21 Days: Day 19

Do any of you have that friend who repeats herself…maybe after she’s had a few too many cocktails? And you’re all, “yeah yeah yeah,” but you love her so you listen anyway? I’m that person lately. I appreciate those of you who are still here saying, “yeah yeah yeah” and loving me anyway.

Also, this has been so deep into my every day life that my friends are asking, “Was that me you were talking about when you said ______?” Even Brad Bell said, “Was it me that advised saying bff was petty and immature?” It was. He was trying to wrap his head around some girl drama. I’m grateful for self-aware people.

1. I slept like a rock. I snoozed the 5:30 alarm. No one else gets up til close to 7 so I had plenty of time to clean up dog poop and be grateful for, among other things, a house that smells fantastic–despite the dog poop–thanks to some new PartyLite aroma melts.

2. A few years ago, Brad started having half-day Fridays. Since I worked from home at the time, and the kids were in school, we turned those half-days into dates. Sometimes we went to lunch or watched a movie. Sometimes we took a nap. It didn’t really matter; it was a few hours of uninterrupted time together, which is super duper rare.

With holiday and work and travel and snow days, we haven’t had a Friday date in close to forever. But today, we got one. It consisted of tool shopping and lunch, which was fantabulous. My usual–and only–date request is food or coffee or both. I’ve told you how gleefully I react to the mere suggestion of coffee, so you can imagine when you combine it with food, one of my other favorite things.

What makes me happier than food and even coffee is that after all these years, my man and I still have fun hanging out no matter what we are doing. We laugh at our own jokes. We have entire conversations that consist of nothing but Anchorman quotes. We talk about other things in addition to our kids. And that’s good. Because these kids have a bad habit of growing up, and sooner rather than later, we are going to be spending a lot of time alone together. Thank goodness, he is my favorite.

3. I got a thank you from someone I wrote a thank you to in the mail. Love. Love. Love.

Yesterday two of my loyal fasting friends told me they cheated. I ate pizza in commiseration. Hey, I’m not trying to get in the Daniel Fast hall of fame. I’ve learned way more through the gratitude portion than I did by restricting food. Because guess what being hungry makes me? A. N. G. R. Y.

I’m only clarifying because I’ve gotten a few eye rolls from some Judgey McJudgersons re: my “modifications” of the fast. Well, the fast, kinda like life, is between you and God. So, when we are keeping tabs on what and how someone else is doing, then we’re kinda missing the point. You know, the whole plank in the eye thing.

Guess what else? It’s the freaking weekend, baby. Any fun plans?

If you have about 10 minutes and aren’t offended by the “f” word, read this article; it’s f#$%ing brilliant.

Two. More. Days.

xoxo

Full Speed Ahead

I just wanted to take a minute to thank you, my friends, for reading, commenting and sharing your reactions to what I write. I’m really vulnerable and transparent in this little space, and you always make me feel less alone in my struggles. That’s such a good feeling. Your kindness is an amazing blessing; thank you.

Since last week, I’ve been paying closer attention to my interactions with people and the vibe I give off. Men and women. Brad told me recently, “Sometimes you change the rules, and you don’t always let people know.” That is a very true statement. God bless my man who can lovingly point things out in me that I am unable to see. It took him about 23 years to master this without making me feel defensive (or for me to realize that he was actually being loving and not critical or condescending.)

Anyway, back to changing the rules. I do. All the time. Quick example: I decide that I no longer want to go to the gym because there’s a creepy guy there who stalks me–I’m kidding, a little–but I don’t tell my gym friend. I just start saying no. All the time. She thinks I’m mad at her, which is completely untrue, but I didn’t communicate the rule change.

Another example: I nearly always decline “going out” invitations. But when a bunch of my friends go out and post awesome pictures on Facebook, I would sometimes feel hurt. In the past, I said no, so if I decide now that I’d like to be included, I need to advise my friends of the rule change, instead of whining about being left out.

Evidently feeling left out is a huge trigger for me because on a few occasions, my extended family have done things and not invited me, and I have felt extremely hurt. Granted, I’m a hermit who declines about 97% of invitations, so very few people would ever consider that my feelings would be hurt by not being invited somewhere. Additionally, I am positive that none of my family would intentionally exclude me to be hurtful. Still…trigger.

