Wanting

I wrote this in December 2003:

Years of praying and learning to pray taught me more guilt than anything, and more how to deny my wants than to actually think about them or ask for them. It taught me that I obviously can't know what I want because I'm a lowly, stupid mortal and therefore I can't ask for what I want because, not only would that be selfish, but that would be stupid. But I've had enough of "not knowing" what I want. Everyone is smart enough to know what they want and everyone does know what they want. It's just that some of us are better at burying it than others. I really did think I didn't know what I wanted for the longest time, but I do. I know what I want.

Damn. I sure was smart.

Love in the Real World

One of the biggest life lessons I ever learned from my mom was that you don't have to like everyone, but you do have to try to love them. I always thought this was a wonderful goal, and spoke to the ability to recognize the goodness in everyone, and treat people (even if you don't particularly like them) with kindness and respect. For as long as I can remember, I have been striving to love everyone. (I'm not always successful, but I do try.)

No one ever told me the other part, though: You also have to be loved. If you spend your whole life loving the unlovable without anything in return, you end up empty, barren of the love you're supposed to be giving in the first place. Love is not a bottomless well from your soul. It needs to be refilled with love from other people, and love for yourself. Hm, that makes sense. But I'd honestly never thought of that before. Not once.

In my enthusiasm to love everyone, I assumed a little "God Complex," we'll call it. (That's what Dr. Sara called it, and I admit to flinching at the term, but it's accurate.) I am not capable of unconditional love. That's just the way it is, because I am human. I want to be capable, sure. But I am not God, I am not a bottomless well of love, and I need love in return, or I at least need love from some source if I'm not getting it from the unlovable person I'm doing my darndest to love.

In a way, it's a little sad... I sort of want to be a bottomless well of love, ya know?

On the other hand, I'm glad to finally understand this. It lets me off the hook a little. If I don't love someone, it's not because I am a failure as a human being. It's because I am a human being.

The Get Happy Project

Even the longest journey begins with a single step. That being said, every single step of the journey can still suck ass. -robvlock

I decided that I am tired of my little pity party. I'm tired of being introspective and writing depressing stuff on this blog, and tired of crying and feeling sorry for myself, and tired of feeling lost and hopeless. I am a smart, driven, capable woman and I can fix this, damnit.

With the help of Dr. Sara, I now have a plan.

1. Exercise.
Truly, it would be best if I could find an exercise I enjoy. Have not been successful at that... ever. So barring being able to enjoy exercising, I can at least enjoy myself while exercising. This means rigging up a way to watch TV while treading on the treadmill, or finding music I really enjoy to listen to while I walk, or something. Ideas are welcome.

2. Meditation.
Or prayer or contemplation or whatever you want to call it. Mission this week is to find a book or something to read on how to get started with this. I have never seriously attempted meditation, aside from praying when I was younger, which was less meditation and more asking for favors.

3. Creation.
My creative outlet has always been, and probably will continue to be writing. I need to make time for it each day. This is great, since I'm about to attempt NaNoWriMo.

4. Community.
I'm already a part of a couple great communities: the Betties, of course, and a local writers' group I'm in. I think the goal here would be to continue to participate and observe, and also allow the gifts of love I receive from these groups. I have a nasty tendency to fail to accept support and love because I feel like I don't need it, or worse, don't deserve it. And I need to stop that.

So that's the plan. Here I go!

Doing The Work

I'm good at Doing The Work. I know that Doing The Work is the only way that you get results. And when I don't Do The Work, I know squarely where to place the blame. I Do The Work, I make the grade. I Do The Work, I get the job done. I Do The Work, the novel gets written. I Do The Work, things get better.

Except things don't always get better. Sometimes, when I Do The Work, I can't make the whole picture come together like I want it to. Sometimes, when I Do The Work, the other 50% doesn't get done because I can't do that part. And it's frustrating.

But I'm noticing. I'm noticing that I'm Doing The Work, and that's all I can do. And, for now, noticing is enough.

