Catching Feelings?

Ah Facebook.  Without it, how would a girl like me keep up with all the newest trends out there?

One that I've noticed lately is really bothering me.  It goes like this:

• Someone posts a video or song and add the warning, "This will get you in your feelings."
• Memes that speak of "catching feelings" 
  

Here are a few points I'd like to make about such statements.

1.  If something "gets you in your feelings" I'm guessing that means it makes you emotional?  Perhaps watching a video of some cute puppy dogs made you cry a little or maybe a sad song on the radio reminded you of something sad.  When I hear "got me in" I instantly think of someone being punched in the gut really hard.  Maybe that's the intention of this phrase, to make it sound as if our feelings should be guarded and that any attempt by someone else to access our emotional side is something akin to a punch in the gut?  

Here's my problem with that: As human beings we are wired to have emotional experiences.  Our emotional complexity is one of the things that sets us apart from other mammals.  People who do not have access to their emotions on a minute by minute basis are not functioning at an optimal level.  They are closing themselves off to the inner experience of being human.  If having a "feeling" seems like the equivalent of having someone use you as a punching bag, you need to work on becoming more mindful.  Mindfulness is simply the ability to focus on the here and now, take stock of what your thoughts and emotions are, feel them, accept them and then let them go.  People who practice mindfulness are able to notice when they are deflecting their emotions, when their thoughts start to spiral out of control (usually this means dwelling on the past or worrying about the future) and are able to address what's going on inside them rather than look for distractions or substances that will numb the emotions away.

2. "Catching feelings"--seriously?  This is so ridiculous I don't even know where to begin.  From all I can glean from reading the memes on Google Images, "Catching Feelings" means falling in love or loving someone.  What happened to the word "Love"?  Why has it been replaced with the generic term "feelings" and why do we need to make it sound like a virus?  You catch a cold.  Love is not something you catch.  If only it were contagious, the world might be a much better place.  You catch a virus by being in the right place at the wrong time.  It happens without your knowledge, without your permission, without your ever having wanted it to happen.  Love, on the other hand, requires growth and attention.  People make conscious decisions regarding who they will open their hearts to and allow themselves to love.  I realize that sometimes it doesn't seem like such a voluntary thing, but it is.  You decide to give of yourself, to be vulnerable and to take care of another person's emotional needs, not because you "caught" some kind of emotion, but because you want to cultivate a connection.  Connection leads to love, not some mystery illness.

My problem with this one is that it makes human connection seem like something unnatural and undesirable.  It makes love sound like something we should be ashamed of.  It seems to promote the idea of using people as a means to an end, to get what we want from them and then move on to the next person.  If you don't care about people, using them is easy.  If you develop feelings for someone, it becomes much harder to brush them off as insignificant and to excuse exploitative behavior.  From all I've seen and read, this "catching feelings" thing seems to be mostly perpetuated by males toward females.  It is insulting and I hope to goodness younger women do not start buying into this way of thinking about themselves and their emotional worth.  Honestly, a man who is worth your time will honor and respect the sacredness of your inner experiences and will encourage you to express yourself. A man who sees your worth will be as willing as you are to cultivate a connection with you that goes beyond the physical; he will be willing to share in the experience of personal growth that love requires.

If you ever hear a man telling you, "I don't want you to catch feelings," grab the heaviest object in the room, hurl it at him and say, "Catch this with your head."  Then run.  Run far away and don't look back because the only thing you'll catch from him is something you'll need antibiotics to treat.

The Toothache, The Mud Puddle and Falling Down The Stairs (Metaphorical answers to some of life's toughest conundrums)

The Toothache

Rachel woke up Saturday morning with throbbing toothache in her right bottom molar.  It was so intense that her whole head hurt, but she knew there were important things to get done, so she decided she'd ignore the pain and make breakfast for her hungry kids.  As she fried eggs and  cooked bacon to order (Some like it crispy, some like it chewy) she would stop now and then to wince at the nagging ache in her jaw, but knowing she had duties to perform, she tried to brush it aside and concentrate on what was before her.

Rachel swallowed some pain relievers, took a shower and gently brushed her teeth.  She used mouthwash that numbed the pain for a few minutes at a time, but inevitably, the pain returned with a vengeance and she found herself unable to concentrate on anything else.

By 2:00 pm she was in her recliner, a heating pad pressed against her face and the phone in her lap as she anxiously awaited a call back from the emergency dentist.  Nothing else mattered to her at that point because the pain was so horrible she couldn't focus on anything past the throbbing ache that crept its way up the whole side of her face and seemingly into her brain.

The children fought.  The refrigerator was empty, the dog whined to go outside, but she couldn't be bothered with any of that.  The discomfort of others at that point, seemed insignificant to her.  She had a toothache!

Her stomach growled with hunger, but she knew how bad it would hurt to eat, so she suffered through the rumbling in her belly rather than even try to find something her mouth could tolerate.

As she sat nursing her pain and hoping for some relief, her husband ran into the house bleeding profusely from his hand.  He had cut himself on a power tool in the garage. "Can you bandage this for me?" he asked in a panic.  "I might need stitches" He said.

But she was in no condition to drive him to the emergency room. She had no interest in bandaging his hand or stopping the bleeding.  Her toothache was making it impossible for her to even care that he was also in pain.