Once a friend told me when she hears people talking about doing something fun if she wants to do it, she simply invites herself. She’s absolutely delightful, so of course everyone would want her to come along, but that was kind of a revelation for me. Oh, hey, just say you want to go. Huh.

Sometimes I get so upset over slights that have mostly occurred in my head that I cut people completely off from my heart so that they are incapable of hurting me again. They generally have no idea why or what they’ve done. I’m working on the whole “setting healthy boundaries” thing. It’s going swimmingly.

Despite the aforementioned neuroses, I am really, really close to a few people. These people know all my secrets. I’m actually very proud of that because up until a year or so ago, I desperately kept those secrets to myself, fearing that the baggage I carried around would alienate even the most loyal person.

But outside of my inner circle, and some wonderful friends whom I adore but try not to drag into my cyclone of crazy, I am better at one-sided relationships. I used to joke that I had enough friends and wasn’t auditioning new ones, but it wasn’t really a joke. I like to listen to people’s stories without having to share anything about myself. This usually works fine since lots of people would rather talk than listen. But I’ve also pushed people away because after sharing personal things with them, I felt they couldn’t be trusted with the information. I often advise girlfriends: People who gossip to you will gossip about you. But, it’s always difficult to listen to your own advice.

And as I continue to learn: I can’t change anyone else’s behavior, but I can control my behavior as well as my reactions and perceptions. I have had to rethink (or overthink) how I present myself to people. It’s natural to feel close to someone whom you feel gets you, and I get lots of people. I think God gave me that gift in order to show people kindness and compassion. However, there are people who will misuse and take advantage of gifts.

I really need to exercise discernment more consistently. For me, discernment usually comes in two ways. One: A sick feeling in my stomach that says, “This person is not genuine and does not want you to achieve your highest good.” Two: My husband saying, “Babe, you might wanna put the brakes on a little bit with this one.”

So it continues, revisiting the Boundaries book that has been collecting dust on my shelf, learning how to be kind and compassionate without becoming enmeshed, and finally back to The Four Agreements, which today sound like this in my head:

• Be impeccable with your word–don’t say mean things about people. Ever.
• Don’t take anything personally–no one thought you would even want to be invited.
• Don’t make assumptions–you have to tell people when you change the rules. No one else lives in your head, lucky for them.
• Always do your best–don’t beat yourself up; just keep trying harder.

Why Do You Let that S%#T Bother You?

“When someone shows you who they are, believe them; the first time,” Maya Angelou

A friend of mine recently posted that quote, and it reminded me how important that sentiment is in my life. I mean how important trying to remember that sentiment should be in my life. See, I have this bad habit. This really bad habit. Sometimes instead of loving people for who they are, I love an idealized version of who I think they could become. I love their higher self, and I pour my hope and faith into believing they will achieve that.

Here’s the issue with that: Sometimes people don’t want to achieve my idealized version of themselves. Sometimes individuals don’t even share my vision that they can be better people. Sometimes…people are perfectly happy being oblivious and unaware of the dreams and potential I am believing for them. Coming to this realization (that people don’t care to reach the awareness and enlightenment I want for them) is always more painful for me than for them.

My daughter does this too, and several of my closest (and like-minded) friends do as well. It makes me feel better to know that I’m not the only only one. It makes me feel better to say, “These smart, beautiful, amazing women do the same stupid stuff I do.”

My husband does not. He is actually outstanding at accepting people for exactly who they are. (Unless that person is arrogant or a bad driver, then you’re gonna see the west side in that boy.) For years, when I would share my feelings with him he would say in the most helpful way, “I don’t know why you let that shit bother you.” Well, I don’t either. It isn’t conscious, or I would most assuredly choose NOT to let said shit bother me.

A few years ago, he stopped doing that–PRAISE THE LORD–and started encouraging me at least to see, if not accept, people as they are. As I tried harder to do this, I realized: When people disappoint me, it is rarely because their behavior isn’t congruent with who they are; it is nearly always because their behavior isn’t congruent with who I want them to be. Applying this premise in your life may not save you years of therapy, but it will probably spare you some hurt feelings.

Except … I don’t always remember to apply it. That’s the problem. Sometimes my heart is already hurt before I analyze the situation, recognize my expectations and let people own their behavior. In the not too distant past, I would ruminate for wayyyy toooo lonnggggg harboring resentment and bitterness, nursing hurt feelings and disappointment, but now I realize that any amount of time spent on that is too much.

