Mining Nuggets

Be willing to be split open

Self-Compassion is not as easy as it sounds. I find whenever I return the focus away from self degradation to self-compassion, painful memories rise up from my childhood and much of my past adulthood as well. Self degradation is learned very early on. When I was a child I naturally believed that the significant adults in my life were right and all knowing. Therefore what they taught me had to be true. I carried those memories and teachings with me into my adult relationships and transferred them to husbands, friends, the workplace, and even my belief system - my spirituality. Cultivating self-compassion means realizing a different truth for my here and now. So many of the myths that were taught about me - that were instilled in me as truths now make no sense. Not only that. I experience hurt and anger that I ever believed such nonsense about me! This is painful indeed. 

For example, one of the myths about me is that I am a "femme fatale." One of the definitions I found describes a femme fatale thus: an attractive and seductive woman, especially one who is likely to cause distress or disaster to a man who becomes involved with her.  I first realized that my family thought of me in this way one night sometime in my late twenties - 50 years ago. A younger family member had come to stay with me for a couple of nights with her significant other. I was a single mother at the time, and was happy they came to stay. I felt warmly supportive of her and gave them my bedroom so that they could have the larger bed. That night I went out to take a class on bioenergetics and returned home around 11:30 or so. I was tired and put on the kettle to make myself some tea before going to bed. My family member's partner came out of the bedroom to greet me. I took it that he was being polite and friendly. He sat with me at the kitchen table drinking a cup of tea and checking in with me about how my day had gone. Suddenly my family member ran into the kitchen, eyes wide and flew into a rage. She blurted out, "They all said you are a femme fatale! Now I see it with my own eyes." I was shocked and hurt. At some level I knew she was not angry with me, but that something about her relationship must be causing her to be anxious. However, I realized, for the first time, that she must have learned this expression from my family - probably my mother as she loved to label others and gossip about us one to the other - causing fear, division, and mistrust. Recently, I was amazed to hear once again a family member describing me as a "femme fatale," in quite a different context.

In both instances neither understood that I have had an excruciatingly difficult time with relationships for years. I did not marry many times because I was seductive and destructive. Instead, I tried over and over again to prove myself worthwhile and lovable, while each time choosing partners who did not really want me from the outset. I was reinforcing the life script I had learned from my mother's relationship with me as a child. In fact, she did not want me. I was in the way of her forming a new life with a man she was passionately in love with after a few years of being with my father, whom she hated, and with whom she compared me daily - over and over again. Indeed, I spent my childhood and much of my adulthood trying, in vain, to prove to her that I was worthwhile and lovable. This script I would transfer to all my relationships with friends, lovers, and husbands. There was nothing seductive or fun. Rather, it has been exhausting and painful.

I think about Natalie Goldberg writing in her book, Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within:

"Write what disturbs you. What you fear. What you have not been willing to speak about. Be willing to be split open."

This particular myth or learned fictional reality about me has been the bane of my life - one that I have pushed aside and tried not to face until quite recently. Maybe it has been the many hours of solitude during the pandemic and a forced retirement that has helped me confront this area of my life. Maybe now in my seventies it is natural for me to reflect on my past to understand myself more clearly. Or, perhaps it is the many years of therapy strengthening me and giving me the confidence to feel this pain viscerally and see that I don't actually die from it. 

Writing about it splits open some of the wounds of my childhood, and forces me to face how I hungered, yearned, and constantly searched for love in so many wrong places. How I constantly sold myself short and chose partners or friends, who did not appreciate or deserve me, and yet with whom I tried over and over again, in vain, to prove that I could be lovable, if only I tried harder. I started to write about this - to hesitantly look at it - four years ago in April, 2017 right after my mother died.

Lately I feel that I am developing the courage to face the tough stuff now: 

Now in my seventies. Now, as I realize I have much to contribute, that I have love to give to those who want to receive it. Now as a retired early childhood professor, who still works relentlessly to advocate for young children's emotional development. By writing books, articles, opinion pieces, this blog, presenting or facilitating professional development workshops.

And, perhaps, now as I continue to pass on my message that all children need relationship and unconditional love, I might find more and more that I am redeemed, that I can start to give me some of that love that I yearned for so desperately for so long. And, this way, I won't need to search for it externally any longer, as I continue to cultivate, and develop self-compassion.

