Happy Lunar New Year: The Year of the Metal Rat

The lunar new year of the metal rat 2020 is full of fortune and joy and rewards ahead, you can look up your lunar zodiac sign and read more on what’s in store for you here.

All of this lightheartedness at Survive, Live, Thrive so far this new year season aside—I’ve been coping with some complicated feelings.

Last week was the anniversary of my mother’s passing, which I think has brought up senses of grief, loss, depression.  Which despite all of my careful planning and caretaking of my daughters, may have something to do with why I feel like I fell short or have failed somehow. 

It’s odd, because I had such great set plans for this past week end—it just involved splitting my time between my two girls.  Little sis was off school on Friday, so I got to spend some quality time with her, we painted our toenails, had a ladies lunch, then I let her play on her ipod while I got my annual mammogram (ye old boob smash, lol), but this office gives out roses, so she got to pick one to take home.  We then went to pick up big sister after school and did a little shopping for replacement school clothes, and off to karate where lil sis had a great time.  But at dinner afterwards, she had the mother of all meltdowns so I grounded her from her electronic devices for three days (and felt like the worst parent ever for letting her play on it in the first place)—thankfully big sis was on point so didn’t have to worry about her, meaning at least I only had one meltdown to deal with rather than a double whammy...but off to bed to greet a new day, hopefully refreshed and rested.

Big sister had a super social overnight hotel event that we were invited to, which included an outdoor banquet underneath a 40K dinner tent (yes 40K!) full of amazing food, games and rides for the little kids, video game stations for the tweens and teens, and lots of live music and fun.  She and her BFF had a deluxe sleepover in my room (her parents were the ones who invited us, so let them have alone time while the girls stayed up), and the next morning, we went horseback riding along the ocean, which was pretty amazing, then lounged by the pool until it was time to check out and go home--to homework, a Star Wars movie binge, yummy dinner cooked by hubby, who had also done all the laundry and cleaned up the house (bonus!!). 

Meanwhile, I had sent little sister to her BFF’s for a sleepover, as she had girl scout activities early Sunday morning and in the afternoon, and I couldn’t be in two places at once, so I had to choose which girl to do what…and I knew little sister would have a blast being with her BFF for 24 hours!  Little sister reunited with us for the Star Wars movie binge and cuddled with me practically all afternoon.  I also had brought back slime from the party, which she loved.

And yet…I couldn’t shake this nagging feeling like I’d done something wrong.  Perhaps I should have stayed with little sister instead of taking big sister to her activities.  Yes, I wanted to see the big fancy event, but I also think teens need their moms too, even if they are being crotchety, they just need reminders of our presence and that we love them, too, despite the crotchety.  At the same time, I wondered if I missed out on little sister’s sports fair, where she got to play all different kinds of sports with her pals and then go do crafts with her girl scout sisters.  Granted, had I been with little sister, she likely would have been so busy with her pals, would she have even noticed that I was there?  When I tucked her in last night, I gave her tons of smooshy hugs.  I asked her if she was okay at the sports event without me, and she said yeah, but I missed you mom.  Awwww…heart strings tugged.

I want to be a good mommy to them.  I hope it’s enough.  I just feel so teary eyed about it.  I was so tired from driving home with big sister yesterday afternoon, I greeted the hubby, then took a shower and had to lie down for twenty minutes.  I didn’t want to wake up.  I was suddenly so tired of all the responsibilities, of thinking through what I did, of making it through to another day.  I literally wondered if I could just stay in a black hole of sleep for a while, I could barely wake up to do the mundane mom things I needed to do—unpack, get some laundry going, check on our to-do list for the week.

I was just so tired of wondering if I was enough for the girls—and also, I had just filled in my friend about the ex’s shenanigans being banned from his mom’s house and his interfering with her time with the girls.  How I was focusing on 2020 being distant from the drama, even though I know it’s happening, but still, with it all wrapped up in my life, it’s hard to disentangle and be at peace.  She said she had updates for me too, about his new girlfriend, but she didn’t go into it too much, and I weirdly thought maybe she was holding back, but at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter.  Like I told her, I like the Ex’s new girlfriend, she seems nice and bubbly and also clearly has her professional life organized (i.e. first class tickets anyone?).  The sisterhood in me is like:  Run!!!!   But then the other part of me who is so tired of his complaining is like:  Can you please take him with you to where you live thousands of miles away?  LOL.

There was another round of nitpicking emails that I dealt with, this time by getting some attorney advice.  I sent a “I will no longer respond anymore to this particular issue” email (a very dumb, tiny issue, but one that when I look back over time must have received 20+ emails about, good grief).  And while I do have some distance like I’ve committed to from last month, the energy to deal with him takes a toll, and perhaps that’s rolled up in the depressive episode that I found myself in.

Self care:  instead of running before dawn, I did some yoga.  It didn’t shake my doldrums and I felt like I was going to fall asleep at the wheel on the way into work.  But a kind gesture from a friend re: my mom’s passing (see flowers above), and getting back into the ‘routine’ at work, helped me normalize, and so I’m hoping to go for a run tomorrow before dawn will help shake out some of these nerves.  The friend who gave me the flowers said to me—Jane, you’re so hard on yourself, can you listen to how you’re talking?  About how you’re so worried you’re a good mother and yet here you are doing everything for them.  And being a parent and a spouse and working at this job, and wanting to excel at everything you do…you’re so hard on yourself.  I teared up.  It helped to be seen and to be recognized.  I may not be the best, and it’s okay to struggle, and it helps to be seen and thought of in the struggle.

So carrying on…thinking of my mom and all that she went through, and thinking of my daughters as they grow up and can only imagine what they may go through.  And just wanting to be here for them and trying to figure out how to be kind to myself in the process.

Maybe writing this all down is another way to be seen.  I see you, too.  We are in this together.  

Okay year of the metal rat, I guess we can do this.

