Zen and the art of losing it all

If you had asked me the day I was walking out of my job for the last time, after having been laid off, whether I would ever be grateful for that occurrence, I probably would have first laughed in your silly face, and then wanted to slap you across it.

Change is hard for me. Very very hard. I do not like things to change, I like them to stay the same, even when things are not as good as I know they can be. Even when things are making me very unhappy,  or even miserable, I resist any change at all. I like for things to be familiar, and I like knowing what to expect. I will go so far as to say that in the past I have valued stability over happiness.

But, I think I am changing my tune on that, because I am finally realizing that with every major life-change I have gone through, whether it was initiated by me or thrust upon me by outside forces, I have, without fail, come out happier on the other side.

Once the New Scary Thing becomes the New Normal, no longer something to adjust to, but accepted as my reality-- in other words, once I stop resisting the change-- I can very nearly always look back upon how things used to be and feel extremely grateful for the forces that acted to change that thing for me. Whether it was leaving a relationship or a job, I have rarely looked back and thought, "Damn, I really should have stayed in that place."

That's the thing, growth happens with change. And growth cannot be bad. It is, I would argue, inherently good. Perhaps I will even go so far as to say it is the entire purpose of life.

Today, I am so grateful for the freedom of time and opportunity afforded to me by my release from full-time work in a job that was draining the life force out of me. Granted, I am poor. So poor, poorer even than I have maybe ever been. And as I have mentioned here before, I have the extreme privilege of having family who is willing to help me out*, and the privilege of having a 401k that is in this very moment in the process of being cashed in (thank god for that.)

My point is that if you are living in a situation that you don't like-- for any reason at all-- and you can't seem to think your way out of it, stop and think about what is holding you there. For me, it was plain and simple: fear. I thought that if I left the job I hated, I would not be able to support myself and my kids (this part was partially true) and that I would become homeless (this part has, knock wood, not come to prove itself true as of yet.) In the gradual slide into the present that I have done since leaving that job, I can now see that those particular fears were unfounded, because I am getting along fine. I have few material possessions. I don't have a television or a dvd player, or an xbox, but absolutely none of that stuff matters to me. I have a bed to lay my head at night. I have food to eat. I have time to do my art. I have time to wake up slowly and to enjoy my days. I have this laptop that I am working on right now (one of my few possessions that I feel any sort of attachment to at this moment.)

Some days I still wake up in a panic, and wonder what the fuck I am doing with my life. I wonder if I can still count myself as a valid, functioning member of society if my only claim to "adulthood" is that I am a part-time student and a part-time pizza delivery driver. But even in that statement, I realize that my identity is ever-shifting. I have been a stay-at-home mother. I have been a full-time, working-mom. I have been a massage therapist and a yoga instructor. I have been unemployed. None of that stuff ever defined who I was as a person. I am an artist. I am a healer. I am friend, daughter, mother, sister. What I do for money (or how much money I have at my disposal) lo and behold, does not define my self-worth for me unless I choose to let it. How I treat my loved ones does. How I commit to my art does. How I set goals for myself and work towards attaining them-- that is something I can find pride in.

Whether I am on SNAP (food stamps) or whether I have state-sponsored health insurance for my kids, or how many dollars are in my pocket at a given time, or how much I owe to my creditors, do not get to define my worthiness.

I find it interesting that I had to, figuratively speaking, lose everything in order to find this out. I have a vast network of support, and I have the ability to forge new pathways at any given time, and I have the freedom I have dreamed of for the past nine years to define my days for the most part as I see fit. I have the time to be home with my son in the afternoons, and pick him up from school and help him with his homework and teach him how to cook dinner, and still do my own schoolwork, and I am not freaking exhausted all the time, on the verge of a nervous breakdown at any given moment from working myself to the bone. I place so much more value in that freedom of mind than in being able to go into Target and buy some random crap that I don't really need.

Sure, it would be nice to have financial freedom as well as time freedom. That's my next goal. It's a 15-year plan. In the meantime, I will take what I have and be jolly-well grateful for it. Because I know that I am better off than I was at this time last year, or the year before that, or the year...

