Once Upon a Time…

You know when you hear or read something that rattles neurons around in your brain and they reconfigure in a new and improved way? Like Oprah’s “AHA moments.” In my curiosity and sometimes pathological pursuit of self-improvement, I stumbled into one of these revelations.

Sometimes, I hear or read the same idea repeatedly without really internalizing it. Almost every lesson in my life could be broken down piece by piece to find one of The Four Agreements as its cornerstone; still, I struggle sometimes. “Wow, did I just take that personally?” “Am I making assumptions about someone’s motives?” Crap.

Onward to my point. I’m a big Brené Brown fan, and in her latest book Rising Strong, she writes about getting back up after we’ve been suffered a hardship. By breaking this struggle down into three distinct phases: rumble, reckoning and revolution, Brown offers commonsense tools that allow us to deal with our emotions rather than letting them deal with us. Here’s an excerpt where she eloquently explains this inner “rumble” you get to have.

The point that really got me was that when something happens, we take said event and filter it through our memories, experiences, insecurities–of course the shrewish voice of our inner critic gets to weigh in–and from all of that we formulate our view of the event and thereby our reaction. Often, that reaction has absolutely no basis in fact.

Here’s an example. I see a long-lost “friend” who I absolutely adore at a public event. I run up to give her a hug, and she steps back from me with a vibe that says she’s definitely not reciprocating my exuberant greeting. Now, I’m standing there feeling foolish. Embarrassed. Shamed. I stammer under my breath, “Hey, it was nice to see you; take care,” and walk quickly away, my cheeks burning and tears stinging my eyes.

Here is the story I hear in my head:

She never liked you.
She only pretended to like you because you hung around the same group of people.
No one really likes you.
People think you’re an asshole.
Even some of your own relatives talk nasty about you.
You’re worthless and unlovable and a fool.

Good. Grief. That is a wide swath of destruction from a 15-second interaction with a person who doesn’t cross my life or mind on a daily basis.

In the past, and by past I mean the 42 1/2 years before I read this book, that 15-second-interaction would have destroyed me for weeks, months, who knows how long, but I would have overthought the shit out of it.

However, with this new skillset–thank you, Dr. Brown–I thought about it, but in a more productive way. I tore apart those statements and addressed them not only as lies, but also really mean hateful lies that I would never speak to anyone. Course my inner critic–she’s such. a. bitch–seizes any opportunity to cut me to the quick.

The ensuing conversation in my brain went kind of like this:

So what had happened was: I saw a person I liked a lot, and she blew me off.

She never liked you. Maybe not, but I was always kind to her, and in the past she was kind to me also.
She only pretended to like you because you hung around the same group of people. So be it. I don’t hang around those people anymore, but I don’t dislike them. If that is the only reason she was nice to me, then she isn’t really the person I thought I adored.
No one really likes you. Bullshit. My husband and children adore me. I have incredible, loyal, and amazing friends.
People think you’re an asshole. I can be, for sure, but what other people think of me is none of my business. I really try hard to be kind and compassionate.
Even some of your own relatives talk nasty about you. Touché. And they are motivated by their own issues that I didn’t cause and I can’t fix.
You’re worthless and unlovable. So. Not. True. I mean that’s just ridiculous. That’s like calling a skinny girl fat. You’re just grasping for mean things to say now.

And so it goes. But for whatever reason, this time the lesson stuck. The story that I’m telling myself right now…about that interaction STUCK with me. I got it. Brené Brown, I love you.

Today, I saw this:

 

 

Holy Mother of Moses. That shook me to my core. I talk about my inner shrew a lot, and I realize  that her weapons of choice are the negative, critical words I heard growing up.

 

Gulp. Here’s the thing: I’m far from perfect, and I have said shitty things to my kids that I don’t want them to grow up and use as ammunition to attack themselves. But instead of beating myself up about it, I’m just going to keep trying to do better. I say far more kind and loving things than I do mean things. And I always apologize when I mess up.

 

Do you do this? Tell yourself stories that may not have any foundation in reality but really make you feel like crap? Is it just me and Brené Brown? Surely it can’t be because home girl’s selling books like she found the secret to youth and skinniness.

