I’ve been trying to listen to guided meditations in the morning. I do unstructured meditations sometimes too, but they tend to do more harm than good. I get too deep in the muck and the mire, and my brain takes me to dangerous little places. But the guided meditations are perfect, because I have someone else’s voice to continually pull me back to reality.
Lately I’ve been… well, not in a good place at all. And because I’m me, I put myself in a position to receive a lot of negative feedback, twice, which didn’t help in that regard.
Enter Noah Elrief. Noah Elrief does a guided meditation that sort of blows me away with its simple message. It is aimed at anxiety, but I find that it works for its cousin, depression, as well. He talks about my favorite thing: how in the present moment there are no problems to solve. That our mind will wander and freak us out and make us think there are problems, but when we gently bring it back, we remember.
We’re safe.
We’re right here.
There are no problems.
This is reality.
“Where’s your nose?” he asks. “Where’s the problem?” Your nose is reality. The problem is not.
I’m sad.
Where’s your nose?
I do everything wrong and everyone hates me.
Where’s your nose?
Nothing will make this feeling go away.
Where’s your nose?
I’ve been thinking about it a lot the past couple of days, in between trying to sleep, and trying not to cry, and trying to keep myself distracted. Where’s my nose. I simultaneously spend too much time “out there” where all the yuckiness lives, and inside my brain where… well, where more yuckiness lives. So I try to remember my nose. My nose that just exists in reality. Not in the noise of my brain, and not in the noise of the world. It just… IS. And that’s where the peace is, grounded in reality, grounded in the present time, grounded in a place that’s safe.
It will change, to be sure, but right now thinking of that meditation (and my nose, of all the random things) helps a lot.
I lost a good handful of followers yesterday. This neither surprised me nor upset me. It’s part and parcel with writing something controversial. Some of them were kind enough to make parting speeches, but I eventually stopped reading the comments, so it’s likely I missed a few. We’ll call that bonus number 11: I don’t always respond to comments, and sometimes, out of self-preservation, I don’t even read them.
To be completely frank though, you don’t need to wait for a controversial post to unfollow me if you want to. I can save you some wasted time and let you know there are lots of reasons to unfollow me right now! Here’s a handy dandy list in case you need one:
I lived in New England for over 30 years of my life, and I cannot stand the Patriots. I actively root against them every time they are playing.
I’ve never read any of the Harry Potter books, nor watched the movies. At first it was just disinterest, but now it’s sheer stubbornness along with the fact that I enjoy the look of horror on people’s faces when I tell them.
I don’t like nuts in brownies, and I think Nutella is grossly overrated. I don’t GET Nutella. I mean, is it sweet, is it savory? What on earth is it? It’s ground nuts and chocolate. If I’m going to have nuts and chocolate, the nuts are going to be in the form of peanut butter and the chocolate is going to be in the shape of a cup.
I have a tenuous grasp on grammar. I know, I know, I’m a writer and probably shouldn’t admit that. But I leave out words, I virtually stutter, and I rarely have the patience to properly proofread.
I never stick to one topic, despite some people’s dismay. It’s blogging 101: You’re supposed to stick to one niche. But I’ve never been much for rules, my thoughts are all over the map, and your guess as is as good as mine about what I’ll write about next.
I love Ellen Degeneres, and one of my favorite favorite Ellen moments was when she had an elderly caller who said, “You know, I love Jesus, but sometimes I drink a little.” Ellen about died laughing, and I’ve never related to someone so hard. I’m a Christ-follower (not a fan of the word Christian) but sometimes I drink a little. I’m also fond of the F word.
I like my dogs more than most people. So listen, I LOVE people, I do. I’m all about spreading the love. But liking people? I’m about as big introvert as you’ll ever meet, I’m awkward and sometimes shy, and people tend to… well, they stress me out.
I’m a hypocrite and I contradict myself, sometimes in the very same post. I’m not proud of this mind you, but it’s true. I’m human, and we tend to be a fickle bunch.
I watched the Fault in Your Stars and I didn’t cry. I tend not to cry over movies unless they’re happy tears. Or unless something bad happenes to a dog. (See number 7)
You’re eventually going to disagree with me over something. If 1 through 9 didn’t bother you, I assure you something eventually will. We’re not wired to agree on everything. In fact it weirds me out a little when I get comments that say, “I agree with everything you write!” Because 1) It’s probably not true, and 2) If it is true, you just haven’t been hanging around long enough. We’ll disagree. It’s okay! My best friend doesn’t like coffee. DOESN’T LIKE IT. And you know what? I love her anyway.