I can sit here on a Sunday and I can write in my blog, and pack for my camping trip, and not feel that horrible pressure in my chest closing in on me, that I have to go to a place that I hate tomorrow and sit for nine hours  in a little cubical that makes me feel like I am wasting my life away, working for a boss and a cause that I don't care about one tiny bit.  I can take my dog for a walk and rest easy in the knowledge that only good things are coming. And when the inevitable next big change comes, I can look back at this writing and remember what it feels like when everything settles again.




*The thing about having family who are in a position to help me is not something I can ever overlook, and I am fighting an extreme urge to self-censor this whole post right now because I almost feel like I don't have the right to discuss the freedom of being underemployed when I basically have someone taking care of me financially, to the extent that they can. But the nature of this help is that I do not know when it will stop, and I know the pool is not never-ending. I am aware that it is a gift, that can be removed just as easily as it was given. 

**This post came out of a journal I had to write for my Developmental Psychology class.** 

First Year Adjustment Reaction

: A cluster of psychological symptoms including loneliness, anxiety, and depression, relating to the college experience. Particularly likely to be experienced by students who were unusually academically or socially successful in high school. Their sudden change in status during their first year in college may cause them distress. First-generation students, are particularly susceptible to difficulties during their first year of college. They may arrive at college without a clear understanding of how the demands of college differ from those of high school, and the social support they have from their families may be inadequate. :

Just discovered another phenomenon that made me feel like, ok, so that thing that happened to me? It’s completely normal- it happens to other people too. Somehow it feels amazing to be validated in seeing my own experiences reflected in a textbook…

When I first went to college, I was 17. I had graduated high school in 3 years, so eager was I to get away from my parents and my hometown. I had worked very hard in high school to get good grades and graduated top 5% of my class, earned a full scholarship to the state school of my choice, and I chose NAU to get as far away as possible from my parents/family. It wasn’t that my family was bad at all, I have very supportive and loving parents and siblings, but I was just so ready to be independent.

Or so I thought. After a semester of struggling to get through classes that felt over my head—some of which literally were over my head since I had been allowed to register for some 300 level classes—and struggling to find work in the small town my college was located in, and struggling because of the stress of breaking up with my boyfriend after I cheated on him during spring break, I was at my wits’ end. Midway through my second terms, I didn’t know how to pull my grades out of the pit they had plunged into. In danger of losing my scholarship, and without any support—I had made few friends during my first semester because I refused to live on campus in my eagerness to prove I was a “grown-up”—I decided to drop out and move back home. It was like I threw in the towel because it had become overwhelming to me, and I didn’t know that there were resources available to me. I didn’t know I could talk to someone on campus about my struggles. I didn’t even know that there was such a thing as a campus mental health center with free counseling services. I withdrew from my classes quietly, without telling my parents of my decision until after the fact.

From there, I had to call them for help. I didn’t have any money to get home and I didn’t have a vehicle to transport my belongings. I had moved to my new town with my boyfriend, in his car. By the time I was ready to leave to go back home, he had already left and I was alone, sharing a small two bedroom apartment with a couple who had decided that they hated me, for the previously mentioned cheating. I phoned my parents and desperately asked them to help me rent a U-haul on their credit card so I could pack my things and come home. I told them I was planning to re-enroll in college when I got back to Tucson. I wasn’t really sure that was my plan at the time, but I told them that because I thought it would be what they wanted to hear. The day I packed my U-haul, I had to get help from my no-longer friend, who was no longer speaking to me, in order to get some of my heavier things down the rickety stairs or our apartment building. The day I packed my things into my U-haul, it snowed. Again. It was April.

I was so ready to go home to the Sonoran desert with its flowers and its springtime and its friends (the few that hadn’t already left town for various colleges around the country, or embarked on world-travels.) I was eager by then to be back in the safety of my parents’ home.

When I got home, I unpacked my things and left them on a series of storage shelves in my brother’s bedroom. My little sister had already moved into my old room that I used to share with my other sister. There was no place for me. I tried sleeping on the couch for a while, but pretty quickly I got bored of sleeping on the couch and having nothing to do. I got back together with my boyfriend and found a job. Soon, we had moved into a new apartment on the opposite side of town from my parents. We felt happy, and I felt independent again! I started working with my sister at the bakery where she pulled some strings to get me a job.  A month later, I found myself pregnant.