Love and hugs,

Jane Thrive

Let Peace Begin with Me

(Peace)

First of all—Happy belated Halloween!!!  One of my favorite holidays--I love the festivities of dressing up, traipsing through our neighborhood with my girls and their BFFs, the laughter, the decorations (this year, we saw a house transformed into Hogwarts, with Aragog hanging off the garage and the flying car nestled on top of the tree in their yard)! Then, there is “the great candy exchange” that follows when we’ve come home:  the kids sprawling out on my living room floor sorting through their candy and swapping with one another.  (please give me the baby ruths!)

Secondly—with the passing of Halloween comes the new season of Winter.  (And the holidays!  Let the holiday madness begin.  I think I’ll work on our family holiday card next…muuu hahahahahaha.)

And then third(ly), this season brings along my birthday which arrived in a mixed bag of emotions.  Leading up to the big day, I was overcome with extreme emo sadness—sadness for the loss of my mom last year, sadness for another year passing when thinking of my birth mom, as I get older, the likelihood of connecting with her and any biological family becomes slimmer.  And then emo sadness for how my kids are growing up with such a shitty divorce behind the scenes.  How I wish I could make it a different situation for them, especially on the heels of last month’s stupid crap drama. 

Seriously, I was a big bag of sad.  Boo-hooing and having sad dreams and struggling just to get out of the bed some mornings.  Getting older is not for the faint of heart.

But when the actual day came, with lots of celebratory wishes, and kind gestures, and lots of love and hugs from people I didn’t even expect, beautiful weather, a special celebration with my kids and then with my hubby (at a fancy restaurant, where I ate so much my stomach hurt, lol).  And even today I was treated to a birthday lunch and there’s another birthday girlfriend and daughters date coming up next week end, and even a different group of girlfriends brunch date after that, and I just realized that despite all my sadness and despite all my anxiety and depression that I struggle through…this birthday thing is turning out okay.

One thing about being settled into middle age—and ironically, considering how I’ve embraced exercising on the regular over the last couple of years—there’s definitely more creaks and aches and physical pains.  Dang it.  Le sigh!

Also, regarding the sadness that caught up with me, I recognize it’s a combination of grief of loss as well as over lost times.  I call this “Nostalgia to the Infinite Power,” where I long for the experiences that have passed and stand so clearly in my memories, I miss the love and laughter from many moons ago, and long for my people who’ve been flung far and wide through time and space and age and life’s journeys, wishing they were near me again.  We didn’t know way back when, when we were close and adventuring into each morning and afternoon and evening together, that one day we would be separated as we are today.  I love them and miss them so much!

And that also makes me nostalgic for these moments shared today, with my people in my present, who I’m sharing this mom journey and this kids in girl scouts and/or sports and through school journey.  Breathing in and sitting still within these moments, even as I feel them passing through my hands, my fingers, my heart, I have nostalgia as we move from this moment to the next.

Driving home yesterday with my girls nestled in the back seat, we dropped of DD1’s bestie after spending a girls day with us from morning until dusk—and a random song came on the radio, I can’t even remember what it was.  But I heard DD1 humming along, and my heart just felt like it would burst straight out of my chest.  I just love them so much, my heart couldn’t contain it. And later, I told them both how happy I was about our day spent together, how mom’s heart was just bursting with love for them.

DD1, kind of rolled her eyes and said ‘that’s nice’ in her teenage voice.  LOL, as to be expected.

DD2, leaped into my arms for two gigantic hugs.  Awww.

And then off went to bed.  (Another night passing by.)

So while I haven’t solved my anxiety and grief and sadness about the life I’ve lived before, and while I’ve learned to cherish moments of love and happiness in today’s world even as I recognize and accept the pain from yesterday, I realized that I can be at peace.

Maybe it won’t last forever, but right now, I’m picking up my shards and glass and placing them side by side and hoping for the best that peace can be in my heart.  Along side the love.  That I can be the peace I wish to see in my world. 

Happy Fall into Winter and Happy Birthday to you.

Love,

Jane Thrive

Happy Spring Break: A letter to my mom

Dear Mom,

We took the girls to the north shore this past week, so we could spread the last of your ashes in the country that you thought was so beautiful when you visited us years and years ago.  We each held kind thoughts about you in our hearts and then sent you out into the sea.

I thought you’d like to know that we also took the girls horseback riding along the beach, a pretty magical experience, and one that even our surly tweenager said was “pretty awesome” afterwards.  They lined us up as we went on our 45 minute ride—A in the front on Bentley, DD2 behind him on Beetle,  DD1 next on Cody, and me following on good old Nick.  Along the way through the trees, DD1’s Cody tried to pass DD2 on Beetle, so DD1 learned how to hold back the reigns and wait for DD1 and Beetle to pass her by again.  (Our leader said she didn’t want Cody to “get away with acting like that”) and I think DD1 liked the extra responsibility—she had to remind Cody to behave a few times.

When our ride was over, I taught them how to feed apples to Cody and Beetle--holding the apple pieces on their flat palms, so the horses could easily pluck them off their hands.  (Almost all horses I have met love apples.)  They don’t like to eat hands at all—of which DD2 wasn’t so sure, until she did it a few times with Beetle nudging her some more.  (I thought you’d like that, too.)  Now, DD2 says she wants to ride horses all the time!

As we marched along the sea, I tried to remember if you had ever taken me horseback riding.  I remembered that you sent me to girl scout horse camp, and after I had arrived excitedly to meet the horse I was to care for all week, I remember being a bit disappointed that I had to “share” my horse with another girl.  Then that girl went home after the second day, and in my 10 year old glory was delighted to have my horse “all to myself”—which turned into meaning having to pick up hooves and dig the crud out and brushing and brushing and rebrushing my horse until I thought my arms would fall off, lol.  That’s what I get for being selfish!  I do know for sure that you taught me your love of all animals. 

