Marching Forward (random thoughts)

 Today is the last day of March. I've wanted to write a little more for awhile now, but I've been busy with work and haven't been able to focus and sit down to write. I am writing now, without a plan, but I am marching forward nonetheless. 

I've said this before, but I write these posts knowing that not many people will read them. It still surprises me when someone says that they do. But enough people have let me know that they appreciate them that I figure it is worth continuing. So, for those of you that read these words; this is for you. 💚

It is Spring here in the Midwestern US. Today is a sunny, windy and cool day. My two old dogs lay near me as I type on my computer. Their breathing alternates between sweet snores and coos, with an occasional sigh or stretch and swallow. They are both 13 years old this year, and I am thankful every day that they are alive. I know that each day is a blessing. 

I am at the stage in my life when I am more surrounded by aging; aging dogs, and also aging parents. Along with the morbid atmosphere that has surrounded the pandemic for the past year, I have been acutely aware of the slowing down and impending doom I sometimes feel about death. But again, I try to appreciate each day that we all live. Both my parents are still alive, but they have also been talking about dying for decades, it seems. I suppose that sort of morbidity can seem bleak, but I try to use it as a reminder to appreciate things. And, I do. 

I've mentioned before that I spent many years of my life not wanting to be alive. I was a very sad child and adolescent, and it took a lot of therapy and time to work through things and change my thinking. I am still a moody person, but now I recognize that my moods are a bit like the Midwestern weather; just be patient and it will change. So I enjoy the "good" moods, and I "get through" the not-so-good moods, knowing that they will pass. Of course I have strategies and skills for helping the "bad" moods pass more quickly or less painfully now too. When I was younger I worried that the darkness would swallow me up and control me forever. But now I know that I am strong enough to wait it out and get back to the light. 

I try to use my experiences with depression and anxiety to help others. I am not a psycho-therapist, but I am a massage therapist, and I can give people emotional support. Usually I give others what I want people to give me; energetic support, and sometimes the knowledge that someone else cares. I don't try to solve other people's problems, but I do want them to know that I care and support them emotionally on their own journeys. As a massage therapist, I can also help their muscles relax if they come into my office, but the emotional/energetic support is there regardless of distance. If they/you want it. 

I often wonder what I can do to help others, without it becoming too much. Too much for me or for them. I need to keep a safe bubble around myself, for emotional protection. My job allows me to do that. In friendships, that isn't always as easy to do. I have made mistakes in the past of letting my boundaries be too wobbly, so I am aware of the dangers. It is nice to feel the closeness of a good friend....but people often want different things and we don't always communicate very well. And I am wary of becoming attached to people. 

But life is a dance, and I am constantly dancing between attachment and non-attachment. I practice various philosophies and observe my feelings. And I try to communicate. And I practice forgiveness and try to keep a sense of humor about things. And I breathe and I dance and I laugh, and I live. 

Friendship Timelines

I am very fascinated by the concept of time in relationships, and how each person spends their time differently, and views the value of that time differently. I am fascinated in the amount of time that people like to spend with each other, versus how much time some of us also need to be alone. And, how much some of us can feel connected and close to someone when we are apart, versus needing to be in physical proximity to them. I am fascinated that some people cling to relationships and want them to last forever, while others welcome change and are quick to move on. I am eternally fascinated by people, and their behavior, and especially by relationships. 

I am someone who likes to keep people in my life. I like to think that we can always reconcile our differences and disagreements, and come to a place of kindness, if not friendship. I see the potential, if not "good", in everyone, and I always hope that anything less than that will be a mistake and therefore something that can be apologized for and made amends for. 

Although I *know* that not everyone else is like this, I still do not fully comprehend that not everyone is like this.  So I try to ask questions, and I try to understand human differences. No judgment, just curiosity.

Friendship is also a term that is fascinating to me. The definition of a "friend" versus an "acquaintance" has become especially wobbly since the advent and popular use of Facebook, where the term "friend" is used for any kind of social connection. Much can (and is) said about the whole "social" experiment of Facebook and other social media enterprises, and I can absolutely see all kinds of good and bad issues with it. But again, I like to focus on the more positive aspects, so I still participate, albeit inconsistently.