So he drove himself to the ER and came home with ten stitches, only to find her still sitting in the recliner writhing in pain with the children running around the house like little mad-men, destroying everything in sight.

"What is your problem?" He wanted to know.
"My tooth really hurts." She answered, thinking that should be explanation enough.
"Everyone gets a toothache now and then!" The husband argued. "Why can't you just get over it already!  Take something for the pain, go to the dentist!  Get better, we need you!"

But the dentist couldn't see her on a Saturday and the pain medication wasn't helping.  All she could focus on was her own pain.  The pain and problems of everyone else seemed small and insignificant compared to the excruciating pain in her own body.  Why couldn't they understand that?  Why couldn't she get a break?

By the time Monday morning rolled around, her husband had had enough.  He packed her into the car and drove her to the dentist who quickly found a tiny piece of dental floss had broken off between her tooth and gum, causing an infection and severe inflammation.  Gently, the dentist took a long tweezer and pulled the tiny bit of floss loose.  The relief she felt was almost immediate.

On the way home, Rachel looked over at her husband's bandaged up hand on the steering wheel and her heart sank.  She realized how selfish she had been when he had asked for her help.  In retrospect, it seemed her own pain couldn't have been worse than his, but at the time, her pain was so overwhelming she couldn't even consider that anyone else could be hurting.  With her pain numbed and somewhat relieved, her sense of empathy came into focus enough for her to look at her husband and apologize for not being there for him.

"It's okay." He answered.  "I understand that it's almost impossible to consider someone else's pain when you are hurting so badly that you can think of nothing else but finding relief for yourself."

And with that they drove home in silence, her swollen jaw and his bandaged hand a reminder to them both that sometimes in life, we have to focus on our own pain and path to healing before we can help anyone else with theirs.


The Mud Puddle

A guy was walking down the street, taking in all the sights and sounds the beautiful spring morning around him.  Birds were chirping joyously, fluttering from one beautiful flowery dogwood branch to another welcoming the sunshine after days and days of heavy rain.  The guy, we'll call him Chuck; Chuck was whistling a little ditty to himself that he'd heard before, but didn't know the words to.  He thought about his day, his plans, the girl he loved as he walked, chin up through the sunlit morning on his way to make the most of such a promising day.  Chuck was a hopeful kind of guy.  He smiled a lot of the time, even if he didn't feel like smiling.  Whenever someone did something rude or thoughtless that hurt his feelings, he was usually able to brush it off, remind himself "Everyone has bad days." And just move on, being his contented, unflappable self.

Chuck had no idea what was coming ahead of him though.  If he had just taken a second to look away from the flowering dogwoods and stopped thinking about tomorrow and all the promise that lay ahead in it for him, he might have saved himself some messy trouble.  But he didn't look down, not even for a second.  So imagine his surprise when he took a step and fell, right foot-first into a deep puddle of mud that swallowed him up to his chin.

Suddenly, his morning of bliss became bleak.  He found himself eye-level with the feet of passersby, people he had not even noticed were on the street with him just a few seconds before.

"Hey, can you help me?" He asked a pair of black pumps as they tromped hurriedly around the puddle.
"Sorry," The girl attached to them answered over her shoulder. "I'm running late. You can get out of there if you try hard enough! Just believe in yourself!" She offered as she stomped away.

Chuck struggled against the heavy weight of the mud pressing against his arms and legs and realized it was hard to even move.  How the heck was he even going to get to the edge of the puddle, where he could reach the solid, dependable edge of the sidewalk to pull himself out?  He struggled and struggled, and wore himself out trying to make it to the edge.  He kept seeing feet stepping around him and his puddle, but trying to believe in himself, he didn't ask any of them for a hand.

Chuck ended up wallowing in that mud puddle for hours.  Hours that felt like days, as he would work his way almost free and then somehow stumble and end up right back up to his neck again. Eventually there was even mud on his face, his eyelids almost cemented shut with it.

He spent some time fussing at himself for being stupid enough to walk right into a giant puddle of mud that was deep enough to engulf him.  "What was I thinking?" He kept asking himself. "I must be an idiot!" He asserted.  "I have to be the only person in the world who would find himself in a place like this!" For a while those negative thoughts spun out of control, all the while with his fighting and struggling to free himself from the mess he had gotten himself into.

Finally, too tired to keep fighting, Chuck decided he would just sit there in the mud puddle for a while.  He took some time to get acquainted with how the cool, wet earth felt against his skin.  He wondered about people who take mud-baths on purpose.  He relaxed his arms and legs and let himself sink, still further into the soggy deep hole until the mud was covering his mouth. He breathed through his nose and thought about how nice it would be once someone came along and noticed him there and pulled him out.  He thought about all the things he was going to do as soon as he was out of that mud puddle.

"I'm going to get coffee as soon as I get out of here!" he determined to himself.  "I'm not even going to worry about how dirty I am and I'm not even going to care what anyone at Starbucks thinks of me when I walk there covered in mud.  Sometimes people get dirty. It's life.  They'll just have to deal with it."

But as the hours passed and the hurried feet continued to sidestep him, he started to lose hope.  "What if no one notices me here?" He finally asked himself as the sun started to hide behind a hillside and the warm spring breeze started to turn to a chilly nip in the air.  Suddenly and frantically he began to yell for help.