There are all kinds of reasons to dislike, disagree, or unfollow me. If you really must leave and don’t like any of my reasons, one will be assigned to you. There’s really no requirement to make an exit speech (It’s easy! Just click a button!), but I do so love to read a good juvenile flounce.
To those who are still here, thanks for sticking around. 🙂
There’s a weird little “challenge” going around Facebook right now. It started out innocently enough, asking people to post their first ever profile picture beside their most current one. Then it morphed or something, because all I started to see after that was a copied and pasted, “How hard has aging hit you?”, with the requisite old picture and new picture. Compliments are flying about how everyone aged so well, and look better now, and blah blah blah. It bothered me, but I couldn’t put my finger on why until today. Undeniably, with very few exceptions, people DO look better as they age… but it actually has nothing to do with looks.
If we’re basing this on just physical appearance, here’s how aging has hit me:
I’ve gained weight, to the tune of 30 pounds, due to a changing metabolism, stress eating (and stress drinking), and medication. Everything about my body is softer.
I have a lot more grey in my hair than I used to, and I go back and forth between covering it up, and letting it run free.
I have more lines around my eyes. Evidence that I’ve laughed many gales, and shed many tears.
I have more lines on my forehead too, and between my brows and at the corners of my lips.
My skin can’t decide if it wants to be dry or greasy, often vacillating between the two, or somehow being both at the same time. I have weird spots that aren’t acne or freckles, but are just… spots.
More things hurt on my body than they used to, and I’m more clumsy than ever (which pairs nicely with the fact that I also bruise more easily)
And in the grand scheme of life? NONE OF THE ABOVE MATTERS.
Because here’s how aging has really hit me:
I’m stronger. I went from a people-pleasing, frightened girl to someone who not only found her voice, but isn’t afraid to use it. Hard times shaped me, and good times smoothed the edges.
I’m wiser. Not the kind of wiser you get from reading books or taking classes, but from living this messy life we live. From making mistake after mistake and learning from them.
I love harder. I’ve endured the betrayal of false friends, and found the joy and the healing in new ones. And my kids? My kids taught me to love fiercely and unconditionally and without apology.
I’m more open. My world which was once narrow (so narrow!) and black and white, is now vast and colorful and limitless.
I’m more ME. Ten years ago, I was starting to shake off the shackles, but 20 years ago? No idea who I was, or who I could be. Not an earthly clue. Now I know me. I accept me. I embrace me.
I’m braver. Ten years ago when someone told me I couldn’t do something, I’d believe them. And now? Now my response is, “watch me.”
I’m softer (and not just my belly). You would think that becoming stronger and braver would make a person hard, but the opposite is true. Learning to love who I am made me embrace both the tough, I-can-do-anything-I-set-my-mind-to self, AND the empathetic, sensitive, emotional self that so many people told me to deny. I feel deeply, I care deeply, I love deeply. My entire life I’ve been told I was too sensitive, and you know what? This world we live in right now is full of harshness and ragged edges. The world needs sensitive. The world needs empathy. The world needs soft. The world needs people who’ve unapologetically settled in to their aging, wrinkling, grey haired badass selves.
So, no. I won’t be participating in any “How hard has aging hit me” challenges. My face tells such an insignificant part of the story. I am so much more than my aging face.
You know how sometimes you’ll be reading a book or watching a movie, and completely relating? You’ll be nodding or smiling or even laughing, and then it suddenly takes an unexpectedly dark turn? You’re caught off guard, and not in a good way. You’re caught off guard in an uncomfortable, “Wait. What just happened?” way.
That’s exactly how I felt when I read this meme:
Stop beating yourself up for yelling at your kids. Yes, absolutely. You’re human. You’re going to slip up sometimes. You’re going to have bad days, you’re going to get mad. Self-flagellation is not helpful, but mindfulness and moving into the next moment with more gentleness is. Yelling at people we love isn’t nice, so while self-forgiveness is important, it doesn’t give you cart blanche to do it any time you feel like it.
You’re an amazing mom. You probably are. But can I be honest for a minute? Sometimes I think we do more harm than good with all the back-patting. Sometimes what we need is a wake-up call. We don’t do each other any favors if a mom says, “I can’t seem to stop yelling at my kids,” and we respond with “Oh you’re doing just fine!” rather than first empathizing and following up with tools and strategies that might help.
Your kids will be fine. Again, they probably will. I’m aiming for better than “fine”.