At the conclusion of my book: Everyone Needs Attention: Helping Young Children Thrive, I write:

When stormy emotional rivers have thrashed around me, I have hung on for dear life to compassion and gratitude. They have always steered me through to the other side—to calmer waters of acceptance and love. As teachers, children give us work, passion, and inspiration. They will love us with all their might if we pay attention to them with an open heart. If we watch them closely, we can learn about emotions, spontaneity, joy for life, curiosity, and ourselves—for we relive our own childhoods over and over again, each time redeeming our own selves through their first-time discoveries and expressions of amazement.

Be grateful for them.

Forgive them.

Love them with all your might.

While I wrote those words for all adults who care for and educate young children, I feel sure that I also wrote it for and about me - the little Tamarika, the nickname that my father would fondly call me many, many years ago.

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: https://tamarika.typepad.com/mined_nuggets/2020/04/taken-hostage.html 

Self-forgiveness

During this pandemic I found myself choosing to do a lot of self-work. For example, I took on a number of 21-day challenges with Deepak Chopra, a 2-hour "zoom" workshop with Geneen Roth, as well as a four-week challenge with Oprah toward the middle of our sheltering-in-place period sometime in April [All this in addition to my weekly Facetime visits with my therapist]. I thought these might be helpful as I continue to develop my self-compassion skills.  And I certainly have the time for it.

Most of the workshops and challenges deal with living in the moment and learning to feel gratitude. For example, in one of the meditation workshops with a trainer from the Chopra Center, we were frequently asked two questions: Where am I? and What time is it? - to which the responses were: Here, and Now. This exercise has become quite useful for times when I am feeling anxious about the future, or mournful about the past. I stop, breathe deeply in and out, and ask myself those two questions.

Geneen Roth taught us a very useful phrase to counteract the feeling that everything is all wrong. She suggested we breathe deeply in and out and then ask ourselves: "What is NOT wrong right now?" Oprah encouraged us to say to ourselves: "Right now I am well." These are all helpful self-soothing and comforting techniques to get through some anxious, difficult life moments. And certainly, as a behaviorist, cognitive therapy approach, it does help sometimes to practice these exercises over and over again in a "fake it till we make it" kind of way in order to teach the brain new techniques of perceiving the moment, our communities, or the world at large. 

Rethinking the way I view or criticize myself is how I learn to have compassion for myself. I shift the script I learned about myself as a child with something more forgiving, tender, and supportive. The other day while having tea with a friend, we discussed how often we compare ourselves to people who are so much more accomplished than we are. She suggested that we might choose instead to compare ourselves with people less accomplished. I laughed heartily at the idea that I might not be as bad as I always think I am. I thought that was a good example of self-compassion. 

Along with creating this new type of inner dialog with myself, I find that I often feel anger at the way I was treated as a child, or even how at times I still allow myself to be treated by others. My in-depth therapist does not spend time with the gratitude and be-here-now stuff. Rather, he helps me hold still with uncomfortable feelings of anger and pain so that I can validate those very important human emotions and accept myself for having them. He has been instrumental in helping me understand that feeling those emotions and acting on them are two very different things. I can choose how to express them. But having the feeling in the first place is simply part of how we are all human. There is nothing bad or good about feelings. They simply are part of our humanity. This has been extremely helpful for me, albeit quite painful at times when confronted with the depth of my emotions. More importantly, though, validating my feelings has enabled me to forgive myself for all those past regrets. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, and of course when I look back I can think of dozens of ways I could have done everything better. But dwelling on that does not help me in the present.

And so, I conclude that in order to be here now or realize what is not wrong right now, I have to first or, at least always, accompany those exercises with in-depth validation of the complexity of my emotions including anger and pain.

In short, I am not able to forgive myself unless I have first experienced and validated my emotions. And, when I am able to forgive myself for what I could not have done better with who I was in the past, I become more able to hold still in the moment and experience genuine gratitude. 

Confronting Our Discomfort with Self-Compassion

In each of the three books that I have written these past fifteen years or so, whether they are about reflecting on how we developed our biases, the way we were disciplined, or how we sought attention as children, I conclude with a chapter on compassion. Developing compassion is critical when working with children and families. For when we are able to put ourselves in another’s shoes, we understand them better and are more able to validate their emotions.