"Help! Help!" He yelled as more and more folks in their shiny shoes, running shoes, high heels and hiking boots avoided his puddle.  None of them seemed to hear him, and the ones who did just told him "You can do it!  Get yourself out!"

In quiet resignation, Chuck raised his arms one last time through the heavy weight of the mud as he reached over his head to wave his hands toward  the heavens and ask "WHY ME?"

That was when he felt it.  The small, cool tender shoot of a new leaf tickling the tip of his finger.  At last, chuck did something he had not done since he fell into the puddle.  He looked up.

Just above his head a strong sturdy branch from a very old dogwood tree reached out to him, it's budding leaves and tender flowers speckled with mud from his day of splashing and struggling to set himself free.  Chuck found within himself one last surge of hope, one last burst of energy that gave him the strength to reach up and grab that branch.  As he pulled himself from the puddle, he felt the murkiness trying to suck him back in, but in his tenacity he refused to give up and with all the strength he had, he pulled himself free.

As the sun continued to sink behind the horizon, Chuck crawled up onto that strong, sturdy old branch and propped his feet up with his hands behind his head and watched the day come to a close.  The birds had gone silent, except for a few mocking birds who hollered loudly for their mates.  The street was quiet, there were no more people coming and going, hurrying to meet deadlines and scurrying around big puddles like the one he had found himself trapped in all day.  Coffee was the last thing on his mind.  At last he was free from the puddle and from his new perspective, could see the world around him in a whole new way.

Sure, Chuck eventually climbed down from the tree and made his way back home to shower.  He called his friends and told them what happened and they all said, "Wow, had I known, I would have happily helped you!"

But Chuck knew something they didn't.  That sometimes when you fall into a mud puddle, you have to stay there and wallow for a while before you can find your way out.



Falling Down


Jon was late to class.  It wasn't as if it were the first time he'd ever been late before, after all, in college he was often the last guy to sneak into the back of the classroom and take the last seat as the professor droned on and on about something he only listened to in order to keep his mind off other things.  This time though, he was the professor, and he knew there was a classroom full of students waiting for him two floors up.  He knew that if he didn't get there within the next 3 minutes, the students would disperse, deciding that the Ol' Prof had abandoned class for the day.

So Jon skipped the uncertain wait for the elevator and instead decided to leap up the stairs, two steps at a time to his waiting class on the second floor.  He made it up the first flight of stairs, his heart beating fast in his chest, heaving for air and thinking to himself that he really needed to get in better shape.  As he leaped up the steps, double-timing it to his next lecture, he thought of the walking trail on campus and chastised himself a little for not taking advantage of it more often.  Losing himself in thought was a bad idea he soon discovered, as his numbing leg stretched one last time over the steps that would settle him finally on the landing just outside his classroom.  He was already reaching for the door to the stairwell when his leg, tired and distracted, missed the step and he stumbled backwards all the way to the bottom of the second flight of stairs.

He lay there for a second or two in dumbfounded shock.  "I fell" he said to himself in surprise.

Panic quickly arose in him as he looked around to see if anyone else was in the stairwell with him. To his relief, he was alone.  No one had seem him fall.  At least he wouldn't have to endure the same and embarrassment of anyone trying to help him up or ask if he was okay.  No one could go and tell the story of how they saw him tumble backwards down a flight of stairs.

One crisis averted, he looked around him and noticed his briefcase had popped open upon impact and graded term papers were scattered on the landing and on the steps below him.  He sat up and sighed heavily.  "Now what do I do?" he asked himself. "By the time I pick up all these papers and get to class, all my students will be gone." So rather than get to work picking up the papers, he scooted himself against the wall and sat there, staring at the aftermath of his flawed plan.

Eventually, he heard the stairwell door open below him and fast steady steps making their way in his direction.  He quickly assessed the situation, realizing that whomever was coming would likely look at this mess and believe he had lost his mind if they saw him sitting there inactive among the scattered papers, and started to scramble furiously to pick them up, stuffing them back into his briefcase haphazardly.

"Oh no!" he heard a kind voice say. "You dropped your briefcase?"
He looked up and grinned dubiously at the kind face smiling down at him.
"Yeah, he said." I'm so clumsy sometimes!"
"Let me help you," she offered, and before he could refuse she had started to pick up the papers and neatly stack them together before handing them to him.
"Thanks" he said sheepishly.
"Not at all," She offered.  "You know, these stairwells are bad luck for me too."
"Really?" He asked, interest piqued.
"Yeah, the other day I was running late and fell down four steps trying to get to class on time.  Ended up being late anyway." She laughed.
He chuckled a little too. "Yeah, that must have really sucked."
"Well, I hope your day gets better." She said kindly as she made her way steadily up the steps to the second floor.
"Thanks," He answered.  "I think it just got a little better already."  He found comfort in knowing he wasn't the first person to fall down those steps in a hurry to his next appointed duty.

Jon took a deep breath and straightened his tie as he took stock of his body.  Was anything hurt? No, he didn't think so...Nothing but his pride anyway.  Then he steadily made it up the stairs just to see if there were any students still waiting.

He entered the classroom, still red-faced and flustered to find three students sitting patiently,two of them tapping on their iPhones, seemingly oblivious to the fact that all the other students had left; the third smiled back at him from her seat as she settled in and pulled out her notebook.  It was the girl from the stairwell who helped him pick up his scattered mess.

