As the youngest of my family, I got spoiled with many post-childhood years of things like Santa Claus gifts and visits from the Easter Bunny. In fact, these rituals continued well into college as my mom struggled with her empty nest. Then my nephew was born, and it all went out the window. Damn kid.
I get it. These holiday rituals go from getting as a kid to giving as an adult, but what about in the in between when you're a childless adult?
Behold the return of the Easter bunny, at least in our house. Carolina Man and I decided to give each other Easter baskets, which ranks up there as one of the best ideas of all time. It's a gift to have a partner who gets excited about silly things like this, and is just as excited to put together a basket for me as he was to get his.
Highlights of my basket: a 4-lb bag of Starburst jellybeans; Real Simple wedding planning book; Toy Story 3 in 3D! Highlights of his basket: a new workout shirt; Cadbury chocolate eggs; and more peanut butter chocolate eggs than you've ever seen.
The only trouble is that we're both on a health kick (down 10 lbs and 7 lbs respectively!), so the abundance of candy options presented a problem. We took different approaches (I bought a little, he bought a lot), but I've been amazed by the restraint we've both shown. Granted it's required stuffing it all into a shoebox that is under a number of other things in our pantry, but despite working from home with the knowledge that there is candy galore available at all times, I haven't touched a single piece before 8 pm. You have no idea how amazing this is.
But, I just loved that we reclaimed the fun of the holiday for ourselves. We sipped on mimosas, made brunch, and watched TV. It was the perfect day. Isn't it fun to have your own family and do whatever the hell you want?
Showing posts with label Self-Care. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Self-Care. Show all posts
Hangry
Hangry. I love this world. Hungry + Angry = Exactly how I feel.
After our lovely all-inclusive vacation, not to mention weeks of post-engagement celebratory snacks of buffalo chicken dip and brownies, Carolina Man and I were ready to get our eating and exercise back on track. Since moving to NC, I'd put on a little bit of love chub, and I'm ready for it to come off.
And that means carrot sticks. And chicken breasts with salt and pepper. And 6 am ass-kicking workouts. And Jillian Michaels. It's a recipe for crankiness. Throw a little wedding planning on top of it, and you've got a serious crankypants in the house.
On the plus side, I've lost four pounds. On the negative side, I am dreaming about french fries and ice cream sundaes. Isn't it incredibly unfair how easy it is to put on a weight but seriously difficult to take it off? It sucks to log every little thing you eat, and use food scales to measure every thing you put on your plate. Part of it is that I haven't settled into a routine and plan that works best for me.
And that means I'm hangry. What about you? Got hanger?
After our lovely all-inclusive vacation, not to mention weeks of post-engagement celebratory snacks of buffalo chicken dip and brownies, Carolina Man and I were ready to get our eating and exercise back on track. Since moving to NC, I'd put on a little bit of love chub, and I'm ready for it to come off.
And that means carrot sticks. And chicken breasts with salt and pepper. And 6 am ass-kicking workouts. And Jillian Michaels. It's a recipe for crankiness. Throw a little wedding planning on top of it, and you've got a serious crankypants in the house.
On the plus side, I've lost four pounds. On the negative side, I am dreaming about french fries and ice cream sundaes. Isn't it incredibly unfair how easy it is to put on a weight but seriously difficult to take it off? It sucks to log every little thing you eat, and use food scales to measure every thing you put on your plate. Part of it is that I haven't settled into a routine and plan that works best for me.
And that means I'm hangry. What about you? Got hanger?
Tapping into Creativity
As Carolina Man and I were falling asleep last night, I said to him, "I feel like I need to do more with creativity." It's something I've been thinking about for awhile now. Ever since I graduated and became a "Non-Student,"* I've really been lacking in the creativity department. Most of the creative things I've been part of have been performative and/or community-oriented. But, given the crazy travel schedule I have, I'd really like to find something I can do on my own, on my own time and terms.
But, I really suck at the following:
But, I kind of have a fear of the things I make sucking really badly. Then again, as Carolina Man reminded me last night, being creative doesn't have to be for anyone else but me. I can just do it for the sake of doing it, for having the outlet.
Hmm, an interesting concept for me. Not being judged on something I do? That would be a first.
How do you tap into your creativity? I'd especially love to hear from those of you who aren't "artists" in the traditional sense!
*I'm kind of getting tired of referring to myself this way.
But, I really suck at the following:
- Drawing straight lines
- Painting (even the walls)
- Cutting straight lines
- Sketching anything
- Basically anything artistic that has to do with hand-eye coordination
But, I kind of have a fear of the things I make sucking really badly. Then again, as Carolina Man reminded me last night, being creative doesn't have to be for anyone else but me. I can just do it for the sake of doing it, for having the outlet.
Hmm, an interesting concept for me. Not being judged on something I do? That would be a first.
How do you tap into your creativity? I'd especially love to hear from those of you who aren't "artists" in the traditional sense!
*I'm kind of getting tired of referring to myself this way.
The Sass is Back
I'm a Southern woman, born and raised. This surprises a lot of people I meet primarily because A) I don't have the accent and B) I like to say fuck a lot. This wasn't always the case. Back in high school, I was a Bible Belter, goody two-shoes like most of my friends.
That all started to change ironically when I went to divinity school in Connecticut. People were abrasive and direct, which at first I found rude but then came to appreciate. There was no bullshit. Sure, I missed the friendliness of saying 'hi' to people on the street, but then again, there were so many pedestrians I could've spent my entire walk to campus greeting strangers. Instead I learned to look inward and found quiet and stillness.
I also developed quite a bit of attitude. Since my birth, my mom had taught me the passive aggressive ways of southern culture--that you ignore cat calls and kill rude people with kindness. As it turns out, these are not particularly satisfying strategies for dealing with assholes. I always felt disempowered and wished I'd been quicker with my tongue.
