November 6, 2017 · 10:48 AM

The Balm Of Music

So, I’ve mentioned in past posts how much music has meant to me in my life, especially as an adult, especially over the past year and a half. It seems counter-intuitive, since crowds generally really rev my anxiety, but going to live concerts to hear my favorite bands is one my all-time favorite things. I listen to a lot of things, and go to a lot of concerts (next up is Pink in March :)), but my basic modus operandi is to get stuck on one band/album/song, and listen to it obsessively. Like over and over and over until I get sick of it and have to move on to something else.

Blue October is the band that has provided my soundtrack for the past year. They’re probably not a band that a person who tends toward melancholy should really listen to (they write about heavy stuff), but so help me I CANNOT STOP LISTENING.  And really, the effect of the subject matter can go both ways.  It sometimes does make me a little extra… weepy.  But it also empowers me, and makes me feel like someone has put a voice to so much of what I’ve gone through.  We saw them in concert a few months ago, at this tiny little venue in Flagstaff, and it solidly lands itself in my top five favorites. My 17 year old – who loves music as much as I do – was the one who first introduced me to their music, but I can take full credit for being the one who finally discovered that their frontman/lead singer, Justin Furstenfeld, also made a totally stripped-down, acoustic album of their best songs, and is about to release another one.

This music changed my life. As my daughter likes to say, it touches my soul. I can’t hear it and not be transported. Not be moved. Like deeply, deeply moved.

This song is just one of about a half-dozen that I’m currently listening to on repeat.  The lyrics are empowering (as the title suggests, it is all about learning to rise above fear), and his voice is amazing. If you need a new life anthem, this is it:

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November 5, 2017 · 2:55 PM

Embracing My Midlife Crisis

Yesterday, Mike asked me if I was having a midlife crisis.

He didn’t ask me, now that I think about it.  It was more like a statement:  “This sounds like a midlife crisis”.  He didn’t say it in a mean or condescending way.  It was much more matter-of-fact than that, and, to be fair, not really out-of-line with the conversation at hand.

We were talking about my current affinity for piercings.  And when I say, “current”, I really mean an affinity that I’ve been nurturing for the past several years now.  It started with my nose ring (which I got around the same time I dreaded my hair, which I’m told was another midlife crisis red flag), and progressed to stretching my ear lobes, then piercing my cartilage, and my daith, and my tragus.  Earlier this year, I took a young friend with me to my piercing shop – because one of my favorite things to do with visiting friends is to go get pierced together – and fulfilled a long-held desire to pierce my belly button.

Not a lot of people know that about me. so there you go.  I pierced my belly button shortly after turning 43.  And I love it.

I got my first tattoo at 30, which the young 20-something guy at physical therapy told me was “really late” to get started, and a couple of months ago, I got my tenth.  I have no plans to stop.

And I mean, you can call it a midlife crisis if you want.  But I’d have to argue that it’s pretty much the opposite.  In my mind, a midlife crisis is a sort of desperate and frantic thing.  An outward expression of an inward mind that is freaking out about getting older.  It’s an attempt to grasp at … something … to help reclaim some idea of youth.

And can we stop right there for a minute and acknowledge the fact that “middle aged” is a really silly concept to begin with?  I get it, and I understand that it comes from averages and everything, but none of us – not a single one of us – knows how much time we have left earth-side.  So the idea of me, or anyone, being middle aged is purely hypothetical.  Yeah, sure, I’m not 20 anymore.  And I’m actually really glad about that.

But to get back to my point:

I’m not desperate.  I’m not frantic.  I’m not freaking out about getting older, and I’m not trying to reclaim my youth.  I’m just finally being myself. 

I spent the better part of four decades trying to live for everyone else.  Trying to please my mother, my friends, my teachers, my church.  Everybody but myself.  A free, and related, piece of advice:  This life strategy does not work, is not actually attainable, and just makes you miserable.  You’re welcome.

I like piercings.  And tattoos.  Full stop.  My extended family does not.  And you know what?  THAT’S OKAY.  I mean it is really, truly okay.  I’ve decided that a lot of what people call a midlife crisis is not a crisis at all, but a person finally deciding that they are going to stop making decisions for anyone else.  That they are no longer going to give two flying flips about what their friends or their family members think about their hair or their clothes or their job or their hobbies or their piercings.

You don’t have to like the way I look.  You don’t have to like ME.

You don’t have to like me even a little bit.

I like me.  It has taken me a (painfully) long time to say that with any honesty, but I do.  I like me … warts and shortcomings and all.

I am strong.  I’m kind.  I have a big heart. I am empathetic. <—- (filing those away for the next rainy day, when I might not necessarily believe them).  All that other stuff?  Piercings, tattoos, clothing?  That’s just packaging.  It means nothing.

And what I’ve realized in the time it’s taken me to write this blog post is that I don’t actually care if I’m having a midlife crisis or not.  I really don’t. Whatever I’m doing, whatever you want to call this stage of life:  I’m going to keep it.  In fact, I’m going to embrace the hell out of it.  It feels good, it feels right, and it feels freeing.