He nodded at her with a grin as he opened his own notes and began to lecture about the human nature of decision making.  The activating event, the underlying belief systems, and the consequent choices we all make based on our belief systems.

And as he spoke to the nearly-empty classroom with only one student who listened with rapt attention, he realized, he should have just waited for the elevator.

Those Two Little Words...

Sometimes, you just really need to hear those two words.  The two words that make everything okay again.  The words that strengthen the bond you already have with someone.  The two words that take a mere friendship and turn it into a deeply connected, valuable, important life-connection with another person.

Sometimes, without those two words, even the most intimate interactions feel distant and surreal.  A hug feels artificial, a kiss feels contrived.  Kind words spoken in absence of the two missing words are harder to absorb, difficult to believe.  

No matter how hard I try to connect, the absence of those two words create a force field of rejection that can't be overcome.  Not the presence of something, but the very gaping hole of something's existence creates a wall that seemingly cannot be overcome by even the most passionate and loving efforts of the person who will never hear those two words.  

Maybe it isn't so important that I hear them though.  Maybe it is just that they need to be expressed, they need to be felt, and the vulnerability that comes with saying them needs to be addressed by the person who finds them so hard to say.   Maybe it is just that in the confession of them, in the acceptance of the meaning behind those two words, two people can find their way back to fellowship with one another--walls broken down, true affection, once dammed up by fear, hurt anger, allowed to freely flow again.

But they are two of the hardest words to say because we fear what they tell us about ourselves.  We are loathe to admit our flaws.  We fear that if we acknowledge our imperfections, if we own up to what we regret, we may never find favor again with ourselves or with anyone else.

  It can't be my fault that I said things I didn't mean, can it?  After all, I was provoked.  I was angry. I was hurt.  If I can somehow make this about someone else's shortcomings, I can keep my defenses securely in place.  No one can get to me, as long as I stay above reproach.

But the moment I utter those words, I open myself up for judgment.  I open myself up to another, put myself at his mercy, feeling as though my worth is determinate of his forgiveness.  If I say those words, I put myself in a position that gives him power over me.  I lose control of the situation.  I am being too nice.  

Nice guys never win.

It is much easier to just pretend those things never happened.  Let's just pretend I never said hurtful things to you.  Let's just pretend you never told me how you felt, that your needs, your wants aren't really valid after all, and that what I want always trumps what you want and that you are totally okay with denying yourself the closeness you desire from me.  What I want is you, but I don't want to admit that.  What I want is to feel close to you, but I don't want to let you close to me.  I want your forgiveness, but I am never going to ask for it.  Instead, I am going to pretend things are okay. I'm going to keep my distance, but expect you to be there when I need you to be.  I'm counting on you because I know without a doubt that you care about me.  Subconsciously, I know that your love for me gives me power.  I use that power without even considering its consequences at times, because what I want from you is more important to me than what you want.  My needs come first.  I have to take care of me, I can't trust that you will want to willingly give me what I desire, so I have to feel as if I'm tricking you into it.  This way, I come out faultless in the end, even if things don't work out.  If I maintain my stance, keep my barriers in place, refuse to make an investment of my time or energy or emotion, the consequences all become yours to bear.  I am not to blame.  I did what was right for myself.  I'm always looking out for me, and you should do the same.

Except for when I need you.  Then, you should open your arms to me and forget yourself, just long enough to offer me comfort.  Don't count on me to do the same for you.  I will offer to pray for you.  I will tell you I'm sorry for your situation.  That's all I can offer though.  It's nothing personal.  Just the nature of our relationship.

I want to depend on you, but I'm afraid to let you depend on me.  What if it's a trap?  What if I let you depend on me and then I suddenly disappear into nothing, constantly scrambling to meet your needs and losing myself?  Maybe I love you, but maybe I'm afraid your needs, your desires will overcome my own and I will find myself living a life that I never wanted, even though I wanted you. 

You have no right to be angry with me. Not ever.  Even if I do or say something hurtful to you, you must never be angry.  After all, it wasn't my intention to be distant.  I didn't intend to say mean things to you.  I didn't intend to take you for granted and if I didn't do it intentionally, it can't be wrong.  My intentions are always pure, even though my actions don't always bear that out.  Isn't that just called being human?  Doesn't everyone make mistakes?  You shouldn't be so hard on me.

I'm wounded.  I have been hurt by people I love all my life, since I was a kid.  I couldn't even trust my parents.  I was betrayed by someone I loved, over and over again.  How can I trust you?  If I love you, I give you my power and you will use that to harm me.  It isn't my fault that I am this way.  You should be more understanding.  You shouldn't expect so much of me.  You are unreasonable.

These building blocks of mine, fashioned of pain, betrayal, anger, fear, anxiety, suspicion, judgment and control have made me a fortress where I can hide from responsibility.  I pay my bills.  I buy what I need and I depend on no one.  No one but you.

Because even though I can't form the two words, I feel them.

You need to hear them.

And I hope you can just infer them. Because I'm never going to say them.

You have to forgive me anyway.

A Real Day Off

Today I have decided to take a day off.