Screaming

I told Dr. Sara this week that I sometimes feel like I'm screaming (metaphorically-- I very rarely scream) at a brick wall. She said, "Maybe it's time to start whispering."

So, yes, I can see the wisdom in this. Instead of stating my position over and over again, and trying to explain, and reiterating, and generally exhausting myself with the effort to make people understand, maybe it is time to whisper. This means holding the line, but maybe not defending myself verbally. It means keeping my boundaries in place, but maybe not explaining why. It means being quiet.

And I think I can do that.

Book Review: Boundaries by Anne Katherine

Pretty good introduction to the concept of boundaries. It was really high-level but with a lot of examples and real-world stories. I had a little trouble relating to a lot of what was in this book because the examples were so extreme: childhood abuse and rape, physical spousal abuse, and the like. I would have liked to get a little more practical advice for my situation, but I think this book would be really helpful for someone who had experienced some of those scenarios, to get them going down the right path.

I'm interested in checking out Anne Katherine's other book, Where to Draw the Line: How to Set Healthy Boundaries Every Day, because I feel like that might give me some better real-world applications for the idea of boundaries.

Seeking Wisdom from the Bettysphere

I've been thinking a lot about boundaries, because repairing mine is my current Healthy Activity. (Yes, I can handle only one Healthy Activity at a time. Don't talk to me about procrastination or soda drinking. I can't think about that right now. ;-) )

It seems that my boundaries are pretty well in place in my work life. I don't let people bully me in the office, I never feel guilty about taking my vacation days, and I don't apologize for stuff that isn't my fault. So why can I not do this in other areas of my life? Why is it so hard not to let myself be bullied by a religious zealot of a relative? Why is it so hard not to allow inappropriate behavior from the people I love the most?

I sat in the sun and rolled this around in my head for half an hour or so on Sunday, and the thought I kept coming back to was sacrifice. My idea of love is really tied up with the idea of sacrifice.

Part of that is my religious upbringing. I was raised in an evangelical Christian tradition, which means, "Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." And, you know, there's that whole Jesus thing. He loved us so much that he had to die for it. [As a side note, the whole Jesus thing is muddled in my brain in my adulthood, and I'm not so sure about the death/sacrifice thing anymore like I was when I was a child, but it's still an important part of my background and a large part of where the idea came from.]

The other part of the sacrifice as love idea was the example I was taught. My parents, my mom in particular, were always sacrificing for the sake of love. I remember Mom not buying things she wanted so that she could buy us new school clothes, for example.

So sacrifice is almost inextricable from love in my mind. With that background, it's not such a logical leap to think that I need to sacrifice myself (my own needs, wants, desires, feelings) in order to show love.

How do I reconcile that with boundaries? If I am sacrificing myself, am I not being untrue to my needs/wants/desires? But if I don't sacrifice, what does that make me? Selfish and unloving is what my logic says.

I guess this is where I ask the Bettysphere for opinions. Lay your best assvice on me, my dears. Am I totally off my rocker and just wrong about the sacrifice thing? Is there some happy medium maybe? How do you keep your boundaries in place but still do what you need to do for the people you love? Halp pls, k thx.

What the Girl Wants

Dr. Sara pointed out that I have to start being ok with being selfish. My kneejerk is always, "I don't want to be selfish. And if I feel like I'm being selfish, I will work really hard to do the opposite." But, she pointed out, wisely, that everyone is selfish, and there's no point in lying to yourself about what you really want. You don't always have to get what you want, but you'll be healthier if you at least admit what it is.

The emotional part of this is really hard for me. When I want you to shut up and listen to me and not talk about your problems, I am not going to tell you that. In fact, I'm not even going to admit it to myself. I'm going to convince myself that I am an excellent listener and that my role is to let you talk.

So how do I get to a place where I can at least be honest with myself?