Another way of describing learning how to share another’s suffering is empathy. Compassion and empathy go hand in hand, and are necessary for us to develop quality relationships with young children. When I think that most adults treat children the way they were (or are) treated, I can’t help but wonder how adults develop compassion themselves. For, what if they never had the opportunity to practice being empathetic when they were young children?  Or, if they hadn’t experienced the significant adults in their lives being empathetic toward them growing up? In Everyone Needs Attention: Helping Young Children Thrive, I write about self-reflection (or self-research, which I also call internal ethnography):

I invite the reader … to get to know yourself better … to learn about how you became who you are, what and who influenced and affected you, but most of all, how the interactions with adults in your childhood made you feel ... [I invite you again and again] into a space we often leave unexamined, because we might have put aside emotions that were too uncomfortable to deal with when we were children … When I become more aware of how I tick emotionally, I am able to be more intentional, and have more options in choosing how to behave – not only with children, but, in fact, with everyone in my life … Children benefit greatly from authentic relationships with us … When we are humane to them, they learn to be humane to others. When we allow them to explore their emotions safely, they trust us more, and when they trust us, they open themselves up to learn more and more from us – and also to share some of their innermost feelings with us (pages 10 & 11).

In my first book about understanding our biases, I termed this kind of self-reflection as a way of confronting our discomfort. In fact, lately, as we have started having an in-depth look at systemic racism as a nation, I believe that we cannot rid ourselves of systemic racism unless we accompany our efforts with constant self-reflection. Allowing ourselves to become aware of how we acquired our biases as young children from our families of origin can be uncomfortable, or even deeply painful. This means, facing the truth about ourselves, how we feel or how we developed our world view and values.

Always delving into this type of self-reflection personally, recently I have been asking myself: Can I be more compassionate with myself? For if I am not, am I able to have compassion for others?  These questions have been on my mind constantly since reading about self-compassion in a book with the same title by Kristen Neff. It has made me think about the critical voices from my childhood that I developed in my brain when I was growing up. For I realize that these early voices from significant adults in my life have stayed with me until now – even at age seventy-one. Our earliest emotional memories are un-erasable in our brains. Many of us were brought up by parents or guardians who were anxious and fearful, and who used shaming as their disciplinary guide - most likely because that’s how they were punished as children themselves.

Becoming aware of how I talk to me about me in my head is half the battle toward becoming more compassionate with myself. This is different from narcissism or self-praise. This is about learning to accept my flaws as part of being human. Becoming aware of my humanity helps me become more compassionate toward me.  For example, if I carry many plates from the table to the kitchen, a voice in my head (probably from my step-father, when I was a child) harshly admonishes me: "Be careful, you are going to drop those!" And, in that moment I find myself walking with fear of my ability - probably causing me to drop a plate after all! When I am compassionate toward myself, instead, I become aware of why I want to carry so many plates all at once. Do I want to please everyone and show them how good I am at clearing the table? Am I tired and want to finish my chores quickly? Am I angry that I am left with doing this work all alone? In other words, why do I need to carry too many plates all at once? And, on the other hand, perhaps I am, in fact, capable of doing that without dropping any if I feel secure in my abilities.

Self-compassion helps me become more aware of why I do what I do authentically and intentionally. If I find myself cautioning children who try to do something challenging, it likely has something to do with how I wasn’t trusted to do things when I was a child. This way, I become more aware of how or why I blurt out things to children, and I am able to choose different responses – more helpful or appropriate for children’s development.

Self-compassion also helps me accept and validate my feelings. Everyone has feelings whether we like them or not - whether they cause us discomfort or not. I might deny them or pretend I don't feel them, but nevertheless, consciously or unconsciously I experience them simply because I am human. Feelings are complex. They arise when least expected, often when they are in the way of me having a good time, or pretending they aren't there. And, again, if I am able to validate or acknowledge my own feelings, perhaps I would become more inclined to accept children’s feelings as well. In Confronting Our Discomfort: Clearing the Way for Anti-Bias in Early Childhood, I write about the emotional complexities of facing our biases:

