Why I Write: Walking the Path to Me

"It's okay, I'll be strong for you." Said my wonderful girlfriend to me earlier this week (and many times throughout our relationship) as I sat, crying in a ball on the kitchen floor earlier this week. Those who know me will wonder, "Jeez... what happened... what did I miss?" The answer is simple... Nothing.

Nothing happened. Nothing terrible. No one died. No one was horrible to me. No one left me. I still have my job, my house, my family, my friends, all my cool things... I still have everything... Except my sense of self.

I've been in love with David Sedaris since I discovered his book, Holidays on Ice over ten years ago. I loved how he told stories about life that were honest, funny and complex. From there I became a fan of This American Life... and listening to people tell their stories and witnessing as the narrators come to grips with their experiences had a powerful effect on me. Initially, it made me jealous. I wanted to be that honest. I wanted to stop hiding. I wanted to be me and just be okay with that. I wanted to like me... but I didn't even know who I was.

I like to write. I love reading the journals I wrote as a teenager. It gives me the chance to take a step back and appreciate the journey.

Writing a blog offers the same benefits as journaling with the added perk of practicing being me in front of an audience.

I dance in my living room, sing loud when I'm alone, and have lively, opinionated conversations with myself when I'm the only one in my truck. But, put me in a room with other people and I can't stop wondering what you all think of every little thing I do... How vain... I know. I know you are not even remotely interested in 99.9% of what I do, but to convince myself otherwise feels like a lie.

My therapist calls this characteristic of mine social anxiety disorder. I hate that phrase. I hate the term disorder. It makes me feel broken... And yet, I need a way to except my damaged self image. The Japanese tradition of kintsugi is the art of fixing a broken pot by using gold to hold the pieces together so the pot becomes more beautiful and lets people embrace it's traumatic history. This speaks to me. The gold that holds me together are the wonderful people in my life... and sometimes, I even make my own gold.

So, I'm starting to think maybe I just won't call it a disorder... Perhaps I'm just still learning how to use my fingers and toes with confidence. We all have different paths, and some are longer and twistier than others (that's what she said!;)

Lately I've been reading this awesome book called Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way we Live, Love, Parent and Lead. I've only read a third of the book and have already broken down crying at least three times. This book is bringing me face to face with things that I brush under the rug and stow away in the dark corners of my psyche. I just need to share some of the quotes.

"It's crazy how much energy we spend trying to avoid these hard topics when they're really the only ones that can set us free."

Wow... that one hit me hard... I can't even begin to tell you how much my mental health and life in general improved when I finally told my current girlfriend (a.k.a. fiancée) that I like her. And with every other person we told, life became easier.

"We can't let ourselves be seen if we are terrified by what people may think."

My problem in a nutshell. Yet rather than come to terms with that, and learn to move past it... I just tell myself that I'm broken... that there is something wrong with me. I beat myself up... I become ashamed of myself.

"Yes, shame is tough to talk about. But the conversation isn't nearly as dangerous as what we're creating with our silence! We all experience shame. We're all afraid to talk about it. And, the less we talk about it, the more we have it."

And THIS is why I feel I must write this blog. Talking about my feelings and being vulnerable enough to connect with you is hard... I need to practice. I need to spend a couple of days a week, crafting a thoughtful entry, and then practice the courage to push the publish button.

Of course, I could just stand up and say, "This is who I am! If you don't like it, that's your problem!" Which kinda defined my adolescence... Talk about psychological projection! I didn't like me. And I tried to blame my self hate on everyone around me. I struggled struggle with anger... you should see my teenage current journals!

Throughout my life bits of myself have cracked... but I'm putting the pieces together and filling the cracks with kindness and acceptance. Now I practice saying, "I love the person I am, and have always been. My self worth does not wait for anyone's approval."

 

If I Hit Your Child, Would He Respect Me Too?

This post has been living in my head for a while. It's really hard to write... but I also think it is very important to write it.

I was spanked when I was a child.

My parents never left physical marks. They never hit me in anger. And there was always a great deal of warning before I was hit.