I'm reading Boundaries by Anne Katherine and one of the exercises is to, for a day at first, take note of every physical need/want you have and meet it as soon as you can. This means that if you are hungry, you go eat a snack. If you are tired, you take a break or go for a walk. Etc., etc. Sounds simple, but I don't always do it. You know what, though? Taking care of physical wants is a lot easier than taking care of the emotional ones, and I think it's an ok way to get started. Bonus? Feeling empowered to take care of myself physically makes me want to start taking better care of myself emotionally, too.

So, we'll see how this goes. I'm letting myself take it slow, and I'm patting myself on the back for going for a walk Saturday because I felt like it, and for taking a break from my homework Sunday morning to eat breakfast, even though I wasn't done with the work yet. It all worked out fine, and no one suffered because I paused to eat a granola bar. Imagine that.

On The Floor Again

I thought I was doing pretty well. I was getting all zen about my progress. I was making changes, and they were hard, but I was seeing results, and it made me happy. I was getting kind of comfortable and, yes, maybe, just a little relaxed. Then I had the rug ripped right out from under me, and now I'm sprawled on the bare, hard floor again with the wind knocked out of me. And I kind of just want to lie here, stare at the ceiling, and cry.

The thing is, when you're working on a relationship, and you're trying, even honestly trying, it sometimes doesn't feel that way to the other person. I knew this-- but somehow I made myself forget. Confronted with the reality of it, I feel haggard. All my energy is going to this, and it's not good enough-- may never be good enough. And I know I'm messing up a lot and I'm nowhere near perfect, and if you want to play the blame game, a lot of the blame is rightfully mine, but doing this by myself is hard, damn it.

And you know what else? I can't say enough of what I need to say on this blog, either. I don't want to hurt feelings and I don't want to tell other people's secrets, and I want this to be about me and not anyone else, but life's not like that. This is about the people in my life as much as it's about trying to get my own shit together. And it's frustrating.

Betties, friends, readers, send me some nice sparkly vibes, if you please. I'll make it through. As soon as I can get up off this floor.

Book Review: The Wizard of Oz and Other Narcissists by Eleanor Payson

I didn't read this one for a few weeks after it was recommended to me because I didn't believe the label of "narcissist" applied to anyone in my life. And while I'm still pretty sure that no one in my life has the full blown Narcissistic Personality Disorder, I could pick out quite a few people (including myself) on the spectrum.

What I appreciate most about this book is that it doesn't just say, "Narcissists are bad, they will never change, get out or you're doomed." It gives practical tips for dealing with those in your life who have narcissistic tendencies, and, perhaps more importantly, explains the psychology behind why you keep hanging out with those types of people. I found it really helpful and practical, plus just a really interesting read.

Boundaries, Dammit

I got to talking with Dr. Sara today about applying the principles I'm learning across life, and not just in one particular situation. After all, making boundaries in one particular situation is all fine and good, but if you're not consistent, it's just a rule.

I have a set of relatives who do not drink. Not only do they not drink, but they also expect everyone else not to drink in their presence. This royally pisses Robbie off, and I always thought that was just him being defensive and unreasonable. Turns out, it's really their problem (and mine). If he wants to answer the door when they come over with a beer in his hand, it's just his way of expressing his boundaries. It's him saying, "You people may choose not to drink, but I choose to drink. I'm not going to force you to drink, but you can't force me not to drink."

In my head, I always understood that my relatives were being unreasonable, but my peacemaker nature wanted to avoid conflict and just do as they wished, so I never pushed it with them. If I felt like it would be nice to have a glass of wine with dinner, I wouldn't do it if they were around. But do you see where that's a problem? It's me allowing them to dictate how I feel and think and act. And it's me participating in their lie that, "We don't drink, so no one else should drink either."

And dammit all if it doesn't piss me off that I didn't see that. I should have seen that. Sigh.

Picking up a new book this week, Boundaries by Anne Katherine, and hoping that will give me a place to start working on all this stuff. It honestly amazes me how much stuff I've been doing that I don't even realize is unhealthy. But I'm slowly untwisting everything. Slowly. I'll get there.

