Bert had only been “a god” for a little over a week. Jedrek had come in to tell him he was promoted and that he should get “a plan” going. Bert sat there, trying to think what “a plan” actually meant. A plan for what? Creation? Population? Jedrek was quite respected, but Bert was scared to ask questions. Jedrek was his supervisor, but what Bert understood that to be, and what Jedrek was doing were two different things. It made Bert feel like he was not supposed to be promoted. Was he supposed to have learned how to read minds?
He stared blankly at what he felt was most like a window, except that it was not a window, it’s just that Bert wanted to be that way. His whole living quarters, if you could call it that seemed to adapt and read his mind. Sometimes it was bigger like a mansion, and other times smaller like a cottage. One time he had awoke after an “odd” dream in the playboy mansion. He scrambled to collect and hopefully control his thoughts, but try as he might, his house became more and more “embarrassing”. Jedrek showed up, a single eyebrow raised. In exasperation Bert exclaimed that this was NOT what he wanted. Jedrek had a very specific look on, at least to Bert. It said, “Sure Bert, they all say this is NOT what they want”. Jedrek looked around thoughtfully, and the house changed to something Bert was not so embarrassed about. The only advice he was left with? “Slow is fast and fast is slow Bert.”
Why everyone in the afterlife had to speak so cryptically didn’t make sense to Bert. It made him not want to ask questions at all, so when Jedrek had showed up smiling, and announcing he was being promoted to “God”, and to prepare a plan, Bert had embarrassingly asked the question “So just prepare a plan then?” Bert felt the flush of his embarrassment over the question wash all over him. Jedrek looked at him blankly for a second, as if to tell him “Of course Bert… That’s what I said”. But instead Jedrek just smiled and said “I’ll be back later to check in”.
“Create some cool stuff” Bert mumbled to himself. He was seriously thinking of writing that down.
“What’s cool…”
Bert was an accountant in his previous life. He never married, and didn’t really live outside of his comfort zone either.
“Non-carbon-producing-coal!”. The thought felt revolutionary, and at the same time he could see Jedrek give him the look. After a few hours he decided that’s all he had.
Jedrek showed up the following day to check in on him. By then Bert’s home had changed into a dusty old crypt. Complete with cobweb covered skeletons, and screams from a dungeon. Jedrek laughed so hard that he was in tears. That was until the walls started melting from Bert’s unconfident anger.
“Oh, sorry Bert, you know, everyone believes in you, and frankly the reason you are here is not to create a world, it’s to make a plan. Okay?”
Bert felt at the end of his rope. “I can’t even do that” he muttered…
“Bert, listen to me… I know you feel that way, and the first thing you need to understand is that even though on your world, the God was taught as being perfect, Gods are not perfect, so quit trying to make a perfect plan, because we all know, you won’t come up with everything.”
Bert was not ready to respond
“Listen, I get it” Jedrek continued, “You’ve always had rules to guide you, but there are none here. You make them up on your own. The only way anyone can learn is by making mistakes, and the quicker you become okay with living in the playboy house, and the quicker you can smile off your current reality, the quicker you’ll get it. Nobody judges here, you can even do nothing.”
Jedrek looked at him earnestly.
What Jedrek said made sense to Bert, and Bert knew that he was harder on himself that Jedrek was.
“I’ll keep trying” was all Bert could say.
“Good for you Bert” Jedrek smiled. I’ll be back in a week, and we’ll keep working through it. In the meantime, clean up a little okay?
Bert flushed. “Okay” he replied.
Jedrek disappeared leaving Bert alone with the stupid paper and the coal idea on it. He decided to leave it on. Running his hands through his hair, he casually wrote down his next idea. Money trees.
Bert smiled.
Monday, June 3, 2019
Tuesday, April 9, 2019
My emotion room
One of my favorite things about doing laundry is washing the bedsheets. Now, I admit, I don't actually have to wash the bedsheets myself, Virginie always does that. But we will often make the bed together, and I love pulling those fresh smelling clean sheets over me at the end of a day. Just blogging about it brings a smile to my face!