That 20 year old girl, the one who did what she was told, and didn’t make noise, and didn’t stand up for herself, and didn’t pierce her belly button – even though she desperately wanted to – because nice girls didn’t do things like that?  She wasn’t me.  I mean, I was in there, somewhere … but I was buried under a morass of religious and societal and self-imposed pressure.  I barely had an original opinion in my head, and I wouldn’t have honored it even if I did.

I have opinions now.  (A massive understatement, if ever there was one, for those who’ve read my blog for any length of time. :))

I am comfortable with and happy with and proud of those opinions.

I am comfortable with and happy with and proud of who I am.

Even – or especially? – if it took me 43 years to get here.

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November 4, 2017 · 7:52 AM

Why We Need To Remember The Name Anthony Rapp

Everyone is talking about Kevin Spacey.  I can’t get on my computer without seeing his smiling face – which, in light of recent news, now just looks smug and leering – along with snippets of his latest official statement.  Like a lot of people, I was a fan of Kevin Spacey.  I didn’t know him personally, of course, but I always enjoyed his work.

Now his name fills me with revulsion.

So I don’t want to talk about him.  I want to talk about Anthony Rapp.

I didn’t recognize the name Anthony Rapp at first.  A quick IMDB search however, reminded me that I did very much recognize his face, largely in part because he was in one of my favorite movies of my teen-hood: Adventures in Babysitting.  He played Daryl, the goofy, obnoxious, but big hearted neighbor and best friend to Keith Coogan’s Brad.  His catchphrase was a cocky and sardonic, “Ya think?”  I really enjoyed that character, partly because he was the perfect foil to Coogan’s straight-laced Brad, partly because I have a tendency to favor the best friend, character-driven roles over the lead, and partly because Rapp just made him likeable.

He went on to act in many other projects, both on stage and screen (many of which I’ve seen), but to me he’ll always be Daryl Coopersmith.

Last week, Anthony Rapp came forward as having been sexually assaulted by Kevin Spacey when he was just 14 years old.  Spacey was 26 at the time.  In the days that followed, Kevin Spacey responded with an odd and highly, highly disconcerting “defense.”  He doesn’t remember the event at all, and it must have just been a terrible, drunken mistake. Oh, and by the way, he’s gay.  Which means…. what exactly?  That because he’s gay it’s okay that he assaulted a 14 year old kid?  That gay people are inherently pedophiles?  That gay people aren’t inherently pedophiles?   That being gay excuses him from heinous behavior?  My brain doesn’t even want to wrap itself around all the ramifications of his disgusting and harmful statements.

Dear Kevin Spacey, this has nothing to do with your sexual orientation, and everything to do with the fact that you, as a legal adult, assaulted a 14 year old.  Nobody cares that you’re gay.

The public’s response over the past week has been rightfully and overwhelmingly supportive of Anthony Rapp.  What he did in going public with his story was painful, and personal, and brave.  His voice joined the collective voices of the many, many women who have come forward as of late, to share their own stories of harassment, assault, and misconduct.  I honestly don’t remember a time when there was such a broad, glaring light shining on this issue, and it’s at once horrifying and freeing.  Freeing because people are finding strength in numbers.  People are finding unity in the rallying cries of, “me too.”

Just a couple of days ago, a male friend of mine shared his own experience of ongoing sexual harassment and physical assault in the work place.  If his story was not horrific enough, management did nothing when he finally reported it.  But wait, that’s not really true.  What they did was promote the woman who assaulted him.  And as a post script, he – like so very many of us women who have been assaulted or harassed in the workplace, on the streets, in our private lives – has been living with a heavy burden of shame.

Let it sink in a minute.

The victims, who have done nothing wrong, are feeling shame.  Multiply that shame times a million, and you have the kids.  The 8, 10, 14 year olds who carry the shame and the pain and the confusion of having been assaulted at such a young age, a weight that is often carried into adulthood.  A weight that is often never shared.  Never lifted.  Never exposed to light.

That is why what Anthony Rapp did was so important.  He is being a voice for those who are unable to do so.

I read an article yesterday that attempted to excuse Kevin Spacey.  It’s not like he had sex with him, the author maintained, he just came on to him.  First, in Rapp’s own words, Kevin Spacey put him on a bed and laid on top of him.  Laying on top of someone is not synonymous with flirting.  Second, he was a CHILD.  And third, attitudes and articles like his are exactly why people are afraid to come forward.

What Anthony Rapp did was important.

There are always those who want to say, “But he’s innocent until proven guilty!” “People are wrongfully accused all the time!”  (Again, a big reason why victims are so afraid to come forward) To them I say:

WE HAVE A VERY BIG PROBLEM.  And I hope that the light keeps shining on it, and I hope that people keep coming forward, and I hope that the sound of the collective “me too’s” continues to remind people that they are not alone, and that it is not their fault.

It is not your fault.

It is not your fault.

To Anthony Rapp, and to everyone who is coming forward … to the overwhelming amount of victims who have not come forward … to the overwhelming amount of victims who still blame themselves, who still find ways to excuse their perpetrator’s behavior:

You are brave and you are strong. It is not your fault.  I believe you.  I see you.

And I’m so very sorry.