At various times in my life, I have identified as being "introverted" or "shy" or having "social anxiety". I am "highly sensitive" and especially uncomfortable in crowds. I do not trust large groups of people, for good reason. I can be incredibly disappointed in human behavior, and yet I also genuinely like most people when I get to know them. I am absolutely wary of group think and behavior, but believe in the best of the individual. 

So, back to the title and beginning of this essay: I believe that friendships are a type of relationship, and I believe that they all have their own timelines. For my own life, I like to keep those timelines open. I love to hear from old friends who I maybe haven't been in touch with for a few years. Even if the last interaction we had was a misunderstanding or less-than-positive, I still welcome communication. People change and hopefully grow, and I genuinely care about all living things. But I especially care about people who I have interacted with in my life, whenever that was. And honestly, double-bonus if it was a disagreement or misunderstanding and you've grown and want to explain things in a more forgiving way. Or, if you felt slighted and want to ask why....maybe there was a lack of awareness or confusion. 

I have often wondered what the statute of limitations on apologies might be. But then I also wonder if there are things that I should apologize for that I don't even know about. Communication is so crucial, and yet so clumsy at times. 

At any rate, I wish there was more time to really connect and communicate with people because I genuinely care about everyone. But I also really value my time alone and I need to protect that as well. So I do energy work and hope that it does reach people. Whenever and however they need it.

I keep my heart open to connections.  And although my door might not be open, my emails are. 

☮💛

Reflections on My Pandemic Year

 

from my calendar in February 2020

It has been a full year since the Pandemic started, and I have been reflecting on how things have changed for me personally. I have been very fortunate in many ways, but it has still be a difficult year. 

I knew that 2020 was going to be a year of change. There were a lot of things set to change in my life personally, and I knew the 2020 election was going to be pivotal. I also dabble in astrology and I was aware that there were some big planetary "energies" going on, so I was trying to be open to things. I started the year nervously excited about the year ahead. But that doesn't mean that I was prepared for a pandemic.

I remember when Kobe Bryant died, and how it felt like something even bigger than the tragedy that it was.  I remember first hearing about Covid-19, before it even had that name, and being genuinely worried that it could become a pandemic. I actually remember the stock market from the beginning of the year, and thinking that it was destined to crash, but not fully knowing how or why. I'm not psychic; I'm just observant. 

My father had his 90th birthday last year, and we were trying to plan a big celebration. His birthday was in April, and in January and February we were still trying to make plans, but one of my sisters lives in Seattle and it wasn't looking good. By the time his birthday came around, we were all in lockdown and we could only call and send email. Fortunately, he is still alive, and has now been vaccinated and will hopefully be able to celebrate his 91st birthday. And maybe some of us can visit him. 

At the beginning of March, I still had clients scheduled but I started to be concerned. By the end of the second week in March, the Big Ten was cancelling all their sporting events and I shut down my business. 

When I look back, the month of February was when the pandemic really started for me. We could see it coming but we didn't know how soon or how bad. It was like the mud was swirling; we didn't know what was happening. That continued, and still continues to some extent today. Things are much clearer than they were a year ago, but there is still a lot of mud swirling around. 

I personally have managed to stay healthy. My immediate family has managed to stay healthy, and nobody in my extended family has gotten sick enough to require hospitalization. We are fortunate (we are also a pretty small family). But that doesn't mean that we have been unscathed..  No one with a heart could get through the past year unscathed.

I have been fortunate to be able to weather the storm in the safety of my home, with my family. But that doesn't mean that I don't feel pain from knowing of others who are not so fortunate. I do not understand how people cannot care about other people. I do not understand how the pain that others feel is not enough to try to alleviate that pain. Why would we need to experience pain ourselves to care? Why is empathy not enough? Why do so many people not care about other people?

I still believe that there are more "good" people than "bad" people. I still believe that most people do care about others. But damn are there a lot of selfish assholes out in the world. Seeing so much of that this past year is profoundly disappointing. 