It's been a while since I've blogged, and for good reason. I felt that I had become very negative. I understood that there was emotionally a lot on my plate, and I accepted that reality, but I was also torn between trying to blog my reality and balance what I was feeling with respect for the message I was also sending out to my wonderful readers.
Let me explain something.
First of all let me define a "sensitive person" as a person who feels emotions quite a bit stronger than normal. If a sensitive child drops their ice cream, it's a BIG DEAL. BPD or Borderline Personality Disorder develops when someone who is very sensitive is in an invalidating environment. So for a sensitive child, growing up in an environment where they are constantly told "you're being to sensitive" could be enough for a child to develop BPD. While not an expert in this field, this is how I understand and would like to share the process. The sensitive person will learn to not trust themselves and their own emotions and as a result, will begin to turn to others to fulfill this empty sense of self. Chronic feelings of emptiness, depressions, emotional instability, and unstable relationships often having co-dependence issues will often follow.
Let me make it clear, BPD is not a life sentence. Not if the sufferer is willing to make changes. Fortunately for me, I was invited to participate in a program that has been teaching me tools for mindfulness, distress tolerance, interpersonal effectiveness, and emotional regulation. The course is thorough and has been helping in ways that frankly, I still find surprising.
For example, about an hour ago I woke up kicking the sheets in anger. I had had one of the most angry dreams I've had in a long time. I won't get into the details of the dream, but suffice it to say, Virginie woke me up in a bit of a panic and was listening to me explain what had happened. I was explaining, trying to be mindful of my experience when I noticed Virginie was falling back asleep.
Virginie has narcolepsy. She was diagnosed several years ago now, and it's something we've had to be very careful of. If she's driving, she must accept that if she starts getting tired, she needs to stop, ask me to switch, and sleep. The reality to be accepted is this, when narcolepsy knocks, she must listen.
For me, it can be a bit frustrating, but I'm learning to accept my reality. I mean, I could talk to a brick wall, and still get the benefits of being mindful. Virginie does not actually have to listen to me, and so there I was, explaining my dream to Virginie while she was twitching back asleep.
This is where my emotion room comes in. Using the tools and skills I've been learning, my emotion room has become my place to handle all of the very strong emotions I feel, in an attempt to regulate them with some order. For me it's usually an office. I have a few plants, a desk with a laptop and a few chairs around the room. There is a door on one end through while my emotions will often come bursting though (more on this), and on the opposite wall, another door labeled "escape" which is available if I need to get away from my emotions for a brief moment. The only problem with the escape door is there is no discerning between a healthy escape, and an unhealthy escape. Plus, my emotional mob is almost always there waiting for me when I get back.
Let me give an example. I'm reading an email, and someone says something which I interpret to be very unfair. In a split second this mob comes barging into my emotional room primarily led by Anger. They have pitch forks and torches, and everyone is talking all at once. For a BPD sufferer, it's very overwhelming.
Anger never waits for anyone else to speak. "HOW DARE THEY SAY THAT!" he will usually start off with. "YOU ARE THE VICTIM HERE!". I find anger and his mob often very validating. It's easy to listen to them and get angry myself, but it's my emotion room and I'm in control of who is there, and who has to leave. I've been noticing if I send an emotion packing out of my room, they will often return if I don't get their message. So, learning to identify who is in my mob, and what their message is has been an important part of my emotional education. So, I will try to listen to each one. First anger, then insecurity, then pride or willfulness, and several others. When I listen carefully, I often feel in a better place to make a decision about them. You see, each emotion could be useful. When my children are out late and have not told me where they are (this does not happen very often), anger is often a very useful emotion. Although usually the secondary emotion, he will often introduce me to someone else, like worry. Worry will introduce me to love. I will realize, I love this child so much, I am worried and don't want anything terrible to happen to them. So, rather than having anger exit the room, I might choose to have him sit in the corner. "Sit over there" I will demand. You see, it's my emotion room and I am in charge. This means, what I choose to do with my emotions, in my emotions room, is entirely up to me.