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November 3, 2017 · 9:25 AM

Mornings

I’m not a morning person.  It takes me a long time to fully wake up and get going, and even longer before I feel up to actually interacting with other humans.  Nor am I a night person.  I go to bed early or it throws me all off my game, and the few times I decide to live dangerously and stay up past 10:00 PM, all it really does is make me feel hungover and remind me that I’m not 25 anymore.  If I’m being honest, I’m not exactly an afternoon person either.  If I’m not taking really good care of myself, I get a serious case of that afternoon slump.  2 or 3 rolls around and I get sleepy and irritable and start wandering around, looking for the closest source of caffeine.

So, basically, I’m at my most pleasant peak for a very short window of every day, somewhere around the middle.  Good luck to you.

The one thing I DO really love about early mornings though, is the quiet.  That super, super quiet that comes before anyone else gets up.  Before I un-silence my phone and it starts pinging with notifications.  Before I let the dogs out and they get all crazy, and I give them their breakfast (my German Shepherd is the noisiest eater ever.  Ever.)  When all I can hear is the hum of electricity, the sound of my own thoughts, and the very occasional car outside… whose driver, I can only assume, is off to some super exciting life-changing job. Where it’s probably not all that quiet, but there are likely no dogs noisily scarfing down their kibble.  So, you know.  Trade-offs.

It doesn’t last long.  It doesn’t last long at all.  Even though all the kids are late sleepers, real life always beckons.  I’m a grown-up and there are Very Important Things To Do.  But it is lovely while it’s there, and I try every morning to appreciate it.

The frequency of the cars has picked up, there’s a plane overhead, and the dog has finished his breakfast.  He’s sleeping now, and just let out an enormous sigh (he’s a noisy sleeper too.)

But I’ll remember the quiet, and like the proverbial golden ring that’s just barely out of reach, I know I’ll grasp it again.

Tomorrow.

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November 2, 2017 · 3:20 PM

Unexpected Days Off

If I were to make a list of my top ten favorite simplest pleasures, unexpected days off would be near the top of the list.  Since I’m a full-time mom, a lot of my time over the past 20 years has been spent taking kids to play practice, and music lessons, and football, and karate, and scouts, and play dates, and and and….

And I have been glad to do it!  My happiness has largely come from my kids’ happiness, and from being able to help them do the things they love.

But.

Cancelled plans are the Best Thing Ever.

A day when I don’t have to do any peopling?  Don’t have to make myself “presentable?”  Don’t have to speak in coherent sentences?  Don’t have leave my house at all?  Gimme.  It takes so much energy for me to prepare myself for outings – even pleasant ones – so when they are unexpectedly canceled, it brings a relief akin to finally spotting a gas station bathroom after 100 miles and chugging 32 ounces of soda on a desert highway.

Anyway.

Today I had plans to leave the house, and they were cancelled.  I could have stayed in my pajamas and watched TV all day (which, don’t get me wrong, would have been lovely in its own right), but I decided to use the day to get organized, to make a giant to-do list of stuff I needed to get caught up on, and to get started on said list.  I put on my favorite cut-off shorts, put my hair in a ponytail, and set my trusted timer.  The timer is my best friend.  I get… sidetracked… easily, but if I set a timer I can generally stay on task.  30 minutes of cleaning.  30 minutes of answering emails.  30 minutes of folding laundry.  30 minutes to relax and drink coffee and browse Facebook.  Etc.  It is currently 3:00 in the afternoon, and I have admittedly not gotten very far on my list – It’s really long – but I’m enjoying the process.

AND, I’ve even had time for some non-to-do list things too, like:

Chatting with a friend about an upcoming visit

Making a giant pan of scrambled eggs

Cleaning every nook and cranny of my desk, and erasing everything on my whiteboard (Also, on the top of that simple pleasure list?  Fresh whiteboards)

Getting my feelings hurt on the internet

Watching my daughter play with the hedgehog

Cleaning poop from said hedgehog that had accidentally gotten smashed into the floor

Like Clark says in Christmas Vacation:  “It’s all part of the experience.”

In about two minutes, my timer will go off (and I’ll be able to cross “Write blog post” off my list. Yay.), and I’ll be on to the next thing.

Oh, and in case you’re wondering?  I did finally notice the egregious misspelling of “Unexpected”, but it was only after I had stared at it ALL DAY.  It made me laugh harder than it rightfully should have, and somehow made my little day off all the more perfect for its imperfections.  One of the – many – things I’m currently working on is embracing the imperfections, the mistakes, and the foibles.

It’s all part of the experience.

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November 1, 2017 · 4:47 PM

Safe Spaces

I’m not a fan of the phrase, “Safe Space.”  It’s one of several often used buzz words that are thrown around so often that they’ve sort of lost all meaning.  “Holding space” for someone is another one.  It’s partly that they’re so overused, and partly that they’re sort of, I don’t know … fluffy.

But someone recently asked in a group I belong to what the phrase meant to us.  Specifically, what were our own safe spaces.  The interesting thing is that I didn’t hesitate for a second.  They were immediately in my mind.  Two actual physical locations, and one more people-centered.  I’m sure I could think of more, but these are the first ones that materialized.

