I am heading to London tomorrow and this is all I can think about:
Also Stonehenge.
Tuesday, March 31, 2015
Sunday, March 29, 2015
Letter to My Mother, #1
Dear Mom,
While there are days that you are not constantly on my mind, I can assure you that I always, always miss you. I live in Germany, which I know you know, but I wish I could still access the part of you who could be happy for me. The part of you who wants me to pursue my dreams. The part of you who is proud to have raised a woman independent and strong enough to move to a foreign country, learn the language and build a life for herself. Those wishes don't feel so divorced from the realm of possibilities, but I must cop to having much more fantastical desires.
I wish you could come visit me and experience firsthand the life I've built for myself. I wish you could meet and remember my partner as the wonderful man he is. And I wish you could walk me down the aisle and give me away at our wedding. I wish I could call you up, when I'm feeling especially afraid, alone, and in need of counsel. I wish I could ask for your motherly wisdom, drawn from a lifetime of surviving your own shit. I wish I could make you laugh, see you smile and tell you stories.
I wish you could eat a meal and enjoy a beverage, instead of being fed liquid calories through a tube. I wish you could express yourself, have a simple conversation, tell your own stories. I wish you were strong enough to travel and gather new ones. I wish you were being accompanied into old age by grace, instead of cruelty.
When I was younger, I really thought you were perfect. You were mythology come to life. One of the hardest parts of growing up was knocking you down from your pedestal and recognizing that you were mortal, complete with faults. It was gut-wrenching, but I had to admit that you had made mistakes. Regardless, there was so much that happened to you that you didn't deserve and, for all those things, I am so sorry.
I am sorry for what happened to you when you were younger, that you felt unsafe and unprotected. I am sorry you never learned how to save yourself. I'm sorry you never learned how to ask for the things you needed and accepted people not providing as proof that you didn't deserve it. I am sorry that your husband wasn't your partner. I'm sorry that you didn't have friends and became more and more isolated the worse your hearing became. I'm sorry I didn't help you more when you were exhausted from doing everything on your own. I'm sorry you gave so much that there was nothing left for you. I am sorry that you have to head into a dark and disorienting land alone and that there are no lines of communication in or out.
For all these things I am sorry and wish there was something I could do to help, but that doesn't erase my anger and resentment.
I can't get into that now, but those feelings are there and just as real as everything else. I can give thanks for everything you sacrificed for me and my brother. I hope some part of you knows that your love turned into the best parts of us.
I love you and will never not miss you.
Your daughter,
Sarah
While there are days that you are not constantly on my mind, I can assure you that I always, always miss you. I live in Germany, which I know you know, but I wish I could still access the part of you who could be happy for me. The part of you who wants me to pursue my dreams. The part of you who is proud to have raised a woman independent and strong enough to move to a foreign country, learn the language and build a life for herself. Those wishes don't feel so divorced from the realm of possibilities, but I must cop to having much more fantastical desires.
I wish you could come visit me and experience firsthand the life I've built for myself. I wish you could meet and remember my partner as the wonderful man he is. And I wish you could walk me down the aisle and give me away at our wedding. I wish I could call you up, when I'm feeling especially afraid, alone, and in need of counsel. I wish I could ask for your motherly wisdom, drawn from a lifetime of surviving your own shit. I wish I could make you laugh, see you smile and tell you stories.
I wish you could eat a meal and enjoy a beverage, instead of being fed liquid calories through a tube. I wish you could express yourself, have a simple conversation, tell your own stories. I wish you were strong enough to travel and gather new ones. I wish you were being accompanied into old age by grace, instead of cruelty.
When I was younger, I really thought you were perfect. You were mythology come to life. One of the hardest parts of growing up was knocking you down from your pedestal and recognizing that you were mortal, complete with faults. It was gut-wrenching, but I had to admit that you had made mistakes. Regardless, there was so much that happened to you that you didn't deserve and, for all those things, I am so sorry.