Although I haven't worked full time in quite a while, I realized yesterday that it has been a very long time since I really took a day off.

A day off from job searching.  A day off from worrying about what will happen to me if I don't find a job soon. A day off from doubting myself and my decisions.  A day off from feeling guilty or shameful about anything at all. I'm taking a day off from wondering why I couldn't please someone who is unpleasable, from trying to please anyone besides me.  I'm taking a day off from reading or researching, and after I'm done with this post, a day off from technology and even writing.

My plan is to play with my boy.  To cook something good.  To watch something I enjoy on Netflix and later, closer to bed-time, to take a shower and change into clean pajamas.

There is no one here to judge me for anything I do today.  No one to say I'm a slob for not being dressed or going out to do "something" just so I can say I did "something."  There's no one to tell me the laundry needs to be done except for me, and I happen to know it can wait until tomorrow morning.

I am going to enjoy my couch, my dog and my living room.  I'm going to listen to Charlie tell stories, and I'm going to even take a nap if I feel like it.

Tomorrow I'm going to do laundry.  Tomorrow I'm hoping I'll be able to accept a job offer--yes, I have one!  And tomorrow I will pick my bag-o-worries back up and start unpacking them one at a time and start letting them all go...Including my hurts and confusion and anxiety.

Today I'm going to ignore all that and let my mind and body have a good rest.

It has been such a very long time since I gave myself this kind of break and I'm not even sure I can pull it off...but I'm sure as heck going to try.

A Form Letter to The Asshole in Your Life

No matter who you are, at some point or another you will cross paths with a true Asshole.  Chances are you won't recognize this person as an Asshole right away.  He/she may appear to be a normal, caring, gregarious person with whom you can share a genuine friendship.  Try not to be too disappointed when you start to recognize the symptoms of Assholery.  Selfish, jealous, controlling and angry people are often good at only letting you see little glimpses of their maladaptive behaviors at first so it is only normal that you want to give them another chance...and another, and another....
However, don't be too down on yourself for trying over and over again to understand the Asshole's perspective and show him/her empathy,  only to find yourself confused and unsuccessful in your attempt at having a healthy human connection with this person.  The typical Asshole is incapable of sharing a true connection with others. It really isn't anything you're doing that is making him/her act the way they do.  Assholes gotta be assholes.

Often the only way to get back to a place of peace in your life is to end the relationship with your Asshole.  Considering the average Asshole is obstinate and often resistant to change, it can be difficult to end such a relationship with a mutually respectful, constructive conversation.  Therefore I have created this form letter which you are welcome to use to facilitate the departure of yourself from the all too-stale atmosphere of the Asshole.  Please use it with my permission and make any necessary changes to tailor it to your specific Asshole.

Dear (Asshole's Name),

I am writing this letter to you because you are an asshole.  I am choosing to write to you rather than attempt to have a conversation with you because conversations with you are an exercise in frustration for me and futility for all concerned.  Frankly, the only way I can get you to shut up long enough to let me say anything is to write it all down and deliver it to you when I am not in your presence.  I know you will read it because you are eager to find all my grammatical errors and point them out to me, then tell me that what I wrote didn't make any sense at all.

Although you know you are an asshole, you will deny all of your asshole-like behaviors when they are pointed out to you. Therefore please try to accept that I am not writing this letter for your benefit (although I know you think everything I do is for and/or about you).  I am writing this to you solely for my benefit, just because it feels so damn good to just come right out and say what I think about you without sugar-coating the facts in an effort to spare your Assholery.  We both know you don't have feelings in the human sense of the word.

I want you to know you are sorry.  I understand that it is difficult for you to verbalize this yourself, even when you act out in cruel, inconsiderate and inappropriate ways towards others.  You love to hear everyone else admit to you how "sorry" they are because it makes you feel less sorry, but the truth is you ARE sorry.  Refusing to say the words doesn't change this fact.  When you belittle someone, you are sorry.  When you take advantage of the less-fortunate, you are sorry.  When you make every conversation about you, you are sorry.  When you take the crisis of another person and make it about yourself, you are sorry.  When you refuse to return the kindness of others, you are sorry.  Admittedly, everyone displays assholeish behaviors at times.  The difference between you and other people who are not assholes is that people who are NOT assholes know when they have acted in a way that hurts other people and they do not consider themselves above apologizing or making amends.  I repeat, your refusal to admit you are sorry does not change the fact that you are indeed, sorry.

Please know that I sympathize with your low opinion of yourself.  In some way or another, we all struggle with our self-esteem.  However, you should know that putting me down does not make you a better person. My successes do not make you a failure, nor do your victories make me a loser.  It should give you some relief to know that no one is  better than you.  By the same token, you are not better than anyone else.  In God's eyes and in mine, we are of equal value.  I realize you feel your assholeish behaviors tip the scales of fairness and justice in your favor, but you should know that this is merely your delusional thinking at play.  Only God gets to judge what is fair and just. The rest of us work to accept that God decides these things.  Your frantic efforts to control everyone and everything are useless.  You could control yourself if you chose to do so, but you are too concerned with everyone else to even notice that you are often completely out of control.

Your opinions are not facts and my differing ideas to not make me an idiot.