They know you love them. There are a million and one ways to show your kids that you love them, this much is true. There are also a million and one ways to deny it. One of the most powerful pieces of parental advice I got when I was a new mom is that with each interaction, keep in mind that your choice will either bring you and your child closer together or drive you further apart. I have never forgotten that.
But the fact is, they’re annoying AF. (For the uninitiated, AF stands for “as f*ck) So, here’s the thing. Can kids be annoying? Can spouses and parents and best friends and co-workers be annoying? Sure. Anyone with a heartbeat can be annoying. We are complicated and fickle creatures. Sometimes people just annoy us.
But the problem with memes like this is that they speak to a much larger issue. Somewhere along the way, it became in vogue to put children down, to treat them as lesser-than, and to make “jokes” at their expense. Hey, let’s end the meme by calling kids annoying AF! Hysterical.
The way we talk about kids matters. And the fact is, kids are far too often talked about as though they are not even human. It’s normal, it’s accepted, it’s FUNNY to make fun of kids. We collectively don’t even bat an eyelash anymore.
And it’s not that I need to lighten up, and it’s not that I need to learn to take a joke. It’s just that I don’t think it’s okay to make the littlest and most vulnerable members of our society a punchline. Kids need to be protected, not ridiculed. Kids need to be loved, not disparaged.
We can do better. Yet instead of encouraging more kindness towards our kids, we’re encouraging more childism. Every time a meme like this is shared it sends the message that it’s okay. It’s okay to make fun of kids. It’s okay to treat them as lesser-than. It’s okay to put them down.
There is an epidemic of belittling our children, and THAT is annoying AF.
At the time of this writing, all four of my kids (ages almost 11, up to 21) all have their own phones. It’s honestly not something I think about all that often. It’s 2019 – full disclosure: I just typed 2018, and then caught myself. I could hear 21 year old’s voice, who has the best memory of anyone I know, in my head. “Mom. It’s 2019 now.” He corrected me just yesterday. But given that’s it’s only the 4th, I’m giving myself a little grace on this one.
Anyway.
It’s 2019, and people generally have their own phones. I view their phones like I view most things pertaining to the kids: Something to be aware of and something to keep the lines of communication open about… not something to freak out about.
This morning I saw a list of phone rules being passed around (and praised) on Facebook, and as is typical, my perspective is a little bit – or in this case, a lot – different than the author’s.
The rules were taken from a Facebook post by Bart King, and adapted from the original set of rules by a mom named Janell Hoffman. What follows is excerpts from the original rules, followed by my response to each one. It stands to be said: I don’t disagree with every single point… just enough to make me take a major pause. Also, as my standard disclaimer: This post is about ideas, concepts, and philosophies, NOT about any one single mom. (I don’t know her. She could very well be lovely.)
1. It is my phone. I bought it. I pay for it.
I bought it for you, and now it is yours. Just like your room, your clothes, and the rest of your belongings. Your phone belongs to you.
2. I will always know the password.
The only time I will ask for your password is in case of emergency and/or during a matter of safety. It’s your phone, not mine. (See point 1)
3. If it rings, answer it. It is a phone. Say hello, use your manners. Do not ever ignore a phone call if the screen reads “Mom” or “Dad”. Not ever.
If it rings, see who’s calling. If it’s someone you want to talk to, answer it. You’re never obligated to talk to someone if you don’t want to talk (that goes for when you’re an adult as well!) Having said that, parents worry. If we text or call to check in, please take the two seconds to respond.
4. Hand the phone to one of your parents promptly at 7:30pm every school night & every weekend night at 9:00pm. It will be shut off for the night and turned on again at 7:30am.
Sometimes some of the best conversations happen after hours! Just know your friends, and their own personal boundaries for texting/phone calls. Respect them.
5. It does not go to school with you.
Having never sent my kids to school, I don’t know what the common practice is. Are phones usually allowed at school? If not, leave it home. If so, use common sense.
6. If it falls into the toilet, smashes on the ground, or vanishes into thin air, you are responsible for the replacement costs or repairs.
Accidents happen, to all of us. If something happens to your phone, we’ll work together on the best solution, the same way we would if it was a phone belonging to myself or your father.
7. Do not use this technology to lie, fool, or deceive another human being.
Absolutely. Don’t do those things off-line either. Show basic respect and kindness to your fellow humans.
8-9. Do not text, email, or say anything through this device you would not say in person.
A good thing to remember in general. People get a certain bravado behind a screen, which isn’t necessarily a good thing. Always be yourself, whether you’re on your phone, on the internet, or in person.
10. No porn.
Children shouldn’t be looking at porn in any form, anywhere.