My first thought was that I should clearly have an abortion, but my boyfriend was so excited to hear the news, and I knew that I wanted to be a mother. I knew I wanted kids with him. I wasn’t sure I was ready, and I was still struggling with the difficult choice, when I got a call from my boyfriend’s step-mom.

“Congratulations! We heard the good news!!”

My heart sank. How could he have told anyone when I still didn’t know if I wanted the baby? At that moment I knew I had to make a decision, quickly. I was already more than 4 weeks along, and I wasn’t really sure how long you could wait to get an abortion before it became dangerous, or even worse, morally questionable. I knew I had no moral qualms about terminating a pregnancy. I grew up with a mom who was of the second wave, and Ms. Magazine and Gloria Steinam were household names. But when I thought about giving up this baby, something inside me whispered, “No.” So I decided to keep it.

I had a great fear that if I were to abort this baby, something would go horribly wrong and I would never be able to conceive or carry a child again. This fear did not feel unfounded, though I did not know where it was coming from. It felt like more than a worry, but more akin to a voice from the other side, some magical being, or spirit whispering to me, you need to have *this baby,* not wait another ten years until you have finished school, as was your plan. And so we went through with the pregnancy. My father was upset with me when I told him. I was only 18, after all. But I was sure. And the rest of my family came around quickly. Soon, they were all eagerly anticipating the birth of this new little life that we had made.

******

I first went back to school after my second son was in kindergarten. I had since divorced, and gotten a pretty good job at the University, in a research facility as an administrative assistant. The benefits were good, and one of them was I could take classes for free. I started taking a class here or there, one night class at a time, at first. Then after a few semesters of that, I cut that out. It was too hard to manage with my two young children and working full-time. Plus I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I took three years off. Got married again, subsequently divorced. In the interim, I took a yoga teacher training. I had gotten a massage certification when my oldest was three. I thought I’d take those two things and make a business out of it. However, after my second marriage ended, I lost my job.

There I was, 38, no degree, my only marketable skills were a massage certification that I had no license to practice, a yoga teaching certification that I had no experience in teaching (I had decided shortly after finishing the yoga program that teaching classes “wasn’t for me.” And my ten years that I had spent doing various administrative and receptionist jobs. There seemed only one thing to do… I polished my resume and started flooding it out. I emailed everyone I knew and tried networking that way, asking all of my former colleagues and friends if they could help, if they knew anyone who was looking to hire someone like me. I felt pretty confident that I’d find another job soon enough. My parents helped me out with the rent. And then they helped me out again. A few months passed, and I had several interviews, but no call-backs. I kept applying. Soon, 4 months had gone by and I still had no job and no money coming in, other than what my parents were sending.

I knew that I had to make a new choice.  I decided to pursue the nursing degree that I had always thought of, with the intent of going for my masters in midwifery after I complete my nursing degree. And, I figured, with an RN, you can never go wrong. There will always be jobs available for someone with that skill-set. So, I enrolled at Rio Salado college.  Got a part-time job delivering pizza in the evenings, so I could be home with my son in the afternoons, and be able to drive him to school and pick him up without scheduling problems. I do my homework during the day. I’d like to me making more money, and maybe working a little more, but what I am bringing in right now covers most of my bills, except for my rent. My family has been helping me with that so far. Next term, I am going to either have to cash in my 401K (thank god for that) or take out a lot more student loans. I am thinking about becoming a driver for Lyft or Uber, friends say you can make better money with that than driving for the pizza place, and you can set your own hours.

My struggles currently involve things like making sure that I submit my application for food stamps on time every six months, and being the only adult in the household who drives a car. My oldest son is still living with me. He’s 19 and he doesn’t drive yet. He is still figuring out what he wants to do. It reminds me of myself at his age. I’m just glad he’s not fathering any babies yet.