Around my kitchen table, with my people.  The six of us have dinner together every night, and our conversations are legendary.  Last night, after trick-or-treating together, we hung around the table for ages, eating candy, chatting, laughing, and just generally enjoying each other’s company.  Our family conversations run the gamut from the light-hearted to the serious, and often always include things that would make your mother blush.  We’re open and honest and unfiltered.  We laugh.  A LOT. We make jokes that most people outside the family would never understand.  We have discussions that most people outside the family would be shocked (horrified?) to overhear.  We’re us.  And the true beauty of it, the thing that makes it such a safe space, is that it doesn’t leave the table.  It’s just us, in the moment, being the rawest versions of our true selves.  I never have any worries that something is going to leave the table and get into the wrong hands or ears.  I never have any worries that I can’t be anything other than completely open and honest.  I never have any worries that I’ll be judged. Granted, it took some time and reminders when the kids were younger, but now it just goes unspoken:  Our table is sacred.  A true safe space.

My therapist’s office. I was actually surprised to find this one on my list, since it is a place that is so associated with emotional turmoil.  But it’s a non-judgmental space.  I feel like I can say anything there – literally anything – and that it will not be judged.  It’s a place that holds all my deepest darkest secrets.  It knows every story, every wound.  It takes my demons and exposes them to light. It’s weird and it’s freeing and it’s powerful.  And despite the fact that it also holds many uncomfortable moments, painful moments, scary moments (because growth can be uncomfortable and painful and scary), it is in fact, safe.  Indescribably safe.  And while I talk about it like it’s the physical place that’s safe, it’s the person.  He makes me feel safe, even through the yuck.  Even through the really really big yuck.  And for that I’m so thankful.

With a few trusted girlfriends.  I’ve never been one for tons of friends.  Even in highschool, I had my one little group, and while I was perfectly friendly with lots of people, the ones that I really let in, the ones that I could truly call friends, were few.  The consummate introvert, I am slow to trust, and slow to connect.  But when I do connect, I connect hard.   I often feel like I have no one (mainly when I am not sleeping and/or depressed), and I have had some painfully fractured and downright broken relationships this past year.  The people that I trust are ever evolving, for a variety of reasons, but those couple of people who stick around for both the good times and in the muck and the mire are INVALUABLE.  I have people I can text when I’m having a bad day.  I have people who send me things to pick me up, and to outright HOLD me up when I need it.  I have people who get it.  (And so. few. people. get. it.)  I have people I can go to with the good, the bad, the ugly, and everything in between. People who will not judge me, who know me well enough to know that I don’t want advice:  just ears and shoulders. These few people… they make me feel safe.

Those are my safe spaces.  I’m sure there are more, but that’s where my list starts.  That’s where my feeling of safety starts.

For anyone who’s willing to share, I’d love to hear yours!

And if you’re not keeping up with me on Patreon: I am challenging myself to write a new blog post every day in November.  I have absolutely no specific plans, so it will essentially be a month of stream-of-consciousness, slice of life musings.  I would love it if you followed along. If you have something you’re dying for me to write about, send me a message, or find me on my Facebook page.

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The weather is (finally) cooling off, I’m sitting outside, and I’m watching the kids on scooters and skateboards.   Another safe space is clear: outside, with my feet firmly planted on the ground, and the fresh air on my skin.

Just like the other three “safe spaces”, nature never judges, never chastises.  It accepts you.  It just lets you….. be.

The ultimate in safety.

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October 31, 2017 · 4:23 PM

Why I’ll Never Make My Kid Apologize To Yours

I have never made my child apologize to someone else.

And please don’t misread that to mean that I ignored any offenses.  I didn’t. On the contrary, I always tried to be right there, ready to help, intervene, and problem-solve.  But the familiar refrain of, “You tell Johnny you’re sorry!” was not one that I ever uttered, for a few reasons.

First, an apology that is coerced is nothing more than empty words.  The words, without the feeling, are literally worthless.  I never want to give an apology (nor receive one!) that is not sincere.  And let’s face it…. sometimes you’re just not sorry.  Maybe you just need more time, and you’re not sorry yet.  Maybe you feel justified in your actions.  Maybe you’ll never be sorry.

Making someone say something they don’t feel is, to be really blunt about it, teaching them to lie.  And learning to lie about feelings is a slippery, slippery slope.

Second, a forced apology can cause even more resentment, escalate the situation rather than help diffuse it, and actually hinder the possibility of an authentic and sincere reconciliation.  I remember very well being a child, and being in a situation where I was just plain pissed off (usually at my sister), and told to apologize for whatever infraction I’d just committed.  I would be sorry later – I always was – but being made to apologize in that moment just made me more angry at my sister, more angry at the situation in general, and now carrying the added insult of being angry at the apology-enforcer as well.

Finally, forcing apologies takes away autonomy, and the owning of one’s emotions in a big way.  It is literally trying to tell someone how they should feel.  If there’s anything we should be able to feel ownership over, it should at least begin with our own feelings.  Our feelings are ours (or at least they should be!), in all their messy glory:  hurt, sadness, anger, joy, love, and yes, remorse.  One thing I have worked incredibly hard to learn, as an adult, is that my feelings are okay.  All of them.  I don’t want my kids to have to do that work as an adult.  I want them to be able to recognize and accept and embrace their emotions now.  Telling them how they’re supposed to feel is not going to help on that front.