Some parents beat their children. My parents did not, and would have never beat me or my sister.

I guess that makes us lucky...

...

Recently, I saw a meme on the Internet that reads:

This has caused me to think a lot about why I respect people. Was it due to the fact that my parents hit me? Was it something else? Was it some combination of the two?

Let me reflect on how I felt when I was spanked. My mother would give many warnings before we were spanked... to the extent that I never really knew when the threat was real. So I didn't really take her seriously until she told me to go get the paddle. My mom was smart. She knew that by the time she had decided to spank us she would be angry! In the time it took me to cry my way to where the paddle was kept and back she would be calm enough to hit me without hurting me too much.

When she warned me, I felt silly... it was just part of the game.

When she asked me to get the paddle, I felt afraid... The game was over.

When she hit me, I felt sad and hurt... I had lost.

When it was over, I felt ashamed... Everything was my fault.

I would tell myself, "It wasn't that bad... I can take it... I'm tough." The woman I love most in the world just hit me... for my own good... and I was trying to convince myself I was strong enough to take it.

Let me be clear. I never once thought, "Well, I guess I won't do that anymore." Which would be obvious to if you knew how many parent-teacher conferences my parents had to attend due to my unruly behavior. I never once considered whether or not I should do something based on if I thought I would be spanked. I always thought I could get away with it.

When I was seven my grandmother died and right around that time I started walking to school. Eventually, I was walking unsupervised with my sister and a friend... and we used to swear like sailors! At one point it occurred to me that my grandmother was watching me from above, and how disappointed she was to hear what I was saying... I rarely cursed again until after college.

I don't think my grandmother ever spanked me... But I know I didn't want to disappoint her.

Currently, I care for children between the ages of zero and five in my home. I provide them with a caring, safe, structured home away from home while their parents work. Even if New York state would allow it, I am ethically opposed to striking children for any reason. And yet, I don't spend ten hours of my day coping with uncontrollable children. We play, learn, eat, sleep and clean up in relative peace.

However, It was not always this way.

When I started my daycare business nearly a year ago I had no idea what I was doing. There were tantrums and defiance... even throwing and hitting! And I just didn't know what to do. I tried so many different things. But I was starting to think I had made a huge mistake in my career choice.

So, I did what I do. I went to the library.

Two books stick out in my memory. Have a New Kid by Friday and Parent Effectiveness Training.

In my opinion, a self-help book is intended to change the reader... at least that is what the name implies. And of course, the only person I have any control over changing is myself.  Just by looking at the titles I should have known one would help, while the other would be a disaster.

Have a New Kid by Friday wants you to change your children. It is a book on authoritative parenting. They even suggest spanking... You would think that would have finally convinced me to put the book down... But I was desperate. I needed to make this new job work. So I tried all the non-spanking suggestions. What a disaster! I was upset. The kids I was watching were upset... even a friend who I suggested this book to was upset because it backfired with her child as well.

On my Christmas vacation I found Parent Effectiveness Training. I was reading the book during a week without children, and I didn't believe anything they suggested would work. To my surprise, EVERY SINGLE SUGGESTION HELPED! PET teaches parents how to model good communication so that their children can express themselves effectively. And, lo and behold, when people can express themselves to someone who's main goal is to understand them, conflicts float away.

I'm not saying everything is perfect. I still have rough moments and terrible days. But the overall change is remarkable.

I've suggested this book to so many people. In fact, I want the author to write a new book called, People Effectiveness Training that focuses on teaching people how to interact successfully with everyone in their life. I think we all need a little of that.... At least I know I do :)

The thing I remember helping me the most, when I was a kid, was the numerous times my dad sat up with me at night, talking for HOURS about something that was distressing me. He was there to answer my questions, share his experiences and let me know that my feelings are valid. Those talks made me who I am today, those talks taught me the importance of respecting another person... Because those talks showed me that my dad respected me.