Be Your Own Beloved-Inspiration

For the first time in my life, I am feeling like I have cultivated a deep well of compassion and love for myself. In yoga yesterday, I got into a really good groove, moving all kinds of energy around, breaking up the "fascia fuzz," as my teacher put it, and at the end of class, I was at the point of meditating on this feeling of deep gratitude that I was having. During meditation, I had this event, where my heart just opened up, like maybe there was a wall around it, and then there was a small crack and then the energy just got too big to stay contained in that little walled-in box anymore and it forced its way out, and I was consumed by the most intense feeling of being in love with myself. There is no other way to describe it. It was blissful and I felt more at peace than I have in a very long time.

And I realized in that moment that I was feeling a well of deep love for myself that I had been locked out of for a very long time. It felt exactly like falling in love feels, except that I had never experienced such a profound and intense sensation of love like that for MYSELF. I have felt it for other people many times throughout my life. It feels like the purest acceptance, unconditional love, no matter what that person may be presenting to me in that moment. I have felt it for my children. I have felt it for lovers, partners, spouses, friends. But never once have I felt that pureness of love directed only at my very being.

Our teacher had asked us to feel deeply into our hearts and choose something to be grateful for in this moment. I started by intentionally feeling grateful for a certain person who is in my life, who I recently started a new kind of relationship with. And from there, I realized that the reason I feel so good with this person is that I am able to express a certain part of my being that has lain dormant for a long time, maybe my whole life, in some capacity. There is a piece of me that gets to shine with this person, that hasn't been allowed to shine (that I have not been able to allow to shine, for various reasons-- the same ones, I am sure that we all have-- that baggage that gets packed around our hearts over a lifetime of hurts and small heartbreaks, violations, upsets, trials) that hasn't been able to shine for a long time, maybe since I was a little girl, when something awful happened to me. I think it's quite possible that a part of me has been quietly hating myself, eating me up inside, since that terrible thing happened, surely I blamed myself for it in some way. What I do know is that I have a new kind of feeling in my heart, and it's not about being in love with this other person. I was trying allow space to see why I felt so incredibly grateful for my time with this person, and I realized that it was because with them, I felt completely able to let a part of me be free, a part of me that has been dormant for a long time. In the safety that this person created around our interactions, I was able to access a part of my soul that had been locked away from me a long time ago, when the badness happened.

I wonder now if this is why I have struggled with depression for so long. I wonder too, if that hypnotherapy session that I had a few weeks ago allowed me to more easily access that part of me that is still innocent, still happy, still joyful and free. I am sure that it did, there is no need to wonder, it must be so. In the session, I went back to a place in time when I felt truly happy. I was able to sit with that version of me, and talk to her, cradle her in my arms, to enjoy the feeling of profound peace that she felt in that time, before the Bad Thing happened. My therapist told me at the end of our session that I'd be able to call upon this version of myself whenever I needed her, to be with me, to help me feel joyful and alive and free, whenever I was starting to feel down.

I remember that session vividly, and yet, when I had this new, sudden feeling of profound love come up for myself, I was not thinking of the hypnotherapy session. I was thinking of the gift of being given a space to express one of the truest parts of me, by the person I mentioned above. It was such a surprise to then have that feeling of gratitude transfer to myself, and become a feeling of gratitude to me, for allowing myself to be seen, to be vulnerable in this way that ultimately ended up being so confirming for me.

I'd like to express to this person, right now, just what all of this feels like, and to give them my deepest thanks, but I am choosing to let the words typed here suffuse into the ether, because I believe that it will be heard in due time.

Most of all I am grateful to myself for doing the intense work that I have been doing for so long to get me to this point of being able to feel this amazing love well up within me. I'm reminded of a clip from the comedian Louis CK, where he says that when we can feel the deepest sadness, the deepest darkness within ourselves, really feel it, only then can we in turn feel true happiness and joy. I am reminded of the genius of this man who presents himself as this sort of sad clown to the world, making us laugh at him, or ourselves, who is truly a genius of the human condition. And I am reminded that to be vulnerable in a public way like he does has a value that cannot be underestimated. We need the artists like him, like me (yes, I just compared myself to the world-renowned genius Louis CK) to help us see that we are never alone in our darkest moments. And, that our happiest moments come from within us. We are the purveyors of our own happiness.

