Mindspace

Breakfast routine

We've been fighting about our breakfast routine for months. i wake up in anxiety and i drop them off in this huge, frenzied rage. 
I told the kids at 4 years old, we were able to wake up, get dressed, clean our rooms, eat breakfast, homeschool, practice piano all before getting to school on time.
Now they are 7 and 9 and we are dawdling in our rooms till 7.15, the kitchen is a mess, i am yelling reminders of unmade beds and lights still on. i drop them off in a rage and my day is ruined and of course they are unanimously late for school. This is of course after i wake up at 6 am, do quiet time and meditate for 30 minutes. All the serenity is effectively drained by 8.15am.
So we drew up a schedule, and we bought 2 Star wars alarm clocks. One that went off when they needed to leave their rooms. One that went off when they needed to clean their plates.
Part of it now is that the kid wake up, they read in bed, they play, they make their own breakfast, i make them clean up -- i insist that over my dead body are they leaving dirty dishes on the counter because I AM NOT THE NANNY!
But these days i am trying something between Love and Logic and mindfulness based stress reduction. I am trying to let go of the fact that they might go to school hungry and late. i am trying to decide what i can control, i.e. getting into the car at a certain time. i am taking responsibility for my own schedule and time management. i am letting go of my cognitive distortions that the whole morning routine rests on me, that i am the only one keeping time in the whole family, that i am the "bad guy", the only one that cares that the kids miss the first 15 minutes of school.
Between letting go of the shame and making my rage the issue, we've been having a good couple of days. One day, these calm, leisurely mornings show up in our school weeks, the kids are up, nally and i are reading to the tunes of celtic music at the breakfast table, Aidan gets in a little practice time.
We drive to school, giggling about putting bets on the exact minute we drive to the school curb. The person who is right gets to pick the candy for the weekend.
Somewhere between me letting go of needing to control, the shame of being a parent of children who are perpetually late for school, somewhere between choosing to control what i can control -- we have peace.
And it is nothing short of a miracle.

 

Blogging in the dark

Blogging in the dark to  the tunes of Crickets Sound and Wind Bells for Deep Meditation on my new Macbook Air. It is the wildest experience. 
Recently, i had been incorporating more ambient nature meditations in my practice. I had a client close her eyes and listen to a track, and describe and draw what she saw. She ended up defining a scene in a cave, down to the very distance of how far the water droplets were falling. By the end of it, she said that she has been taking shallow breaths all week and this was the first time she was breathing better.
It's been lovely to incorporate more grounding experiential spaces in our work, since past weeks have been stressful. I am learning that as important as it is to walk our clients through spaces of trauma, it is also our gift to them to craft experiences of centering and relaxation. Their lives are so chaotic and crazed outside our rooms that it is a solace even for one hour a week, if we can create that place of rest.
I had an 8th grader come in that day and he was so worried he would miss his session. I asked why and he said he had a stressful weekend coming up. After we named all the reasons why he was anxious, all he wanted to do the rest of the time was run his fingers through the sandbox and piece together a 50 piece puzzle.
As i sat there, watching this anxious, misunderstood boy struggle to relax, i realize, who am i to make him "work" the whole session. He knew how to use the space. And he did.

New Season

i got a new Macbook Air. It's a hugely symbolic on so many levels.
My last laptop was 4.5 years old. It was bought used. So it probably was 6.  It was lime green and my security blanket all those lonely nights as i pounded out paper after paper for school; as i stared absently hour after hour into consulting jobs late into the night. i had used to it start my blog and my writing practice, during the hours the nanny would watch Aidan. 
It has all the graphics programs of a designer. It has a graphics card, all my fonts from design school. It was a designer's computer. i designed 2 websites on it, and countless others for clients. 
Today i bought an Air. It is my commitment to a new season. This year 2012, my new year's resolution is to return to writing. After 2 years of being out of school, i am out of practice. Gone were the days of at least 2 hours of writing a day and my writing group every Saturday. Now my blog posts are 30 days apart. i am fumbling with words. i am letting life go by undocumented.
But i figured that until i can save up enough for my Phd, i need to keep up my writing habit and practice. i figured i would keep blogging, i would write articles for magazines, for my trade and for newspapers. i would keep writing, so that when i do my dissertation, i won't be out of practice. i would keep writing so that i will finally get it in me to put together that proposal for a book.
I'll never forget the day up in San Damiano when God asked me "What makes a writer ? " i answered " Someone who makes the New York Times bestsellers ? " He said " A writer is someone who writes ".
However, unseen, unheard -- i've read it in a million writing books -- all over the world, writers are waking up in the morning, making a cup of coffee and sitting down to a blank page. It's the loneliest task in the word -- but you write because you're a writer. You're a writer because you write.