You make just as many mistakes as anyone else.  You forget things, you mix things up, you make messes.  Your resistance to taking responsibility for your mistakes does not negate the reality that you are human and prone to error just as much as anyone else.  By the way, let me take this moment to remind you that "Your" and "You're" have two different meanings and are not interchangeable.

Your breath stinks in the morning, your body makes disgusting noises and you are just as prone to sickness and disease as any other average human being.  Your over-the-top reaction to having a minor health issue that is quickly curable makes you a complete asshole, especially if you are complaining endlessly about it to a person who has a major life-threatening, incurable disease.

The world does not revolve around you.  I know this comes as a shock and I wish I could say I'm sorry for having to be the one to deliver this distressing news.  The refusal of the Earth's gravitational pull to draw itself around you and your preferences is not something you can change.  There are lots of other people in the world with different ways of thinking, different colors of skin, different sexual orientations and even different preferences concerning the temperature of the room they are in.  (When you are not the only person in the room the personal comfort of others should be considered as well as your own comfort.)  When you go out in public you will encounter many different kinds of people; they do not exist simply to annoy you.  Gay people will not rub up against you and try to "gay you up."  Black people are not lurking around every corner waiting to drive-by shoot you.  Hispanics are not plotting to take your job or raise your taxes and President Obama has not installed surveillance cameras on your house.  You are just not that important.

Finally, I want to say that I realize you may not appreciate my frankness or the value of my input on the level of your assholery.  That's okay with me.  I really don't give a damn what you think anymore. The whole point in this letter is that I feel so much better after having written it.  I'm really going to have a great day.


You just keep being your miserable self.  All by yourself.


With Little Regard,


(Sign Here)

"Rebecca, one of the reasons I love you so  'effing much is that you don't give a damn what people think about you!" He said in an agitated way.  He was frustrated with me because I was obsessing over a situation with another friend; I was agonizing, actually, because in a way, I was being emotionally blackmailed and didn't realize it a the time.  I was feeling tempted to override my internal compass and go with what the other person wanted, even though it didn't feel right to me.  I didn't want them to think badly of me.

I guess that was the first time he ever really witnessed one of my vulnerabilities and it didn't sit well with him.  He knew me as the "This is me, take what you get or leave me" kind of gal I had always portrayed up until that moment.  Even those of us who are the best at  just being who we are despite what other people think sometimes falter.  It is human nature to want to be accepted by others, and it is that very natural need that sometimes drives us toward unnatural and even unhealthy behaviors.

My boyfriend at the time (AKA, the Blackmailer) was standing on the other side of the kitchen wall eavesdropping.  He didn't think we knew he was there, but in a way, we were tailoring our conversation just for him.  Goose took my by my shoulders and got an inch from my face. "Stop acting like a dumb shit and be Rebecca again!" He demanded.  Then he smooched me, right on the lips-not in a smutty or sexual way, but as if we were two stooges and he had just poked me in both my eyes.

On the other side of the wall we heard quiet, slow footsteps walking away as we both settled back into our places on the couch together.

"Rebecca," he said.  "You are so fucking awesome. I don't know why you don't understand that."
"I'm just me." I said. "Nothing special here. Keep moving folks!"

In a moment the serious conversation had turned to laughter and the Blackmailer was all but forgotten, off somewhere pouting about how he didn't get his way while Goose and I laughed until we hurt.

When I moved last week, I opened up a box of framed photos and this one was on top.  There he was, looking back at me, and in an instant I felt kind of ashamed of who I have become lately.  What ever happened to that girl who used to be so free-spirited and unconcerned about what other people thought of her?  What would he think of me now if he knew what I've allowed in my life?

I put the photo on the end table near the TV, so it's looking back at me when I'm sitting on my couch. Beside it is a picture of my parents, who I know for sure, even though they've never been perfect, have always wanted the best for me.  I have them all sitting there, three people who I know for sure have loved me for who I am, or despite who I am for as long as I was a part of their lives.  Goose was not perfect, he had his flaws for sure.  My mother also had her struggles.  My dad loves me still and I know any of them would be heart-broken to know how heart broken I have become.

Every time I see them looking back at me, I remember who I am supposed to be and I feel compelled to be strong, to be determined; I feel like being Rebecca again...The one who was so effing awesome because she was just herself, despite who might or might not approve.

Sometimes I wish he were still around to give me a good reality check, but I'm thankful  he talked straight to me that night in my living room, and that his voice still echoes in my head, reminding me to just BE, and let be.

Bob Dylan Says It Best--Positively 4th Street

Have you ever noticed that the most predictable, ordinary, unoriginal people are the very ones who cry the loudest about how unique they are?



I've been thinking about that a lot lately.  I've always been fascinated by human behavior, even from the time I was a little kid.  Maybe it's because I noticed the odd nuances of my mother's behaviors, like the way she seemed like a different person when someone outside the family was around. Maybe it is just a natural curiosity of most people who seek to understand and be understood.  Who knows?



I admit that I sometimes find some pretty succinct descriptions of myself in lyrics and behavioral analyses; but what really strikes me is how many times I find such accurate descriptions of the very people I've encountered in my life who seem to think the mold was broken the minute they were born.  The sad truth is that highly disordered people are not mysterious or unpredictable at all.  People in general are pretty predictable, both those who use and those who get used, those who abuse and the ones who get abused, the ones who love too much and the ones who are incapable of love.  None of our struggles are all that unique.  We aren't all special snowflakes.  We are all a little screwed up here and there, but those of us that are more screwy than straight are the most unoriginal of all.