11. Turn it off, silence it, put it away in public.
I think this one comes down to respect and common sense. Yes, it’s always a good idea to silence your phone in public. It’s always a good idea to pay attention to the person you’re with, rather than the people on your phone. But the world is not black and white. You might want your phone to take pictures. You might want to Google something. You might get an urgent text. So no, I won’t tell you to NEVER use your phone in public. Use common sense. Show respect.
12. Do not send or receive pictures of your private parts or anyone else’s private parts.
Those pictures last forever, and no, they’re not a good idea.
13. Don’t take a zillion pictures and videos.
If it makes you happy, by all means take lots of pictures and videos! I treasure the pictures and videos of my kids, my friends, and my adventures, and I love that I have a camera ready in my pocket at all times.
14. Leave your phone home sometimes and feel safe and secure in that decision. It is not alive or an extension of you. Learn to live without it.
You don’t have to leave your phone home. But know that if you do go somewhere with cell service, you will be just fine! You’re a smart, capable, well-rounded person whose life is enhanced by a phone, not enabled by it.
15. Download music that is new or classic or different than the millions of your peers that listen to the same exact stuff.
Download music that you like, whatever that may be.
16. Play a game with words or puzzles or brain teasers every now and then.
I mean, yeah, sure? But only if you like games with words or puzzles or brain teasers. Otherwise, play what you do like.
17. Keep your eyes up. See the world happening around you. Stare out a window. Listen to the birds. Take a walk. Talk to a stranger. Wonder without googling.
This is all great advice. But it’s not mutually exclusive to owning, using, or enjoying a phone as well.
18. You will mess up. I will take away your phone. We will sit down and talk about it.
Yes, you’ll mess up. You’re human. Yes, we’ll sit down and talk about it. Yes, we’ll come up with solutions together. I will only take your phone if it’s a matter of safety or respect, for yourself or others.
A phone is a tool like anything else. It’s a super cool one too! Who would have thought we’d all be carrying around miniature computers everywhere we go? Like most things we live and work and play with on a daily basis, its safe use begs self-respect and a healthy dose of common sense….. not long lists of arbitrary rules.
In the past 24 hours, I’ve taken a shower, brushed my teeth, put on workout clothes, put on regular clothes, ran errands, went for a run, made dinner, got ready for bed…
And no one paid me to do any of it!
It seems kind of ludicrous, right? Getting paid to do basic, personal, life tasks? (Not that it wouldn’t be nice, mind you) It’s just that it’s kind of part and parcel of being a human.
But paying kids for these kinds of things is exactly what this article advocates. Mom says, “As they complete tasks, they check them off and earn money.” She also says it’s the best decision she’s ever made.
And I can’t help but wonder… what happens when they’re off at college and Mom’s not around to pay them anymore?
But I’ll get back to that.
The general problem with paying kids to perform basic tasks (or using sticker charts, or having them earn “screen time”, or anything of that ilk) is that it is conditioning them to expect an external reward anytime they do something, rather than acting out of their own intrinsic desire. It doesn’t actually teach them anything, except that if they do xyz, they’ll get a pony. (A pony, a dollar, an hour of Fort Nite, whatever)
Alfie Kohn, author of Punished by Rewards says it best when he says, “When we repeatedly promise rewards to children for acting responsibly, or to students for making an effort to learn something new, or to employees for doing quality work, we are assuming that they could not or would not choose to act this way on their own.” (More quotes from the same book here)
Do rewards work, at least in the short term? Sure! Why wouldn’t a child agree to get dressed (or make their bed or do their homework) if they get paid when they’re done? The thing is though, raising kids is not a short-term proposition. It’s long term. And in the long term, rewards not only don’t work, but they are counterproductive. The child wasn’t trusted enough to do what he needed to do without being paid. He was, in fact, was robbed of the chance to learn to do things of his own volition.
What happens when little Jimmy decides, “You know what, I have enough money right now. It’s not worth it to take a bath?” Mom’s going to have to either concede that her money plan wasn’t as foolproof as she thought, OR she’s going to end up needing to exert even more control, and as such have to up the ante. She’s effectively taught her son that one takes a bath to get paid, not because it’s hygienic or feels nice or keeps one from stinking.
And to get back to my earlier point… what happens when Son goes off to college and doesn’t have Mom to pay him for doing his homework? For studying for his test? From keeping his room from becoming a giant petri dish? It may sound blunt, but he’ll likely be stunted, unable to make heads or tails of his own sense of responsibility, of his own sense of right and wrong. Those are lessons he’s going to have to learn as a young adult, rather than naturally as a child.