Protected

Just finished a book called "My husband's Affair was the best thing that happened to me". It is this sickly sweet version of Pollyanna meets Sexaholic Anonymous. Since i now have hard core sex addiction/abuse textbooks for bedside reading, since our church has survived not one but 2 such casualites --  i was a tad skeptical and a wee bit cynical about embarking on such a read.
But granted, since i also have a startlingly low threshold for fiction, fantasy or fairy tales ( the kids and i are listening to Sonheim's Into the Woods which is this twisted version of the fairy tales )  -- i figured this would be an exercise in "willing suspension of disbelief". i.e. my yearly venture into fictional reading.  
Now you have to know i've been rehearsing said scenario in my head for years. Not that my husband has given me any cause to worry. He is unwaveringly faithful and chronically loyal and a blinding optimist when it comes to our marriage.
Yet something about growing up in a culture where history entails having multiple wives as a sign of wealth; of which's modern day version now translates into a mistress in each country, in a part of the world that deems infidelity as almost an asset to being a competent world leader -- i was almost raised to believe this the fundamental core deficiency in men.
As my dad said when Clinton got caught -- " I don't understand America, everywhere in the world it is understood that world leaders cheat, only Americans object ".
So i ran through the book as fast as i could without throwing up. I have to admit there were a couple of times i wanted to throw the book across the room. But when i finally got to the happily ever after chapter, when i forced myself to choke down this sickeningly sweet letter the cheating spouse wrote to his wife; after i highlighted all the instances of codependency, every feature of pursuer-distancer, after i diagnosed the exact brand of infidelity the couple had, and the process of reconciliation, and the blind spots and the probably DSM diagnosis each spouse had; after i wrote out a treatment plan about how i would do it differently both as a spouse, as the therapist of the author, as the friend of the author -- i heard God whispering to my hardened, jaded heart. 
" What if it didn't have to be so hard ? What if i could protect you from it all ? "
And the word was "protect".
i have to say that when this woman chose to respond the "godly way" and meet with the other woman and extend  compassion and forgiveness towards her, when she decided to make herself more attractive and seduce him back into her bed, those were the moments i had to bite down and clench my very sore jaws. 
Yet as i watch the husband respond with insight, with contrition and with repentance, i notice a part of me really protest that. i notice a part of me geared up for revenge, for his suffering, for him really experiencing the hell she went through.
i noticed myself wanting to tear up that sweet letter that he wrote apologizing for the hell he put her through and wanting to rip those pages out and say " NOTHING NOTHING YOU COULD EVER SAY WILL MAKE UP FOR THIS ! "
Um… a little countertransference : )
But as i drove myself to my Al-anon meeting this morning, i heard God whispering to me:
God:" What if i could protect you from that ?"
Me: " From what, the affair ? You didn't protect her! "
God; " Not the affair, but the hell she went through "
What if when i choose Him, i am choosing not just this Pollyanna blind faith that sticks it's hands or BIble verses in her ears and says " lalalala la Jesus loves me" but i am choosing me. My health, my serenity, my peace, my protection. And that it's not disassociation, or denial or what the psychoanalyst call "the manic defense".
What if it was the huge, meditative, extreme gesture of self care.
And that when i choose His way, i am not absolving the crime, the pain, the hurt, the inconsolable wrongness of infidelity -- i am just choosing to let Him protect me from the consequence, the hell that horrendous sin threatens to put me through.
"What you have meant for evil, God meant for my good".
This morning, God gently confronted me with this idea of protection. "I can do it" i tell Him, i am competent, i am strong, i am cut out for this.
I know, He says quietly. But i can protect you from it.
And i thought about all the serene places my Al-anon group describes exist amidst horrific places of pain their addicts put them through. I thought -- surely this must be the same place.
Protected. Not because i am incompetent and unable, but because i deserve to be protected. i can't prevent the sin, but He can protect me from the effects of the sin. He can shield me, and wage the war of justice and fairness, of healing and recovery.
And i can stand right in the middle of it all and be a sickeningly sweet Pollyanna.

Why do you hate uncle G?

I'm learning this new skill, as i am trying to cultivate with my clients -- this ability to show up and tell the truth. 
So when my little girl asks me why i hate the neighbor 10 doors down, instead of resorting to the usual sarcastic, angry, sardonic remark -- i thought i'd check in and see if i could tell the truth.
And when i did i was really surprised to find the goodness and love in my heart.
" i don't hate uncle G Nally, i think he is a really nice guy"
" I do too"  So much for trying to brainwash my daughter.
" But you know how in school, there are two kids that get always get into trouble when they sit together? And apart, they are pretty nice kids but together they make bad decisions ? "
" Yah "
" It's like that here"
" They just can't sit together."
And when i could express it in the words of a nine year old, i surprised myself at the goodness i felt towards this man. This neighbor whom i've targeted all the rage i should have towards a husband who would hang out with him till 3am in the morning drinking. i was able to own his goodness, his humanity, and own the fact that it's my husband who can't make good decisions. Not him, and that it's not that he's bad.
He's just bad for us.
And for a moment, it was appropriately sad.