At some point, things shifted. I started with a few mouthy comebacks to men who would whistle or say something inappropriate to me on the street. One night I was coming home from CVS when a man in a truck said, "Hey there, sexy." I walked a few steps and yelled back, "Why don't you shut the fuck up!?" He probably thought I was a crazy bitch, but I felt this awesome rush of adrenaline and felt proud that I'd managed to make him, well, shut the fuck up.
Now after six years of living elsewhere, I'm back in the South and experiencing severe reverse culture shock. It first struck me when I went to a Zumba class at the gym and realized I was the most gyrating one in the class (something that NEVER would have happened in DC). I've changed and I'm not sure I can adopt the southern lady thing again.
The other day, Carolina Man and I were out playing bocce and throwing a frisbee at the park. A man walked by us, and remembering that I was in the South, I made eye contact and said hello. He replied, "You know, you really should use your arm more and your wrist less."
And without even thinking, I retorted with annoyance in my voice, "Thanks, but I didn't ask you." It wasn't rude exactly, but it was direct and it sent a clear message that I didn't appreciate his unsolicited advice about my frisbee throwing ability.
My mom probably would've died with embarrassment if she'd heard me say that. She would have preferred I'd feigned politeness or even gratitude, and then talked behind his back. Instead I said what I felt. And it felt pretty awesome!
Carolina Man said, "And that's why I love you."
That all started to change ironically when I went to divinity school in Connecticut. People were abrasive and direct, which at first I found rude but then came to appreciate. There was no bullshit. Sure, I missed the friendliness of saying 'hi' to people on the street, but then again, there were so many pedestrians I could've spent my entire walk to campus greeting strangers. Instead I learned to look inward and found quiet and stillness.
I also developed quite a bit of attitude. Since my birth, my mom had taught me the passive aggressive ways of southern culture--that you ignore cat calls and kill rude people with kindness. As it turns out, these are not particularly satisfying strategies for dealing with assholes. I always felt disempowered and wished I'd been quicker with my tongue.
At some point, things shifted. I started with a few mouthy comebacks to men who would whistle or say something inappropriate to me on the street. One night I was coming home from CVS when a man in a truck said, "Hey there, sexy." I walked a few steps and yelled back, "Why don't you shut the fuck up!?" He probably thought I was a crazy bitch, but I felt this awesome rush of adrenaline and felt proud that I'd managed to make him, well, shut the fuck up.
Now after six years of living elsewhere, I'm back in the South and experiencing severe reverse culture shock. It first struck me when I went to a Zumba class at the gym and realized I was the most gyrating one in the class (something that NEVER would have happened in DC). I've changed and I'm not sure I can adopt the southern lady thing again.
The other day, Carolina Man and I were out playing bocce and throwing a frisbee at the park. A man walked by us, and remembering that I was in the South, I made eye contact and said hello. He replied, "You know, you really should use your arm more and your wrist less."
And without even thinking, I retorted with annoyance in my voice, "Thanks, but I didn't ask you." It wasn't rude exactly, but it was direct and it sent a clear message that I didn't appreciate his unsolicited advice about my frisbee throwing ability.
My mom probably would've died with embarrassment if she'd heard me say that. She would have preferred I'd feigned politeness or even gratitude, and then talked behind his back. Instead I said what I felt. And it felt pretty awesome!
Carolina Man said, "And that's why I love you."
28
Today's my 28th birthday! So to celebrate, here are 28 awesome things that have happened this year.
1. I met my BFF Katie.
2. I went to California for the first (and second) time.
3. I got to go into the United Nations.
3. I met Geena Davis and made her laugh.
4. I hooked up with a beautiful man at the beach.
5. I got a raise.
6. I moved into a room with a whirlpool tub.
7. I traveled the US with women from Kenya and Sierra Leone.
8. I lost 20 pounds and 2 dress sizes.
9. I took a much needed break from online dating.
10. I spent New Year's with my childhood best friend.
11. I started a women's faith & spirituality group.
12. I turned down a board position I didn't have time for.
13. I joined a new gym and discovered Zumba.
14. I WENT TO MALAWI!!! (Last year on my birthday, I said, "Maybe my job will take me 6000 miles away." I wasn't quite right--it actually took me 7902 miles away!)
15. I discovered Birchbox.
16. I maxed out my IRA contribution.
17. I went to my 5-year college reunion.
18. I bought myself an iMac.
19. I danced on stage at the Kennedy Center.
20. I successfully gave up alcohol for Lent.
21. I got one of my bishops to agree to meet with a member of Congress on women's health matters.
22. I saw the Rocky Mountains for the first time.
23. I published one of my liturgical pieces in a book.
24. I went back to church.
25. I joined a Bocce team and we won our first season!
26. I gave up watching wedding shows.
27. I performed Cee Lo's "F*** You" at karaoke more times than I can count.
28. I learned that I am enough.
1. I met my BFF Katie.
2. I went to California for the first (and second) time.
3. I got to go into the United Nations.
3. I met Geena Davis and made her laugh.
4. I hooked up with a beautiful man at the beach.
5. I got a raise.
6. I moved into a room with a whirlpool tub.
7. I traveled the US with women from Kenya and Sierra Leone.
8. I lost 20 pounds and 2 dress sizes.
9. I took a much needed break from online dating.
10. I spent New Year's with my childhood best friend.
11. I started a women's faith & spirituality group.
12. I turned down a board position I didn't have time for.
13. I joined a new gym and discovered Zumba.
14. I WENT TO MALAWI!!! (Last year on my birthday, I said, "Maybe my job will take me 6000 miles away." I wasn't quite right--it actually took me 7902 miles away!)