How much better to learn these things as a child, under the watchful care and example of your parents!
The goal (at least my goal) is to raise children that are responsible, capable, kind, and well-adjusted. Children who operate from their own internal sense of what is good and right. And that just won’t happen if they’re paid every time they take a breath.
This video recently went viral. Now, I don’t know who Caidyn Bennett is, but this is an adorable child. Truly. Absolutely endearing. Sweet. Funny. Sassy. Everything I love.
Having said that….
Nooooo. No. No. No.
I think it’s telling that this is the second time in just a couple of weeks that I’ve felt compelled to write about bullying. Bullying is a BIG issue right now. And it’s not just in schools, either. We’ve got parents bullying kids, spouses bullying spouses, strangers bullying strangers. This is for real.
And honestly? I don’t know the answer. I don’t. I think like most things, it is multi-faceted, and needs to be looked at from lots of different angles.
I do believe… strongly, very very strongly… that it begins at home. That it begins with how we treat our children. How we treat others in the presence of our children. How we talk about others. How we talk to others. How we build each other up, instead of tearing them down. How we give our children a sense of pride, a sense of positive self-ownership, a sense of confidence, a sense of selflessness, a sense of kindness, a sense of humility …. so they won’t want to go bullying anyone in the first place.
What we don’t want to do is to teach them that might makes right.
Which brings me back to little Caidyn.
Caidyn says if little Johnny is going to punch him in the face, then little Johnny’s gonna “catch these hands. Cuz Johnny’s gonna learn to keep his hands to himself.”
So, Johnny’s going to learn to keep his hands to himself by getting punched by someone else who can’t keep his hands to himself? I don’t really expect someone this young to see the irony in these words, but as adults we certainly should. Hitting in response to hitting is the height of hypocrisy. (Much like spanking, but that’s another topic for another day) It escalates instead of deescalates. It sends the exact opposite message of the one you wanted to send: that hitting is wrong.
And make no mistake. I am not in any way suggesting that you should just sit back and let yourself be hit. But standing up for yourself, and yes, even defending yourself, does not need to involve hitting. In fact, if you’ve ever taken a self defense course, you would have learned that hitting is actually a last resort. You learn blocks, you learn holds, you learn defense. Hitting is what happens when you need to go on the OFFENCE, and it is not the answer for a one-off hit from a school yard bully. Without knowing any specifics, a simple and confident, “I don’t like that,” “That hurt”, or “I won’t let you hit me,” might be a good place to start.
So no, I haven’t taught my children to hit back. What I have taught them is that violence isn’t the answer (and that includes violent words as well). I’ve taught them to be kind, to show love for themselves and others, to live as peacefully as possible with the people around them. I feel like focusing on them, and focusing on what kind of people they are, will yield a much greater return on investment than making them practice their right hook.
And if they do ever find themselves on the receiving end of someone else’s anger? I hope they stand up for themselves. I hope they try to deescalate. I hope they start with words. I hope they remember that much like harsh words, a punch can never be redacted, and should never, ever, be used as a first resort.
I first posted this over on my Patreon page, to see how it felt. I sat with a few days, and decided to post it here too. __________________________________________________
I first told my bipolar story two and a half years ago (it’s been two and a half years already!) You can read about it on my blog here. In a way, it was kind of anti-climatic. I’d known in my heart of hearts that it was bipolar for SO LONG before I had the official diagnosis. What I didn’t know, what I couldn’t know, was that it didn’t exist on its own. I didn’t know that even as I was getting better – and I was… the depression was getting shorter and less severe, and the mania was getting less, well, manic – I didn’t know that there was something else there. Something that was not getting better. Something that was in fact getting worse.
That something was Borderline Personality Disorder. Scary words, right? They’re right up there with Schizophrenia and Dissociate Identity Disorder (formerly Multiple Personality Disorder). And as an aside, you know what? People live productive lives with those disorders too.
But despite the weight of the words themselves, learning it was BPD was one of the most freeing, AHA, light bulb moments of my life. The more I researched, the more I went, “Ooooooooh.” It made sense. It made So. Much. Damn. Sense. I was reading about MYSELF. I wasn’t crazy. I wasn’t just “too sensitive”. I wasn’t failing at getting better at bipolar. My bipolar was actually under control. There was just this … thing. This thing that was still ruling my life. This thing that I had no idea had to handle. And it was destroying me.
The list of possible BPD symptoms is lengthy. In order to be diagnosed, you need to exhibit 5 of the 9 main criteria.