The New Pattern

I feel like I'm making such great progress. I'm changing, I'm growing, I'm learning-- but it's hard for those around me. I understand. The pattern before was one that everyone recognized and dealt with. Now it's a new pattern, and even though it's a healthy one, it's new, and that's the problem.

So here it is: I'm not going to put up with shit anymore. It's just that simple. And it means that some people are going to have to stop demanding that I put up with their shit, lest they get really disappointed by my numerous refusals.

And it means that I have to let go of some guilt. I have to be confident in the fact that I am not a bad person for refusing, that the reversals and manipulations really are reversals and manipulations, and not the truth. And it may mean that I have to admit that I can't make everyone happy, and that some people aren't going to be a part of my life anymore because I can't make them happy and still be happy myself.

That sucks. But, in the end, maybe it sucks less than the alternative.

Psycho Feminist

Someone I love told me I've become a "psycho feminist." The person didn't mean that in a nice way, either... but I still couldn't help feeling a little proud.

No one has ever once accused me of feminism before. It's not that I'm not a feminist. It's just that I've never been the rabid type about anything. But suddenly, I'm sticking up for myself, claiming my boundaries, owning my body... and I guess that makes me a psycho feminist. I think it makes me less of a doormat and more of a well-adjusted human being, but hey, psycho feminist works too, I guess.

Maybe I'll go burn some bras. Who's with me?

Miss Independent

I was talking with Dr. Sara the other day about independence. It was always a goal of mine to be independent, and I pursued it fiercely, more so in high school than afterward, but I wanted to make it a part of my identity. When I imagined my ideal self, I was confident, friendly, just fine taking care of myself, and able to pursue my dreams. (Also tall, thin, and red-haired, but let's not focus on that for now.)

Something, though, something, made the pendulum swing the other way. Dr. Sara pointed out that a lot of women do this dance during dating to get men to accept them. Instead of the couple training each other, the woman allows herself to be trained and, in fact, rises to the occasion, putting on this disgusting circus of, "Hey, look at me! I can be exactly what you need me to be!" Then, because she is so involved in her little song and dance, she forgets the part where she's supposed to evaluate the man, too. Oops. And I did that. Multiple times. And then, inevitably, the pendulum would swing back to fiercely independent and I would get annoyed that the man wanted me to act the way I acted when we were first dating, and things would get sticky.

Dr. Sara says that if the pendulum can stay closer to the middle, the swinging is smaller and therefore less traumatic. Yes, independence is good, but maybe not ball-busting, don't-need-no-one, lone wolf, Amazon woman independence. Yes, cooperation is good, but maybe not (here comes the Betty metaphor) lying down in the road and instructing someone to steamroll over you.

Happy medium, I haz it.

Panic, Duct Tape, and Tinkering

I've been in full panic mode for weeks. I didn't know it at the time, but I was. Full panic mode for me involves a lot of thinking about the worst possible outcome, a lot of knee-jerking to avoid said worst possible outcome, and a lot of trying to hold it together in public. It's exhausting. It leaves no room for anything but panic. Everything gets binary: There are two choices and only two. One is right, one is wrong. Pick the right one or you're doomed. And this causes more panic. It's a dirty-irty trick, Templeton.

I did some thinking on what let me break out of panic mode. Part of it was realizing that I just can't function that way for very long, but I think a bigger part of it was getting it out here on this blog and getting more involved with the Betties (who have a fabulous new community page, by the way, if anyone is interested in dropping by). I may have underestimated the power of telling a few good friends what's really going on in your life. When a few people know, your panic isn't a secret anymore, and it kind of loses some power-- or at least some momentum.

The best thing about not being in full panic mode is that now I can really starting doing some work, because all my energy isn't going to just holding things together. We Betties like the metaphor, so here's one: I can let go of the pieces I was afraid were going to fall off any second... and tinker. Tinkering? Is so much more satisfying than holding everything together with duct tape just so you can get through the day. I may actually end up with an engine that runs, and not one where I have to continually stick hoses back into the right places every time I start the car. (I had a car like that once. Man it was a lot of work.)