I also believe that much of the conflict in the world has more to do with miscommunication and misunderstanding than straight-up asshole-ery. (what? that's not a real word?!)... Unfortunately sometimes people get hung up on some kind of self-righteous need to be misunderstood. Or refusal to forgive. Or, they just like being an asshole. 

I've witnessed a few too many assholes this past year. I'm sure you have too. There have been those who simply say something mean, or ignore someone when they are in pain. Then there are those who refuse to wear masks that could protect others, or purposely repeat misinformation. And of course there are those who physically assault other people or destroy property. This is not innocent ignorance. This is blatant disrespect for others. This is believing that your right to kill other people is more important than a little inconvenience. And it's profoundly disappointing that so many people just don't care. 

On the other hand, of course, I've also witnessed a lot of kindness and compassion and courage this past year, as well. And I hope you have too. It is unfortunate that assholes get so much publicity when there really is so much good stuff too. Of course pain is significant, but beauty is significant too. I am often guilty of focusing on the yucky stuff, but this year I have also been very blessed and I have learned to appreciate the peaceful and beautiful moments all around me. 

I am blessed to have two wonderful old dogs who I have been able to spend many more hours near, because I have stayed home with them. They are two angels in fur coats, and their snoring and gentle old movements help me stay in the moment, and at peace. Although I closed my business for most of the year, I have been able to spend more time at home making use of my recently remodeled kitchen and bathroom. I have been able to enjoy learning to prepare more yummy foods, and take long relaxing baths. And I have been able to spend more time writing, which I find indulgent. My pandemic year has allowed me to slow down. It forced a sabbatical for me, and although I lost a lot of money, I didn't lose my house or my life. I did lose a couple friends this past year, and that still crushes me, but I am trying to appreciate the past while honoring the present. I have been in mourning, not only for the friends that I lost, but also for all the millions of people who I have never met who lost their lives or are in pain. And for all the relationships that have been broken by misunderstanding or malice. 

I still dream of a world where there are less assholes. I still hope that people will be more willing to apologize and speak their truth and listen. With compassion. It shouldn't take abnormal strength of character to communicate caringly. But too often people are not willing to take the time to understand each other. And too often people aren't willing to share the way they feel. How did we all get so judgmental? Why can't we all just care about each other? 

My Pandemic Year has ultimately been a good one. I have had the time to reflect and grow spiritually, and spend time with my family. I know I am really fortunate. That doesn't mean it hasn't been painful, by any means! But I guess I am learning to appreciate the painful times because I know they have helped me grow stronger. And I do truly appreciate the good times. I appreciate kindness and compassion, and thoughtfulness, and communication. 

And if you read this, I appreciate you. 💛

Reclaiming February 13th and Valentine's Day

I have previously written about Anniversary Reactions https://jc-tome.blogspot.com/2012/04/anniversary-reactions.html and a little bit about the trauma from when I was fifteen https://jc-tome.blogspot.com/2012/02/when-i-was-fifteen-introduction.html (and other places).  For many years I also referenced February 13th as a particularly traumatic anniversary, and even did some specific PTSD treatment for. Although my trauma was not limited to that date, February 13th was a date that for decades would cause Anniversary Reactions in my body. And being associated with Valentine's Day, I have often struggled with the whole obnoxious holiday. 

But I have finally reclaimed that. 

Valentine's Day is one of those uncomfortable holidays anyway; as kids we might give Valentines to all our classmates, but what we write in them can vary. It can be sweet and innocent, but it can also be extremely cruel.  Often it can become a very public display of popularity and a worse public display of bullying. As kids get older it becomes even more sensitive as kids either wear their hearts on their sleeves, or refuse to acknowledge any feelings. I'm sure most of us have memories of feeling shunned by someone we liked, or simply ignored. It didn't matter that most of our classmates were also being ignored; the ones who got elaborate Valentine's gifts always let us know that we were not as well loved. 

I don't remember anything really horrible happening as a kid, but I do have these vague feelings of rejection. I know I was always uncomfortable. I dreaded Valentine's Day enough that I always considered staying home from school. I was too serious of a student to do that though. But it was always a day that made me feel like I wasn't good enough; that I was somehow lacking. 

The date took on a more sinister meaning when I was a senior in high school.