I recently re-read The Four Agreements, and I’m seriously considering getting them tattooed somewhere where I can see them every moment of every day. Have you read it? You should read it.

1. Be impeccable with your word.
2. Don’t take anything personally.
3. Don’t make assumptions.
4. Always do your best.

Logically, the one I struggle with the most is, “Don’t take anything personally.” Ugghhhhh. It goes right along with my constant prayer, “Less of me; more of you.” I always get in God’s way.

So, today, I am going to be me, and I’m going to let you be you. Whoever that is. Even if I think you aren’t living up to your potential. Even if I think you could be a better you if only you would stop being so insecure, or quit gossiping, or show a little humility (that was for you Brad Bell). Today (well, for the next few minutes until I get derailed) I am going to focus more on the log in my own eye and less on the speck in yours.

Losing my mind in 4,3,2,1…

I rarely take things for granted. Kindness, goodness, blessings, and the people attached to those sentiments overwhelm me with gratitude. You know that picture circulating on social media, “What if you woke up tomorrow with only what you thanked God for last night”? I’d be solid. I thank Him constantly for the wonderful miracles in my life.

As you’ve probably guessed, that intro is leading up to what I do take for granted. Well, it’s not a what. It’s a who. Ugh…I hate admitting this, but I take my husband for granted sometimes.

Usually when I realize I am doing or have done so, I apologize immediately, write him long, appreciative letters, and make him feel extra loved. And honestly, he’s stereotypically guyish and not super in touch with his emotions, so he doesn’t sitting around whining that he’s not appreciated.

And, he asks for very little. Mostly. Last week, he started a new job and text me 37 million times as I’m the keeper of all important personal information–even his. But as far as emotional support, the scale is definitely shifted in my favor.

I’m a basket case 25-95% of the time depending on what’s going on in our life. A messy house, squabbling kids, writer’s block, or any variety of issues might send me spiraling into a panic. He talks me off proverbial ledges. Unless the ledges are work related, then my boss/friend talks me down–she is my work husband. Also, occasionally, he puts me on the ledge, and for those instances I am fortunate to have the most amazing girlfriends who pull me back in. I don’t spend as much of my life on the edge of sanity as this implies, but there are moments…or weeks.

This is of one of those weeks. I’m very excited for our daughter who will be leaving for an adventure in Brazil on Friday. I’m also a little nervous that our daughter will be leaving for an adventure in Brazil on Friday because I won’t be able to talk to her for two weeks. I have immense faith and am beyond thrilled that she will have this amazing experience, but I’m also her mama. To outsiders, a beautiful, accomplished, bright and eager 20-year-old will be boarding a plane with her professor and classmates, but in my eyes, that person is a tiny blonde baby who was sleeping on my shoulder with my hair twisted around her finger…just a minute ago.

Consequently, I’m a little anxious and when I’m anxious, my person is always next to me, holding my hand, rubbing his thumb along my thumb, twirling my hair, patting my back, and catching me (figuratively and literally on occasion). When we put this same child on the bus to kindergarten 15 years ago, he stood behind me waving and whispering into my hair, “Don’t cry, baby,” until this bus was down the road and our baby girl was out of sight and then caught me up in his arms laughing, “Okay, you can cry now.”

When I put her on this plane, he will be in another state, so I can’t fall apart. He’ll listen to me cry the whole way home, but it won’t be the same as depositing mascara all over the front of his shirt.

So, I’m anxious, and I would appreciate if you guys could (as my dear friend said one time,) “say a prayer or light a candle or do whatever it is you do” for us on Friday as my heart is scattered all over the world.

More Martha than Mary

Last week, my husband and I were in a bad place. A rut. We were out of sync. This happens from time to time, sometimes during one of our MEN-strual cycles. I’m just saying. The word MEN in right there. I am fully aware of mine, and the others in the house are alerted to it by an increase in screaming, door slamming, chocolate in the pantry. Because if you can’t climb out of your rut, the next best idea is to fill it with food.

The food doesn’t help, as if I needed to say that out loud. What does help is having a co-conspirator in Pittsburgh who runs on the same cycle. Usually one of us is able to talk the other one down from a ledge with a gentle reminder that this rage could be hormone-related. That reminder, however, is punishable by death if issued from a man’s lips.