15. I discovered Birchbox.
16. I maxed out my IRA contribution.
17. I went to my 5-year college reunion.
18. I bought myself an iMac.
19. I danced on stage at the Kennedy Center.
20. I successfully gave up alcohol for Lent.
21. I got one of my bishops to agree to meet with a member of Congress on women's health matters.
22. I saw the Rocky Mountains for the first time.
23. I published one of my liturgical pieces in a book.
24. I went back to church.
25. I joined a Bocce team and we won our first season!
26. I gave up watching wedding shows.
27. I performed Cee Lo's "F*** You" at karaoke more times than I can count.
28. I learned that I am enough.
(un)Committed
Sitting in the Houston airport after a 36 hour jaunt to California, waiting for our respective connections, my boss and I were discussing my current state of unhappiness as it relates to my ex. I told her how much I hated his lack of honesty in our relationship, and especially how he would act as if he were withholding information in order to protect me. It would usually be along the lines of "I didn't want to upset you." I resented how he used me as his excuse for being cowardly.
She responded with the following: "The problem is that he was never really committed to your relationship."
I simultaneously wanted to slap her and burst into tears. Fortunately, I did neither. But I realized in that moment something much deeper than the hurt of a love lost was going on. What was it about what she had just said that made me react so strongly? What nerve had she touched that in an instant made me feel as if I'd come unraveled?
What she'd said was more or less a factual statement about our relationship. I'd been prepared to stick it out, and SCL walked out when things got hard. He never even tried to work on our problems--and that was his problem. So, why did it feel like a reflection on me that he gave up?
I felt like I wasn't worth fighting for. I wasn't worth the effort of trying. I was dispensable. Traded in for something better. Tossed aside. Forgotten.
As a child, I watched my father walk in and out of my life three different times, the last time for good. I thought that if I could just do or say the right thing, he would realize what a shitty father he'd been and would apologize. I would labor over long letters to him, telling him everything I felt and how he'd wronged me. Never once did he apologize. Never once did he admit that he'd given up. And I was left disappointed.
Kids shouldn't have to earn the love of their parents. They certainly shouldn't have to earn an apology. I never should have felt like I had to convince my father to be a supportive presence in my life. Finally, I just gave up on him. He'd already given up on me years before.
My ex is just the lens through which I have been examining a pain that goes much deeper. It isn't about him; he isn't the root of it. He's still in the forefront of my mind, but in time that will fade, I hope. But the deeper pain won't unless I start admitting it's there.
Reclaiming Our Humanity
What happens when we claim our right to be fully human? Everyone benefits. Even those who feel superior, who demean and discount us, benefit when we claim our full humanity.When we refuse to accept degrading conditions and behaviors, those in power no longer have a target for their oppressive acts. Even if they want to continue in their old ways, we don’t let them. Our refusal gives them the opportunity to explore new, more humane behaviors. They may not choose to change, but as we stand up for ourselves, we give them the chance to be more fully human as well. When we are courageous enough to honor ourselves, we offer everyone else their humanity.
It's a wonderful realization--claiming our vocation to be fully human is the way we extend love to all others. As such, it is the ultimate gesture of love.
Margaret Wheatley, Turning to One Another: Simple Conversations to Restore Hope to the Future
Burnout
That's what I'm pretty sure I'm experiencing. I don't feel like I can give 100% to anyone or anything. I just want to lie in bed in my dark room all day.
The frustrating thing is I can't even tell if this medicine I'm taking is starting to work because my circumstances have been so all over the place since I began it about four weeks ago. While I was in Malawi, I felt great, relaxed, at peace. Then as soon as I walked through the door, I felt the rush of stress return. And then the SCL thing fucked everything up. Then I left for another week of hectic work travel.
My prayers have shifted from wanting everything to be good, to wanting everything to be neutral, to wanting everything to be not totally fucked up for a few weeks so I can see if this medicine is kicking in.
Seriously, universe, cut me some slack.
The frustrating thing is I can't even tell if this medicine I'm taking is starting to work because my circumstances have been so all over the place since I began it about four weeks ago. While I was in Malawi, I felt great, relaxed, at peace. Then as soon as I walked through the door, I felt the rush of stress return. And then the SCL thing fucked everything up. Then I left for another week of hectic work travel.
My prayers have shifted from wanting everything to be good, to wanting everything to be neutral, to wanting everything to be not totally fucked up for a few weeks so I can see if this medicine is kicking in.
Seriously, universe, cut me some slack.
Can I Stop Wanting What I Want?
What I want more than anything is to stop wanting what I want. If only I could say with sincerity that I am satisfied with my life as it is, that the good things about it are enough for me, and that anything else--a relationship, children, money--would be a bonus.
Being in a partnership and having a family are central to the vision I have for my life, so how do I go about not wanting them? The way some people talk about love, the simple wanting of something in this arena, much less striving for it even, means that we probably won't find it.
"It'll come to you when you're not looking for it."
I can't force myself to quit looking for something I desire. It'd be like like trying to ignore the rumbling of an empty stomach or the sandpaper feeling of a parched throat. I might be able to distract myself momentarily, but the idea of satiation is never going to escape me.
I like the idea of being satisfied within myself, but I have no idea how to go about it.
When I first started taking voice lessons, I was in heaven. I loved the practice, I loved trying new exercises, and I was in love with the idea that it was just a matter of time before I perfected my art. Then at some point I crossed the threshold of blissful ignorance to the painful realization of understanding how much I didn't know and how much I couldn't do, and not having any cultivated any real skill yet, I fell into a place of frustration.
That's how I feel now. I know how much I have to learn about being at peace with myself, but I have no idea how to go about achieving it. But, if like with my voice, I can manage to push through this period of despair, I do believe I'll learn something important, something to take with me through this journey that will help.
Being in a partnership and having a family are central to the vision I have for my life, so how do I go about not wanting them? The way some people talk about love, the simple wanting of something in this arena, much less striving for it even, means that we probably won't find it.