Let the tinkering begin!

Mean People Suck

You know what's cool about having a codependent personality? You tend to assume the best about people. Ok, I'm making codependency sound a little healthier than it is, really. Because when you're being codependent, you immediately go to, "I must've done something wrong," if someone is a jackass to you. But it does mean that you don't automatically assume the worst of everyone... just yourself. Heh.

You know what's not cool about having a codependent personality? When you realize, definitely, that someone is just a jackass-- nothing you did to deserve it, nothing you can do to change it-- it's kind of a kick in the teeth.

Some people are just not nice. The woman in my writing group who totally slammed another member of the group for poor public speaking skills after the speaker did a really decent presentation that was obviously well-researched and prepared? Jackass. The professor who told a student to "get a grip" when the student asked why nothing had been graded at all and we were about to have a test? Jackass. There are jackasses all around us, and sometimes there's just nothing to be done about it.

In one of those cases of jackassery this week, I stood up for the victim. I calmly stated my opinion backing the person up. I didn't get a response, and I didn't feel much better about the situation afterward, but at least I know that was one bit of jackassery that didn't go unnoticed and didn't let the jackass off completely scot-free.

The other case? Well, I'm a chickenshit. Baby steps, people. Baby steps.

The Three Cheeks of Assertiveness

I have been told quite a few times in my life that I need to work on my assertiveness. This makes me cringe. When I think of assertive people, I think of the a-holes who cut me off in traffic and the people who think "honest" means "rude." I don't want to be that.

But, sigh, in my head, I know I'm kind of a doormat. It's that codependent thing again. It's more important that other people be happy than that I am happy. (I know, that's flawed. Happiness is not a pie that you have to divide up.) But then I get all resentful about it and blow up at people for using me, when I was the one who said, "Here, use me," in the first place.

So, for me, I think assertiveness needs to be called something else, maybe. We'll call it ass-ertiveness because I am like 11 and this amuses me, and we'll break it down into three "cheeks," if you will. The important parts of assertiveness, I gather, are:

1. honesty-- Recognize what I want and that it is ok to want what I want, and be honest (at least with myself) about what I want, for real.
2. clarity-- Be clear about what I want... like, with words.
3. consistency-- Be honest and clear whenever the same situation comes up again. If it's just random, it's no good.

If I can somehow get to those three things, I think it will mean that I am being ass-ertive in a good way.

Ok, I'm off to go be ass-ertive. No butts about it. (Couldn't help it.)

The Trials of an Adult Student (Or: Why I Am a Big Weenie)

I've always been kind of intense about school. I did a lot of homework in my high school years, especially the first 2 or 3. I got home about 3:30, started homework about 4, took a break for supper, and usually worked until 9 or 10. This was what my mom called a "good work ethic," but which I now think was probably a case of seriously whacked out priorities. I never hung out with friends, except on the weekends; I never went on dates; I never got in trouble-- all not-so-bad things in the grand scheme, but still weird for high school.

College was a different story. By then I had realized that straight A's are not the ultimate statement of one's worth. (I didn't make straight A's in high school, but it was all A's and B's, and I was usually upset about the B's.) C's got to be kind of alright with me. Know why? Because other stuff was more fun, and more rewarding than good grades. If college was worth anything for me, it was that lesson-- school is not the most important thing in the world. (And, yes, my parents paid for some of my college, and I feel a little bad about not applying myself more diligently for their sake-- but, ultimately, I graduated, no future employers cared at all about my grades, and I learned a lot, so we'll call it good.)

So, off to the work world I went, carrying along my new philosophy: work is not the most important thing in the world. And it's served me well. I do my job and I do it well, and then I go home and I don't worry about it until I come in the next day to work some more.