Friday February 13, 1987 was not yet Valentine's Day when I went off to see a movie with a co-worker. We were not dating, and I naively thought he was my friend, but I was also very nervous. For good reason. I was a ridiculously innocent 17 year old high school student, and he was a 26 year-old man who really lived in a different world. We were going to see Platoon in a theater, but when I went to his place he wasn't ready and was upset because his car had been repossessed that day. 

I was in way over my head, but tried to play it cool. It was complicated; he was a big strong guy with biceps as big as my head who worked in the weight room at the YWCA where I was a lifeguard. He was sort of the strong silent type and I mistook his interest in me as an older brother kinda thing. Did I mention I was naïve?? We missed the movie and stayed at his apartment, and the night spun completely out of control for me.

For years - decades even - I remembered that it was Friday the 13th and a Full Moon. I didn't even fully realize that by the time things went really really wrong for me, it was actually after midnight and therefore Valentine's Day. 

I had a good friend that dragged me to a rape crisis center the next day, but I still tried to pretend I was fine and it wasn't a big deal. I didn't let my family know for well over a year, and that was only after another rape in college and some more serious suicide plans. I would always have visceral physical reactions to all things Valentine's Day, but I still tried to ignore the truth. 

For me, my "Me Too" experiences were all tied together. When I was a young athlete running, I was chased and grabbed more than once. As a lifeguard I got so many comments from young guys and older men that I just accepted it as part of the job. That didn't make it any easier though. I was fortunate when I was younger to date guys who were courteous and respectful. Until those times when I was 15 and then 17 and then 18 when they weren't. And what happens when you say no or plead with someone to stop, or actually push them away and try to fight back and they still don't stop?.... well, as a lot of people can tell you, it can really mess you up. 

I was really messed up for a lot of years. My poor husband - and even my kids - have had to deal with being woken up in the middle of the night by my screams as I fight someone off in a night terror. The night terrors are usually stronger when I am triggered by a memory.  Or an anniversary.  February 13th, and 14th, used to be big triggers. 

I can pretty confidently say that I have reclaimed these dates now. They will always be a part of my history, but they don't have the power they used to have over me. I know that some people might read this and wonder why I want to re-visit the past. Why do I want to remember? And I think I understand that some people can push things back into the dark and forget about them. But for me, if I try to hide something painful, it just grows more powerful in the dark. For me; it is important that I bring some of these things out into the light every now and again to shine some of my strength on them and keep them in the past. 

I avoided admitting what happened to me for years, and it had a sinister hold on me for far too long. I recognize that I don't need to share this with all of you now, but I also hope that by sharing I can help some of you to confront some of your own demons that you hide in the dark. Just because bad things happen to us doesn't mean that we are bad people. And, we are not alone. We can help each other get stronger and reclaim our past "bad dates" (in more ways than one). 

So, Happy Valentine's Day. It's still a stupid holiday, and I know a lot of people have not been able to "reclaim" it's hold on them. But it's a good excuse to eat chocolate, and throw some whipped cream on things. And here in the Northern Hemisphere the days are slowly getting longer. So, I hope if you read this you are hanging in there, and if possible I hope you have a good day. ❤ 💗 😗

TOME about a coach (and a swimmer)

 

My coach jacket that still keeps me warm when I shovel snow

Not long after I wrote my last post, where I wrote about my struggles over the years with depression, one of the key people who helped keep me alive when I was in high school rather suddenly died. I have struggled with whether to write about it, and what I should say....and even if my recollections are correct or not. Because my past traumas and even use of anti-depressants has fogged my mind a bit and my memory is full of holes. But my memories are still my memories, and my stories are still worth sharing. And I hope that I can honor my coach with my words. 

My competitive swimming career began just after I turned 7. After a serious bout with pneumonia when I was 5 years old that kept me in the hospital for a week and left me weak and frail, my mother thought maybe a swim team could help me get stronger. 

Me; 5 years old, with my tent in the hospital with pneumonia

I remember going home from school with the Try-Out flyer, and I even remember that very first try-out at the St. Anthony High School pool. Swimming soon became probably the most important thing in my life. 