"It'll come to you when you're not looking for it."
I can't force myself to quit looking for something I desire. It'd be like like trying to ignore the rumbling of an empty stomach or the sandpaper feeling of a parched throat. I might be able to distract myself momentarily, but the idea of satiation is never going to escape me.
I like the idea of being satisfied within myself, but I have no idea how to go about it.
When I first started taking voice lessons, I was in heaven. I loved the practice, I loved trying new exercises, and I was in love with the idea that it was just a matter of time before I perfected my art. Then at some point I crossed the threshold of blissful ignorance to the painful realization of understanding how much I didn't know and how much I couldn't do, and not having any cultivated any real skill yet, I fell into a place of frustration.
That's how I feel now. I know how much I have to learn about being at peace with myself, but I have no idea how to go about achieving it. But, if like with my voice, I can manage to push through this period of despair, I do believe I'll learn something important, something to take with me through this journey that will help.
A Hot Mistake
I've been at Lake Eerie for work the last several days, and like most of the country, it's been hotter than hell. My meetings have been in an open-air auditorium, and I've literally had to peel the back of my shirt from the back of my stadium seat each time I had to stand up to get more water. Despite being a church gathering, I resorted to wearing my least conservative clothes--short shorts and tank top that shows my bra straps--because I just couldn't stand it otherwise.
What about the heat warning made me think taking a nice long run at 5 pm yesterday sounded like a good idea is beyond me. But off I went, into the blazing sun with no water bottle but tons of determination. I ran along the lake for a few miles, getting a few strange looks from people who had only stepped quickly into the heat to get their mail or water their parched lawn. Determined to get in a good workout, I kept on pounding the boiling pavement.
At some point I noticed that I wasn't really sweating...and that I was getting the chills. In 100 degree weather. That started to freak me out, so I slowed my gait down to a light jog and turned around to head back to my hotel. I thought I was hallucinating when I saw a water fountain, but thankfully it didn't disappoint and I drank for several minutes straight, resulting in a serious case of water belly. When I eventually made my way back, I stumbled into my room dizzy, exhausted, and nauseated.
I am stubborn as shit. I can throw myself into a mind-over-matter mentality, no matter how bad the matter is telling me to stop whatever it is I'm doing. And I think the same is true of my relationship with my ex. I was determined to keep running down that path, no matter how much pain or suffering it caused.
Today when I woke up, the heat had broken, and it was a cool, overcast morning. The perfect running weather.
The heat will break. I just have to wait until it does, and then go for it.
What about the heat warning made me think taking a nice long run at 5 pm yesterday sounded like a good idea is beyond me. But off I went, into the blazing sun with no water bottle but tons of determination. I ran along the lake for a few miles, getting a few strange looks from people who had only stepped quickly into the heat to get their mail or water their parched lawn. Determined to get in a good workout, I kept on pounding the boiling pavement.
At some point I noticed that I wasn't really sweating...and that I was getting the chills. In 100 degree weather. That started to freak me out, so I slowed my gait down to a light jog and turned around to head back to my hotel. I thought I was hallucinating when I saw a water fountain, but thankfully it didn't disappoint and I drank for several minutes straight, resulting in a serious case of water belly. When I eventually made my way back, I stumbled into my room dizzy, exhausted, and nauseated.
I am stubborn as shit. I can throw myself into a mind-over-matter mentality, no matter how bad the matter is telling me to stop whatever it is I'm doing. And I think the same is true of my relationship with my ex. I was determined to keep running down that path, no matter how much pain or suffering it caused.
Today when I woke up, the heat had broken, and it was a cool, overcast morning. The perfect running weather.
The heat will break. I just have to wait until it does, and then go for it.
Enough
I think I've ranted about most, if not all, of the things I needed to about running into the ex and his new girl (aka The Obsession). It was the long time comin' final nail in the coffin of our dead relationship. As much as it fucking hurts, there's nowhere to go but forward because I'm sure as hell not staying in the same place.
I'm not sure at what point in our relationship I handed him the keys to my happiness and never asked for them back. But, I want them back. I want it all back.
The inner critic--the little bastard who lives in our head and shouts nasty things to us all day--has been having a fucking field day with this situation. He's been yelling at me non-stop since Thursday night, and basically, I'm ready for him to shut the fuck up. Enough already.
Truth is, I'll never know what went on in my ex's head or what his situation is now or how things could've been different if I'd held back more or asked for less or learned to live in a state of complacency rather than asking for what I wanted. I could spend the rest of my life trying to figure this thing out, but what kind of life would that be?
Is it possible not to take to heart the fact that you weren't what someone else wanted? And not just anyone else, but the person you loved the most? Just who I was wasn't enough for him. Shouldn't that turn me off instead of making me feel like I should have just been someone else? I'm trying to move away from the latter and into the former. Because damn it, I am enough. I can't let his acceptance, or lack thereof, serve as the measuring stick of my worthiness as a human being.
Enough, inner critic. Enough, ex-boyfriend. Enough already. Because I am enough.
I'm not sure at what point in our relationship I handed him the keys to my happiness and never asked for them back. But, I want them back. I want it all back.
The inner critic--the little bastard who lives in our head and shouts nasty things to us all day--has been having a fucking field day with this situation. He's been yelling at me non-stop since Thursday night, and basically, I'm ready for him to shut the fuck up. Enough already.
Truth is, I'll never know what went on in my ex's head or what his situation is now or how things could've been different if I'd held back more or asked for less or learned to live in a state of complacency rather than asking for what I wanted. I could spend the rest of my life trying to figure this thing out, but what kind of life would that be?
Is it possible not to take to heart the fact that you weren't what someone else wanted? And not just anyone else, but the person you loved the most? Just who I was wasn't enough for him. Shouldn't that turn me off instead of making me feel like I should have just been someone else? I'm trying to move away from the latter and into the former. Because damn it, I am enough. I can't let his acceptance, or lack thereof, serve as the measuring stick of my worthiness as a human being.