In the words of my spiritual teacher, Robin Hallett, which she posted to Facebook this morning,
"We have to decide, choose. Decide that inner happiness is your one true goal. We must choose that this above all else is what will help us in every circumstance." 

**The title given to this post is also the title to a campaign that was started by Vivienne McMaster, a wonderful teacher who can be found on Instagram @viviennemcm and on the web @ viviennemcmasterphotography.com. 

My beautiful yoga teacher who always inspires such great things in me, is Kim Bulloch. She is fun and funny and deep and inspirational and she gives great hugs!  

“There are moments, when you’re getting to know someone, when you realize something deep and buried in you is deep and buried in them, too. It feels like meeting a stranger you’ve known your whole life.” -Leah Raeder

Morning pages- "Live, live, live" & the hummingbird who comes to say hello

Life is such a weird journey, don't you think? I'm just sitting here at my kitchen table (I call it my "kitchen table" but really it's in my living room. It's where I eat and study, and even-- from time to time-- craft. It's my dining table, it's my desk. But when I name this table in my head, I always think of my childhood kitchen table, which was literally in the kitchen, where so many important family meals happened, so many breakfasts with little pastries cut up to share, so many holiday meals and every day meals. But I'm getting off track.) I'm sitting here at my table, getting ready to start my day, and doing a little morning meditation with Robin Hallet I'm thinking about how badly I felt yesterday. How low down I was, how absolutely sure I felt in that moment that life was just completely awful and I was never going to feel good again. How exhausted. 

And, depression IS exhausting. That's the thing. I think that even when we have an awareness that this feeling isn't going to last forever, it's the exhaustion of feeling that way, *in that moment* that feels so completely and overwhelmingly terrible, that we just want it all to end. It feels like, in that moment of sitting in the darkness of our mind, that absolutely anything would be better than this. We are thinking, "Whatever comes in the afterlife, I'll take it over this feeling I am having right now."

And then, today, it's a little bit different. A little bit better. In fact, for most of yesterday, it was a lot better. After I let myself lay around on the couch and wallow in it for a few hours, I got up (because I had to go to work) and I didn't feel so bad anymore. I actually caught myself genuinely smiling at people during my shift. I caught myself stopping to just feel the breeze on my skin at dusk. I felt thankful that I get to have a job that takes me outside. Let me say that again: I felt thankful. In the morning yesterday, when I was feeling so terrible, I could not imagine feeling thankful, because I was so engulfed in feeling bad. The bad feeling overwhelms the mind to the point that you can't imagine ever feeling good again, and that's why depression steals so many lives. 

But, I am determined not to let this thing get me. I am feeling strong today, not sad. I am feeling- if not ready to take on the world- at least a bit more myself. And I am writing this here in case anyone else is in the darkness today, and feels like nothing is ever going to feel okay again. It will. I promise. 

If you are not familiar with the online project Stay Here with me, you should know that it is a site that offers online support for depression and suicidality. Maybe they have something there to offer you. All I am thinking today is the line at the end of the Madness Vase, where Andrea Gibson says, "Live, live, live." 

I have that line on a poster that I bought when I went to go see Andrea perform last year. It hangs in my bedroom. At the time that I bought the poster, I wasn't familiar with the poem, but I knew that seeing those words every day might be helpful sometimes. 

This morning while I sat here writing, a humming bird flew up to my aloe plant outside my window and hung out for a bit trying to get a drink from her flowers. I thought about how I might get a hummingbird feeder and hang it there, near the tree, for when the flowers are all fallen. I like having the birds visit outside my window. Just a few weeks into spring and the flowers are already falling, they don't last long around here. I feel like making plans is a good sign, meaning that I want to keep on sticking around. 

**I'm amazed at how much shame still comes up when I write about depression. But for so many years I suffered in silence because of that shame voice being so loud. I'm not going to do that anymore. If my writing, my voice, can help one person feel less alone, then I have done my job. This post is a little scattered, a little all-over-the-place, but that's where my brain is today. I've got to go do some homework (which ironically, I have to leave the house in order to do.) So it's time to take a shower and go to the place where I do that. Blessings on your day. <3 

I was struggling to come up with a title for this post and my brain said, "The Madness Vase," but then I thought, that is already a thing, so I Googled it, and sure enough, it's an Andrea Gibson Poem.