But now I'm back in school-- community college, this time, for a new degree in something I have no real previous experience with. It's not easy. And it's making me crazy. I stress more about my community college homework than I do about my job-- my full-time, paid day job that is way more important than community college.

Why do I do this to myself? I have several theories:

1. It feels so much like high school, it's just a knee-jerk reaction to put in the same effort I did then.
2. It's community college and I can't stand the thought of letting myself get anything less than an A because I am stuck up.
3. If I didn't have school to stress about, I would find something else to stress about, and it's just my current outlet of choice.

None of these are flattering. Ugh. And I don't think picking one of them is going to help me stop being such a weenie about it. What will help me de-weenify myself? I dunno, but I'd better figure it out and CowBetty up... Wish me luck.

Reality, For Real

Reality can be a fuzzy, murky place. What's real for me isn't necessarily real for someone else, and then there's the whole problem of what's real for your self self, and what's real for the "false" self, the one you think you are or wish you could be or use as a defense.

I inherently understood this perception as reality thing when I was younger. In kindergarden, I didn't want the "teams" on the playground to be the Good Guys and the Bad Guys, because I was absolutely sure that the Bad Guys did not think they were bad at all. (Yeah, I was pretty deep for a 5-year-old.)

So I get it. Perceptions make reality and, therefore, reality is different for everyone.

I just wish I could tell the difference between mine and everyone else's. You wouldn't think it would be so difficult, and it wouldn't be if I wasn't fighting an uphill battle against some pretty serious codependent tendencies. (Ugly wart #1-- I told you you'd be seeing some.) I never realized that not knowing what I want could be such a bad thing. But it's bad. Not only do I not know what I want, but I'm confusing what I want with what other people want, and I can't separate the two in my head.

It's like two colors of Play-Doh all smushed together-- eventually the colors are just going to blend and it's going to be an icky puke green color and the realities won't be different. But separating the colors before they turn puke green is going to be tough-- lots of detail work, lots of picking out tiny pieces of blue from the yellow, lots of putting things back together. I'm going to let this screaming metaphor rest now, but you get my point, right? Puke green Play-Doh makes kittens cry.

What I don't want to do and what I am afraid of is losing the part of me that empathizes. I think me being able to feel what you feel is a strength, and a good part of me, and I don't want to let that go completely. But I have to figure out where to draw the line. I have to be able to experience your reality without making it mine.

I think I've got my work cut out for me.

Re-Inventing, Inspired by the Betties

It's time to bring back this blog...

I am a little loathe to do this. First of all, it's not anonymous... but then, what blog is ever really a secret or anonymous? I'm ok with that. Second, I wrote some wack-a-doo stuff on this blog back in the day. Ok, it was 5 years ago, and I was having a little identity crisis, but still. Yeesh. (I hid all those posts, so you sadists that already got your scroll on and went, "Hey, what gives?!" neener neener to you.)

I decided, though, that something must be done. I am fairly exploding with thoughts, musings, etc. And I don't really want those thoughts exploding all over my other blog-- the one I use for promotional purposes for my books, etc. Everyone reads that blog. Like, everyone. My coworkers, my family, my (ha) fans. And while I'm theoretically ok with all of those people reading this blog too, at least I'm not going to be actively advertising it to them. No Facebook feed, no tweeting. This one's just for me and whoever gives enough of a shit to stop by now and then. And my feelings won't be hurt of that total number ends up being one: me.

So why even do a blog at all? The inspiring Betties are to blame, I am afraid. Lucy March (Lani Diane Rich) created a monster with this whole "honest blogging" phenomenon, and I want in.

So, prepare for some honesty. (And by honesty, I am meaning me being truthful, not me revealing secrets about everyone around me. That just ain't right.) I do mean this is me, ugly warts included. If you don't wanna see it, I recommend you unsubscribe from the feed and forget this blog exists. Seriously. You might see some stuff you don't like. You might learn some stuff you wish you didn't know. Fair warning.

Onward.