I was a "good" swimmer, but I was never really "great". I remember that the Minnesota State Championship meet would give out jackets to the winners of the events, but the best I ever got was second place. So I got a bunch of red ribbons and silver medals, but no jacket. I managed top 10 and top 5 in many events, but never quite got first at that meet. 

I remember (perhaps incorrectly, but this is my memory) that the cost of that first season of swimming was $40. That was a lot for my family and caused some conflict, but my mom made it work. Being a swimmer and bringing home ribbons and medals got me attention from my grumpy grandpa, and allowed me to spend time making my mother happy. Although I was painfully shy and scared of most people, it gave me something that I was sorta good at and got me attention in school. Swimming really was the center of my life. 

I still have dreams about the route to swimming practice at St. Anthony. I was a city kid, but St. Anthony was a little suburb just a 3 mile trip up the road. When the weather was warm I would ride my bike to practice; mostly up hill on the way there, but more enjoyably downhill most of the way home. When the weather was colder I would get a ride, and I still have the image of waiting inside the door and watching for my mom's car going over the speed bump on the way into the parking lot. I can still remember the condensation on the glass doors, and my wet hair freezing after practice in the cold Minnesota winters. 

The summer swim season was Long Course, and the Long Course pool in our area was at my neighborhood "A-Field" (athletic field). I was able to ride my bike there as well, and later when I was older became a lifeguard and swim instructor, and even an assistant pool manager there.  

It was at the A-Field pool that I first met Neil. While I was still swimming for St. Anthony, I discovered that there was a little city team made up of Minneapolis High School students. I don't think they swam year round, but only during the summer season. I was still swimming year round and didn't want to cut back, but eventually the rising cost of the year-round team forced my hand. 

The exact timing on all of this is a bit fuzzy, but I know that in 7th grade (we could participate in high school sports in junior high) I ran cross-country while still swimming for the club team, but then joined the high school swim team after the x-c season and participated in both sports that season. I also cross-country skied and ran track, while still swimming year round. But sometime in there I started swimming for Danny's Dolphins. 

Me; my freshman year of high school swimming

Danny's Dolphins was the little city team and it was coached by Neil, who was one of the coaches at South High School, and Steve (I think) who was the guy's coach at Edison High School, which was my neighborhood high school. There was a joke that the team really should have been named "Fran's Fish", but I'm not sure if that is because Steve's wife was named Fran, or I'm just making that up. Minneapolis Public Schools only had a few swimming pools between all the schools and they shared practice space. South High School and Edison High School shared practice space at Northeast Junior High School. In junior high and 9th grade, I swam for Edison High School, and then after my first trimester of 9th grade I transferred to South. 

My transferring to South was a little bit controversial at the time, and there were people who thought I transferred just so I could swim at South. But Minneapolis was in the midst of a bunch of magnet programs and there were many reasons why I transferred to South; academics and music being two of the bigger reasons. A chance to not be known as the little sister of all my older siblings being another. But yes, swimming was also one of the reasons I transferred to South. And that was because Neil was one of the coaches.  

The summer between my freshman and sophomore years of high school, I wanted to be a better swimmer and somehow my mom scraped up enough money for me to join an even bigger team that summer. I was still able to ride my bike to practice, but this time I would ride 9 miles each way in the morning for a 3 hour swim practice, and then 6 miles each way in the evening to get to a 2.5 hour practice. Some days I would run in the middle of the day on top of that. It was that summer that I did my first triathlons and was definitely in the best shape of my life. I felt guilty for not swimming with Neil and Danny's Dolphins that summer, and even though he understood it still seemed like I hurt Neil's feelings a little bit. But it did help for me to train with more, faster kids. In 10th grade I had my best swim season, and just came up short of qualifying for the State high school meet by coming in 2nd at our Sectional meet. Again, I was just a runner up. But I truly thought that the next year would be better. 

Me; high school yearbook

Unfortunately I went on a fateful trip to Italy at the beginning of that next summer and had a traumatic experience that I really never fully processed for over a decade. My parents also got divorced, my mom was incredibly depressed, my dad re-married, and my family was truly a hot mess. I don't remember much abut my junior year of high school, but I do know that my swim coaches are part of the reason I am still alive today. 