April 6, 2015

I’m in the hole again. Depression feels like being swallowed by a gaping hole that is slowly eating you from the inside. This hole could be called, simply, the Black Hole, but I feel like it’s important to name it what it is. For the sake of those who never had a name for what they felt. For the ones who gave in before they learned that it wasn’t their fault. That their grandmothers and their mothers suffered from the same darkness. Illness. Sickness. That it was a sickness. Not some failing on their part to do the right thing, or to be the right way. Some failure to be happy. Some failure to understand something vital that lets people get through this life without feeling like it is trying to kill them every day. Like leaving two husbands because you think that you would not be so sad all the time, if only your husband was nicer to you. Like leaving jobs because you think if only you liked your work you wouldn’t wake up wishing you didn’t have to get out of bed ever again. Like walking to your fridge to get something and collapsing on the floor for a half an hour sobbing, leaning against the wall and staring at last night’s dishes while tears stream down your face and your cries sift out of the open windows, because it is spring. Depression feels like not caring that it is spring. Or that the sun is shining, or the moon is full. Like thinking that everyone who loves you would be better off without the burden of you. Like you would be better off if you didn’t have to wear the heavy cloak of this life anymore. Like nothing is ever going to be easy and you are tired of the struggle. Tired of struggling all the time. It feels like smoking is a good option, but it’s not fast enough.

Depression sounds like a silent voice, incessantly screaming in your ear that you are worthless. Maybe you can find a way to quietly end it. Just go away from here. Your kids will be fine, they have other family who will take good care of them, better care than you can. Whispering, whispering, Maybe you could just quietly end it…Find a way. Depression is an evil mistress. A temptress, constantly luring you to the other side. A tricksy devil, saying this way leads to no more pain, over here. Come over. Trying to make you forget that if you exit this plane early you’ll just have to take another flight. 

This IS a cry for help. Despite the voice insisting loudly, “This is NOT a cry for help.”

Art credit: Mind Devour by Sebmaestro

Depression sounds like a voice that won’t stop repeating lists of all the things wrong you have ever done. All the bad choices you have made that have led you to this moment. Depression never forgives transgressions, unless they were made by someone else. Depression thinks that you are pretty much the worst person ever. Depression doesn’t care that you are a wonderful mom or that you made pancakes just yesterday. Depression doesn’t care that you are a hard worker. Depression just wants to point out that there’s no milk again and you failed to find a good enough job and the food stamps don’t come for another week. Depression and poverty are good mates. Depression always saunters in when you are feeling worst about your finances. Depression says, you’re a fuck-up. You’ll never amount to anything. Depression is a thief. Even when you have been doing really well, really working on all the things you are supposed to be doing, depression says haha, fuck you. You’re an idiot, you think that any of this is going to make a difference? You’re going to be poor and alone forever. You might as well quit.

Depression has a loud voice. He is hard to drown out. I don’t know why depression is a He, but he feels male to me. Sometimes the only thing that will make him shut up is going to sleep. So I do. I’m thankful that I never got into substance abuse, because I am sure that would be another way to get depression to be a little quieter for a while. I’m glad that I never found a bottle of pills that screamed, "Try me! I’m good at making things shut up."

I’d rather hear depression’s abusive, awful speech about how much I suck, than take something that makes him shut up.

Well no, I’d rather there was something that would make him shut up that wouldn’t have a worse effect than actually just letting him go on his rants.

I’d rather he just go away and let me live. I’d rather care about spring. And school. I’d rather not think that my kids would be better off without me around. I’d rather have a heavy dose of self-love, a voice that says, hey man, you’re doing a bang-up job. Keep it up! Or a voice that said, I know that things are hard right now, but they are going to be better, I promise.

This is not a cry for help. Except that it is. God, please let me get better. Let depression get in a shiny blue convertible and drive away from here, leaving me in peace. This is my cry for help. This is me on my knees, begging please, help me get out of my own way. Help me, set me free. Please, I beg you.