I asked DD2 what she thought about when she put your ashes in the sea.  And she shared with me that you always had macaroni and cheese in your room for her, the one where we make it in the microwave in cups.  And she remembered picking flowers for you, so you could press them into books and then put them on cards.  I have one of the cards at work.

DD1 didn’t share her thoughts when I asked her, so I let her have her privacy around that.  At one point, she had stomped off the path where we were walking, and A followed up with her, to please be kind since this was a difficult time for mom.  And she told him, “well, it’s a difficult time for me, too!”  She was there with you that last week that you were alive, so I think your passing hits her harder than her free-spirited, in-the-moment younger sister.  She also felt better after having a snack and eating dinner—so sometimes, tweenage surliness can be comforted by filling up an empty tummy.

Mostly, we were lazy bones over the last few days of Spring Break—sleeping in, watching parts of movies like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (the Gene Wilder one) or the Penguins of Madagascar, while cooking and eating lazy breakfasts in our rental condo.  Or puzzling a 300 piece puzzle together on the little lanai table.  We ventured out of the house just before lunchtime each day to see what was around in the world.  We ate at a gelato shop that is owned by “Team America’s” Gelato Captain, who competed in the annual Gelato world championship and won the “Ice Sculpure” division a couple of years ago.  We wandered along a beach with a giant tidepool, where DD2 excitedly found a hermit crab and spotted other tiny fishes and crabs.

And lastly, I’m so happy to tell you that I finally crushed through the resistance of the girls’ father when it came to summer vacation planning.  I was zen and took deep breaths and now it’s all paying off.  We will be going to DC and New York City to see a play on Broadway—Hamilton, the girls’ favorite!  They can sing along to every single song by heart (I tell them to please not repeat the bad words outside of its artistic context, lol).  I remember you took me to Broadway when I was little, and it was an experience I’ll never forget.  It was to see “Starlight Express” and the cast was decked out in roller skates and the stage built with what looked like roller coaster tracks for the performers.  I’m so glad that with your help, I’ll be able to give them an experience like that, too.

It took us over a year since you’ve left this earth to finally put all of your ashes to rest, although I have a pendant with a tiny miniscule amount that I still wear nearly every day.  DD1 says I should probably let that go, too, and I agreed, that you’ll always be a memory in my heart, whether I have a remnant of your passing or not.

I wish you could be here to see them growing up stronger and to see them holding their own in the world.  I worry about them all the time, I worry if I’ll be enough, if somehow their volatile dad will wrest them away from my heart, if they will be happy, if they will love and be loved in the best possible ways, if the world will try and kick them down.  And if it does, if they will have the strength to resist and get back up and still retain their hearts and faith in the good.  I worry so much and yet at the same time, I see strength in their steps and grace in their walk.  Confidence and faith that I hope you passed along to me, so I can pass along to them.  I hope.

I’m sorry I was a big pain in the ass when I was younger.  And I’m sorry that I didn’t appreciate the time we had together as much as I should have.  I’m grateful to share your stories with the girls—that you traveled all over the world, that when the world told you no, you stood up and found a way to turn that no into a yes.  You are part of our nightly prayer where we say thanks to everyone in our family, to grandma g who is in heaven now.  Thank you for being a part of my heart.

p.s. last night, DD1 did share with me her "thought" as she put your ashes into the ocean--it was when we were in the hospital for DD2's birth.  You were trying to entertain DD1 by blowing up a hospital glove into a balloon.  It popped with a loud BANG, and everyone had a conniption because we thought you were going to wake up DD2.  But of course DD2 slept soundly.  DD1 said you were just trying to entertain her and I was laughing as she shared that memory.  I told her you always marched to your own drum and DD1 said, 'yeah, like she was just doing her best entertaining a 3 year old!" and I agreed.  

And...I do remember that moment, how upset the ex was, and how i was upset, too, because he was upset.  But when i step back, it really didn't matter, mom, it wasn't worth getting riled up about.  You were just being you, trying to share some love and laughter with DD1.  I'm glad she remembers that.  And I'm glad I remember it, too.

Adulting in Grief and Coparenting in spite of it

Wave

Grief is an ocean wave that I sometimes get submerged in.  The tides come and go, pulling me forward and backward, especially in this first year since you’ve been gone.  I can swim towards it or against it, but in the end, all it means is that I love you and miss you, mom.

I was prepared for yesterday’s anniversary of my mom’s passing to hit me with a two-by-four plank of emotions.  It’s been a roller coaster all year.  I wore black.  I’ve been in and out of grief.  Even my my usually reticent and distant brother has called me numerous times lately and actually said I love you.  (This is kind of a happy miracle, and one that my mom would love to know is happening—she’d laugh about it as much as I have appreciated it and laughed, too.  My brother has always been the anti “I love you” sayer).

At any rate, I was not prepared to deal with the petulance and hissy-fit throwing of my ex-husband and father of my daughters.  The world centers around his needs and wants, so why would I be surprised?

Let us set the stage of the latest, petty, b.s. that we sometimes live in:

The children came home without DD2’s tennis racquet that DD1’s coach gave her, out of the goodness of his heart (expensive, quality racquet, since coach’s kids are really good players, so this was an awesome hand-me-down for DD2).   Coach had previously asked if DD2 could use it and later gave it to her over four months ago—on a night when DD2 was practicing with dad.  It has never occurred to dad that the racquet is for DD2 and not for him, so he has kept it with him and did not share with me that DD2 received said gift.  Coach tipped me off, because he saw us at practice and asked DD2 why she didn’t have it (he knows the two-houses situation, thankfully, and is quite understanding).  I thanked Coach, then politely overlooked dad’s actions, since DD2 was only taking lessons once a week at district park.  However, now she’s joined a bona fide beginner’s team, and it’s time to begin practice in earnest as they will be playing in bona fide beginner matches with teams all over our county.