What follows are some of the bigger ones of which I am painfully and intimately familiar. These are the things that made me ask – even as I went through therapy (which turned out to be the wrong kind), and took my medication and did everything I was supposed to do – “What is WRONG with me? Is this supposed to be SO HARD?”
1) Fear of abandonment. Every relationship I’ve ever had, romantic or otherwise, has been marked with my severe, irrational fear that I am going to be abandoned. That I am eventually going to f**k it up. This fear made me clingy, paranoid, and overly attached. It’s made me pick fights so that there’d be some reason for them to eventually leave me, other than that I was just an inherently unlovable person.
2) Unstable relationships. This is kind of the hallmark of BPD. I am BAD at relationships. I get quickly attached, and quickly unattached. Like noted above, I have an intense fear of being abandoned. Even with this fear, I often have no problem walking away myself. I idealize someone one second, and then rapidly devalue them or get angry or hurt at the slightest infraction the next. I get irrationally paranoid. My feelings are hurt. Often. I worry that I’m hated, even by people who, in a lucid moment, I know love me. I worry that I said the wrong thing or did the wrong thing or thought the wrong thing. While lots of people can relate to some or even all of the above, I cannot overstate how extreme it is in BPD. It takes over. It rules my whole mind. I love hard. I feel hard. I hurt hard. My relationships are intense. Crazy intense. Fleeting. Unstable. I don’t know how to do relationships like “normal” people.
4) Emotional instability and inability to regulate emotions – This is the thing that tripped me up for a long time. I couldn’t understand why I was still having so many emotional problems even as we got my bipolar under control. Emotional instability is of course a symptom of bipolar as well (this seems a good a time as any to point out that they share a lot of symptoms, and they do often co-exist) but they’re different in the two. With bipolar, it’s like a roller coaster. Sort of swoopy, sometimes even predictable ups and downs that might span weeks or even months. With BPD it is a day to day, minute-to-minute dysfunction. I can be feeling on top of the world one moment, and then someone will say something that triggers me (I hate the word triggered, but regardless, it’s the right word), and I am sliding down a shame-filled, self-loathing spiral like none other. I hate myself, I hate the other person, I hate everything and everyone, with the fire of a thousand suns. And then I’m cool again. Over and over and over all day long. It is intense, scary, and more exhausting than words can possibly explain. It’s like it takes over, and I have no control over it.
5) Suicidality – Self-explanatory, and another one that’s shared with bipolar. Yes, I’ve been there. Boy howdy, have I been there.
6) Disturbance of self-image and self-concept – Anyone who’s read my blog for any length of time knows this about me. I struggle with this. A lot. A lot a lot.
In a nutshell, I think BPD is best described by the quote up above. I have no emotional skin. I have raw nerve endings all over my body, and everything hurts. Things that would just brush off most people’s backs are excruciating. Which is why, it never ever helps a person with BPD to be told that they’re just being too sensitive. I stand before you to tell you it actually makes it much, much worse. In fact, it probably needs to be said that in almost all cases of BPD, the person grew up in a home where their feelings were continually invalidated. And invalidation of my feelings, or feeling like I’m being talked down to in some way, has always been, and continues to be, my absolute biggest trigger into breakdown territory.
The good thing? I don’t tell you this to excuse poor behavior. I don’t tell you this to garner sympathy or to convince you you need to walk on eggshells around me. I mean, yes, it’s helpful for me if you understand a little bit about why I am the way I am, but make no mistake:
I’m working on it.
I’m learning how to handle my emotions. I’m learning how to have healthy relationships. I’m learning how to respond like a “normal” person. I’m working with my psych on symptom management. I’m practicing the principles of DBT (the gold standard of treatment for BPD)
I’m working on it.
My God, I am working on it.
And now I’m talking about it too, because it’s important. It’s important to put a face to these things. It’s important to fight the stigma, it’s important to encourage people to get help, it’s important to reach even ONE person who can say, “I’m not alone. And if she can do this, I can too.”
noun -a person who uses strength or power to harm or intimidate those who are weaker. synonyms: persecutor, oppressor, tyrant, tormentor, intimidator;
verb -use superior strength or influence to intimidate (someone), typically to force him or her to do what one wants.
A few days ago, BuzzFeed ran an article about a mom’s “unique” parental move to punish her son. He’d been unkind to kids at school, so she made him wear a t-shirt that said, “I’m a bully”, both front and back.