One more point. A point of shame as a matter of fact. Sometimes... and it isn't easy to admit this... sometimes, I want to hit a child. This week I was walking into a store as a mother was walking out with a screaming child. The child was being rude and disrespectful and my very first thought was, "That child needs a spanking!" Immediately I felt horrible. I remember how much I hated being hit... and yet, my gut reaction is still sometimes to inflict physical pain. This scares me because I know my parents did not hit me as often as I'm sure they thought they should... and even that taught me, in some small way, that violence is a solution.

So, in conclusion, I believe there is no need to hit a child. I can change the environment, I can strengthen my communication skills, I can get stress relief training, I can reach out for help, I can smile more.

I believe there is no reason to hit a child... unless if you want to.

P.S.

I'd love to see comments, so I know what you are thinking as you read this. :)

The Accumulative Effect of Repressed Loss

I'm selling my truck. Ruby is a 2003 Dodge Dakota I named after Ruby Rhod from the film The Fifth Element. They are both loud, black, sexy and have a stick they aren't afraid to use ;)

Last night a friend contacted me with news that her sister is interested in buying Ruby! I was excited, and then, slowly, sadness overcame me. And had no idea what was wrong with me. I wasn't connecting this sadness to my truck. I don't even drive my truck anymore! I put gas in him two months ago and still have 3/4 of a tank. 

When my girlfriend came home, I went through the normal motions of telling her about my day. When I mentioned I had an interested buyer, the tears just started rolling. I was surprised, and even more surprised as I continued to talk about every loss that was still hurting me.

About a year and a half ago my girlfriend and I took some classes to become foster parents in the hopes of finding a child to adopt. One of the things we discussed at length in the class was that children in foster care are coping with massive losses. They have lost their families, their friends, their school, their neighborhood and often most (if not all) of their belongings. Then they get moved from home to home, compounding the effect of all previous losses. These kids just don't get the time to fully deal with their losses. At the time I thought I understood this phenomenon.

Last night I was mad at myself for being so over sensitive. Why am I crying over a truck? Yeah, it's the first vehicle I ever bought all on my own. Yeah, it symbolizes independence. Yeah, it's useful (in the rare moments I (or my friends) actually need a truck.) But it's still just a thing... A thing that will bring us a great deal of financial security if we don't own it any more. So I should be happy...

And then I jumped in the deep end.

I thought about my best friend's wedding that I'm not invited to because I became too distant (I am sure I did other things that contributed to the dissolution of our close friendship... but my "gift" of oblivion has dwarfed those happenings.) And then I thought about my own wedding, and how my HUGE family means that many of my chosen family, my friends, won't be in attendance because we just can't afford that... And I just don't want to make someone feel what I am feeling.

I thought about Xander, our kitty that we put asleep a year ago, after trying so hard to save him, we still had to let him go. And then I looked to the three cats we have left, and I know their time will come... as will mine. And when I go, someone will cry, they will feel loss and hurt.

I thought about the fight with my family where I lost my mind because they didn't share my opinions about the importance of helping the refugee children at our southern boarders. And I thought about how uncomfortable I feel being around them now, but that I can't come out and say that, because it will hurt them... I don't want them to hurt the way I hurt. I don't want them to feel the loss of comfort I feel.

I thought about all of the foster children... Children who lost their families, their moms, their beds, their homes. And I thought about the foster child we almost had... And how she now has another loss to add to her list. And I to mine. And every day we don't look again is another day a child needs to wait in limbo, needs to feel unloved... And can't take the time to heal yet... But to look again is scary! I don't want to hurt someone else, I don't want to feel that pain again, and I don't want to see my girlfriend cry because we have to do what is right for all involved... There is just too much pain.

I can never understand what children in foster care are feeling. Even with all the accumulative loss I cried over last night... A comparison is not justifiable. But knowing what just a tiny fraction of that loss feels like, makes it much more real... brings me to the edge of understanding.

When I feel loss I go to bad places. When I get to bad places I remember that I don't want to be there anymore. Sometimes I pull myself out, sometimes I wait for help.