Of course, I’ve politely emailed him over the last three weeks, anticipating DD2’s need for her racquet.  Of course he didn’t respond.  (Although miraculously, he did respond by text that he got my emails and he’d get back to me, but he never did.) And DD1 even offered to bring the said racquet home with her—which normally I wouldn’t let her chime in, but she is an avid tennis player and understands that the racquet is DD2’s, just like DD1’s racquet is hers and it goes back and forth between houses, too.  So great, we have a plan.  But did it come home?  No.

So now DD2 needs her racquet before she goes back to dad’s house.  So I email/text dad about it.  He says he can’t drop it off because he won’t be near our house over the next five days, and then tells me that I shouldn’t email him over the week end when he has the kids, because he won’t get it, that I need to text him a day before to remind him.  Because of course he needs a secretary to remind him to parent.  Then he turns it around that DD1 has items from his house that need to be returned—of course none of items have time constraints and DD1 is old enough and aware enough to take care of.

I offer to meet him for the (!@#$ing) racquet (which is happening later) and proceed to tell him that DD1 is working on returning items to his house.  He agreed, and let’s hope he shows up (on time).  Extra drama that I don’t need.  And honestly, I usually avoid this kind of stuff—I’ll just buy two of everything, because then no one has to worry about this kind of !@#$.  But the racquet is professional and high end, and it’s DD2’s, so sometimes, I have to do this !@#$.

So that’s the background scene to the next hissy-fit he threw:

We have a lovely  night of girl scouts planned, which we have every certain weeknights the kids are with me and not with him (because god forbid he actually has to take them somewhere on ‘his’ weeknight).  We call early, and the kids leave a voicemail, per usual, since we’ve done this for the last year, the last two years, the last five years, the last FREAKING EIGHT YEARS.  Then somewhere during girl scouts, he leaves a text and an email that the girls didn’t call and he had no notice and that I shouldn’t “impede” the girls communicating with him.  (Because you know, we haven’t done this ever before, so this must be what I’m doing.)

Anyway, I get the text post DD2 going to bed, luckily DD1 is up.  I’m tempted to ignore it completely, but I remember I have to see him to get DD2’s tennis racquet and quickly remember that taking the high road is what I should do instead of saying the !#@$ with this b.s.  (Sometimes, I really do want to say !@#$ it)  DD1 has a nice call and all seems fine.  After she goes to bed, I respond to his email that he may recall we call early on certain weeknights due to girl scouts as was the case this evening, and that while I was glad DD1 could call, DD2 was already asleep as the girls go to bed soon after their week night activities.  (You know, because we have to get up early and go to school/work—this I didn’t mention, but duh.)  And that I appreciated his taking early calls in the past.  Sincerely.

Sincerely !@#$ off.  But I remember that he is a sad, selfish, miserable person whose world must revolve around him.  That I am the cause for all that is wrong with his world, and even though he has “moved on,” his behavior towards me has remained the same.

Before I went to bed, I was thinking about all the fun the girl scouts had—making their poster board for World Thinking Day, learning how to write their names in a different language, learning how to fold origami.  Their laughter and voices discussing different words and enjoying a snack and holding hands and singing at the end of our meeting.

I got to thinking how my mom never let my ex-husband put her down or treat her badly, and how much she disliked the way he treated me and DD1 and DD2 with his impatience, anger, and outbursts.  She would, actually, be happy that I wasn’t letting him get away with treating us that way anymore.  So even though I was frustrated with having to deal with him on the anniversary of her passing, she would have thought I handled it okay.  She probably would have said !@#$ with the texts/emails (in a less profane way, she never swore).  And also to !@$# with the damn tennis racquet, too, lol, but she would be glad that I was safe in our house, sleeping next to my hubby who loves me and the girls.

She would be happy that despite the challenges, we are healthy and happy, doing the best that we can do with our lives.  She would be happy that the girls had a different way of living than when she was last visiting us when DD2 and DD1 were small.  And she would smile knowing that before they went to sleep, the girls said thank you for everyone in our family, including Grandma who is in heaven now.  Of that, I know for sure.

  

Merry Christmas Eve! (and a Christmas Wish)

What a week end before Christmas!  We are so excited to celebrate the holidays—with our pals and our annual Christmas cookie baking—recipe passed down from my mom and her mom, along with their home made icing recipe.  The Christmas cookies aren’t just any type of Christmas cookies—they have a touch of vanilla and lemon which sets them apart.  We also bake what we call “margerites”—which I pre make before the girls arrive; one of big sis’ BFF looks forward to eating them every year--they’re these bite-sized oatmeal, brown sugar min-muffin goodnesses with chopped pecans.  I have vivid memories of eating them every Christmas with my mom, polishing off almost a complete batch; and now big sis’ BFF does the same.

After we exhaust ourselves rolling out the dough, cutting out the cookies, baking, then icing and sprinkling, I order pizza in and then we all settle down for our annual Christmas movie watching with the lights down and using an LCD projector that spreads the picture on the wall.  Our faves:

How the Grinch Stole Christmas (the 1966 cartoon version)

Mickey’s Christmas Carol (also animated, 1983 version)

And the feature pick this year—Home Alone

(I realized that I hadn’t seen Home Alone from start to finish and thought it was pretty funny!  The annual feature rotates—last year it was the Polar Express which was a little weird, and honestly can’t remember the feature picks from years before, lol!)

At any rate, as the girls get older, I’m seeing different age related changes, i.e. big sis and friends politely asked me to put on K-pop instead of playing Christmas carols (ahhh! Tweendom is here!)!  I relented, but only after we compromised that while little sis and her friend were in the room we’d play holiday music, so I could (in their words) imprint Christmas music onto their souls.  Big sis and friends hardly need any supervision—I can just give them some dough and a rolling pin and they’re off and running; I can focus on the littles, helping them roll and cut out and carefully transferring cut outs to the pan without beheading angels or mangling up stars (which I don’t actually mind, but they insisted on “not killing” the angels).