I was on the receiving end of an apology today.  One that I’ve been deeply, deeply needing for the past 3 months.  It was a sincere one too, and even included a painfully honest, “I don’t like to admit that I’m wrong.”  An apology like that is a true gift, for both parties.  It’s a step – a really big step – towards healing, for all involved.  It’s a step towards reconciliation.  It opens a door to forgiveness, and to deeper, more authentic communication in the future.  It allows us to be human.  This literally happened two hours ago, and I have thought about nothing else since.  I did not yet accept the apology out loud  (mainly because I was too emotional and didn’t want to cry, and well, see my comment up above about still learning to own my emotions) but I absolutely DO accept it.  I do, with every fiber of my being… precisely because it was sincere. And right now, I’m sitting in a big emotional soup that includes feeling bad for bringing up the thing that preempted the apology in the first place, feeling glad that I brought up the thing that preempted the apology in the first place, but mostly feeling genuinely and deeply moved for being given that gift.**  There are so many “sorrys” that we never get, that we will never get, so the ones that do come?  The ones that are real?  I’m hanging on to them, and I’m treating them with the care and the reverence that they deserve.

Apologies aren’t something that should be taken lightly.  And they most certainly aren’t something that should be faked.  At the end of the day, this being-a-human-thing, this connecting-as-a-human-thing, leaves no room for falseness.  No room for force or coercion.  It’s about being real, right there in the moment.  Real with yourself, real with the other person, and real with your feelings.

I will always be there to help my kids navigate (kids who are not so little anymore, but still need their mom sometimes).  I will always be there to intervene when needed, to have the hard conversations, to share empathy, to model forgiveness, to walk beside them as they dredge through the joy and beauty and heartbreak and yuck that comes with human relationships… be they platonic, romantic, or professional.

But I will never, ever tell them how to feel.

**Update, a week later.  It turns out that the apology wasn’t as uncomplicated as I’d thought, and the giver is, at the present time, not my biggest fan.  The ironic thing is that I’d actually had every intention of making it a positive, happy resolution.  “Hey, thanks for the apology.  I forgive you.”  I must be the only one who can f*ck up something as benign as accepting an apology.  But I did.  I kept talking, and I made it bad, and now…. I dunno.  I still accept the apology, no matter what it meant or didn’t mean, because life is just too short.  And I still stand by this post, perhaps even more so.  This stuff is HARD, even for adults, and I think more than ever we have to be there for our kids, helping them figuring it all out, without forcing them to say things they don’t mean.  But dang.  Life is hard.**

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October 28, 2017 · 5:00 PM

When To Call In The Professionals

People often ask me for advice.  They always have. I don’t know why exactly, except I’d like to think that I’m a good listener.  The great irony of course is that it takes a lot – a lot, a lot – for me to ask anyone else for advice, and advice that is unsolicited lands squarely in my top three pet peeves of all time.  I actually like giving advice though (when it’s asked for) because I like helping people.  It’s something I do a lot due to my blog… obviously not as a professional, but as an unschooler of four kids, and as a parent of nearly 21 years.  I’m not any kind of expert though, nor do I claim to be.  On more than one occasion, I’ve had to tell someone who emailed with an extreme concern (for example, their teenage child was being physically violent) that I didn’t know how to help them.  And that, honestly, it would be inappropriate and irresponsible for me to try.

Sometimes you just need a professional.

As a yoga teacher, I’m always happy to answer long distance questions about my favorite mats, which DVD series I’d avoid , or which stretches are good if you wake up feeling stiff. But if I cannot actually see you, teaching from afar is not comfortable for me.  It’s way too easy to do things incorrectly, and/or to push yourself to0 far and cause or exacerbate an injury.  Instead, I’ll always recommend seeing a professional in person, even just once, to help avoid bad habits and poor form.

I very rarely take my kids to the doctor.  Most things that people go to the doctor for – rashes, sore throats, flus, colds, fevers, stomach viruses, minor injuries – can be safely and effectively handled at home.  Plus, by keeping them home, I’m not out there spreading all those germy germs to the entire Phoenix valley.  But when one of my boys landed wrong playing basketball, and his ankle swelled to the size of, well, a basketball, we took him in for an x-ray.  (Lo and behold, a broken bone in his foot). And when that same boy had an array of weird and concerning symptoms that culminated with a symptom on the “never-to-be-ignored” list, we went straight to the ER.  Broken bones, cuts requiring stitches, serious injury, illnesses that are getting worse instead of better:  I don’t ask Facebook, I don’t fiddle around with essential oils.  I GO TO A PROFESSIONAL.

I wouldn’t have wanted anyone other than a professional to do my shoulder surgeries or remove my gall bladder, and that goes doubly for placing my kidney stent.

I don’t know how to fix my car.

Or fix my toilet.

I would most certainly struggle with doing my own taxes (being married to someone who works in finance is a big boon in this area.)

If I wanted an addition put onto my house, an addition that wasn’t at great risk of the walls caving in, I’d call someone who actually knew how to do that.

Sometimes you just need a professional.

Mental health should be no exception.

It’s alarming to me how many people either 1) completely ignore their own declining mental health (been there, done that), 2) think that they can fix it just by “thinking positively” or getting more exercise or spending more time in the sun (been there, done that, too) or 3) Seek counsel from people who aren’t actually trained or qualified to give such advice.  I recently saw a post on a natural health Facebook group that I belong to that rang some serious alarm bells for me.  The poster was asking what natural remedy they could use for alcoholism and EXTREME mental lows (emphasis is theirs).