I'm lucky. I have help. I have wonderful friends, who I know will forgive me if I can't afford to have them at my wedding. I have a loving family who, even though we may never understand each other, is always there when I need to call. 

Not everyone is this lucky.

<3

Greed vs. Altruism

I've been thinking a lot about greed lately. About people who have so much yet refuse to help those who have so little.

Honestly, I'm not even talking about the super, ultra rich. Most of my life I have made the kind of salary that affords me an almost-middle class life, so I don't have the knowledge base to begin to understand the ultra rich and why they do what they do.

I'm talking about you and me. Normal, everyday people. Many of us are just doing what we can to pay the bills and keep a roof over our heads. We often feel we can't share what we have... that without the little extra in our pocketbook we will suffer some horrible fate.

I think our greed comes from the "what ifs."

What if I lose my job?
What if I lose my house/car?
What if we break up?
What if my kid gets sick?
What if I get sick?
What if social security runs out?
What if my rent goes up?
What if I have to go back to school?
What if....

According to Maslow's hierarchy of needs safety is a basic human need. A need so basic that growth can falter if it isn't present. I have food, and I'm healthy... and right now I feel safe... but we humans have the gift a precognition (whether our prognostications are accurate or not is another debate entirely.) Perhaps that is where all of our, "What if?" quandaries come from.

And these types of worries makes me wonder, why do our personal prophecies envision such a bleak future?

Because we don't feel safe.

Well, why don't we feel safe?

Sigh. It's so easy to point fingers now. To blame government, criminals, international discord, history, human nature, religion, war, anger, hate...

But it seems the most important finger is pointed right back at us.

If I won't share to help someone... then why would someone else share to help me? The cycle of fear continues. Fear of the unknown. Fear that kindness will not come my way. Fear that if I can't make it on my own... then I won't make it... I'll fail... and I can't FAIL! Therefore, I can't help.

Why is the finger pointed at us the most important finger? Because it is the only finger you can do anything about. AND, once we change ourselves, everything else will change too.

(Although this may not be a true Gandhi... it fits him well. And gives me hope and direction.)

I wrote this post due to a fight with my family over our differing views about helping the refugee children at the Mexico boarder. I believe that we all can and should help. Even small donations are better than none. And even a few hours of volunteer work are better than none.

Unfortunately, some of my family members felt that helping these kids would only bring hardships upon us. However, I'm with Gandhi and believe that, "A nation's greatness is measured by how it treats its weakest members." And, in this global society, we are all one nation, one people... we all depend on each other. We are are all stronger together.

Together we can do anything. 

I have faith in us. 

I have faith that my family is just on a longer path to compassionate living than others. 

I have faith that I will learn how to discuss sensitive issues without anger.

I have faith that our future is bright... 

What if we work together, and it all works out?

:)

Taming the seven year old clutter-bug

 Birthdays, holidays, family vacations and just-because... there are so many reasons to give a child gifts. They come home from school everyday with projects, work and "art." And if you've ever had the chance to go on a walk with a child, you know they come home with leaves, stones, sticks, flowers and all sorts of random "junk."

But who dertermines what is and is not junk?

When I was a kid I kept many collections, most notable was my collection of unsharpened pencils. I thought they were pretty. And, most importantly, they were MINE. I was a total pack rat as a kid, and I hated the idea of parting with anything of mine... even old toothbrushes and sneakers with more holes than I could count!

This aspect of my personality made my mom a little crazy. My mom keeps a very neat, uncluttered home... and then there was my room! My hoarding behavior continued until after college when I sold almost everything I owned and moved to South Korea. Living for two years with 2.5 suitcases of stuff was wonderful! Since returning to the USA I have regressed a bit into my hoarder state... but I'm working on fixing that, and in my spare time I try to help others too!

Recently I had the opportunity to help the seven year old daughter of a dear friend merge her playroom and bedroom into one big girl room. And mommy gets to have a crafting room now in the kid's old bedroom!