(Unique, by the way, is in quotes because, Buzzfeed? This sort of public shaming is anything BUT unique. It’s – unfortunately – one of the most popular parenting trends out there, and one I’ve written about several times.)
Mom has, as expected, been widely praised for this decision, with few people failing to recognize its sad irony. The biggest problem with this type of parenting tactic (and make no mistake, there are plenty) is that it is teaching the child that it is okay to do the very thing you don’t want them to do! Read the definition of bully again. “A person who uses strength or power to harm or intimidate those who are weaker.” Or as a verb: “to use superior strength or influence to intimidate (someone), typically to force him or her to do what one wants.” This mom, by very definition, is bullying her son, for….. bullying. She is in essence telling him that it’s okay to use force, intimidation, and humiliation to make your point. She is telling him that it’s okay to negatively use your position of power and authority over someone to make them do what you want. She is telling him that it’s okay to throw a child’s mistakes in their face, chastise them for their bad decisions, and publicly shame them for their poor choice in judgment.
Is what the boy did wrong? Absolutely! But as the proverbial saying goes, two wrongs do not make a right. Mom’s bullying of the boy does not in any way absolve either one of them of their behavior.
I can’t pretend to know why this particular boy chose to bully. What I do know though, is that people have a tendency to act as well as they feel. There’s a reason why the expression, “Hurt people hurt people” is so often touted to explain poor behavior. Someone who is hurting, or feeling unloved, or unseen, or unappreciated, might lash out and hurt others. Someone who feels badly about themselves might look for flaws in others to make themselves feel better. Someone who feels weak might pick on someone who seems even weaker. Someone who’s bullied may very well turn around and bully others. People who are hurting inside hurt others. It is a sad truth, but it’s one that can’t be ignored.
And make no mistake, bullying should never, ever be excused. Unkindness of any sort should always be addressed, and discussed, and navigated together as parent and child. It’s a particularly … yucky (for lack of a better word) part of parenting, but it’s an important one nonetheless. In fact, just a few days ago, I had to help one of my children around a bullying situation – my child was on the receiving end – and I walked away with many feelings, one of which was gratitude at how it was handled by all parents involved.
Kids are still learning. Their brains are literally still forming. They’re human, and sometimes they mess up. Sometimes they mess up badly. And yes, sometimes they might be unkind. It’s not our job as parents to respond to unkindness with more unkindness! Our job is to set a boundary, yes, but to also offer unconditional love (which, in its absence, may be the very thing causing the bullying in the first place.) Our job is to show them how to treat others. Our job is to be the ultimate models of kindness to all people… starting with our own children.
And when your child IS the bully? It comes down to compassion, and understanding, and finding out the WHY. That “why” is so important! Behavior doesn’t exist in a vacuum. People aren’t unkind for no reason. If your child is a perpetrator, or for that matter a victim, of a bullying situation: look for the why, and then go from there. Responding to bullying with more bullying will only make the situation worse. Talk to your children, but even more importantly, listen. They’ll tell you what you need to know. Once you have a frame of reference, you can form a plan and move forward with a solution.
So if you follow me on any of my social media accounts (handy-dandy buttons are right over there on your right if you don’t), or if you know me in 3D life, you know we’re in the middle of moving.
Moving. Is. Exhausting. The kind of exhausting that you feel in every pore of your body.
But I’ll get back to that.
This move is one that’s been a long time coming. For those who don’t want the story, and want the quick little primer: We bought this house in 2006 as an investment. It was never meant to be a long term home, or really a home at all. We were going to completely remodel it (which we did), live in it temporarily (temporarily is such a relative term!), and then flip it. But… because this is life, and because we’re us, this is when the market completely tanked, home values dropped into the toilet, and we went upside down in our mortgage almost overnight. Now, in 2018, we’re finally able to sell. Our little short term investment lasted us 12 years.
Now, I’m convinced that there’s never actually a good time to move. It’s a massively huge, stressful undertaking, no matter when you do it. But doing it right now?? While it was a good time when it came to the real estate market, it was decidedly NOT a good time otherwise. We’re in the final stages of planning our conference, which has had far more than its normal share of hiccups; I just finished another semester of school last week; I’m dealing with the changes and side effects that come with adjusting 27 medications (Not really 27. But it might as well be) Oh. And. We’re leaving on an 11 day road trip TOMORROW, less than one month before we close… just because Mike happened to have a work thing, and we happened to think it’d be a good idea to tag along and see the sights. All the stress, all the emotions, all the fatigue, wrapped in a neatly labeled banker’s box and tied with a bow.