Can I just say, as a general, blanket statement:  If you’re feeling extreme mental lows, seek professional help.

If you’re feeling extreme mental lows that are making you think you’re in imminent danger of harming yourself, go to the emergency room.

If you’re feeling extreme mental lows that are interfering with your life, go to a mental health professional.

A mental health professional, it needs to be said, is someone who has gone through years of schooling, rigorous training, and a rather long and arduous licensure process.  It is not someone who is just really good at listening.  It is not someone who attended an 8-week life-coach certification course.  It is not someone who paid $97 for an essential oil starter kit.  I’m sorry, but it’s not.

Just like the broken foot and the broken toilet and the yet-be-done taxes: if you want to get actual help, you need to go to the appropriate person.

And I get it.   OH MY WORD do I get it.  It’s hard.  It’s hard and it’s scary and no matter what anyone tells you, there is still very much a stigma about seeking mental health treatment.

Go anyway.

You don’t have to wait until it’s extreme, either!  In fact, as someone who waited until it was quite extreme, I’d very much advise not to wait until it’s reached that point.  I think that anyone could benefit from at least a little bit of therapy, in much the same way anyone could benefit from twice a year dental cleanings.  I didn’t used to think so, either.  In the interest of full disclosure, up until 18 months ago, I used to be rather anti-therapy. But because (take your pick:) people change, people grow, life happens, I value myself more than I used to…. I’m now perhaps the biggest pro-therapy champion you’ll ever meet.  I have SEEN the darkness of unchecked mental illness ….. and I so much prefer the light.

Therapy and medication quite literally helped save my life.  The hard work was mine (and make no mistake, it has been really freaking hard work), but I could not have done it without the professionals.  I wouldn’t have known how to do it were it not for the professionals.  I AM HERE – not here on my blog, but HERE, on the earth – largely because of that professional help.  I’m glad that I’m here.

Sometimes I think about it; about would have/could have happened had I not sought help when I did.  It’s not a particularly cheery thing to think about, and I know it’s not productive to dwell in the what-ifs.  But every now and then, it’s there, in the corners of my mind.

And it reminds me…

Reminds me of where I was, reminds me of how far I’ve come, reminds me of where I am now.

I’m likely going to be ending therapy soon.  Not because it didn’t work, but because it did.  Words can’t quantify how much I’ve learned from my therapist.  I’ll continue to see my pdoc for check-ins and med refills, and if I ever felt like I needed it, I wouldn’t hesitate to pick up the phone and schedule another therapy appointment either.  (Except, I’d probably hesitate just because I so dread making phone calls.  Tony, if you’re reading this, maybe we should work on my phone phobia next.)

But I would call, and I would get more help, because it’s important.  It is so, so very important.

I figure my life is – at a very bare minimum – at least as important as a broken toilet.

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October 13, 2017 · 4:00 PM

Screen Time Is Like Crocheting

Last night, I was trying to crochet.  I say, “trying”, because I’m really not very good at it.  It’s just one of many hobbies that I’ve picked up, played with a little bit until I got bored, then moved on to something else.  It’s also one that I return to from time to time, because I really do enjoy it.  I’m quite confident that with a little more practice I could make a coaster, or, if I’m feeling really adventurous, a scarf.

But right now, I make little misshapen rectangles.

So last night, I was feverishly working on my latest misshapen rectangle.  I was incredibly focused… frustrated every time I dropped a stitch, elated every time I successfully did a few in a row.  I’m a creative person by nature, so the feeling of creating something new with my hands is exciting and empowering.  I started with yarn, and with it, I was making … well, a misshapen rectangle.  But I was making something new, something that literally had never been in existence until that very moment.  It was just me, my crochet hook, and my yarn.

And then people started talking to me.  First, it was my 9 year old, and then it was my husband.  I could feel myself getting irrationally impatient and annoyed at the perceived intrusion.  (“CAN’T YOU SEE I’M CROCHETING HERE, PEOPLE?!”).  I answered them, but I was vague.  Distracted.  The truth was, I was really into what I was doing, and wasn’t taking kindly to being interrupted.

I did finally stop long enough to eat dinner but even then I was sort of “out of it.”  I’d stopped before I was ready, so my brain was still focused elsewhere.  I wanted to get back to my project.

And it wasn’t because I’m “addicted”, and it wasn’t because crocheting is “bad.”  It was simply because I’d gotten super involved, and sometimes it’s hard to immediately shake out of that.

I fail to see why playing video games, watching movies, or browsing YouTube is any different.

And yet it’s such a common refrain among those who are new to the idea of unschooling:

“He gets so angry/irritable/frustrated when we tell him it’s time to stop playing”

“Every time she watches videos for too long, she just zones everyone and everything else out.”

“We have to limit his time on the computer or he’d never do anything else.”

“When she’s wrapped up in a game, she doesn’t eat, won’t take a break, and barely gets up to go to the bathroom.”

Short translation:  Activities involving screens are harmful and addictive.

But there is literally nothing in the above statements that couldn’t also be applied to someone who was super involved with crocheting.  Or reading.  Or drawing. Or gardening.  We all have our outlets, and we all have our activities that demand our full-attention.  Maybe we’re creating.  Maybe we’re learning.