The following morning, we made pretzels dipped in white chocolate and sprinkles galore (so to use the leftover cookie sprinkles)…and oh how many sprinkles were all over the house!  I then put on a Netflix movie so they could chill out before being picked up, and found a silly holiday gem of a movie called The Christmas Chronicles.  Kurt Russel as St. Nick and a surprise appearance of Goldie Hawn as Mrs. Claus at the end!  This may be our feature pick for next year.

One advantage of big sister and her pals getting older is that they can help with all the cleaning, big sis even vacuumed!

After everyone left, the girls and I took a power nap, because we had plans to go see Mary Poppins Returns with our pals we’ve known since the girls were literally in the belly.  (One of my BFFs and I met at pregnant lady yoga in what seems like a million years ago.)  Big sis declared that while this was a good movie, the ORIGINAL was STILL the best.  (I liked Mary Poppins Returns—it made me nostalgic for the original Mary Poppins in the very BEST way). 

On the way home, the Christmas music loud and proud in the car, the holiday neighborhood lights blinking and glowing all around us, I realized that the girls were singing along to every song that came on.  I think my heart grew so much it was about to burst.  Bing Crosby's The Little Drummer Boy.  Bruce Springsteen's Santa Claus is coming to town (belting it out like we were at a rock concert).  Holly Jolly Christmas.  Do you Hear what I Hear.  Do They Know it's Christmas.  Just to name a few. Please let them remember and hold in their hearts these small happy moments in time.

A friend of mind posted that if she could have but one Christmas wish, it would be to wake up on Christmas morning to see her mother and father standing by the tree (they passed on years ago).  I realized I could have the very same wish.  I would be torn though, and I think my mom would understand, if I spent my one precious Christmas wish on my daughters—that they will always feel my love for them, no matter where they are, no matter when, no matter what. 

Wouldn’t it be lovely if could have more than one Christmas wish?  Let’s make our wishes come true, somehow, at least the ones that are created from love.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Words to Live By: Tips for coping with grief, anxiety and depression (magic wand included)

Over the past year, I’ve been tumbling up and down the rollercoaster of grief, anxiety, and depression as a reaction to various life events—death, getting hit by a Ford Explorer and living to tell the tale, a second car collision, etc.  They’ve compounded with my traumas and triggers of communicating with my abusive ex, work responsibilities, parenting responsibilities.  Sometimes, I feel like a fishing bobber wildly flailing about at the whims of the deep blue tides.

To be truthful, I’m desperate for a magic wand.  But like I tell my daughters, we can’t rely on a prince (or princess or queen or king) to save us.  We have to save ourselves.

So to the lady who needs a magic wand (me), I’m offering some magic hopes for when you’re at the bottom of the barrel (also me, sitting at the bottom of the barrel):

1. This too shall pass.  It might not feel like it, when the tidal wave presses in all around you, but I promise that emotion you’re feeling will not last forever.  It’s the law of physics, the law of emotions.  It will blink, simply by virtue of time, because no one emotion can sustain itself indefinitely.  (Thank goodness.)  You will be able to come up for air at some point, and that point is crucial, because...
2. That breath you take?  Stay with it.  Follow it as it goes into your nose, down into your lungs, and hold it.  Count to 10.  Then gently lead it back out of your body, focusing your exhale in one, slow, long breath out.  Feel it leave your lips.  Repeat.  Repeat it five times.  Each time, staying with the experience of breathing and only your breathing.  This is the beginning of mindfulness.
3. Which leads to the fact that you’ve been so focused on breathing, the initial tidal wave of emotional complications has receded just a bit.  Your magic wand is your breath.  And your magic spells—are your own words.
4. Words are power—as simple as it sounds.  We can use magic to change them—by inserting the opposite of the negative ones.  Instead of: I can’t get through another terrible moment of feeling like this—it can become: I can.  Or I will.  Even if you don’t feel like you can, just changing the word has power to it.  I will never be enough to protect my girls.  Strike never.  I WILL be enough to protect my girls, even if I don’t feel like it right now.  I WILL get through this next moment of pain, even if it feels impossible.  It’s possible.
5. Take those words and make them move—which may also feel counterintuitive, but sometimes when I’m locked into the paralysis of anxiety and depression, I forget that I have a body that’s capable of movement.  And not just exercise (which does help, although lately I’ve been limited in physical activity), but further, in taking action to help others.  The act of giving can take away some of the burden of your pain—through the balm of helping people who need it and the positive feelings from being kind.  It also subtracts the actual time submerged in sadness/pain as you’re filling up your time with the action it takes to do the giving (rounding up donations for the local shelter, cleaning up a church hall, helping kids in the classroom/girl scouts, etc). 
6. Another magic wand move:  transform your feelings into a different medium altogether—pick up a pencil and write them down—sometimes having them spilling out of you can help.  Or draw them into a color, a design, or a picture.  (I can’t draw figures at all, but I can mix colors).  Or if you have the gift of singing, sing.  (Or if you don’t, still sing.  Sometimes when I’m super frustrated, singing opera into a pillow is kind of cathartic).  Or play music, I don’t have musical talents, but I can pluck an ukulele. 
7. Lean into your support network—one thing about overwhelming grief, anxiety, and depression, is that it’s isolating.  We feel like we are the only ones trapped in the wave or in the hole of our feelings.  If you have access to a therapist, yes!  Or your loved ones—someone you trust—even the smallest of hugs can help.  Or if you’re not into hugs, a phone call.  Or if you’re not into talking, a text.  An emoji.  A giphy.  Just one small reach out can help you feel less alone.
8. Be gentle with you.  The tidal wave will come and go.  The big secret is that as much as we have the capacity to feel pain and anxiety and grief, we also have the matching capacity to love, be kind, and to heal. 
9. It takes time.  This is just some magic to get you through the day to day and from moment to moment.  I believe in you.  You can be the light and love you want to see in the world.

p.s. Happy early Birthday to you!  Every day is a new day.  Keep waking up, because the world is better with you in it.  Hopefully this new year will bring more love than pain.  That is my wish for you.  More love, please.