I am sorry for what happened to you when you were younger, that you felt unsafe and unprotected. I am sorry you never learned how to save yourself. I'm sorry you never learned how to ask for the things you needed and accepted people not providing as proof that you didn't deserve it. I am sorry that your husband wasn't your partner. I'm sorry that you didn't have friends and became more and more isolated the worse your hearing became. I'm sorry I didn't help you more when you were exhausted from doing everything on your own. I'm sorry you gave so much that there was nothing left for you. I am sorry that you have to head into a dark and disorienting land alone and that there are no lines of communication in or out.
For all these things I am sorry and wish there was something I could do to help, but that doesn't erase my anger and resentment.
I can't get into that now, but those feelings are there and just as real as everything else. I can give thanks for everything you sacrificed for me and my brother. I hope some part of you knows that your love turned into the best parts of us.
I love you and will never not miss you.
Your daughter,
Sarah
Peeling the Onion
I originally started this blog, thinking it would automatically breathe momentum into my pursuit of optimum health. It has, instead, become a platform for me to document stagnation and the accute sense of being stuck. Becoming unstuck has been a struggle, if not a downright battle. I realized not long ago that my efforts, often fueled by panic and self-blame, were getting me nowhere. So, I sought help.
I started seeing a therapist. She was a nice lady, but I am relatively certain I overwhelmed her. There were lots of deep sighs of frustration, unpleasantries at how long it was taking me to improve and suggestions that I simply needed to look at things differently. She made some good points, some connections I'd never have made on my own, but we never explored them. I didn't feel comfortable crying in front of her, even though I think there was plenty of shit I needed to be crying about.
Around the same time, I started going to group therapy for women with eating disorders. I had some profound realizations and learned things about myself, but still there was no real sense of moving forward in my life.
I stopped seeing my therapist in my conflict-avoiding way - I just fucking stopped going. I never explained to her why or even that I was unhappy with our work together. Just stopped going. This way of dealing with things makes me feel like a total coward and, in a certain sense, like I've failed to learn how to do something most adults should be able to do.
While still under her care, I remember feeling the futility in talking about my childhood and my family. I've already picked this shit apart until it doesn't exist any more. There's nothing else here! There aren't any more revelatory connections to be made here. I was wrong.
While in group therapy, I started reading my, like, millionth self-help book, this time about tapping for weight loss. I also joined the fb community for people reading the book and I found a therapist who was willing to work with me. I started tapping with her, a really lovely woman, per skype, and this is when I encountered what I call the "Sea of Grief." It's what it sounds like - a never-ending reservoir of sadness in me that I've only ever avoided. In turn, it's only grown deeper. For the Sea of Grief, among other things, it's no surprise that I developed an eating disorder - it was my elegant solution to a problem I couldn't solve, a technique I've continued to use, despite it never having served me well. This sadness and the mechanisms I've developed to keep it stuffed down are not going anywhere any time soon, but at least I know that? That's one realization I didn't have before, which I'd say is progress. In the meantime, I've gone for a swim in the Sea of Grief and I didn't drown, the fear of which kept me avoiding it my whole life. That's pretty huge. I also learned that emotions are there to be felt. Sounds like emotional health for kindergartners, but that shit is groundbreaking for me.
A few months ago, I decided to seek out a new therapist because I knew I couldn't deal with my mom's dementia on my own. It's impossible to know how to navigate a terrain you've never traversed. I was convinced that I mostly needed help with managing grief - seeing my mom disappear into a fog of confusion and helplessness, watching her drift further and further asea, has been indescribable. Sometimes the grief mutilates me, cutting off pieces of my heart and crushing them, bleeding and pulsating, in front of my eyes. Imagine my surprise, when in a very short amount of time, she helped me uncover layer after layer of shit I haven't yet processed in a healthy way. Anger at my father, anger at my mother. Learned helplessness and a pervasive victim mentality. Sadness, lots and lots of sadness. Loneliness.
Slowly, the mist is lifting and the path ahead of me is finally in view. It won't be short or easy, but I have a guide that I trust and I feel ready to tackle it. Still, fuck.
Hugs, y'all. Wishing all of us fortitude and positivity. I am pretty sure it gets better.