Gratitude

i often tell my clients that if we process the awful feelings in our lives, we actually make room for the positive feelings like joy, comfort and gratitude.
One of my newest clients who's had the hardest time over Christmas, reported hating coming into my office every week to cry. Yet, she said this Christmas, she's been laughing the hardest, the deep guttural kind of laugh that comes from inside, instead of the smiles she sticks on her face habitually.
Gratitude has been the one feeling i have been feeling more and more in my recovery. Initially, it's was more like an intravenous infusion of chemotherapy -- because it's good for me.
They say to keep a gratitude journal in 12-step. i started it as a child in the "Thanksgiving" portion of Quiet Time, and have kept it up through the years.
But these days i am catching myself in slivers of moments when i am flooded with gratitude.
The stretch of blue sky, when a parking spot opens up, the smell of my child's hair, the hug and grin from my son. It's almost like it knocks your breath out. And i am realizing, it's there all along, and these moments are only times i pause enough to access it.
Last night at 9pm, in the middle of thousand of lights, my little girl had one of those moments. She said "Mommy i am so grateful. i am so blessed that i have a mommy, i get to come here, i get to have diet coke, and cotton candy and garlic fries and go down the slides ".i could tell, she really got it. She tried to explain it to daddy and he of course attributed each blessing to the appropriate giver but -- i got it. She felt it too. This overwhelming sense of gratitude, of being blessed, of being given to. i loved that she felt it in the hustle and bustle of crowds of people.

And if there was one thing i could leave her with before i die, if there is one remnant of parenting -- it would be the gift of gratitude.

So thank you God for finding me amidst the pain and grief of New Year's Eve
For a beautiful New Year
For helping me forget moment to moment
the past and the future 
and really only be open to today

 

New Years at Al Anon

Spent New Year's Eve at Al Anon. Was all set to go to a karaoke, kid-friendly party, then husband showed up 3 hours after he was suppose to and tried to convince me that he crossed county lines from Costco Monterey to Costco Santa Cruz in search of milk. After repeating what he told me back to him 3 times like a true therapist he finally confessed he went wine tasting.
I don't know what hurts me more -- that he so predictably lies about his whereabouts when he drinks or that he actually expects me to believe him. i call him up these days and instead of asking " Where are you " i ask " where did you stop ? " and he'll repeat his expected whereabouts -- work, an errand, dropping off stuff at the neighbors like " Don't you remember hon, we're homosapians, we live on earth " like i am the one that has amnesia not him.
A part of me is humiliated the whole time that he thinks i am so stupid, so gullible, that i don't get this sinking feeling each time he tells me he's going somewhere -- " Where else is he going? " The few times i am wrong, i am relieved and repentant. i attempt to convince myself that i dreamt this whole thing up to get attention.
The majority of the times i am right -- i fantasize of the day he can just straight up be honest with me. That way i can just deal with the grief instead of this incredulous rage. That way, one part of me can be proud of him.
But "i drove to Santa Cruz for milk."This one has got to top " Sake isn't wine, it's rice". One good days, i know that i am not dreaming. i don't have to take his blood alcohol level to know this is certifiable addict behavior of the purest kind. Even my sponsor who i suspect wonders if i just made this whole alcoholic thing up in my head -- said " Wow, i didn't realize he's gotten worse ". After 2 years in Alanon, i know better than to need others to believe me but  for a minute it was lovely to be finally validated. We're dealing with addict character of the purest kind here.
So i took a deep breath and went through the steps of what i always tell my clients -- what can you control. What do you need. How can you take care of yourself.
i had been reading Dry all day for some reason, and maybe God was preparing me because after finishing it i knew exactly what to do. I decided i wasn't going to the party, i was going to a meeting instead. i took deep breaths. Tried to check in. Did a litmus test for vindictive revengefulness which i am beginning to realize is my hugest character defect.
No, i wasn't rageful now, if i had to put on a smiley face and go to this party i would be at the end of the night.
So i waited until he came home,  told him i felt betrayed, told him that i didn't feel i could trust him. And left.
i haven't gone to Al-anon for 2 weeks now. i was so proud of myself that i was holding up. But yesterday, i realized, i needed to be there.
15 people in a room, reporting sorrowfully how Christmas is such an anxiety producing season, how their qualifier acted out, how their family was crazy. i needed to be there. In fact, if i had been there, i would have probably not been as reactive to my sister and mother this vacation.
But it was comforting to see how others were handling it. That i was in good company. That they were laughing. That it felt like family.
It was wonderful to talk to another guy with 2 kids who's wife is driving while drinking and confess my desire to control him by refusing to be the designated driver. There was both a sorrow and a peace about him, that i told him i really aspire to have.
But i left in such a good place. i came home humming. And i am guarding this serenity with my life. It's not bad, it's not good it just is. And for slivers of moments, i experience the incident shrink to being a speck on the wall. The last night of 2011. It's not about me. It's about his stuff, his issue. And the fact that i wasn't raging, i wasn't self-destructively cursing. That the last words my daughter said to me was " Mommy is smiling, that's not good".
It's progress. And it was a beautiful end to the growth of 2011.