Enough, inner critic. Enough, ex-boyfriend. Enough already. Because I am enough.
The Accusation
"You're trying to manipulate me."
That was the ex's response to me crying that I just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up.
For the record, I wasn't. I would never imagine saying something that serious to someone just to hurt them or scare them. What I said was how I felt in that moment, but he couldn't understand that.
About three weeks ago, I was diagnosed with clinical depression. I'd been having what my therapist called "depressive episodes" for over six months. These episodes were irregular and usually sparked by some trauma (usually having to do with the ex), but no matter the reason for them, the feeling they brought was the same each time: despair that nothing will ever get better.
With the help of my therapist and my own strong will, I managed to claw my way out of these trenches with exercise, eating well, journaling, spending time with friends, etc., but each time another one hit and I was hurled back into the valley, my energy to pull myself out again felt more and more depleted, and my faith in the universe diminished.
The episodes began happening at shorter intervals, every few weeks. Finally I couldn't take it anymore. I sobbed to my therapist that I couldn't keep doing this over and over again. The next day I had an appointment with my primary care provider to discuss starting a medication to help me deal.
I rattled off the things I had tried to help myself out of this: exercise, meditation, good diet, regular therapy sessions, journaling, vitamin D supplements, self-help books, distractions. But nothing was was working anymore. I felt helpless.
"In all my time working here, I've never seen anyone try as hard as you have to help yourself out of depression," the doctor said gently. "You aren't giving up. You're sick, and it isn't your fault." I started crying; I felt so relieved to hear someone else say that what I was going through wasn't something a normal person could endure on her own. I started on Lexapro the following day. The doctor said it could take up to a month to begin working. So far I haven't experienced any relief, just fatigue and a few lost pounds. But I'm putting my faith in the pills; it's the best I've got at the moment.
That was the ex's response to me crying that I just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up.
For the record, I wasn't. I would never imagine saying something that serious to someone just to hurt them or scare them. What I said was how I felt in that moment, but he couldn't understand that.
About three weeks ago, I was diagnosed with clinical depression. I'd been having what my therapist called "depressive episodes" for over six months. These episodes were irregular and usually sparked by some trauma (usually having to do with the ex), but no matter the reason for them, the feeling they brought was the same each time: despair that nothing will ever get better.
With the help of my therapist and my own strong will, I managed to claw my way out of these trenches with exercise, eating well, journaling, spending time with friends, etc., but each time another one hit and I was hurled back into the valley, my energy to pull myself out again felt more and more depleted, and my faith in the universe diminished.
The episodes began happening at shorter intervals, every few weeks. Finally I couldn't take it anymore. I sobbed to my therapist that I couldn't keep doing this over and over again. The next day I had an appointment with my primary care provider to discuss starting a medication to help me deal.
I rattled off the things I had tried to help myself out of this: exercise, meditation, good diet, regular therapy sessions, journaling, vitamin D supplements, self-help books, distractions. But nothing was was working anymore. I felt helpless.
"In all my time working here, I've never seen anyone try as hard as you have to help yourself out of depression," the doctor said gently. "You aren't giving up. You're sick, and it isn't your fault." I started crying; I felt so relieved to hear someone else say that what I was going through wasn't something a normal person could endure on her own. I started on Lexapro the following day. The doctor said it could take up to a month to begin working. So far I haven't experienced any relief, just fatigue and a few lost pounds. But I'm putting my faith in the pills; it's the best I've got at the moment.
A Pause
My posting has screeched to a near halt. It started unintentionally but has become less so. Observing some of the less than charitable behavior that goes on online (of which I have certainly been a part of at times) has gotten me thinking about the purpose of my own blog and if it's something I wish to continue.
Whether right or wrong, when you share your life publicly, you open yourself up to criticism. I have not been the exception. I can't say I agree with the idea that having a blog somehow means you have signed up for whatever kind of bullshit people want to hurl at you. (Is human decency a lost art?) But nonetheless, feeling unfairly criticized and judged is part of the blogging territory.
And, I've been feeling like my inner critic, the little bastard that he is, really doesn't need any more ammunition. He does just fine on his own finding things to cut me down. So, do I really need another venue for feeling like a jerk when I screw up in my life?
I started the blog with a pretty clear idea of what I wanted it to be--a blog about what it was like to date a PhD student when I wasn't in school. I had grand notions of providing a community for those in this strange situation. But when I found myself single, the blog became a refuge--one I really needed. I found support and community in the midst of real heartache and pain. And then, it became a dating blog, and that was a shift I was not prepared for. Apparently people have lots of opinions about dating and what people should or shouldn't do--and they like telling you what to do. And, before I realized it, dating had been elevated to a level of importance in my life that I never anticipated. I let it become more important than it should have been.
Which is why I haven't been blogging about dating anymore. I don't want it to take up that space in my life--because it could if I let it. Dates can make a good story. Dating is attached to so many other deeper issues--what I want and desire, how I feel about my future, things that I should really reserve for those closest to me. Unfortunately, I have a problem with spilling my guts to anyone, and it's something I'm working on.
You know, I thought operating under a pseudonym would protect me, but it didn't. It never did. In some ways I think by not having a picture or a real name it made it easier to forget that I was a real person.
This is all to say, I'm not certain what I want to do about the blog, but I know that going forward, I'm going to keep my personal life just that--personal.
Whether right or wrong, when you share your life publicly, you open yourself up to criticism. I have not been the exception. I can't say I agree with the idea that having a blog somehow means you have signed up for whatever kind of bullshit people want to hurl at you. (Is human decency a lost art?) But nonetheless, feeling unfairly criticized and judged is part of the blogging territory.