It's sad really, when you consider all that goes into making a person who is so disordered that just living a normal, fulfilling life is all but impossible.  It's unfair and unjust that there are folks in the world who are so damaged that they can't help but damage other people just by being who they are.



I think Bob Dylan must have known such a person.  I used to listen to this song a lot and I've always been able to identify with parts of it. Tonight a friend of a friend brought it to my attention again and as I listened and sang along, I realized I have lived this:

You got a lotta nerve
To say you are my friend
When I was down
You just stood there grinning

You got a lotta nerve
To say you got a helping hand to lend
You just want to be on
The side that’s winning

You say I let you down
You know it’s not like that
If you’re so hurt
Why then don’t you show it

You say you lost your faith
But that’s not where it’s at
You had no faith to lose
And you know it

I know the reason
That you talk behind my back
I used to be among the crowd
You’re in with

Do you take me for such a fool
To think I’d make contact
With the one who tries to hide
What he don’t know to begin with

You see me on the street
You always act surprised
You say, “How are you?” “Good luck”
But you don’t mean it

When you know as well as me
You’d rather see me paralyzed
Why don’t you just come out once
And scream it

No, I do not feel that good
When I see the heartbreaks you embrace
If I was a master thief
Perhaps I’d rob them

And now I know you’re dissatisfied
With your position and your place
Don’t you understand
It’s not my problem

I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
And just for that one moment
I could be you

Yes, I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
You’d know what a drag it is
To see you

Copyright © 1965 by Warner Bros. Inc.; renewed 1993 by Special Rider Music

Read more: http://www.bobdylan.com/us/songs/positively-4th-street#ixzz3OkxONzd3

Validation

Sunday morning I had brunch with a big gang of folks I haven't seen in a long time.  When life hits me with one big effing deal after another, I tend to lose touch with people.  Part of me wants to hide away and just try to "deal" the best I can on my own, and part of me wishes for the comfort and encouragement of friends.  I guess I worry too much about what people think of me though, because when things get me down, I tend too not think to highly of myself and I assume that others feel the same way about me.

Brunch was good for me.  I sat at the end of the table with a sweet friend who is also a single mom who struggles with some of the same big effing deals I have to confront in my own life.  I've recently had some pretty intense conversations with someone close to me about my employment situation that left me feeling like a big fat loser.  Basically, I was called a liar because that certain someone couldn't believe anyone could seriously be looking for a job as long as I have been without finding one. Even as I write this I feel my defenses rising, because until you are in this kind of situation, you have no right to stand in judgment of someone who is struggling with it.  So imagine how validated I felt when my friend at brunch said to me, "I seriously had no idea it would take this long to find a job."

As our conversation progressed I heard her echoing some of the same experiences I have had over the last year or so: Interviews that seemed promising but never materialized into a job, hundreds of applications and resumes sent with no responses, ignored phone calls, the list goes on.  She said, "I have no idea why no one wants to hire me."  I swear it could have been me talking.

We pondered the idea that maybe it's our age?  She's in her late 30's, I'm in my (I like to say) early 40's.  "I feel like I might need to lie about my age." My friend joked, because seriously, would anyone discriminate against someone who is in her 30's because of her age?  I said I felt like I might need to dumb down my resume a bit (not admitting that I already have and it hasn't worked).

 We both are educated and have professional experience.  Maybe it's that we are too qualified for some of the jobs we apply for?  Maybe employers look at our resumes and assume we will want too much pay, that we will get hung up on health insurance issues, or maybe it is the gap in employment that makes us look risky?  Hospitality jobs are plentiful, but they focus their hiring on college students, recent graduates and people with experience in the field. Neither my friend nor I have experience in the hospitality industry.  I've never waited a table or worked at a drive through or even had a sales job in a store.  I have always worked in a somewhat professional capacity.  You'd think that would give me an edge, not a disadvantage.

I was recently told that I should think outside the box.  I should try to get a job outside of my chosen field and I have tried.  I've applied at car washes, department stores warehouses and furniture stores. My unconventional thinking though, does not guarantee that someone will notice me or offer me a job.

I guess I should give myself a little credit for the "outside the box" thinking that has kept me going for the last year though; a contract position with a former employer that pays a part time wage that's enough to at least cover my utility bills every month.  I even picked up another gig in December to supplement the income I was already getting.  Still, it feels pretty crappy when you're already doubting yourself and then someone you trust and respect accuses you of being a lazy, lying conniving bum.

One thing that is common in all of us is that we need to feel heard, if not understood.  We need to have our experiences acknowledged and respected by the people closest to us and when those people cannot or will not honor our human experience (our emotions, our struggles, even our physical pain) we can feel completely devalued and insignificant.  Until Sunday at brunch, I kept wondering what the heck was wrong with me.  I thought maybe I hadn't tried hard enough.  Maybe all the crappy things that happened to me over the last year shouldn't have bothered me so much.  After all, people lose their homes, right?  Everyone loses a parent sooner or later, right?  Sometimes people have accidents and break bones and end up unable to do anything for a few months, including finding a job.  Storage facilities exist for a reason, you know?  Because people end up losing their houses and having to pack up all their crap somewhere for a while to give them time to figure out what the heck to do next.  Doesn't everyone wonder if they are somehow damaging their kids because they can't seem to get their shit together?  Why was I making such a big deal out of all this stuff?