Love for me is this little girl about 3, who sucks her thumb. She does not speak much, but represents everything that love is to me. Unselfish, quiet, consistent, and wonderful! I can see myself, after sorting through my emotional mob, inviting love to stay. She will sit on my lap, and we will share a box of chocolates together.
It's been a while since I've blogged, and for good reason. I felt that I had become very negative. I understood that there was emotionally a lot on my plate, and I accepted that reality, but I was also torn between trying to blog my reality and balance what I was feeling with respect for the message I was also sending out to my wonderful readers.
Let me explain something.
First of all let me define a "sensitive person" as a person who feels emotions quite a bit stronger than normal. If a sensitive child drops their ice cream, it's a BIG DEAL. BPD or Borderline Personality Disorder develops when someone who is very sensitive is in an invalidating environment. So for a sensitive child, growing up in an environment where they are constantly told "you're being to sensitive" could be enough for a child to develop BPD. While not an expert in this field, this is how I understand and would like to share the process. The sensitive person will learn to not trust themselves and their own emotions and as a result, will begin to turn to others to fulfill this empty sense of self. Chronic feelings of emptiness, depressions, emotional instability, and unstable relationships often having co-dependence issues will often follow.
Let me make it clear, BPD is not a life sentence. Not if the sufferer is willing to make changes. Fortunately for me, I was invited to participate in a program that has been teaching me tools for mindfulness, distress tolerance, interpersonal effectiveness, and emotional regulation. The course is thorough and has been helping in ways that frankly, I still find surprising.
For example, about an hour ago I woke up kicking the sheets in anger. I had had one of the most angry dreams I've had in a long time. I won't get into the details of the dream, but suffice it to say, Virginie woke me up in a bit of a panic and was listening to me explain what had happened. I was explaining, trying to be mindful of my experience when I noticed Virginie was falling back asleep.
Virginie has narcolepsy. She was diagnosed several years ago now, and it's something we've had to be very careful of. If she's driving, she must accept that if she starts getting tired, she needs to stop, ask me to switch, and sleep. The reality to be accepted is this, when narcolepsy knocks, she must listen.
For me, it can be a bit frustrating, but I'm learning to accept my reality. I mean, I could talk to a brick wall, and still get the benefits of being mindful. Virginie does not actually have to listen to me, and so there I was, explaining my dream to Virginie while she was twitching back asleep.
This is where my emotion room comes in. Using the tools and skills I've been learning, my emotion room has become my place to handle all of the very strong emotions I feel, in an attempt to regulate them with some order. For me it's usually an office. I have a few plants, a desk with a laptop and a few chairs around the room. There is a door on one end through while my emotions will often come bursting though (more on this), and on the opposite wall, another door labeled "escape" which is available if I need to get away from my emotions for a brief moment. The only problem with the escape door is there is no discerning between a healthy escape, and an unhealthy escape. Plus, my emotional mob is almost always there waiting for me when I get back.
Let me give an example. I'm reading an email, and someone says something which I interpret to be very unfair. In a split second this mob comes barging into my emotional room primarily led by Anger. They have pitch forks and torches, and everyone is talking all at once. For a BPD sufferer, it's very overwhelming.