Maybe we’re using all our brain power to solve the puzzle and save the princess and make it to the next level.

Getting involved to that extent is normal, especially if the activity is new.  If I can get inpatient, frustrated, and irritated when interrupted while crocheting, why is it unacceptable for children?  As an adult, I can generally handle such feelings without taking it out on the people around me.  But kids feel the same frustrations, and don’t have the years of experience or maturity to know what to do with their feelings.  The solution then is understanding and assistance …. not taking the offending activity away.   Help them, don’t punish them.

“He gets so angry/irritable/frustrated when we tell him it’s time to stop playing”

Yup, I’d feel all those things if I was suddenly and unexpectedly made to stop doing something I enjoyed too… especially if it was something like a video game, that could not be saved at that particular point.  Give plenty of warnings and advanced notice.  Help them plan their time, and understand what’s happening when.  Transitions can be hard, especially for little ones.  This is not the fault of the video game.  Work with them on transitions, and over time, they’ll get easier.

“Every time she watches videos for too long, she just zones everyone and everything else out.”

I love the feeling of getting so lost in a good book or a good movie that everything around me disappears.  It means the author or filmmaker did their job well.  We all – every one of us – are allowed to “zone out” sometimes… whether it’s to a good book, a movie, a song, a TV show.  IT’S OKAY!  Getting lost in an activity helps us relax, rest, and reset.  I would frankly be more concerned for the kid who was denied the opportunity to regularly zone out for awhile.

“We have to limit his time on the computer or he’d never do anything else.” 

When something is limited, it becomes more attractive.  Like the proverbial forbidden fruit, it starts to be more enticing, more alluring, and disproportionately important.  It’s just human nature.  Any child (or adult for that matter) who is forbidden from using something is going to appear to be unhealthily obsessed with it when they do get the opportunity.  Not knowing when they’re going to get to use it again, they feverishly devour it while they can.  When the limit is lifted, and the initial inevitable binge moment has passed, it becomes just one of a million different choices they can make in a day.  When they truly trust that you won’t take it away, their interest tends to “normalize”, and you realize that they aren’t so obsessed after all.  My kids all use their computers daily (often for hours).  They also write music and poetry, read, bake, make things with their hands, hang out with friends, act, sing, play musical instruments, hike, research, make YouTube videos….

“Never” is an extreme and loaded word.  It is highly unlikely that your child would honestly and literally never do anything else if his computer time wasn’t limited.

“When she’s wrapped up in a game, she doesn’t eat, won’t take a break, and barely gets up to go to the bathroom.”

So this is a real thing.  When I’m lost in a good book, I lose all sense of time.  It’s not often that I get the opportunity to read for hours, but when I do, it often ends in a confused, dehydrated, starving stupor.  It doesn’t even have to be something that I’m enjoying now that I think about it.  The other day I was deep into my math class (College Algebra is my Everest), getting crazy frustrated, and refusing to do anything else.  When Mike suggested I take a break, I just about bit his head clear off.  I was committed, dammit, and I was going to see it through*.  I know the feeling of not wanting to take a break.  I’ve seen it in my kids, in my husband, and in myself.  The solution?  Connection.  Understanding.  HELP.  Instead of vilifying video games, and grumbling that they make your kid neglect their own needs… meet them where they’re at.  Chat with them about what they’re playing.  Ask if you can bring them a snack.  Help them deal with any frustrations.  And yes, gently suggest a break if things are getting too intense.

Screen time is not the evil that it’s so often made out to be.  It’s just not.  It’s simply one (actually many – since “screen time” is a catch-all term that refers to an infinite number of activities) of a million different pursuits that one can dive into, learn from, grow from, and get lost in.

It’s like crocheting. 

And if your kid gets frustrated in their pursuit of learning to crochet, you help them.  You don’t vilify the very thing that they’re trying to learn.

______________________________________________

*I did eventually heed his advice to take a break.  And it helped. 🙂

 

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Filed under hot topics, screen time, unschooling

October 11, 2017 · 5:18 PM

The Holidays Are For Giving, Not Manipulating

Let me paint a picture for you.

You’re 6 years old.  You just came off the excitement of Halloween.  Thanksgiving is coming, followed by Christmas just a few short weeks later.  You’re going to holiday parties and special events, your schedule is all out of whack, and you’ve been eating all kinds of rich, sweet, and complicated foods.  You’re spending time helping to decorate, and make gifts, and make cookies and other treats.  You’re probably not sleeping very well because you’re excited and everything’s thrown off, and your six-year-old self is buzzing with restless energy, anticipation, and – if we’re being honest – likely some exhaustion and over-stimulation too.

And then, right at the breaking point, right at that moment when what’s needed most is some collective down-time, some deliberate slowing and reconnecting and a heap-load of grace….. your (probably well-meaning) parents tell you that a magic old man is watching your every move, that if you make any missteps he’s going to know about it, and that if you’re not good enough, you’re not going to get any presents at Christmas.  And then, lest you don’t believe it, they install cameras, just to be sure you’re properly submissive.  Or afraid.  Or both.

Surely I can’t be the only one who realizes how completely manipulative, not to mention illogical, this is?