Here are some pictures of the progress:

This is the playroom when we started. I didn't take a photo of K's bedroom... but it kinda looked like this, just with a bed in the middle. So... As you can see, this kid has many people who love her and and have the means to give her lots of great things... Unfortunately it's too much stuff for this seven year old to care for.

So, we started by emptying the playroom, since this will be K's new room.

First third emptied.

Feeling nearly done, but knowing we aren't!

Oh my gods! Empty! (Ish... there were some things she knew she wanted to keep in there... and some furniture I knew we would need... so we kept it.)

We put all of the stuff in the hallway... It looked crazy! Then we started to move her furniture from her old bedroom to the new one.

Done!?... Not nearly!

But it was lunch time on day one... so it was time for a break!

After lunch we put all the playroom stuff into the old bedroom and organized the stuff in her new room. We also looked through her old bedroom for things she knew she wanted in her new room. 

Day two was all about dealing with the piles of stuff in her old room. These are mostly toys that K doesn't play with very often... things from her past, sentimental things, things her parents are sentimental about, and lots and lots of cardboard!

That's a lot of stuff! K and I made a deal... She could keep anything she wants, as long as it has a place in her new room on a shelf or in a drawer. And piling stuff on stuff is not okay. So she knew she couldn't keep this stuff, but dealing with this much stuff is hard... especially for a sentimental seven year old. So, we went to Home Depot and made a compromise.

At 69 cents a box (and a bit more for the big ones) this was a cost effective solution. The plan was, to pack up everything that didn't fit in her new room, and the we can deal with the boxes in one of two ways:

1. Take a box down every couple of days and go through it, and totally deal with everything in it... garbage, donate or keep... But if she wants to keep something, then something else in her room has to go to make space.

2. After 2-3 months of not feeling a need for anything in those boxes mom and I will put them in our vehicles and donate them all.

So we started packing!

She's a hard worker!

Almost lunchtime on day 2.

Lunchtime! Took K out to the restaurant of her choice to thank her for all her hard work! When we came back we went through the HUGE pile of artwork/schoolwork/random papers we found while packing. We tossed most of it.

Two days and ten bags of garbage later we had reclaimed two rooms! :)

I will probably post again when we deal with the boxes... I'm interested to see what becomes of them!

Making the best out of the worst part of roller derby!

Since June 2009 I have been a member of Roc City Roller Derby. I am Farrah Daze Rage... Number 49.

I love roller derby. When I moved to Rochester in April 2009 I was a broken person. I had just ended a very long, unhealthy relationship. I only knew about one or two people in Rochester that I wasn't related to, and jet lag was kicking my ass.

Social networking rekindled some old relationships. One was with a friend I had known since middle school. She was posting all this interesting stuff about roller derby, so I texted her and asked about it. She invited me to check out a practice and said, "Get ready to spend some money on gear, cause you're gonna love this!"

Thanks Kaite. I really do love it! :)

Over the past five years I've had an insane amount of fun, met and bonded with some of the most marvelous people the world has ever known, learned lots of new things and experienced lots of pain.

Derby is a full contact sport... and we don't pull punches. Most of my friends have broken a bone (or two), torn ligaments, sprained joints and been bruised so badly it looks like someone glued a piece of Starry Night onto their thigh! Oh, and then there are the concussions...

Two weeks ago I tripped over a teammate at practice and injured my shoulder. What does a derby girl do when she's injured? Well, I can tell you what this one does!

NSOing and volunteering.

NSO stands for Non Skating Official. They are the people who make roller derby legit (along with the refs.) Without them we wouldn't be able to track scores, penalties or really do much at all during a game. We even need someone to watch the clock... I mean, it's kinda hard to keep an eye on the game clock while you are running for your life! :)

I had the opportunity to help out at a tournament as an NSO in the first week of my injury. I was the penalty box manager. I made a few mistakes... and that's a GREAT thing. I learned so much... and not just about managing the penalty box. I learned how hard all the NSOs work, and how serious they take their job. They often refer to themselves as "team no fun"... but I had a lot of fun... I think they call themselves that because they need to look, act, and be very serious about their position. Us skaters are serious most of the time... but we also screw around on the track a lot... especially during looooooooong time outs! ;) But the NSOs are always serious... it was not an easy task for me :)