 

If this feels familiar for you, you should read this book. In the meantime, try to stop and listen to the story you’re telling yourself. And remember. It’s just a story. In your head. You can edit, rewrite, or just freaking delete it.

 

By the way, the person who didn’t want to hug me? It wasn’t about me at all. I can’t tell her story, but her reasons for not wanting to interact with me had nothing to do with me. Don’t take things personally. Don’t make assumptions. Keep being a work in progress.

 

xoxo

21 Days: Day 18

ohmygoshyouguysitisalmostover!!!! I’m pretty excited for day 21 even though today has been filled to the brim with sweet moments. I don’t really plan to change much once it’s over.

1. I got up at 4 a.m. because my baby guest was coming at 5:30 so I wanted to be fully awake and functional. I’m a little rusty with babies but found that it comes back quickly, especially when they are at the super cute cuddling and cooing phase. They don’t require much beyond a bottle, clean diaper and snuggles. But I had plenty of time to count blessings, let the dog in and out 75 times, and get my mind right before she got here.

2. In the area of friends, I have been richly blessed. We have a wonderful circle of peeps, some of our kids’ friends’ parents have become great friends, but one of my greatest treasures is the amazing women in my life. Women who inspire, encourage, teach, love, cry with, fight for and accept me. I watch Super Soul Sunday every week, but I am very fortunate to have my own team of super stars.

I talk a lot about my BFF, which I have been advised is petty and immature. I think criticizing other people is also petty and immature. She is everything you could ask for in a friend, and I would lay down my life for her. The only problem is that she lives about 1100 miles away. The good thing is she lives in a perfect vacation spot so we get to visit her at least once a year. Still … that place is 1100 miles away.

We work it out though. We text constantly. She boycotts Facebook; I don’t blame her … the cons outweigh the pros sometimes on that front. We visit at least once a year and sometimes more. Our hearts are always connected even though we rarely talk on the phone because we both dislike talking on the phone, which brings me–finally, I know, right?–to today. My phone rang and it was my girl. Crazy, wonderful, unexpected surprise chats–or any kind of chats, really, with my forever friend are super soul nourishing.

3. These thank you’s are having some really profound effects in my life. I wasn’t prepared for the emotional roller coaster I was boarding.

I’m really grateful for the encouragement during this endeavor. Your comments, texts, likes and so forth mean so very much to me. It makes my heart happy when out of the blue someone shares that they identify with something I wrote. That’s really why I write. It’s therapeutic, and like my hero Anne Lamott advises, I write what I want to read. When I’m dealing with a trial, my first reaction is to read everything that is written about it. I love to read how other people’s deal with the situations I face. And I relate with people who are honest, flawed and real.
 

You know, people are gonna talk; like RuPaul said, “What other people say about me behind my back is none of my business.” (I had no idea who said that–thanks, Google. I was hoping it would be Eleanor Roosevelt. Whatever; it’s good advice.) Regardless of whether or not people choose to be my friend or read my blog or like me, it’s okay; I’m okay. I’m just meandering along my own path with some crazy amazing sidekicks. Writing helps me work through my stuff. And when you spend the first 20 years of your life smiling and pretending everything is awesome, when NEWSFLASH!!! It’s not, there’s a lot to work through. I never try to hurt anyone with my words. That’s not to say that sometimes the truth doesn’t hurt. As Brene Brown says, “Shame derives its power from being unspeakable.” When you tell your stories, you take that power back.

I have made wonderful friends, had great experiences and many moments of grace and healing because I dared to be vulnerable. I’ve shared my heart, my flaws, my experiences–good and bad–and people have bravely reached back. The power of camaraderie. The blessed words, “Me too.” That’s what this is all about. I’m not an attention whore. I’m not self-righteous. I’m certainly not mean and the opposite of miserable. I’m a flawed girl loved by a perfect God trying to make my tiny place in the world a little kinder.

xoxo

Give a little Grace

I have been reading lately about healing and focusing on deep hurts that cause angry, defensive reactions. Because, I’m really ashamed to admit, I have a bad temper and sometimes have really disproportionate angry reactions to silly things.