In Christmases-past, I’ve written about my issues with the Elf on a Shelf, but I’m new to the whole concept of Santa Cams.  When I first heard about them, it was in the context of ornaments for the tree.   Cutesy little balls painted like cameras, sold by about a million different vendors on Etsy.   The premise is as simple as it is creepy; Santa watches you through the camera, and if you misbehave (a word I can’t stand, but am using for the sake of illustration), you won’t get any presents.  As if those weren’t bad enough, someone recently brought my attention to the more insidious – and much, much creepier – version: cameras that are meant to mount on the child’s bedroom wall or ceiling.

You guys, I cannot overstate how disturbed I am by these Santa Cams.

Because there are just so very many things wrong with them, and because I think better in lists, here are my top five reasons to – at a bare minimum – carefully consider whether or not you want to instill (and install) something like this in your own home.

1. It teaches that giving is conditional

Let’s just start there.  No one should ever have to “earn” their gifts, Christmas or otherwise.  By definition, a gift is something that is given freely, without condition, and without expectation.  Something that – ideally – comes from the heart and the generosity of the giver.   Teaching your kids that they need to behave a certain way in order to get Christmas gifts not only destroys and mocks the whole premise of giving, it ensures that their future relationship with giving will be a warped and unhealthy one.  I want my kids to give because they want to give, not because someone jumped through some requisite hoops in order to be deemed worthy.

2. It encourages behavior that is driven by extrinsic (rather than intrinsic) motivation

So let’s get this question out of the way.  Do Santa Cams “work”, in terms of getting children to behave in a certain way?  Quite possibly, depending on the kid.  But just to be clear on what’s really happening:  They’re being driven by something external. They’re performing strictly because of the promise of reward and/or the fear of punishment.  That’s it.  It doesn’t actually teach them anything, except that gifts are conditional, that it’s okay to manipulate people into doing what we want them to do, and that the only reason to behave reasonably is because a jolly fat man might take away your stocking if you don’t.  Take away the promise of presents, and what motivation do they have then?  People, of any age, should act according to their own inner sense of right and wrong, their own innate wisdom that informs them how they want to behave, and how they want to treat others.  Children by nature are incredibly giving, and loving, and kind.  They are, by nature, good …. until and unless that natural inclination is squashed and skewed by things like punishments and rewards.

3. It’s manipulative.

As parents, we know that there is no literal Santa Claus that lives at the North Pole.  We know that if our kids are going to get presents, we’ll be the ones providing them.  We know that the Santa “camera” is nothing more than cheap plastic (and, if we’ve splurged on the fancy one, a set of AA batteries for an LED blinking light).  We know that our children are already overtired, under-rested, and all hopped up on sugar and adrenaline.  The kids know none of that.  They just know that they’re excited.  They know they want fun new presents on Christmas morning.  They actually believe that Santa is watching them, because that’s what their parents told them.  Parents take advantage of that trust and that naivete because they know that by controlling them through the threat of punishment and the promise of reward that it will make their lives just a tiny bit easier.   It is the very definition of manipulation, and manipulation isn’t nice.  Which brings me to:

4. It is damaging to your relationship

Nothing good ever comes from taking advantage of and manipulating someone in a relationship.  Ever.  In fact, people spend entire lifetimes trying to recover from being manipulated by parents, partners, siblings, friends, churches ….

Relationships, including, or especially!, between parent and child are precious, and need to be treated with care.  Once trust is broken, it’s a tricky tricky thing to repair.  That is not to say that wounds can’t be healed, or that wrongs can’t be righted.  Sometimes they can, and sometimes the damage is just too deep.  But given the preemptive choice to do the unkind, manipulative thing, and to… well, NOT do it, the latter is always the better option. The age-old adage still holds true:  treat others how you would like to be treated yourself.

5. It raises some serious and confusing messages in the realm of privacy and consent.

I saved this one for last because it’s at once the most disturbing, and the one most likely to prompt people to say, “Oh come on, you’re taking this way too far.”  But I beg you to hear me out.  Hearing that this was something that people were actually hanging in their children’s bedroom raised major, major red flags for me.  In this current climate under a president who brags about “grabbing women by the p*ssy” I think it’s safe to say that there’s a really grossly blurred line when it comes to privacy and consent.   I think it’s also safe to say that it’s more important than ever to talk about these issues at home, whether you have boys or girls.  Kids need to know about privacy.  Kids need to know about consent.  So I ask you, in all sincerity, where does a peeping, spying old man fit into a healthy model of consent?  How do you ever reconcile sending your young kids the sickening and confusing message that it’s okay if someone watches you undress and sleep if they hold the power to give or withhold presents??  Yes, they’re not actually being watched.  But the kids don’t know that.  The kids believe they’re actually being watched.  They believe their parents know about it.  And they believe it’s okay because it’s a benevolent old guy with a magic sack of gifts.

It’s creepy.

It’s disgusting.

It’s dangerous.

Regardless of your religious beliefs, regardless of where you stand politically (I’m already wondering if I’m going to kick myself for including the Trump reference, not gonna lie), regardless of how you do or not celebrate Christmas or Hanukkah or Kwanzaa or Festivus … I hope that we can agree that the holidays should be about love and kindness, giving and generosity.

Which should never, ever include manipulating the people we love the most.

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Filed under control, holidays, hot topics, mindful parenting, parenting, respect