Anger never waits for anyone else to speak. "HOW DARE THEY SAY THAT!" he will usually start off with. "YOU ARE THE VICTIM HERE!". I find anger and his mob often very validating. It's easy to listen to them and get angry myself, but it's my emotion room and I'm in control of who is there, and who has to leave. I've been noticing if I send an emotion packing out of my room, they will often return if I don't get their message. So, learning to identify who is in my mob, and what their message is has been an important part of my emotional education. So, I will try to listen to each one. First anger, then insecurity, then pride or willfulness, and several others. When I listen carefully, I often feel in a better place to make a decision about them. You see, each emotion could be useful. When my children are out late and have not told me where they are (this does not happen very often), anger is often a very useful emotion. Although usually the secondary emotion, he will often introduce me to someone else, like worry. Worry will introduce me to love. I will realize, I love this child so much, I am worried and don't want anything terrible to happen to them. So, rather than having anger exit the room, I might choose to have him sit in the corner. "Sit over there" I will demand. You see, it's my emotion room and I am in charge. This means, what I choose to do with my emotions, in my emotions room, is entirely up to me.
Love for me is this little girl about 3, who sucks her thumb. She does not speak much, but represents everything that love is to me. Unselfish, quiet, consistent, and wonderful! I can see myself, after sorting through my emotional mob, inviting love to stay. She will sit on my lap, and we will share a box of chocolates together.
Friday, August 31, 2018
Fear of things making sense
This last week I met with a psychiatrist, and received a diagnosis of borderline personality disorder. This is the culmination of speaking candidly with a psychiatrist, and unfortunately a month of "experimenting" with suicide, and because of the diagnosis, things are beginning to make sense, and it is my intent to explain as best I can why in this blog post.
Even as I write, there is this worry inside. I'll call it the BPD brain, but a friend recently called it the "Monkey Brain", and I like that explanation as well. This is what the BPD brain tells me:
Even as I write, there is this worry inside. I'll call it the BPD brain, but a friend recently called it the "Monkey Brain", and I like that explanation as well. This is what the BPD brain tells me:
And so I write this blog post to combat fear. I write it to challenge the notions I have, and hope that there continues to be positive encouragement. Because, although I rarely respond to people who comment on my blog, I really wish I could, but the fear of saying something wrong is all to real.
So let my try to put things into perspective for me.
Shortly after receiving the diagnosis, Virginie and I were hungry to learn and understand. Another loved one had been diagnosed several years ago, and back then we also had a desire to learn about it, but it was very broad, and difficult to understand. I remember reading a book about BPD and the author explaining "I have probably convinced you that you have Borderline Personality Disorder". Yup, he had. I could not finish the book, and I don't remember it's name. The prognosis was too awful.
But, Virginie and I decided to learn anyway, and this is what I have learned.
Borderline Personality Disorder develops in people who are already emotionally sensitive This is not a bad thing, quite the opposite. I suspect that being emotionally sensitive is part nature, part nurture but both are required and what you get are people who are very empathic. The often become doctors and nurses, psychologists and care workers. Women tend to be more emotionally sensitive than Men (I have lived both and YES, the battle is real), and so mothers tent to be a child's primary care giver because of this natural (or perhaps hormonal) ability to nurture with empathy.
There is a dark side to it though. When a young child who is emotionally sensitive receives chronic invalidatioin, Borderline Personality Disorder can develop. What is chronic invalidation? It's repeated and consistent comments like "Oh, you are just a drama queen", or "don't be so sensitive", or "you are overreacting", or "it's not that bad", or "don't turn a molehill into a mountain"... you get the point right? The effects of this is the emotionally sensitive person begins to learn to not trust there gut. To not trust there feelings because people cannot handle it. Dysphoria develops between this yearning to have friends and a social network, and fear of your own emotions and the BPD sufferers perceived inability to regulate them. As a result, a lifetime of emotional pain, distrust, anger, self-harm, and eventually suicide develop. Because someone with BPD has no "inner guide", or no "sense of self" they begin to require a sense of identity from others. They adopt the habits and identity of others, until the perceive abandonment, and then they will "emotionally split" or think "black and white". I need to get rid of them, before they get rid of me.
My mind can spriral out of control very quickly for this reason. Kind of like this:
Humour aside, this is precisely how I feel as I write. My mind very quickly spirals through the following questions with no answers, and the outcome only results in anxiety
- What if I'm not a Woman? What if I'm just lacking an internal sense of self, and this is just the result of my chasing something, anything because of my desperation?