And, I've been feeling like my inner critic, the little bastard that he is, really doesn't need any more ammunition. He does just fine on his own finding things to cut me down. So, do I really need another venue for feeling like a jerk when I screw up in my life?
I started the blog with a pretty clear idea of what I wanted it to be--a blog about what it was like to date a PhD student when I wasn't in school. I had grand notions of providing a community for those in this strange situation. But when I found myself single, the blog became a refuge--one I really needed. I found support and community in the midst of real heartache and pain. And then, it became a dating blog, and that was a shift I was not prepared for. Apparently people have lots of opinions about dating and what people should or shouldn't do--and they like telling you what to do. And, before I realized it, dating had been elevated to a level of importance in my life that I never anticipated. I let it become more important than it should have been.
Which is why I haven't been blogging about dating anymore. I don't want it to take up that space in my life--because it could if I let it. Dates can make a good story. Dating is attached to so many other deeper issues--what I want and desire, how I feel about my future, things that I should really reserve for those closest to me. Unfortunately, I have a problem with spilling my guts to anyone, and it's something I'm working on.
You know, I thought operating under a pseudonym would protect me, but it didn't. It never did. In some ways I think by not having a picture or a real name it made it easier to forget that I was a real person.
This is all to say, I'm not certain what I want to do about the blog, but I know that going forward, I'm going to keep my personal life just that--personal.
The Fleeting Sting of Rejection
At the beginning of the month, I was contacted by an organization to do some part-time work doing social media strategizing. Flattered and excited, I'd immediately written back that I was definitely interested and got to work putting together a presentation that I was sure would "wow" them. After spending a few late nights at Starbucks, getting to know the organization's website and and perfecting my proposal, I nailed the interview. As far as I could tell, the job was in the bag. Until I got the an email from them. I could tell by the subject line that I didn't get it--it was too generic, neutral, and succinct to be a "Come join our team!" message. Boo.
Now, I'm thankful that I didn't need this job, something I almost feel guilty about. I know there are lots and lots of people desperate for work, and I've already got a job I'm crazy about. I guess part of me was feeling a little greedy (more work= more $$ = new Frye boots!), but it was also about having an opportunity to gain new skills and experience. I had decided 2011 would be the "year of work" and that I was fine with committing myself to a 55+ hour work week.
So, even though it's probably best in the long run that I didn't get this job, the rejection still stung a bit. As soon as I read the email I felt myself getting defensive, telling myself I didn't really want this position anyway. But really what I was feeling was inadequate. What had I done or not done to miss out on this opportunity? I went over my words, my proposal, my resume, trying to think what had been the kicker misstep. Basically, I was trying to find my own screw up.
We can tell ourselves not to take rejection personally--that it has nothing to do with us, but it's the circumstances or the other person or some other thing out of our control. But in the end, we're stuck with our rejection, trying to figure it out. It's perfectly understandable that we might immediately jump into self-criticism because a lot of times we don't get any answers and we're left to our devices to make sense of it all.
At first I wished I hadn't told anyone about the interview. I knew I was going to be asked about it, and I didn't want to admit to anyone that I'd been passed up. I felt embarrassed. So, when I did get asked about it, I pulled the, "Well, it really wasn't a good fit for me anyway" line. I didn't want to say, "My feelings are hurt that I didn't get it." Rejection is hard on its own, but it's even tougher when there's an audience. I feel like I've got to toughen up, get over it.
And in a few days, I did. But I didn't deny myself that bit of time of just feeling bummed out. It's good to get excited over possible opportunities and put our hearts and head into it. I'm glad I felt invested enough to feel the sting of rejection a bit. And I'm thankful for family and friends who remind me that I'm good at what I do, second job or not.
Now, I'm thankful that I didn't need this job, something I almost feel guilty about. I know there are lots and lots of people desperate for work, and I've already got a job I'm crazy about. I guess part of me was feeling a little greedy (more work= more $$ = new Frye boots!), but it was also about having an opportunity to gain new skills and experience. I had decided 2011 would be the "year of work" and that I was fine with committing myself to a 55+ hour work week.
So, even though it's probably best in the long run that I didn't get this job, the rejection still stung a bit. As soon as I read the email I felt myself getting defensive, telling myself I didn't really want this position anyway. But really what I was feeling was inadequate. What had I done or not done to miss out on this opportunity? I went over my words, my proposal, my resume, trying to think what had been the kicker misstep. Basically, I was trying to find my own screw up.
We can tell ourselves not to take rejection personally--that it has nothing to do with us, but it's the circumstances or the other person or some other thing out of our control. But in the end, we're stuck with our rejection, trying to figure it out. It's perfectly understandable that we might immediately jump into self-criticism because a lot of times we don't get any answers and we're left to our devices to make sense of it all.
At first I wished I hadn't told anyone about the interview. I knew I was going to be asked about it, and I didn't want to admit to anyone that I'd been passed up. I felt embarrassed. So, when I did get asked about it, I pulled the, "Well, it really wasn't a good fit for me anyway" line. I didn't want to say, "My feelings are hurt that I didn't get it." Rejection is hard on its own, but it's even tougher when there's an audience. I feel like I've got to toughen up, get over it.
And in a few days, I did. But I didn't deny myself that bit of time of just feeling bummed out. It's good to get excited over possible opportunities and put our hearts and head into it. I'm glad I felt invested enough to feel the sting of rejection a bit. And I'm thankful for family and friends who remind me that I'm good at what I do, second job or not.
Carolina in My Mind
I'm packing up to hit the road, but this time not for work. Imagine that! Tomorrow I'll be heading down to North Carolina for my fifth year college reunion. I've been looking forward to this since last fall when life looked a lot different.