The Anderson "brothers" were not brothers by blood, but they did serve as uncles to a lot of us swimmers. They both helped me in numerous ways, and helped keep me alive my last two years of high school. Mike was the more cerebral, quiet, steady one. He is responsible for my need to eat peanut M&Ms on long car drives; because of the time we all drove to Chicago for a swim clinic and he shared the perfection of sugar and protein that is the peanut M&M.  He also is responsible for helping me understand that there really are only 24 hours in a day and not only do we need to respect the time that everything takes, but we also need to sleep. He was my chemistry teacher in high school and I absolutely felt like I failed him my freshman year of college when I nearly failed out, even though that had nothing to do with chemistry and everything to do with unrecognized trauma. 

Coach Mike Anderson

Neil was the more fun "crazy" uncle. He was the one telling all the wild stories of the 'hood, while he drank diet soda and chewed gum. I remember riding in the back of his truck with blood stains from the deer he killed hunting, and getting rides on the back of his motorcycle across the city to school after morning practices when I was one of the only swimmers there. With Danny's Dolphins we'd grab a lane at the University of Minnesota and practice next to the college kids. And everywhere he went, Neil was entertaining people with his stories. 

Coach Neil Anderson

Neil had the ability to make everyone feel special. Because to him, we were. But as I got more depressed, and other swimmers got faster, I thought I had let him down and I retreated. I was lost in my own emotional trauma. Where some athletes are able to channel their emotional pain into performing better at their sport, I instead would tighten up in races and fill my goggles up with tears. Too many practices would have me jumping out of the pool to go cry in the locker room. 

Years later, Neil would sit down with me outside at the A-Field pool and tell me about how helpless he felt, that he couldn't fix things for me. He told me I was like a first-round draft pick who just never lived up to their potential, and that he felt like he had failed me as a coach. But he didn't fail me. I may have been "always a Bridesmaid, never a Bride", but he was still a guardian angel. 

I was voted Captain for both my junior and senior years of high school, and I'm sure I was a terrible captain. I was too caught up in my own personal trauma. I wish that I could go back in time and be there more for the other swimmers. I did, however, become a swim coach myself later and think that I was a much better coach than a swimmer. I like to think that I honored all the different coaches I had over the years. 

I had re-connected with Neil a few years back through Facebook. Since the time I swam with him, he had gotten married and became a father, and was very happy....until he lost his wife to cancer and things went south for him. I regret that I did not keep in touch better. I am, however, thankful to see that so many other people have such fond memories of him. Others who kept in touch better and never felt like they let him down. I hope that he knew how much he helped me over the years. I hope that he knew that he helped save my life. 

And for anyone reading this who knew Neil and some of the stories he would tell; for some reason I still always remember his story of the guys who did the Pac-Man cheer, and how he would say "Pac-Man, ooooh baby, you got munched!" 

R.I.P. ☮❤

 

January 18th

 Trigger Warning?....perhaps

This post is both dark and also bright. It is a post about considering an end, but choosing to live. Again and again. 

January 18th is a significant date because in my "poetic" mind, I thought it was the best date to "end" my life. Six months after my birth day, I chose this date more than once, as a date to wrap things up and move on from this life....but each time I chose instead to keep living. 

The first time, I was sixteen. I had sad eyes, but people would comment on the chlorine that must have bothered them from all the swimming I did...

in the words of one of my favorite bands at the time; "Girl of sixteen, whole life ahead of her..." ~ Depeche Mode, Blasphemous Rumors

But I didn't slash my wrists - that was far too gruesome. And I didn't really want to die. I was just scared and sad and didn't really want to live. I come from a family that is really good at depression. We were taught to work hard and never be satisfied, and also never feel good about ourselves. We were taught to not fit in. And then after the one year I seemed to finally be more comfortable with success and friends - my 15th year of life, and sophomore year of high school - things happened that threw me down and seemed to punish me for that success and happiness. As if I dared to feel good about myself.... and crash down I did. 

I don't remember much from my junior year of high school. I cut my hair short and wore sweat pants and baggy clothes and listened to dark music and cried a lot.... I was too cowardly to actually kill myself, but I certainly wished I could just go to sleep and never wake up. 