- I've already had so many votes of confidence already. What if people tell me they agree with me when I share this information? Or have they had enough?
- I don't want advice, I just can't please everyone
I want to make one thing clear to any readers of this blog though. Please, please, please, don't try to correct me, or fix me. It will be invalidating. I've already lived a lifetime of people telling me how I should feel, and I feel that I've come to rely on it. "Somebody just tell me what to do and how to feel, because I just don't know anymore!!!"
I'm going to be referred to DBT or "Dialectical Behavior therapy". As I understand it, it's slightly different from CBT or "Cognitive Behavioual therapy" in that in CBT, the Councillors job is the challenge your ineffective paradigms or ways of relating to the world. You are challenged in many ways and the result, hopefully is a healthier way of viewing the world. Because, our perceptions are our reality. DBT on the other hand is different. As I understand it, the Councillors job is now to teach you to trust yourself and develop a sense of identity. You are taught to identify unhealthy thoughts. You and your Councillor become a team together.
I would like to speak briefly on the subject of being transgender. What does this mean for me? Well, I really don't know, but I'm inclined to take one day at a time. When I really try to dig deep and think about myself and who I am, I still feel that I am not a man, nor ever was. While the extra feelings on top of my already "emotional self" have been hard to learn to manage, they have also been wonderful at the same time. In the end, I won't be seeking surgery until it's very clear in my head as to who I am, but I fully intend to continue with hormone therapy until I do. I am firm about myself in this regard.
So to those loved ones (especially Virginie) who have loved, and lost, and loved, and lost, and loved, thank-you! Learning to trust myself seems impossible right now, but I've been told it's possible. It's possible to learn to develop a sense of identity and love myself for who I am, but that is not now, and until then I'm just going to have to be patient. I don't feel suicidal all the time anymore, but I do feel lost, tired, and most certainly like I want to be with someone, anyone who can take the loneliness and emptiness that I feel literally all the time away. I want to cling to that person for dear life, because they do something for me that I cannot do for myself. With that said, I also fear those relationships.
Please don't give up on me. Just understand that I am emotional, inconsistent, high-maintenance, and most certainly a drama queen. Again, please don't invalidate it by telling me that I should not feel that way. You can tell me the reasons you think I'm a good person, and I'll be very grateful, but don't tell me why I'm wrong for feeling the way I do. My perceptions are my reality.
Patience, loyalty, and consistency. These are all qualities of people I need, because they love someone.
Monday, August 13, 2018
When a part of me is gone
Virginie traveled to Croatia almost one week ago on a 2 week trip to celebrate the birthday of a childhood friend. She worked, perhaps even slaved for months at a job that literally depressed her, and was sucking the life out of her in order to come up with the money for the trip. It was important to Virginie to come up with the money on her own. This was going to be something "She did for herself". I am super proud of her for being able to do it as well, and like many experiences of our lives, I could use all of the most eloquent language to try and capture what it was like to work at a hotel for an employer that literally did not value the housekeeping work that got done, but that's another story.
And so there I was, waving goodbye to a part of me as she smiled, a look of pure excitement in her eyes. She had sweat, slaved, suffered, and survived. For me though, I was about to understand how reliant I had become on Virginie to help regulate my own moods, emotions, and thoughts. When she left, I knew that I would have some work ahead of me, but I was determined to do it.
As always, the primary audience of this blog post is myself, but I certainly hope that it brings some perspective to others as well. In the end, the hope is, perhaps we are not as different as it may feel sometimes.
When Virginie left, I was going through, and still am going through a really rough time. Without trying to get into too many details, I was feeling hopeless over something that was failing in my life. This is not the first time it's happened either. It's happened over and over, and quite literally, just when I think I've figured it out, returns to rear it's ugly, but unfortunately, familiar face. As such, I wonder if I'll ever be able to say goodbye to this demon. I suspect I will, but like many emotional lessons, it takes time to understand, process, improve, and eventually master.