Back to the rut. In this rut, I can’t function. Brad, when we are in a rut, doesn’t look at me. It bothers me when people don’t look at me. I think that if I were ever to be tortured for information, withholding eye contact might be an effective technique. Just to clarify, you can pretty much just ask me anything, and I’ll tell you. Unless it’s someone else’s secret, I keep those. But I won’t look at you if I’m keeping a secret. Now, if you’re my husband–or anyone reading this–you now know that if I don’t look at you, I’m protecting something. Sometimes, it’s my heart, but sometimes it’s something that belongs to someone else.

I give so much away through my eyes so if I don’t look at someone, it’s intentional. I might not trust them. I might think they wish me ill. Or I might be afraid to let them see into my soul for fear they might use that information in bad ways. And sometimes, I’m afraid that if someone looks at me, they will see someone else’s secrets that I’m keeping. This happens pretty rarely. Usually, I look so deeply into people’s eyes that they are uncomfortable and look away. Then, I begin to wonder what they have to hide. Because, I assume that like me, if you avoid eye contact you must be hiding something.

All of this brings me back to the same lesson: Just because people don’t do things the same way I do them doesn’t mean that they’re wrong, and I’m right. God reinforces that all the time. Last week, my pastor said to view people as “works in progress,” and that resonated with me not only about others but also about myself. Then, listening to my favorite online preacher, I was reminded of the story of Mary and Martha. (Martha was mad that she was cleaning and cooking, while Mary sat and listened to Jesus. Martha wanted Jesus to make Mary help her, but Jesus told Martha maybe she should check her priorities.) I can identify with Martha, because a lot of times I serve begrudgingly rather than humbly.

Today, we are out of our rut and analyzing how we got there and how not to get there again. Today, I’m cleansing the salt, sugar, and other toxins I overindulged in the last few days. Today, I am asking God to help me see with His eyes. Today, instead of beating myself up, I’m embracing the fact that I am a work in progress.

What Will the Neighbors Think?

Today, I’m working on two important relationships: the one with my husband and the one with my mom. My marriage is very happy, but I think it’s that way because we are always working to make it better. I’m reading The Respect Dare, a 40-day devotional to a deeper connection with God and your husband.

It has been fun and challenging, especially because I am reading it with a group of women, so we all share our experiences, thoughts, suggestions, and so forth. So along with the deeper connection with God and my husband, there’s the bonus of deepening friendships with some amazing women.

But the other book I’m reading, Making Peace With Your Mom, isn’t such a walk in the park. I think I’ve said about a million times that I have a good relationship with my mom, and what was that? I am not protesting even a little; I’m just saying. Wise guy. Anyway, you can always have a better relationship, right? Especially when your mom moves in with, and you realize, hey, how fun, she still does all those little things that drove you crazy when you lived with her AND MORE.

Anyway, I’ll reiterate, I’m not going to complain about my mom. What I’ve realized from reading this book and delving into the exercises–it goes deep…uncomfortably deep…scraping the recesses of all you’ve repressed deep–is that my relationship with my mom is the basis for every other relationship in my life.

It was from her I learned to love and not love. It was from her I learned what was considered beautiful, acceptable, right, wrong, polite, rude, phony, religious, and God forbid ladylike. It was from watching her and my dad that I got my first glimpse of romance. My dad was a true romantic, but my mom was more like, “Just hand over the diamond, Jack; I don’t care about your poem.” My dad’s name wasn’t Jack; she was channeling her inner Si Robertson.

I learned some good stuff: girlfriends are important, babies need to be held, everyone looks better with a little lipstick on, and there is a pill for nearly anything that ails your body and mind. I learned some other stuff as well: words can hurt worse than fists, silence speaks volumes, never let anybody lay a finger on your kids, and who cares what the neighbors think?

In reading this book, my biggest lesson is that who my mom was in my memory isn’t who she is now. I mean technically she is, but I’m not. Those memories have no power over me. I can journey back in my mind and reframe the experiences. I can choose to show my mom grace and kindness instead of allowing anger and pain to fester and turn into bitterness and resentment, I can go be the mom who loves and protects the little girl in the memory.

One of my favorite verses is Luke 6:37: Judge not, and you will not be judged; Condemn not, and you will not be condemned; Forgive, and you will be forgiven. I also think it’s one of the most difficult to practice, but I keep trying.