I take my childhood with me into every area of my teaching. [For example,] Feelings of guilt and shame about growing up white and privileged in Africa, for my part in an unjust system in Southern Rhodesia accompany me throughout my life. Time and again I find myself trying to compensate for these feelings. Whenever I am in the presence of brown-skinned people, whether they are from Africa, the Americas or Europe, my discomfort relates directly back to guilt and shame of my childhood. It is a constant struggle of not wanting to be white and privileged any longer but, of course, I still am! At the same time, there is a part of me that really does not want to lose that privilege … Sometimes I am aware of my discomfort and often I am not. When I am aware, I am able to empathize with people different from me. However, when I behave unconsciously, I have no idea how other people feel. The discomfort causes feelings of anxiety and then I am unable to focus on anyone other than myself. I become blinded by my own feelings of discomfort (page 41).

As I learn more about self-compassion, it helps me become even more compassionate with children, who struggle to understand their emotions just as I do. Adults, who are hard on themselves seem to take out these critical self-expectations on young, sensitive children, who need their help and guidance. Adults seem to be unconsciously repeating over and over again what was done to or for them when they were children. When we learn to validate our own feelings, we will be more inclined to accept those of others. And when we learn that our flaws, trials and tribulations are what makes us human, we will be able to transfer this compassion and empathy toward others. And then those, who are hard on themselves won’t have to take out these critical self-expectations on young, sensitive children, who need our support and guidance. 

A day in the life

During the COVID 19 pandemic, I discover that I have developed daily routines. I wake up usually between 5:00 and 5:30 a.m. and walk upstairs to my study, where I turn on the coffee pot and give Mimi and Oscar their morning treats. I sit at my computer looking over emails and news headlines as I drink my first coffee of the day. Then, I sit quietly for about 20 minutes and meditate, using a different mantra from the variety of mantras I learned after completing three 21 day challenges with Deepak Chopra these past two months. Having completed them, I have created my own meditations with accompanying music I downloaded from iTunes, and change the mantra to suit my mood each day. By now it is almost 7:00 a.m., and I go downstairs to feed the cats and clean their litter. Before Tom stirs, I walk around the flower garden outside, greeting new blossoms, or observing new leaves and plants awakening. It feels as if this year the garden is more spectacular than usual. Birds are singing louder these days - or are they?

By now, Tom has come down to the front porch and we sit together drinking coffee and sometimes eat a chocolate chip cookie that I baked. I try to keep a steady supply of those. I buy the ready-made dough, that become deliciously home-baked cookies, from Baker Street Bread bakery. The best time to eat them is right after they come out of the oven and the dark chocolate chips have melted gloriously into the dough. We sit on the porch and watch the world go by: cars racing back and forth (where are they going in such a rush? I wonder), joggers running past, walkers walking, and others just out walking their dogs.

The day follows from there - sometimes a walk alone, or perhaps social distance walking with a friend in the neighborhood, or taking in a zoom class of weight bearing bone density support exercises from one of the best instructors I have ever known. If it rains, there is a YouTube tape with aerobic walking at home. Three meals to think about, plan and prepare. Once in awhile I take my mask, hand sanitizer, tissues, and credit card, and head out to a grocery store. Though, I do try whenever possible to order from Prime Whole Foods for our groceries, if they happen to open a delivery window. 

In between I read a book for the book group I belong to, or something that I have discovered in the New York Times, or as recommended by others. And then there are days I respond to professional development inquiries, or facilitate a zoom PD for early childhood teachers here or there, as requested. On special occasions, like Tom's birthday, I organize a zoom dinner with friends. In the evenings we watch different Netflix Series or movies, either downloaded from a neighboring theater, or through different networks.  

Once a week, I organize the garbage and take it out to the curb.

Sometimes, we eat gelato for desert. And then, it is off to bed with me: to read, listen to stress free music, write in my gratitude journal, or just lie and reflect on the day that has passed.

My all-time favorite thing to do is to FaceTime with my son, his wife and my grand daughter, or to visit in a social distancing way with the family of my surrogate grandson. I cherish those moments more than anything. 

Today on my morning walk, I looked up into the clear blue sky and wondered in amazement at the brilliantly colored azaleas blooming everywhere I walked. How can the world be so beautiful, and yet seem so sinister all at the same time? I felt as if I was walking within a science fiction movie, greeting people with my eyes to theirs over our masks. 