And so there I was, waving goodbye to a part of me as she smiled, a look of pure excitement in her eyes. She had sweat, slaved, suffered, and survived. For me though, I was about to understand how reliant I had become on Virginie to help regulate my own moods, emotions, and thoughts. When she left, I knew that I would have some work ahead of me, but I was determined to do it.
Many years ago, before I transitioned, Virginie and the Wife of a good friend went together on a road trip for a week. I was in charge of my 3 children, he was in charge of his 6. We had made a pact to support each other, and so I found myself calling him one evening. "How's it going?" I asked. He laughed and said "I'm just staying alive."
This trip, like that one has literally been "one day at a time". Sometimes, "one hour at a time". My mind is like dynamite. It takes only a little spark and... KABOOM! My thoughts begin to spiral out of control. In times like this my Councillor has recommended I practice the STOPP technique.
S top
T ake a deep breath... or two... or three...
O bserve: What am I feeling?
P ull back (Perspective): Is what I'm feeling valid? What advice would I give a friend?
P ractice what works (Proceed): What is the best thing to do right now? For me? For others?
I've found this technique useful for mainly 2 reasons. 1) It's simple to remember. When my mind is spiraling out of control, I've usually gone into fight or flight mode. I've been kicked out of my frontal cortex to what Virginie and I often refer to as "my primordial brain". But... I can remember "STOPP". 2) It involves only myself. Emotional self-reliance, and emotional self-regulation is NOT my strong suit, but it's a work in progress. When a part of me is gone (Virginie), I can tell myself, "this is an opportunity to learn a part of me that I've completely forgotten about, and patiently get reacquainted with it. I might be surprised just what strength lies deep within.
But it's hard, and so probably about every 15 minutes I stop, take a deep breath, observe, re-find my perspective, and practice, practice, practice. and I will continue to do it because Virginie is so important to me, that I choose willingly to face my comfortable demon head to head. I know that the only power it has over me is the power I give to it, and I'm not willing to give it power anymore.
I do this, because I love someone.
Monday, July 16, 2018
Listening
I'd like to think I've had my fair share of life's struggles. As a result, I would also like to think I have my fair share of great advice! If only people would listen...
2 months ago I lost my Sister-in-law. She was the only person on Virginie's side of the family that had reached out to me in an effort to try and understand the reasons for my transition. Her husband had made is clear that he could not handle it, and that if she was to spend any time with me, it would not be anytime when he was around. Virginie's Sister, whom I'll call Leah did her best. Although I was somewhat skeptical of her motives, I decided to trust them despite the difficulties I had with the rest of her family. And so started, but only started, a beautiful friendship that I'm sorry to say, didn't actually work out.
So now that I've given the end of the story, why read on? Because how things unfolded is the story, and because of the way they unfolded, I shall never know if and how I contributed to her eventual death, and if I could ask for just 10 more minutes with her, I realize now I would not even say a thing. I would just listen.
Leah and I had gone on a walk. It as a rather long walk... you know, the ones where you have not got everything out and so you just keep walking... I read an article once that was suggesting that going for a drive or a walk was a great way to listen to your teenager. The reason? It's because they have an opportunity to focus on something else, other than talking. They can stare ahead and walk... knowing that I'm equally focused on not tripping over my own two feet just as they are. As soon as you are looking in someones eyes, it changes things.
Leah didn't agree with my choice, but she chose love. That touched me. She struggled to explain why she wanted to try, and as I listened to her faltering words, I recognized in them her sincerity. She couldn't even explain it herself, but despite her lack of understanding, she wanted to try anyway.
Shortly after I lost my job, found a new job, and we planned to make our move. Leah was also busy, and so she was not always in touch. I admit, I took this personally. Our oldest daughter decided to stay in Edmonton for her grade 12 year, and we decided to support her. A loving couple took her in, no questions asked, and a Councillor taught us what we needed to do to keep her safe, giving us a warning that she had not yet seen a teenager with mental illness accomplish this great task.
