncomfortable around him all the time, like I just want to get him AWAY from me, but it becomes acute when it's at therapy. it's like I am more open and receptive to my feelings in general and so these feelings become even stronger.
he said that saying "I'm uncomfortable" is a catch-all phrase that doesn't really mean anything and wanted me to say more about what was going on for me. he sounded dubious, like he was challenging what I was saying, rather than genuinely wanting to understand. I didn't want to say more and I feel like saying "I'm uncomfortable" is enough. he should have been more respectful and he should have cared about his impact on me. instead it was all about him. what's new.
he didn't want to change away from Wednesday nights. so I asked him if he would agree to not switch to Monday if I switched to Monday. he said he'd stay on Wednesday.
so I didn't get exactly what I wanted which was to stay on Wednesday nights and have him switch. now I'm tempted to confront him with, so having the opportunity to eat dinner with "the family" one more night a week* is more important to you than my experience of profound discomfort around you. bastard.
* many nights that he has the opportunity to come home and eat with us, he doesn't even do it. which I'm fine with, btw. the less I see him, the better.
what a yucky, yucky man. | | |
| Havi wrote about Barbara Sher's Five Lives exercise today . . . here's what I came up with . . .
Potter
Minister - Writer/theologian/ritualist/servant leader/counselor
Mother/wife
Therapist
Gardener
Ocean dedicant
Mover – modern dance, authentic movement, contra dance, ritual dance
Heir of Diana’s Grove (www.dianasgrove.com) // Retreat center founder & facilitator
Activist
Athlete – hang glider, rock climber, runner, biker, skate boarder, skier, volleyball, tennis, hiker, swimmer, surfer, roller skater
Race car driver
Artist
Executive Director of non-profit to prevent child sexual abuse
Volunteer extraordinaire | | |
| I am so grateful tonight. Grateful I had my husband in my life for the time I did. Grateful I'm emerging intact from the grief of losing him. Grateful for my house. Grateful for my kitties. Grateful I get to move on. Granted, I never wanted to say that, but here I am. I feel like I've turned a corner on the grief. I cried massively and profoundly on Friday the 6th after finishing Picture Perfect by Jodi Picoult. [Spoiler alert] The main character Cassie realizes she has to divorce her abusive husband, even though it will hurt her so much because she loves him. Looking back, I realize this was a foreshadowing of the conclusion I came to in therapy on Wednesday the 11th. But before we get to that, Tuesday the 10th I chatted on Facebook with a friend from Diana's Grove who was on [ex-husband]'s Rites Team, someone I don't think I'd talked with since Rites weekend 2001. As I told her about losing [ex-husband], I mentioned I've thought about having a funeral for him over the years, but have never done it. That night, I did a tarot reading about "[ex-husband]'s funeral." I cried so hard. Journaled a lot. Got a LOT of information about what it means to me to say good-bye to him, to who he was to me. The next night in therapy I may have cried harder about losing [ex-husband] than I ever have. I said out loud a lot of things I've hardly let myself think, even though they were true for me. Stuff about not wanting to accept that he's really gone. Except there's this surreal experience where my ex has made a reappearance in my life. So he's not gone. He's changed . . . . he's . . . *she*. He's changed.
He's changed.
He's changed. Damn him, he went and changed on me. I did NOT want to accept that. I just didn't want it to be true, you know? But if it is true (and it sure as heck is), I want to change, too. I don't want to be the one who is still pining away for someone who hurt me so much. I don't want to be committed still to someone who hurt me so badly. I don't want to still be in love with someone who changed on me the way he did. None of this coming out quite right. Tonight, my chest still aches and the tears are hot and fat running down my neck. Well, they were hot on my face anyway. Kinda cool pooling in my collarbone. I took my rings off. I no longer want to be in a committed relationship with him. This is huge. And heart-breaking. And heart-mending. Heart-respecting and heart-soothing. Looking at my wedding pictures tonight, I could sense how I've changed, maybe not in specifics, but I can sense it. I'm not the woman who married him. It doesn't make sense to me, but I don't want to go back to how things were. I can't. I'm not her anymore. I don't love him anymore. It's hard not being that person anymore. I liked loving him. I liked having him love me. But he stopped, damnit. So I'm stopping, too. Still sad. But grateful to be coming out on the other side. Finally. Rejoice with me. | | |
|