Yes indeed, daily routines keep me balanced, and ward off those one or two times I have experienced panic attacks. On the whole, though, I feel privileged and very fortunate. Even as I stare up at the clear blue sky and enjoy these glorious spring days, I am acutely aware that tens of thousands, nay millions, of people around the nation and across the globe, are suffering in ways I cannot even imagine. I hold them - the situation - in my thoughts constantly, which, of course, causes my balance to falter, tilter, and rock me awake into steadying myself with yet one more routine. 

Taken hostage

At the beginning of this man's presidency, I vowed never to allow his name or pictures of him on any of my websites, so that at least from this one citizen,  he would not be privy to attention - because the way I see it, he is unable to live without it. As the past three years have gone by I became even more adamant about this - especially after he separated small children from their families at the border. This, in my opinion was the very last straw, although, of course, there have been multiple circumstances, situations, and appalling behaviors and statements since then that have only reinforced my vow.

However, recently after seeing this picture on social media, I felt that I simply must speak out:

It alarmed me in a number of ways, and when I saw it I literally closed my eyes for a few moments and thought about the implications behind the photograph. I thought to myself: "People must really hate this man to put up a picture like this." And that's the word that comes to mind: hate. For the past three years hatred has been at the foundation of everything he has promoted. Hatred of immigrants, people with disabilities, Jewish people, women, science, and on and on. This is not the fault of this president alone. No. He has been bolstered and supported continuously by a small percentage of the population. Indeed, these policies and behaviors have been most appealing especially to people, who, I believe, must have had an emotionally devastating childhood themselves. A childhood where they were taught to repress their anger and fear to such an extent, that when they grew up to be adults, their only way of dealing with their own horrific, traumatic childhoods is to externalize the hatred to others. Rather than face their own self-hatred, that they were taught as young children from the shaming and abuse they endured. 

Years ago I read Savage Inequalities: Children in America's Schools, by Jonathan Kozol, where he warned us of the greed that was being supported and encouraged by our politicians, who are not only greedy for money, but power as well. And then years later, I read Born for Love: Why Empathy is Essential and Endangered, by Maia Szalavitz and Bruce Perry, where the concept of developing empathy in early childhood is critical for our future survival as a human species. Both books influenced me deeply. So much so, I wrote my own books about self-reflection and our understanding of how our own childhood affect how we interact with young children. All three of my books have a concluding chapter about the importance and nature of compassion.

I know that right now we are living through a pandemic: the COVID 19 crisis. But I am thinking of it as a hostage crisis as well. For, we have been taken hostage by a small percentage of the population, who nurture hatred, greed and unspeakable, unconscionable meanness. The majority of the population are compassionate and kind, work hard, abide by the laws of the land, and do amazing things each and every day to help others, oftentimes with tremendous risk to themselves and their families. I witness millions of acts of kindness and courage, strength and humility all around me and through the Internet.

This gives me great hope for all our futures, because I know that the man and his small rogue government will not be able to destroy us all in the end. We are hostages right now, but we are able to extricate ourselves from this situation. It doesn't take much. Just the right to vote. And by hook or by crook, we will vote even, as one person "tweeted" recently, if we have to walk on broken glass to do it. We will rise up and take back our land - our world - and move forward with hope and courage again. We will value compassion and goodness, and cast aside greed and meanness. We will turn around this horrible blip in history and leave it behind us before this horrific picture (above) could ever become true. 

Charoset

I am pretty well exhausted and it is only noon. I woke up at 4:45 this morning wide-eyed and panicked. Suddenly I realized that Passover is next week and I haven't bought a thing for it. What was I waiting for? I went upstairs to my study as I always do, turned on the coffee machine, gave Oscar and Mimi their treats, and sat down to check in with my sister on What's App. to see if she had sent me Day 15 of Deepak Chopra's 21 day challenge of "Abundance." Somehow I felt that I had better meditate. Something seemed to be bubbling up, cooking, ready to boil over or explode in my brain. "I need to make charoset!" I screamed inside my head. Not to mention that it would be just Tom and I for the festive Seder next Wednesday night. But, we will be zooming in with friends, who live about seven blocks away. Frenziedly I rummaged through my drawers searching for the recipe of charoset that my father's wife, my step-mother, used to make. I couldn't just make do with a little grated apple, walnuts and cinnamon maybe. No. Not this morning. I needed - had to have - the recipe that calls for ground almonds, pitted dates, white wine vinegar that need to be soaked overnight and pulverized in a blender to just the right consistency. A recipe from Rhodes Island (Greece) - my father's old country. Somewhere in the night through troubled sleep and vivid dreams, my brain pulled up this desperate need for that specific sephardic, charoset recipe. 