The Dark and Light Side of the Moon (A long one)

Image 

My problem with posting lately—I’m struggling with grief.  It clings like an unruly shadow that pesters me as soon as I open my eyes when the alarm clock goes off.  It takes the cloudy shape of anxiety and second-guessing, then morphs into a depressive weight settling onto my chest, daring me to get out of bed.

Well, “daring” is too active in its description.  More like a quiet smother, wondering if I’ll just give in and stay in bed and turn my back onto the world.  (Which is tempting.  Especially on mornings when the children have slept over at their dad’s, and there are two less faces and hearts in the house needing care.)

It’s been gaining momentum, in direct proportion to my physical healing.  The stronger I get physically, the less attention I need to pay to my fractured wrist, concussed brain, scar tissue shoulders, whiplashed back and neck.  So, the grief and anxiety and depression have entered in full steam ahead:  a ha!  Now you can pay attention to me, mere mortal. 

-----

I’ve also realized my grief plugs in directly to the traumas (and healing journeys) of the past, reverberating somewhere in my rib cage and echoing down through to my feet, dreamlike sequences that flit in and out of my heart and mind—

The black hole, primal fear from my baby self, all alone, ‘left in the parking lot’ on a cold winter night and ‘found by a passerby’ outside of a University hospital in the distant country of my birth in Asia. Or maybe I was walked inside of that hospital and relinquished.  Or perhaps I’d been born within its safe, medically clean walls, and my birth mom left me there.  Or died.  Or perhaps I was stolen from one side of the family who didn’t want me, without the knowledge of the other side…the possibilities, as we’ve learned from transracial adoptee stories of my age group from this particular country, are varied and also murky. (It hasn’t ever made me stop looking for her.)

The trauma of growing up and wondering if I would ever be “sent back.”  And while my adoptive family was supportive as they emotionally were able to be, living in my transracial household and small town brought about isolation, self-doubt, and racial white-washing.  A home-life sprinkled with divorce, and the deaths of my father and his partner (who weren’t even recognized as being in a civil union, let alone a gay marriage back then), the constant escalating conflict between my brother and my stepdad (my mom’s second husband) that resulted in my brother leaving the house never to return.  My half hearted suicide attempt with an asperin overdose in high school.

The trauma of my second “real” suicide attempt the summer between freshman and sophomore year of college, and feeling strangely calm about the fact that I learned the difference between wanting to die vs not wanting to live.  It was the latter for me, like Miracle Max from the Princess Bride—there is a difference between all dead and mostly dead.  My healing journey around trauma began there, thankfully.  (Little did I know how it would be a marathon that continues to this day.)  

The death of my mom’s second husband soon after this, and nary a word from my brother in all this time when he passed.  Being tasked by my grief stricken mom to locate his ashes at the University hospital and wandering around the labyrinthine tiled corridors in an emotional fog, finally finding a small cardboard box with his name on it on a random shelf in a random room, and hours later delivering said box to her after driving 80 mph through backroads because my dilapidated car blew tires every now and again and I didn’t want to get run over on the highway changing it.

The trauma of enacting and re-enacting relationships with men whose love I accepted as what I deserved, because it was filled with pain. 

The trauma of an excruciating divorce where I was accused of being a liar and a mentally unstable parent.  And because of my struggles, almost believing him, when I knew the opposite was true.  And having to report and relive how he had delivered death threats in quiet detail, had choked the family dog and threw him across the room in angry outbursts, terrorizing the girls and me, so I hurriedly found a new home for him and ‘pretend’ it was because our doggie just couldn’t handle living in the new house we had moved into, how he had kicked my daughters, had broken dishes and household items in anger, had screamed and swore at us, to the point where his brother intervened at his mom’s house.  And despite “standing in the truth” not quite getting the outcome that would fully protect my daughters from his anger issues, and so living with a half-protection decree and making it be the best that I can for them.

The constant triggers of dealing with him, although with therapy and time, I’ve figured out how to communicate in a way that doesn’t allow him so far into my headspace.  And the worry about an unhealthy dynamic at my ex’s house, how he’s alienating the girls from his mom and they hardly see her these days, how he’s alienated the girls from his brother for seven years.  Worried he’s losing his temper with them and how they may be affected by it, and understanding too that no matter what, he is their dad and they will love him with all their heart and trying to help them manage the conflicts that come with living in a world of balancing on eggshells when they do share their ambivalence.  Worrying constantly if they will be okay? 

It plugs directly into my fear that after everything we’ve been through, how many hours of therapy and healing and reaching out and creating a different world, still struggling with the entrenched idea that all good things must come to an end.  That no matter what I do, it won't be enough to protect them.  Or if it’s calm and good and healthy, there’s something wrong underneath it all, and I feel myself unraveling.  It’s easier to believe that the bad will come.  It’s easier to believe the doubts and the insecurities that you are never enough.  That’s what the cloud tells me before I get out of bed.

------

And as the undertow drags me down, and I feel it sinking through my bones…the smallest of voices will whisper quietly:  get your ass out from under the covers.  Or maybe it’s just body habit that heaves my legs out into the air so the rest of me follows, and somehow I've made it to standing in the pre-dawn light, and this is the flip side—

The overachiever who graduated top ten in her high school.  Who applied and was awarded an international scholarship to live in Europe as an exchange student one summer.  Who began working at age 12 as a babysitter to earn cash, and then carried on with part time jobs all through high school.  Who earned a varsity letter and a place on the honor roll every single year, participated in drama club, and community and high school performances galore, and fiercely loved my friends every step of the way.  Whose mom was a girl scout leader and maybe that’s where I get some of my be-a-sister-to-every-girl and be-kind-and-leave-the-world-a-better-place perspective.  When my dad passed when I was 16, I wore that grief and carried it like a blanket, and despite that suicide attempt between freshman and sophomore year, graduated with dual degrees from the university, all the while working three jobs and partying like it was 1999 (it was, almost, lol). 