I haven't been talking about my ex SCL on the blog much anymore, but he's been on my mind this week, mostly because of this reunion. This may be the last occasion that I'd really looking forward to doing together. My college is the one place I idealize, and I smiled at the thought of worlds colliding, of bringing him into my circle of friends and beloved professors and memories. I pictured the ring that would inevitably be on my finger by then, one like this, and how I'd get to talk with my old classmates about save-the-dates and honeymoon plans.
It was a pretty picture. And now it's another loss.
My college town is straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting. It's got a Main Street with an old-school soda shop. The town is manicured and picturesque in a way that normally would irritate me. I love the city, especially for its diversity and realness. But for me this college town is my happy place, the one place I've forgiven all the bad and romanticized the reality. I think we all need something like that.
But, I don't feel like I'm going to fit back into that pretty picture. I see my classmates who seem to fit right in with their gorgeous wedding photos and chubby-cheeked cherub children. They will fit, I think to myself. But me? I feel like I've fallen behind on some understood timeline, that regardless of its ridiculousness does at times like these make me feel inadequate.
As much as I don't want it to, I realize that this weekend may bring feelings of loneliness, of grief, and I should try to prepare myself for that possibility. It's an opportunity for me to practice that kindness toward self that I keep talking about, to allow for the space to feel what I'm feeling. And, I also know it's going to be fantastically fun to be back in my college town. I've already got three catch-up sessions with my favorite professors lined up! And of course I will enjoy seeing old friends and talking about old times.
So, it will be a bittersweet weekend, but one that I'm looking forward to regardless. It's just one of those times I really wish I could share with SCL.
Let the Sunshine In
For those of you who haven't seen the show, it doesn't have much of a plot. As one of my friends said, it's more of a mood than a plot. And by mood, I mean drug-induced hallucination. But, it is a rockin', energetic show that engages the audience like none other I've seen. So much in fact that at the end, they invite audience members to join the cast on stage to dance and sing with them.
Now, I was sitting in the second tier (read: nosebleed section), and I was trying to figure out if I could get down there in time. My friend and I looked at each and then booked it down four flights of stairs, only to hear what we thought was the end of the music. Damn. Not to mention people were exiting the show, so we were going against traffic. But, at that point I was determined to get my ass up there.
That was when we heard them start "Let the Sunshine In." We rushed down the aisle, and were met by two cast members who took us by the hand, helping us on stage and took us right to the very front. It was the most thrilling experience I've had in a long time, being up there with hundreds of people all dancing and singing together. And when the music was over, one of the leads came over and threw her arms around me, thanking me for coming to the show! I couldn't believe how gracious they were and how connected I felt, how I was totally feeding on their post-performance high.
I'll admit, when I was up in the balcony, I was hesitant to rush the stage. No one else in our section was moving. But then I thought, Fuck it. I'm probably never going to get to dance and sing on the Kennedy Center stage again. And I'm so glad I didn't let that fear of looking like a fool get in my way.
On Being a "Nice Girl": Week Thirteen of Therapy
I managed to pull myself out of the slump I was in last week through various means: Zumba class, Glee with friends, turning down dates, a Batgirl costume, and attending church. But the real kicker was the intentional focus on my self-talk and shifting toward being a better friend to myself.
I'm finding that like most changes, it's a matter of pushing through that initial stubborn, slow start where it feels as if it's taking all of my energy simply to get going. But once I've pushed over that hump, it's easier to maintain that trajectory. For example, I felt terrible when Mr. Tennis Pro, who'd been calling for weeks, finally asked me for a date and I turned him down. I hated the idea of disappointing him, even though we'd never met before.
And this is where the whole "Nice Girl" complex comes into play. C and I talked about this extensively in my session today, how girls often are taught to be nice, obliging others and putting their own desires and needs at the bottom of the list. In elementary school, I had a friend who always let me decide what we were going to play--if I were at her house, she'd say that I was the guest and that's why I got to pick; if we were at my house, she'd say it was my house and that's why I got to pick. Kind of a silly example, but I think the point is clear enough.
The remnants of the "nice girl" complex are alive and well in this 27-year-old. And I can see now how it's been a barrier to being something much better than nice--being kind. Especially to myself. I felt like Mr. Tennis Pro had been so sweet, patient, and consistent--why wasn't I giving him a chance? I felt like I should give him a chance. But then I remembered, this isn't what I want right now. Yes, he was disappointed, but I knew that going out on a date with him was not what was right for me.
I can already see how I'm trying to change: in my decisions to stop trying so hard in the romance department; to cut off ties with Dr. Not-so-much; to be more careful in what I choose to share on this blog (and spend more time in my personal journal); to ask for space in my office to get me out of the house more often; to let certain calls go to voice mail. It's a process, and like most things, I'm expecting a roller coaster, not a steady uphill climb. But, I do know that I am feeling infinitely better than I was just a week ago, not only because I've been doing the external things to lift my spirits but also because I'm getting a handle on changing the internal.
I'm finding that like most changes, it's a matter of pushing through that initial stubborn, slow start where it feels as if it's taking all of my energy simply to get going. But once I've pushed over that hump, it's easier to maintain that trajectory. For example, I felt terrible when Mr. Tennis Pro, who'd been calling for weeks, finally asked me for a date and I turned him down. I hated the idea of disappointing him, even though we'd never met before.
And this is where the whole "Nice Girl" complex comes into play. C and I talked about this extensively in my session today, how girls often are taught to be nice, obliging others and putting their own desires and needs at the bottom of the list. In elementary school, I had a friend who always let me decide what we were going to play--if I were at her house, she'd say that I was the guest and that's why I got to pick; if we were at my house, she'd say it was my house and that's why I got to pick. Kind of a silly example, but I think the point is clear enough.
The remnants of the "nice girl" complex are alive and well in this 27-year-old. And I can see now how it's been a barrier to being something much better than nice--being kind. Especially to myself. I felt like Mr. Tennis Pro had been so sweet, patient, and consistent--why wasn't I giving him a chance? I felt like I should give him a chance. But then I remembered, this isn't what I want right now. Yes, he was disappointed, but I knew that going out on a date with him was not what was right for me.