Somehow I kept going and made it through the next couple years. I had teachers and coaches that let me know they cared and were watching out for me. I still got good grades and escaped into music, and planned a better escape and new life in college....

And then more trauma found me. Again, I dared to be "happy" and found friends and a new life as a freshman, only to have it raped away from me.  More than once. Even when I wasn't actually raped, I had a quiet voice and people often didn't listen to it. I did have good friends - people who cared about me - but the entire 4 years of college were a nearly continuous battle of emotional turmoil. I'm still amazed that I managed to graduate with a bachelor's degree. But whereas I used to be embarrassed by how bad my grades were, I am finally rather impressed that I was able to persevere. 

There were many times during those years that I picked a date - like January 18th - but never came up with a "good enough" plan, and instead kept going. I sometimes laughed and smiled, but my eyes still hid a lot of sadness....

I was very lucky to meet my husband during this time, and it is true that he saved my life. I don't say that lightly. I didn't want to have to be saved, but I think I needed help. We helped each other, and we have two amazing kids and a really good life. 

But genetics and learned behavior are impossible to ignore and run away from, and depression and angst followed me. Despite my "charmed life", I still struggled. Post partum depression was tough, and my over-thinking, highly sensitive mind and body kept me uncomfortable and searching for something...though I didn't know what. It is true that I had a fear of success, and the words of that old Depeche Mode song would still play in my mind, that the girl who "fell in love with everything" would get hit by a car or something. I was afraid that if I let myself be happy that things would go wrong. I was afraid that perhaps God had "a sick sense of humor" and was just waiting for me to want to live to kill me off. I needed to keep punishing myself; I couldn't let myself be happy. 

The last time I looked at January 18th as a "good day to die" wasn't so very long ago. I won't say exactly how long, but I thought my kids were old enough that they would be ok - better off even - without me. I had made some poor choices and was beating myself up and not forgiving myself, but more than that I really thought every little mistake I had made over my lifetime added up to some kind of  unforgiveable sin. But I'm talking about little things like a fight I got in with my best friend when I was five and called her names, and the time I felt road rage and followed a car for a block in anger.  I was so hard on myself for the little things that I was considering doing a really big thing that couldn't be reversed. But of course I wasn't thinking rationally. 

I was living a wonderful life, but I didn't think I deserved it and I didn't appreciate it. 

My eyes were tormented. 

I had set the date of January 18th as a date that I would end things, *if* I couldn't change them around. 

I am still here. 

 

Now January 18th is the date that I celebrate the choice I made to stay and live. 

I still make mistakes. And it's still hard to forgive myself. But usually I can take each day as a chance to do better. Better thoughts, better words, better actions. And a chance to make up for some of the mistakes of the past. Those times when I was selfish and didn't think about someone else that I was maybe hurting. Those times when I wasn't being selfish but just made a bad decision. 

I'm not perfect. 

I am only human.

And this January 18th, I am still alive. 

The Calm Between the Storms?

 

For about the past 10 days I've been thinking about what I might want to write, in order to somehow document this time in history. What it has been like, to watch as "Americans" stormed our own Capitol chanting about hanging our Vice President and killing other members of our government. 

I still don't know what to write. 

This morning, as I sit here, things are fairly calm. But the skies are dark and the waves are still crashing. More quietly now, but threatening.... 

Will the waves stay small? Is the worst of it over and the sun will continue to come out now?

Or is this just the calm between the storms? The sky is still dark, and the storms are still threatening... will the sea continue to churn and the waves continue to crash?

Will we get thrown around against the rocks? Cut up amongst the sharp edges? 

Or will peace prevail? 

Can we keep the bigger storm at a distance and let the sun come out again...

Obviously I am using this as an excuse to share some pictures that I think are a nice representation of the political climate in this country right now. The skies are various shades of grey, with some sun and blue sky peeking out. But things are pretty dark and ominous right now. 

There is a lot of churning and crashing and spraying. 

But I am still going to keep my eye on the sun. 

And hope that we don't get too beaten up in this storm.