For example, I burned my finger on a glue gun while making a banner. I curbed my initial reaction to scream obscenities. However, inside me this huge angry reaction was brewing that had to go somewhere. I picked up the end of the kitchen table and let it slam down. When the table slammed down, the anger released, but the plate that was holding the glue gun broke, and my tiny girlfriend started to cry.

Cue the guilt and shame tape that goes like this, “You’re an asshole. You can’t control your temper. You don’t deserve to have these sweet little kids; you’re a lunatic. Way to go. You’re just like your dad.”

And in about 25 seconds, I had gone from pain to rage to feeling about an inch tall.

I apologized to Lily and explained to her that I had reacted inappropriately to pain with anger, and I was sorry for scaring (and probably scarring) her. We talked about some times that our reactions didn’t exactly match our feelings or the particular situation and then finished making our craft without further incident.

For the rest of the night, shame gripped me pretty tightly. I had to delve into my reaction and the motivation behind it. Once I did that and realized that my reaction was something that had been ingrained in me from childhood–when you get upset about something let your rage out on an inanimate object–I was able to deal with it and remind myself that having a bad reaction didn’t make me a bad person.

Guilt and shame always go together for me–the dynamic duo of damnation–so I was enlightened to read Brene Brown’s definition in The Gifts of Imperfection. She explains that guilt says “You did something bad,” and shame says, “You are bad.” I still think they’re a terrifying team, but now I see them more clearly.

Brown goes on to say that we can steal the power away from this team if we talk about the stuff that makes us feel this way and bring it to light. Just make sure that you share with someone you really trust.

She gives a list of people you don’t want to choose, such as:

• Anyone who makes you feel worse about yourself. They will look at you with shock and judgment and say things like, “Oh…my.”
• One-uppers. You know them. They respond to everything with, “Oh that’s nothing, let me tell you about the time…”
• Those with low self-esteem who will use this as an opportunity to feel superior–think, drowning victims who push others down to get themselves to the surface. “Oh, I never have inappropriate reactions in front of my kids, but that’s just me.”
• Condescending jerks. Pretty much the same as above with a heightened air of superiority.

***Please note that sometimes jerks look and sound and act like friends until you share something like this with them***

So, my week has been a lot of, “Yikes, where did that come from? Why does it bother me when people do a.b.c.d?” and more. This isn’t a huge change. I’m always analyzing and overthinking and trying to do better, but sometimes it’s not in the actual moment. I’m steadily trying to live the Four Agreements, but it’s a lot of trial and error.

I spent many years feeling broken and damaged because of things that happened to me, but I am realizing in this decade* that labeling myself is not only unnecessary but it is also unkind. Yes, bad things happened to me, but really great things have happened too. By reconciling that I can simultaneously grieve loss and embrace blessings, by realizing that my past doesn’t define me, and by reminding myself that every moment is an opportunity to embrace and extend grace, I’ve cleared my path from lots of tangled roots that tripped me up.

A few weeks ago the super-wise 20-year-old guru I’m blessed to call my daughter said that she felt fortunate that her dad and I hadn’t really f#$%ed her up. We keep it really real. She said she always felt loved and free to express herself. This was such an impactful statement, as I have questioned everything I did as a mother for 20 years. In fact, the only thing I knew for sure was that I loved these little people God let me hold for awhile more than I had ever known was possible.

I’m pretty convinced some days that I’m messing Peyton and Lily up in some significant way. The nasty shrew in my head tells me all the time that I am worthless and have no business raising these amazing kids. I question myself all the time. And then I shhhhhhh them, breathe and keep going. I’m not sharing this because I need reassurance, but because someone else might feel the same. Do you? Let me encourage you: If you worry this much about what kind of person or wife or parent you are, I’m pretty confident that you are already amazing.

Give yourself some grace. And give the people who make different choices grace too. Namaste.

*The jury is still out on 40 because the emotional and spiritual rewards seem to come at the expense of some crazy things like thinning hair and brain fog and achy joints.