After I found three different variations of the same recipe - each written to me decades ago by a different family member - I started to try and find ingredients online at different grocery stores. Wanting them to deliver it because of COVID and my being 70 and all, I discovered to my dismay that many didn't deliver, or didn't have delivery slots left for days, or did not have some of the ingredients in stock or ... on and on, until finally, yes indeed: I began to panic. By 7:30 a.m. I was in melt-down mode. Everything held silently within, I raced downstairs, fed the cats and then climbed back up to the bathroom for a very hasty shower. While I was pulling on my clothes, Tom said, "Where are you going?" "Out to buy food for Passover!" I exclaimed. "Can I come with you?" he asked softly. "Well ... yes," I replied, "But I am leaving right now - I have no time to wait. So if you want to come with it has to be now. Plus, I am in a panic and can't calm down. So, if you can handle that, come along with me, otherwise, you had better stay home!" As I bolted for the door, I noticed that Tom was quietly walking behind me. He joined me in the passenger seat of my car with a cup of coffee in his hand. He was quiet, solid, present.

As I started to drive out the garage and down the driveway toward the street, tears began to stream down my cheeks. "I am in a panic," I said  and began to breathe deeply. As I wept, Tom sat quietly next to me until we reached the supermarket. We pulled on gloves and face masks, and headed into the store. As I rolled the cart from half empty aisle to another, I found every single thing I needed - and then some. The woman at the checkout counter greeted me cheerily. She started to pull on gloves saying how much she hated using them. I said, "Put them away. I'm sure your hands are clean." She thanked me profusely and we beamed at each other. Tom still quietly present, bagged up the trillions of items I had procured for the uncertain future that lay ahead. 

As we drove away I started to laugh out loud. "Well, well," I said, this time tears of laughter rolled down my face. "I guess it all has finally hit me! I mean, what was that all about? All this panic about Passover and having the very special charoset of my father's people? I couldn't just make do with apples and walnuts?" We both were laughing by now. We stopped outside our favorite coffee shop prepared to stand in line for a latte. But as luck would have it, there was no line. We quickly received our lattes along with a fresh, warm, melt-in-the-mouth croissant, and headed home. As I drove I once again noticed the blossoming trees and misty morning, abundance of spring flowers, and a woman jogging up the steep side of the road, as she pushed a wide stroller with two children in it. We slowed down, smiled and waved at her, giving her two thumbs up as she smiled and waved back at us. "Ah," I sighed, "I have come back to me."

All's well that ends well. Breathe in and out and accept all manner of emotions that come our way. These are surreal times, and facing uncertainty is a powerful challenge. One thing is for sure. I am grateful for Tom, my darling community, and the fact that I am fortunate in so many ways. It opens my heart today, and this Passover to all those thousands - millions - who suffer each and every day. I will remember and hold them all in my heart always.

Everything is out of control

Leaning into a state of no control. I always remember an old friend of mine saying, "Don't worry. Everything is out of control."  We were in our late twenties - well over 40 years ago - and she meant it in an eastern philosophical sense, reminding me to just let go and let God. It stayed with me in times of crisis, or even when I am stuck in a traffic jam. I tense up, become anxious, look around for what I can do to get out of the situation, and then at some point I whisper those words to myself and start to relax into it. From then on, I find myself becoming more focused on here and now, holding still, and being intentionally aware of what is happening in the moment. My breathing slows down, and I start to see things I might not have noticed before. I am able to listen to people who are with me, and really hear what they are saying. I become more present. 