I was feeling as if I had been ungrateful, despite the huge mountain of personal debt I felt I owed for the fact that I had a roof over my head for the last few months.  I was feeling pretty darn useless, worthless, ineffective and inadequate. It seemed like the harder I tried to show my gratitude, the more I tried to prove my worth, the less worthy I became.  Those are the very real human emotions that overtake anyone who is invalidated at every turn by the very people she needs to hear her and honor her experiences.

But the very moment my brunch friend mentioned her struggle with finding work, I felt a calm come over me.  Something told me that I'm not crazy.  I haven't made mountains out of molehills.  I have employed all the healthy (and a few not so healthy) coping skills I've ever learned in order to keep myself going. Even in my weakest moments, I have been stronger than I realized.  Funny how a simple statement of understanding from just one friend could give me such peace and validation.

I know I have gone through some very real struggles over the last few years and whether or not anyone else can acknowledge and respect those struggles, I owe it to myself to acknowledge and respect them.  My trials don't define me, but the way I choose to cope with them does.  I choose to experience all of life, the good and the not-so good.  I choose to embrace my inner experiences, to let them guide me towards whatever comes next, knowing that because I made it through the last big effing deal, I can make it through the next.

Letting Go

I was so thirsty when I pulled into the drive through at Zaxyby's for my usual large unsweet tea with one packet of sweet-n-low the other day.  I couldn't wait for that first sip as I sat in line behind a little blue Honda, wondering what the heck they ordered that could take so long to prepare.  I knew that as soon as that drink was in my hand, I was going to stab the straw in the top and take a big long gulp.  I wasn't even going to wait until I had stirred in the questionable chemical substitute for sugar.  I was just that thirsty.

Miles later as I drove down the road with my tea in my hand, I realized my fingers were freezing. "Why haven't I put this down?" I asked myself.  Then I looked down at the drink holders between the two front seats and realized there was no place for the drink that was in my hand because there was an empty cup and a half-finished can of Coke in the cup holders.  I took the empty cup and tossed it in the floor to make room for my fresh cup of ice-cold tea.  Once in a while I would reach down and pick up my refreshing drink to take a sip, never once worrying about whether or not it would still be there when my hand groped blindly for it.  I knew every time that it would be right where I left it.

Here I go being all metaphorical again...

That drink taught me a whole new way of looking at this "letting go" concept.  It was that sometimes we hang onto things for far too long because we have other things we haven't completely put in their place yet.

I was finished with that empty cup and that half-gone can of Coke, but I hadn't thrown them away.  They were no good to me anymore, but they were taking up valuable space.  They were in a spot that I needed to be able to use for something else, and because they weren't properly put away, the remains of drinks past were forcing me to hold onto something that was uncomfortable for me.

Life really is a huge lesson in learning to let go of things: People, situations, outcomes, emotions, hurts even love at times.  If you look up "letting go" quotes on Google, you'll get a million of them and they all make perfect sense, but when it comes to actually DOING the letting go, well, that's a lot harder than making up a pithy quote.  The thing is, we do let go of things to a certain extent, but many times we leave them sitting unresolved for far too long.  We create a back-log of hurts and failures and disappointments that leaves us little room to properly handle the new stuff that gets handed to us.

It is hard to let go of something we want.  I suppose that's why we often just set it aside for a while, choosing instead to believe that when we are ready, we can come back for it and it will still be there.  The problem is, once you set something aside for long enough, it becomes useless to you.  Everything life gives us has a place; either we keep it and cherish it, or we learn from it and put it away where it belongs.  In times when we find ourselves with a new handful of worries that we need to set down, that back-log of old stuff tends to get in the way and we are forced to either deal with the old, or hang onto the new, even if it hurts.

I'm kind of in that place now.  I'm finding that I have a pile up of old "stuff" that I haven't properly put away yet.  Those old wounds that have left me with a half-filled cup of self-doubt, fear and pain are keeping me from being able to see things objectively.  They have been forcing me to hang on to something uncomfortable for far too long and I'm finally seeing the need to let those things go for good.  I need to find a way to set this new load down, but I need to keep it within reach, at least for a while.  I'm just not ready to put it away yet, I haven't figured out yet where it needs to go or what I need to learn from it.

What I do know though, is that I have to make room for it.  I have to confront those old left-over things that are preventing me from properly putting my current things in their places.

I suppose before you can let something go, you have to acknowledge that you're still hanging onto it. If things are tucked away out of sight, if we refuse to look at them and recognize them for what they are, we can't very well go through them and rid ourselves of the things that are no longer useful to us. We become emotional hoarders; afraid to let go of useless burdens that serve no other purpose than keeping us buried beneath their pile of clutter.  Our hearts and minds become a jumble of fear and uncertainty because we get so overwhelmed.  We can't sort anything out because we don't know where to begin.

But I think I have found my starting point now.  I know I need to start with all the things I have kept packed away in my heart for too long.  I need to let those things go first, then I'll have the space I need to set things down and look at them from a new perspective.  Only then will I be able to figure out what to do with this new stuff life has given me.