I started seeing a therapist. She was a nice lady, but I am relatively certain I overwhelmed her. There were lots of deep sighs of frustration, unpleasantries at how long it was taking me to improve and suggestions that I simply needed to look at things differently. She made some good points, some connections I'd never have made on my own, but we never explored them. I didn't feel comfortable crying in front of her, even though I think there was plenty of shit I needed to be crying about.
Around the same time, I started going to group therapy for women with eating disorders. I had some profound realizations and learned things about myself, but still there was no real sense of moving forward in my life.
I stopped seeing my therapist in my conflict-avoiding way - I just fucking stopped going. I never explained to her why or even that I was unhappy with our work together. Just stopped going. This way of dealing with things makes me feel like a total coward and, in a certain sense, like I've failed to learn how to do something most adults should be able to do.
While still under her care, I remember feeling the futility in talking about my childhood and my family. I've already picked this shit apart until it doesn't exist any more. There's nothing else here! There aren't any more revelatory connections to be made here. I was wrong.
While in group therapy, I started reading my, like, millionth self-help book, this time about tapping for weight loss. I also joined the fb community for people reading the book and I found a therapist who was willing to work with me. I started tapping with her, a really lovely woman, per skype, and this is when I encountered what I call the "Sea of Grief." It's what it sounds like - a never-ending reservoir of sadness in me that I've only ever avoided. In turn, it's only grown deeper. For the Sea of Grief, among other things, it's no surprise that I developed an eating disorder - it was my elegant solution to a problem I couldn't solve, a technique I've continued to use, despite it never having served me well. This sadness and the mechanisms I've developed to keep it stuffed down are not going anywhere any time soon, but at least I know that? That's one realization I didn't have before, which I'd say is progress. In the meantime, I've gone for a swim in the Sea of Grief and I didn't drown, the fear of which kept me avoiding it my whole life. That's pretty huge. I also learned that emotions are there to be felt. Sounds like emotional health for kindergartners, but that shit is groundbreaking for me.
A few months ago, I decided to seek out a new therapist because I knew I couldn't deal with my mom's dementia on my own. It's impossible to know how to navigate a terrain you've never traversed. I was convinced that I mostly needed help with managing grief - seeing my mom disappear into a fog of confusion and helplessness, watching her drift further and further asea, has been indescribable. Sometimes the grief mutilates me, cutting off pieces of my heart and crushing them, bleeding and pulsating, in front of my eyes. Imagine my surprise, when in a very short amount of time, she helped me uncover layer after layer of shit I haven't yet processed in a healthy way. Anger at my father, anger at my mother. Learned helplessness and a pervasive victim mentality. Sadness, lots and lots of sadness. Loneliness.
Slowly, the mist is lifting and the path ahead of me is finally in view. It won't be short or easy, but I have a guide that I trust and I feel ready to tackle it. Still, fuck.
Hugs, y'all. Wishing all of us fortitude and positivity. I am pretty sure it gets better.
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
“It’s never too late to turn your life in a completely new direction, and there is huge importance in just one day.”
I need inspiration and positivity right now, cause it's been a shit week. I hope y'all love bugs are doing well.
Sunday, March 15, 2015
Saturday, March 14, 2015
Under the Sky, Under the Heavens, There is But One Family
I don't know that much about Bruce Lee other than he was beyond words. And incredibly inspirational. I watch videos of him training and competing in martial arts competitions sometimes when I need a boost.
This entire interview is good (except for the interviewer himself), but @15:40 Lee says something particularly profound that I've never forgotten. These words come to me when I need them most.
LISTICLES
If you've ever poked around the internets looking for weight loss inspiration, you've probably encountered this aggressive and condescending attitude towards exercise, which is primarily targeted at making people who feel frustrated and desperate about their weight ever shittier. Some taglines of this ilk include: "Unless you puke, faint or die, keep going." "There are only two options: make progress or make excuses." "How do you want to feel: fit or jealous?"
I hate this attitude and I do my best to avoid it at all costs. This list my girl Stik posted online today is the antithesis of all that "No pain, no gain" BS. In fact, it may be the sanest health-related listicle I've ever read.
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