It is important to heed the advice of scientists and medical experts during this pandemic. But, even more important is being able to shutter away those who spread fear and lies. In times like these I only want the truth - even if it is difficult or uncomfortable to hear. It helps me make informed decisions and gives me some sense of control in an otherwise uncontrollable situation. Don't pander to me and tell me lies to make it sound like everything will be okay. I have faith that we will live through this, even as I know tens of thousands will not. I feel sure that some will emerge stronger and wiser, and many will be crushed and weakened. Ever since I was a child I could not tolerate being told something just to placate me. I have always sought out the truth - the reality of a situation, no matter how painful or harsh. My best therapy sessions are when I confront an excruciating feeling and process it as far as I can go with my therapist sitting opposite me listening and validating how I feel in that very moment. I don't brush it under the rug or put on a happy face to deny its existence. At the end, I feel more whole, lighter, and much, much stronger. I feel confident and that I can face anything that will happen going forward. 

We are constantly telling little children to smile and be happy instead of holding still and helping them confront uncomfortable feelings. We need real life skills to understand that life is sad and lonely sometimes - we are angry and hurt sometimes - we are disappointed and envious sometimes - we are bored and tired sometimes - just as we feel indescribable joy sometimes. I love Joseph Campbell's idea of  "joyfully participating in the sorrow of the living." Life is complex and messy. For me, that's the very essence, the reality, the very beauty of it.

A question of attitude

So, I was having a really good week - getting myself on track, making important decisions about my health, arranging a trip to Australia and New Zealand to visit with old friends, and give a keynote presentation on the importance of quality relationships with young children. And then, suddenly out of nowhere it seemed, it felt like a hand reached out from somewhere and beat me down with a huge baseball bat - beat me and beat me into whimpering submission, and I found myself huddled up on the couch covered in blankets, shivering and shaking with aching bones and chills throughout my muscles. And there I lay for three days sniveling, hacking and coughing, and aching and aching. All the while wondering what had happened, where had it come from, and why me? Yes indeed, I took it personally. At times I even wept. It surely felt as if I had been severely punished. For I was grounded, unable to visit with friends, walk in the woods, see a play, or, even, call for help. I was helpless. When I tried to rise up off the couch to walk into a different room, my body ached so badly I wept and fell back on the couch as fast as I was able. 

I am not quite sure of the exact moment when I lifted my head and thought out loud: "What? Was I feeling too empowered for you, that you just had to beat me down and into submission?" In the silence of the empty room my words echoed back to me. "Who am I talking to?" I thought. "My mother? God? Hm ... one and the same?" I started to giggle with relief as I looked around and saw no one was with me observing my maniacal display to myself. I lifted up off the couch and wandered into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. How strange ... for some reason the body ached less. 

From then on, each moment I felt weak, sore, or coughing got the better of me, I said to myself, "No! I'm not going down. It's okay for me to feel empowered, capable, likable, accomplished," and miraculously the coughing, achey body felt stronger and I was on my way. Of course, some might say the virus or cold had simply passed through and was out of there - just as illness is want to do. But I can't help but feel that my attitude played a a part: my mind and body connected the more aware I became of how I had gotten myself into it in the first place. I tracked back the day I started feeling ill to a powerful therapy session I had. It was one where I allowed my therapist to confront me in a way that felt painful but true. A hard-to-face-myself moment where I held still and felt uncomfortable. 

Who knows the reasons why I became so very ill so suddenly? I believe in science and facts - but I also think life is a mystery - and the development of my mind, my psyche, the connections between them and my bodily functions are as real as can be. So, perhaps recovering from illness could also be supported by a change of attitude? After all, why is it that I felt better when someone visited, granddaughter and surrogate-grandson face-timed to ask how I was feeling, or when life partner interrupted his work upstairs to bring me a cup of tea?

Anyway ... how does this story end, you might ask? Oh! Are you curious? Well, I am feeling physically stronger and much better today.

Thanks for being out there in Cyberspace ...  reading this ... listening ... for relationships always help me feel better, stronger, valued.

15th year blog-aversary

Over the years every now and then I come to the conclusion that my writing days are over. And then something happens to inspire me to write again. It could be something my cats do, or the way the sun shines through the window in my study lighting up the small cactus plants staff gave me as my semi-retirement gift four and a half years ago. It might be something a friends says to me on our morning walk, or the way I feel after reading a book or poem that moves me. This morning I realized that I have been blogging for fifteen years. It feels like an accomplishment when lately most people prefer instant gratification of Facebook, Instagram or Twitter. With those social media sites, I am able to say a lot, with very few words. When I blog, I think about how I want to write a post and often go through several edits before I publish it for a Cyber audience - people I have never met, and some who are close friends or colleagues. Each time I write my blog, I learn a little more about being an author in general. For example, who the audience might be, what I yearn to express, or what I choose not to say. Writing in the heat of the moment is more like spilling one's guts into a personal journal. Writing for an audience other than me, requires me to develop an understanding of my guts, so that my words might have meaning for others as well as myself. In other words, I have realized that writing is not only an avenue of self-expression for self-gratification. I want to share my ideas and feelings for others too. 