One of my favorite parts the big NSO meeting that happens before the game. I always wanted to know what they talked about! It's funny... they do pretty much the same thing we skaters do before a game. They talk about important things to remember, they remind each other that mistakes happen and how important it is to move on  rather than dwell (skaters call that jamnesia) and most importantly, they remind each other that they can do this... that they will do a great job. They support each other like any great team should :) And I felt very fortunate to be a part of that team.

During the second week of my injury I was supposed to play a game. I was looking forward to it, my team was filled with great skaters, and the opponent was worthy! It was going to be a great, competitive game.

I watched my team lose from about 500 feet away as I ran the merch booth. Selling our t-shirts and stickers and buttons to make money and promote our league. Win or lose, I would have wished to be out there skating with my team. Though I am glad I could still help my league in some way... it hurts to sit and watch.

Many of my teammates are hurt much worse than I am right now. I have teammates with broken bones, badly sprained knees and ankles, concussions and so on... Sometimes a skater gets hurt so badly, she can't skate anymore... ever! Some of them leave... but others make the best of the worst situation... they stick around and NSO and volunteer!

I'm going back to practice tonight. I still have a brace on my shoulder... I don't think I'll do much hitting... but I miss my team and I miss my skates. I miss the way it feels to race around the track, to spin around an opponent, to pop back up from the floor and try again... I miss it all so much.

Please don't give me presents anymore.

There are so many ways to start this post and so many different reasons for this decision.

Yesterday was my mother's birthday. I'm pretty sure she is 58 now. A few days ago my sister messaged me, and asked me what I was getting my mom for her birthday... @.@ I had completely forgotten! Now, forgetting a birthday that happens the day before a national holiday seems impossible... especially when it's your own mother's birthday... But, yeah, I forgot... If it weren't for my sister's prodding... Well... let's not think about that.

But what will I get my mom?

I don't like stuff... meaningless, cheap, mass produced, ubiquitous sweatshop stuff. Years ago I began to swear off shopping at Walmart or buying things with the made in China label and recently started to avoid plastic... But maintaining a myriad of self imposed restrictions, in an increasingly elaborate global economy is hard.

And it's even harder when I'm not the one making the decision to buy the stuff. 

My family and friends have always tried to comply with what ever my most concerning restrictions were... But even then... I have received many lovely gifts... that I just don't want. 

...

"You're giving that away? But I gave it to/made it for/found it JUST FOR YOU!"

I want to downsize, I want less stuff in my life. In order to do that I need to get rid of things. I've found that many of my things have strings attached. Attached to people, memories, places, achievements, failures, and even to other things that are long gone. If you can't tell, I'm a fairly sentimental person. :)

There are things I feel like I just can't get rid of... because I fear someone will ask, "Hey, where's that thing I gave you that time?"... And I will have to tell them I sold it, or gave it to Goodwill. Then I have to see them hurt, as the string that connected us, via that thing, is severed.

I don't want to do that any more. So, please don't give me any more gifts.

Last year I told my family that I didn't want things for Christmas. I got some great gift certificates (some I still need to redeem) but I also still got stuff. It's a hard change to make. I think if I stop giving things, then, perhaps I will stop receiving them as well.

...

As I look around my home... around my life... I see how very full it is. Full of wonderful things, people, happenings, thoughts, actions and memories. What more could I ask for? More importantly... what more could I ask for that I cannot procure on my own. My girlfriend and I are both employed and live within our means... we can buy anything we need, and pretty much anything we want. We are very fortunate.

But what I cannot buy is time.

No one can.

So, in closing... If you feel some strong urge to buy me a gift, please don't. But please do spend some time with me. This blog is new... so if you are reading it, you are probably quite dear to me... I would cherish even a short moment together :)

And if all else fails... you could always buy me cookies ;p