In the time before the internet, it was by fax machine that I found a job in my birth country, where I lived for a year and earned my living as an English teacher, then afterwards hitchhiked through Australia spending my earnings and throwing laughter and sprinkling hopes around the sky, the ocean, the beaches with my then fiancé.  I'd return to the states without the fiance (an amicable parting), and made a concerted effort to return to Asia, but instead settled into a new life on American soil in a place that was the closest mix of my two identities and where my not belonging to either country seems to fit the best.  My mom by then had met her third hubby who would later adopt me as an adult soon after my first child was born, but he would sicken (and miss my wedding to the ex hubby), and then die not too long after.

At that time, I had been the main financial breadwinner in my family, I think following my mom’s work ethic, who traveled to every inhabited country in her line of work.  I didn’t care, and I was “in love” and “love” was all one needed in this world.  There were warning signs about his anger, but I missed them, truly believing that love would win in the end (f!@# you, Disney childhood—or maybe it was just my way of clinging to a child’s dream and wish that love had to win in the end, to shine a light and drive out the lasting shadows of those terrible, dark thoughts 1) they didn’t want you in the first place, or 2) they can send you back.)

Side note:  I stress with my daughters that love is important and awesome and good.  And at the same time, for tales such a Beauty and the Beast, it was not Belle’s job to “change” the beast, it’s the Beast’s job to change himself.  Too many people think it’s Belle’s job, but in the end, the only person who can change themselves is that person.  (to which they roll their eyes and say, I KNOW MOM).

I’m a bit of an overachiever at work in some ways, as well.  The financial breadwinning mentored from my mom—who was leading by example in teaching me financial independence, has led me from one career leap to another, always making financial gains to support myself and my family.  But in doing so, also looking for ways to help, to make the world a better place, as cheesy as that sounds.  Adding love and peace and kindness is my aim; if it can’t be the whole world, then at least my coworkers and people who I see on a daily basis.  I think I get upset at myself for not always living up to certain “expected” adult standards (based on society? Other people?), especially when I’m thrown into a mix with higher-powered colleagues with higher-powered degrees (and higher powered political agendas, barf).  If I step back a bit, I’m usually able to realize that I’m capable and separate my strengths from unreasonable expectations… to be able to serve in my capacity and carry out my job responsibilities, and at the same time help people feel better about themselves.  Most importantly, be kind.

I’m working to make a better life for my daughters.  That filling up their world with love and kindness and experiences through girl scouts or extracurricular activities, or just hanging out cuddling, or just BEING WITH them when they say, mom!  Look at this!  And not burying my head in my phone/device.  The hugs and the laughter and the baking cookies for santa or the last minute taco bell run we have to do together because it’s a school/work week night and we’re in a rush.  Telling them I’m proud of them one moment, and then sucking in my breath and doing my best not to react when the tween gets mouthy and instead insist that it’s OKAY TO HAVE YOUR FEELINGS BUT IT’S NOT OKAY TO BE MEAN for like the 100,000 time. 

The shared experiences with my friends and my friends who are now family to me—making space for their wishes and dreams and secrets and laughter and sharing and listening and accepting.  The many adventures through high school and college and adulthood-land, sharing road trips and weddings and random visits when the cards were aligned, where we could reunite and stay up all night laughing. Remembering they were with me at the hospital when I tried to leave this earth and they were with me when my dads passed away and I was with them through heartache and when their babies were born and now those babies are halfway to almost grown up.  The days are long but the years are short and it’s hard to believe I blinked and we are all scattered across the land, with full lives and shared love.  I know I could be a better friend and keep in touch more regularly and anxiety comes into play there, but one thing I know for certain is that I love them and they love me, too, despite my faults.

-------

My mom was alive for all of this.  She tried to intervene with my ex husband.  She met my now hubby and loved him like a son before she passed, and for that I am grateful.  Her death is a marker of a passing of all of these parts—the good and the bad, the trauma and pain and the heartache.  The successes and the failures and the challenges and the traumas, some summarized here, other details at the edges that I’m not ready to write about quite yet.  She loved me and at the same time didn’t speak the kind of language I could recognize, causing tears and heartaches and misunderstandings that are part of our story.  Over the years I’ve understood that in all her best ways, she loved me with all her heart. 

She pushed me out of the nest when I went to college to become a self sustaining, independent person.  She cheered on my adventure to my birth country, arranging through her work to have two rendezvous visits with me overseas.  One year, while I was still in college, she organized a mother daughter trip to the Caribbean, it was after her second hubby died and before her third one was really on the scene, and I’m so glad I have these aquamarine memories of snorkeling in the pristine, technicolor coral vistas together, two adult women, one quite young, the other still in her professional prime.  I wasn’t that little kid wondering if she would send me back, any longer.

When she passed, the one connection through the thread of my many layered adventures disappeared and left me untethered.  At times I’m floating along the air currents like an errant helium balloon, at the same time, my daughters hands grab hold of the ends and keep me rooted on this earth. 

They say there are five stages of grief, but the original wordsmith of those concepts, Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, was annoyed at the misinterpretation that these “stages” are procedural and go from one to the next in some kind of order.  Instead, they can be cyclical or repeat or become a mishmash, a haphazard spiral of grief, not necessarily a step by step sequence.

Grief is.  Like breathing.

Love is.  Like breathing.

There is no way around, above, or below.  It just is.  And maybe going through out-of-step spirals is just one way I have to cope.

Kindness--May the Fourth Be With you!

Image

Happy May to all!

Things are trucking along at Chez Survive, Love, Thrive.  The girls are finishing up their school year (AWKKKKK) and I’m soon to have a middle schooler on my hands.  She has the maturity and sensibility of an old soul, a laugh like a little kid, as well an ATTITUDE of a tween going onto majorly teen.  Lord help us all!  At least little sister still likes to hold my hand and sit on my lap, le sigh!