Last year was very full of large life events, including retiring, turning, 70, and becoming a grandmother for the first time. There were days when my mind was full to bursting. I felt like I had so much to write that I often became paralyzed by the enormity of emotion, and succumbed to silence instead. Becoming a grandmother brought up so many memories of when I was a young mother myself, including turbulent feelings associated with the marriage to my son's father at the time. Indeed, there were days of excruciating pain as I recalled some of the difficult times we went through together and alone. Retiring from teaching was filled with conflicting emotions: some days excited and proud of all my years of professional development and accomplishments; at other times, afraid to become worthless and invisible. The more I experienced the turbulent emotions, the less I was able to write. I decided, I would have to wait and see how I felt once things calmed down and my feelings stabilized.

So, where am I now? I think about one of my favorite quotes of Natalie Goldberg:  Write what disturbs you. What you fear. What you have not been willing to speak about. Be willing to be split open. I wonder if I am able to do this. In the last book I wrote I was able to describe some of what I was feeling viscerally. It was revealing and cathartic all at the same time. The more I modeled my thought/feeling process, many people who read the book wrote to me or told me in person that it was helpful for them to reflect on themselves as well. I know I haven't "split myself open," in the way Natalie Goldberg suggests. I seem to hold myself back. Fear of self expression is really difficult to overcome, especially as I was shamed for doing so over and over again when I was growing up. 

This is not a new year resolution, but more like a developmental step in my psyche. In this 15th year of blogging, in this start of a new decade, 2020, perhaps I will dare myself to finally face my fear of self-expression full on, once and for all, and split myself open.

Accepting your feelings by understanding my own

Quote of the day:

Feelings and predispositions matter, for Aristotle, but more for the sake of self-knowledge than self-improvement ... Mister Rogers agreed: “Everyone has lots of ways of feeling. And all of those feelings are fine. It’s what we do with our feelings that matter in this life.” ... We’d be better off if we’d stop negating children’s dark emotions with stifling commands like “Don’t cry,” “Calm down,” “Be quiet.” If we are convinced by Rogers’ and Aristotle’s claim that feelings are not wrong and that “what’s mentionable is manageable,” we should begin mentioning our own sad, lonely and disappointed feelings. In doing so, we would show children — and our grown-up selves — how to appropriately manage them.

The New York Times, Mariana Alessandri, November 28, 2019

Revisiting the love-hate epiphany:

Holiday get-togethers with family are often accompanied by complex, sometimes intense emotions. Interactions press buttons and emotional memories arise. Or, as a close friend remarked to me recently, “The past throws up all over us!” The trick, I think, is becoming aware of which buttons are being pushed when and how. Holding still with these feelings helps me recognize them in ways that don't alarm me, rather understand and negotiate them silently within. Then I realize that often the other person's hurtful words or behaviors have nothing to do with who I am, or what I might have been saying. Perhaps my interactions unwittingly press buttons for the other person too.

It takes work, even courage, to face ourselves. I mean, who likes feeling pain or discomfort on purpose? As young children most of us were taught to repress our emotions. For example, we should not feel angry or sad, and even if we were over-joyed, we were encouraged to tamper down our emotions. For example, I remember when expressing excitement, or joyfulness, adults around me told me to be careful because, "It would end in tears." Today I understand that those same adults might have feared feeling joy in order to prevent disappointment after having been hurt themselves. Perhaps they warned me when I was a child to protect me from having expectations dashed. The people who loved and cared for us as children passed on their own fears, life experiences, and ways they learned to solve problems to help us survive.

We don’t have to do it their way if it doesn't work for us.

I must say that this morning I am feeling grateful, because my closest family members are always willing to talk things through no matter how uncomfortable our feelings are. 

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Transitions