I can already see how I'm trying to change: in my decisions to stop trying so hard in the romance department; to cut off ties with Dr. Not-so-much; to be more careful in what I choose to share on this blog (and spend more time in my personal journal); to ask for space in my office to get me out of the house more often; to let certain calls go to voice mail. It's a process, and like most things, I'm expecting a roller coaster, not a steady uphill climb. But, I do know that I am feeling infinitely better than I was just a week ago, not only because I've been doing the external things to lift my spirits but also because I'm getting a handle on changing the internal.
Heal Over, Friends
On a beautiful walk along the Potomac, Date Me, DC! and I discussed how while we are certainly feeling a bit down on this whole dating thing, our dear ones--our friends--are having even tougher times--lost jobs, broken relationships, and for one of my closest, the loss of her mother. I spent Saturday afternoon at her memorial service, in awe of this amazing woman's life and even more in awe of my friend, who read from the Gospel of John with such poise, passion, and insight. A true testament to her strength and faith.
During a much-needed nap, I got a text from my friend L who had visited last weekend, saying that she'd broken up with her boyfriend of six months--this after she'd just been through a divorce. I immediately called her, and my heart broke as she cried. All of the feelings, the confusion, the sense of "there's something wrong with me"--I got it. She didn't need to explain it. I was there with her. And I realized then how that is an internal battle we all face when the rug is yanked out from under us, and we are left with thousands of unanswered questions.
I want to hold my friend close, to tell her in person that she is the most amazing woman I've ever met and that she deserves someone who will not leave at the first sign of difficulty. And I want it even more because I remember wanting her to be there with me when my inner critic was torturing me like that with self-doubt and self-hatred, so much so that I couldn't muster up the strength to tell it to shut up.
I want her to know how brave she is to have trusted someone again, to have opened herself up after all of the hurt she's endured. That she is anything but a loser, despite her feeling that way right now. I want to cook for her and do her laundry, be with her as she cries and as she laughs again. More than anything, I want her to know that she will be alright. She will heal over someday.
And so will
And I'm Like "F*** You"
First, you all must immediately check out Date Me, DC!'s Halloween blog decorations.
Second, Dr. Nutrition is a goner. And a douche. Last night I had a wine-induced Facebook defriend, phone number deletion, and email erasure rampage. And it was entirely called for. Here's why.
After last week's weird email exchange over the wine tasting, I never heard from him again. Tired of the silence, I emailed him a final time on Monday. According to the two friends I showed it to, it was upbeat, even-keeled, but also addressed the lack of communication. Essentially, I gave him an out--if you're not interested, that's fine, but it'd be helpful to know.
And the guy couldn't even show me the common courtesy of responding to my fucking email. After six dates, I think this is just plain shitty. Grow some balls and say something. You're not the great love of my life, dude. I can handle it. And come on, an email is not exactly confrontational. Even with Mr. Homeland Security and Mr. Editor, I had the decency to email them that I wasn't interested. I feel like that's just the decent thing to do. Blowing someone off? That's just plain cowardly.
I feel totally duped and disappointed in him. And the best way to deal with that is just to cut off all lines of communication.
I think this really was the nail in the coffin of my short-lived dating adventures for the time being. I realized I'm just not ready to get my heart stomped on again. I hate being alone, but I hate dealing with this kind of bullshit even more.
Second, Dr. Nutrition is a goner. And a douche. Last night I had a wine-induced Facebook defriend, phone number deletion, and email erasure rampage. And it was entirely called for. Here's why.
After last week's weird email exchange over the wine tasting, I never heard from him again. Tired of the silence, I emailed him a final time on Monday. According to the two friends I showed it to, it was upbeat, even-keeled, but also addressed the lack of communication. Essentially, I gave him an out--if you're not interested, that's fine, but it'd be helpful to know.
And the guy couldn't even show me the common courtesy of responding to my fucking email. After six dates, I think this is just plain shitty. Grow some balls and say something. You're not the great love of my life, dude. I can handle it. And come on, an email is not exactly confrontational. Even with Mr. Homeland Security and Mr. Editor, I had the decency to email them that I wasn't interested. I feel like that's just the decent thing to do. Blowing someone off? That's just plain cowardly.
I feel totally duped and disappointed in him. And the best way to deal with that is just to cut off all lines of communication.
I think this really was the nail in the coffin of my short-lived dating adventures for the time being. I realized I'm just not ready to get my heart stomped on again. I hate being alone, but I hate dealing with this kind of bullshit even more.
In Session: Week 12ish? in Therapy
Honestly, I've lost track of which therapy session today was. I must be getting into the teens, but it doesn't really matter. Here are some take aways.
What I Need:
What I Need:
- Kindness and gentleness to myself, to treat myself like I would a hurting friend
- Company of friends
- Maybe to get away from DC for a bit (a real break, not a work trip, family trip, etc.)
- Social time, as difficult as it is to motivate myself
- Maybe a Vitamin B complex supplement
What I Don't Need:
- Stress about Dr. Nutrition or any boy
- Stress about why I am the way that I am
- Over fixation on self-improvement
- Self-flagellation
Things That Do Help:
- Exercise
- Massage
- Getting good sleep
- Reading
- Spending time with people
Things That Do Not Help:
- Online dating sites
- Texting
- Technology in general
- Trying to fix myself
- Shopping
Basically, my impulse is to ask the "why" questions. It's my way of coping with chaos and disconnection. And while I could just suck it up and get through this time, it might not be the way I want to do it. It's not the way I'd treat a friend, screaming at her for not being able to get it together after she'd been through hell. So, I guess I'll try this gentle, encouraging thing and see what happens.
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