Work is going great, budget reports done, pending acquisitions approved, staffing issues settled, and I’m about to hire a part time employee as well.  I’m traveling to a conference and have also been elected to a Board position that was a bit unexpected.  To be truthful, I’m an introvert who masquerades as an extrovert, so the next week will be exhausting rubbing elbows with the world.  And the Board position is a three year odyssey into the unknown, but I do have great mentorship in place, so I’m thinking about it with half trepidation and half eagerness to learn something new.

My running is getting out of control, lol.  My old lady ankles are yelling—WTF are you doing to us????  I’m figuring out how to scale back a bit over the next month, so as not to have any injuries, because the biggest news about the running thing is that I’ve signed up for a half marathon over labor day week end. !!! HA HA HA!!!   This both terrifies and makes me laugh hysterically.  Hubby wants to do it with me, and some of my good friends who are runners are going to do it too!  So this will be a fun adventure to look forward to in the fall.

The running relates to my anxiety and grieving.  I really do think I’m somehow running through my grief.  Running is helping me cope with my anxiety, too.  I still wake up in the middle of the night with anxiety, but lately it seems that I’m able to take it with a grain of salt, go back to sleep, and then awaken for the day with less trepidation. 

As for co-parenting, DD1 won an award where she and her BFF will be honored on Sunday.  Guess who hasn’t RVSPed to the event organizers and who hasn’t confirmed with me that she’ll be there, after I’ve politely inquired several times  (lol and he didn’t know about it until I had emailed it to him weeks ago)?  But yet I’ve heard from DD1 and her BFF’s family that she’ll be there?  Le sigh.  I’m going to be brave and go.  Life will be okay.  I’m bringing someone who is like my little sister as my plus 1, since hubby has to work.  No matter the weirdness, it will just be what it will be.  This co-parenting stress doesn’t take away the fact at how very proud I am of DD1’s accomplishment, and even more touched that she’s being honored with her BFF in this last year they will be together (they are going to different middle schools)…

At any rate, as I keep on moving through this thing called life, I’m meditating on something that I shared when asked to write a personal statement for that recent election:

“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." --Maya Angelou

I told the readers that this quote resonated with me because even as I run around checking boxes off the to-do list, that I must always remember to act with kindness—and that in the profession that I work in, a little bit of kindness can go a long way in fostering positive relationships with people. <3 o:p="">

So my p.s. is that I may not be the smartest, best person in the room, but I do know what it means to be kind, and my aim in life is to keep sending love and kindness into the world.  If I can do that, then that’s a whole lot.  At least, that’s my hope!

Treading Water

Image

Dear Jane,

Today you're treading water.  You're not feeling especially happy or especially sad, although you are feeling a bit anxious.  The running has helped, but you had to take a week off because you started this whole running odyssey when you're over 40 (and apparently they call you a 'master' runner which you think translates to old lady runner, lol, but you’re cool with it), and so going five miles 3-4 times a week made your ankle really hurt.  Anyway!  You got back on the running wagon yesterday, which felt pretty good.

You’ve been getting up every day and logging in the parenting hours, the work hours, the wife hours, the managing everyone and the household hours and so it feels like you’re treading water.

You may have spent some time surfing the internet reading tons of articles about running, about depression, about entertainment news, because honestly, faking it right now is about the best that you have.  Oh, and yes, you did return some phone calls and attend some meetings.  You did attend to some pending work matters and you did take care of certain staff that needed attention.

Gold star for being present over the week end and being there for your kids and cuddles and love.  Your tween daughter actually laughed, LAUGHED with you about a book she read that was funny.  Your younger one thought you said ‘feed the fish tank sushi’ when you said you were going to wash the fish tank this sunday, and at first was salty at you because you didn’t respond (because distracted by grief/depression that sinks in like a fog sometimes), but when you snapped to it, was cuddly and loving and laughing at her cleverness.  At dinner the other night, your daughters demonstrated their karate moves that you didn’t even know they had.  They’ve been filling the house with laughter and annoying arguments and hugs and moments of tenderness and you are grateful for that.  DD1 asked you one night what exactly was the day that grandma passed and you had to pause, you knew it was a Wednesday, but you had to look up the date.  And she asked if one year from the date, if everyone could take the day off, no school, no work, and we could all be together and your heart filled up to the brim and you said of course.

Your hubby has been kind and supportive and also stressed in his own way about work, health, life, but for the most part, all is well on all fronts.  He just sent you some beautiful flowers at work though (which you asked him to do, lol, but hey nothing like being upfront and you know your mom loved flowers so much and you miss her) and you are thankful for that.

There’s a part of you that is snappy and growly and so you’re working on that.  Example—you tell hubby you’re sad about your mom, and he holds your hand, then reaches for his facebook.  You are snappy and grumpy because he is constantly ON YOU for being on your phone when you’re together, so this kind of stuff drives you bananas.  Plus, you know he lovingly cares for you, you’re just tired of the little hypocrisies here and there and actually, you know hubby gets it and understands (after he fights with you about it for a little while), it’s just exhausting to have to explain and go through this process. 

You realize this is not the end of the world.  And in the grand scheme of things, life is going as it should be, and is pretty decent.  Maybe you’re in this mood, because your brother has been in touch with you this week and is sending your portion of the remains of your mom—her wish to be cremated—finally, so you can take the moments with your family to take your mom to all the places she loved when she visited you all those years, until she had to stop traveling due to her condition.  Yes, maybe that’s what’s unnerved you and put you off kilter.  And not getting sleep.

I love you, Jane.  I’m sorry you are hurting and I love and accept you.  It’s okay to have anxiety and fear and worry.  It’s okay to have all those feelings.  One day it will get better.  Right now, it’s okay to tread water.  If you have read the internet some more for some distraction, go ahead.  I know you are capable and responsible and you are smart and loving.  I’ll be here.

Love,

Me