And let me just say right here, before I go any further? There is a reason that moving consistently shows up on top five lists of most stressful life events. Right up there with losing a job, getting a divorce, and even having a death in the family. It’s no joke.
Because here’s the thing. Packing up a house you’ve lived in for 12 years is really, really hard. It’s hard in the sense that it’s physically demanding, gross, sweaty, dusty work (which I realize does not reflect well on our house-keeping skills), but even more than that, it’s emotionally hard. It’s mentally hard. It’s like…. it’s like therapy, on speed, in Disneyland, on the fourth of July. It hurts down to the center of your bones. It’s conflicting work too, because at the same time that you’re having to tell yourself that it’s all just unnecessary “stuff” – and let it be known that we threw out dozens, DOZENS, of bags of old junk – you’re also brutally reminded that it’s not just stuff. It’s memories. It’s nostalgia. It’s happiness. It’s sadness. It’s regret. It’s touching these little pieces of your past that brings you back to the time at the place with the person with a visceral energy that’s so real it almost makes it hard to breathe. Over. And over. And over again. It hurts. Moving hurts.
It’s about healing. And it’s about finally letting go. It’s about forcing yourself to finally let it go.
It’s painful. The gifts from the people you’re no longer friends with. The photos of the relatives that are no longer on this earth.
It’s puzzling. WHY do I still have this coupon for Honey Bunches of Oats from 2007?
It’s exhausting. It’s bittersweet. The tiny shoes. The baby blankets. The little hats. The photos. The early drawings. The handmade Mothers’ Day cards.
It hurts.
Every single thing you lay your hands on, whether it gets lovingly packed, passed on to someone else, or is destined for the land fill… it’s all part of your story. Every single bit of it. For better or worse it all went into the elaborate tapestry that is today. It all had meaning, no matter how vague, no matter how obscure. Yes, it’s just stuff. But it’s stuff with a history. A rich one. One that you must revisit, bit by bit by bit.
We had a big box that was tucked away in one of our lower kitchen cabinets. It was affectionately referred to as… well, “the box”. Whenever we had unexpected company coming, or otherwise had to pick up in a hurry, any sort of paperwork, mail, etc, got tossed in the box. I don’t know how long it was there, but it was long enough to be falling apart. One whole side had fallen away under the weight of its contents, the entire thing was sagging, and it had somehow expanded to include the space inside the box, as well as all the area surrounding it.
A couple of weeks ago, we dumped the box out on the table and started sorting. We came across a Christmas card, and in it was a picture of one of the boys’ friends from what seems like a lifetime ago. I’m not sure of the exact date, but it was at least 9 or 10 years old. It’s a bittersweet picture, because we have not been friends with that family since probably very shortly after the photo was taken. I don’t know what happened. It was one of those weird life things in which we never found closure. We were friends – good friends even – and then one day they left Paxton’s birthday party without saying goodbye, and never spoke to us again. They just stopped being our friends. I wondered for a long time what had happened at that party; I wondered for a long time what could have been so egregious that she couldn’t answer an email, that we couldn’t have talked it out. But I still don’t know.
And fast forward to today, and here’s this smiling face of a little boy who is now very likely in college.
We pinned it up on my bulletin board, because we thought it would be funny, and because we wanted to see how long it would take Mike to notice it. It’s not unusual for us to pin pictures up there, though usually they’re the random headshots of people from political advertisements or real estate fliers. (Is that weird?) It amuses us, in any case. This picture though… while not painful exactly, it made me… uncomfortable. It made me think of the past. Not just of them, but of every lost friendship I’d ever had ever.
And I’m so glad we put it up there.
I’ve walked by that photo every day for weeks now, and it’s come to stand for something important. It stands for healing. It stands for letting go. It stands as a reminder that I can make it through the icky parts of life. It stands as a reminder that I can do hard things. It stands for one chapter ending, and another chapter (a good one! an exciting one!) beginning. A chapter that – no matter how very stressful it is to get there – I’m very much looking forward to.
New beginnings. It stands for new beginnings.
And for a handful of really big reasons, and about a hundred and twenty seven little ones, I really need a new beginning.
When I finally get rid of that picture… that picture of the boy that was once lovingly sent in a Christmas card… When I get rid of that picture? I’ll finally be ready.
I'm Jen... the shy, lost girl from the east coast who married at nineteen and eventually found herself - four kids later - in the middle of the desert. I like chocolate. You can read more about me here.
A ridiculous amount of coffee is consumed in the process of writing these blog posts. If you enjoy my work, I'd be extremely grateful if you added some fuel to keep me going!