We received a call one morning from child welfare services in Alberta on the grounds of Child Abandonment. Virginie talked at great length to the investigator to ensure she answered all her questions thoroughly. In the end, the investigator was satisfied with our preparations, and no charges were laid. I wondered though, what do-gooder had called and why? But rather than listen, I just made accusations. I felt justified that sweet Leah in her kind ways, had done her best to tell us she didn't agree with Natasha remaining in Edmonton. In my frustration, I blocked her email. Just like the rest of the family, I was sick and tired of trying.
If I could go back in time, I don't think I would refrain from making accusations. I still feel that anger is something we all need to learn to manage, but I would have forgiven. And then, I would have listened. I would have listened to how my actions affected her, and if she was willing, to anything else that was bogging her life down.
I want to make it perfectly clear that I don't blame myself for her death. It was not my fault. But, should have, could have, would have... There are still few days that I don't consider the answers to these questions, take a moment to feel the sorrow, and then allow myself to rise compassionately above them.
Like Leah, I also struggle with Mental Illness, and sometimes, all I need is for someone to listen. Anyone. Not with the intent to give any advice, because all our stories are unique. Whom among us, really understands the struggles of another? I would like to propose no one. I just sometimes want a safe place to speak, where there are no ramifications for saying things the wrong way. Where there is no offense or reading into things. I've heard too many statements like "It's not about you". Life is short, so my advice is to hold your advice. Give those who hurt a safe place to speak by listening. Listening with empathy. In doing so, you give them the one thing that they are lacking. Hope.
Listening, this is what we do when we love someone.
2 months ago I lost my Sister-in-law. She was the only person on Virginie's side of the family that had reached out to me in an effort to try and understand the reasons for my transition. Her husband had made is clear that he could not handle it, and that if she was to spend any time with me, it would not be anytime when he was around. Virginie's Sister, whom I'll call Leah did her best. Although I was somewhat skeptical of her motives, I decided to trust them despite the difficulties I had with the rest of her family. And so started, but only started, a beautiful friendship that I'm sorry to say, didn't actually work out.
So now that I've given the end of the story, why read on? Because how things unfolded is the story, and because of the way they unfolded, I shall never know if and how I contributed to her eventual death, and if I could ask for just 10 more minutes with her, I realize now I would not even say a thing. I would just listen.
Leah and I had gone on a walk. It as a rather long walk... you know, the ones where you have not got everything out and so you just keep walking... I read an article once that was suggesting that going for a drive or a walk was a great way to listen to your teenager. The reason? It's because they have an opportunity to focus on something else, other than talking. They can stare ahead and walk... knowing that I'm equally focused on not tripping over my own two feet just as they are. As soon as you are looking in someones eyes, it changes things.
Leah didn't agree with my choice, but she chose love. That touched me. She struggled to explain why she wanted to try, and as I listened to her faltering words, I recognized in them her sincerity. She couldn't even explain it herself, but despite her lack of understanding, she wanted to try anyway.
Shortly after I lost my job, found a new job, and we planned to make our move. Leah was also busy, and so she was not always in touch. I admit, I took this personally. Our oldest daughter decided to stay in Edmonton for her grade 12 year, and we decided to support her. A loving couple took her in, no questions asked, and a Councillor taught us what we needed to do to keep her safe, giving us a warning that she had not yet seen a teenager with mental illness accomplish this great task.
We received a call one morning from child welfare services in Alberta on the grounds of Child Abandonment. Virginie talked at great length to the investigator to ensure she answered all her questions thoroughly. In the end, the investigator was satisfied with our preparations, and no charges were laid. I wondered though, what do-gooder had called and why? But rather than listen, I just made accusations. I felt justified that sweet Leah in her kind ways, had done her best to tell us she didn't agree with Natasha remaining in Edmonton. In my frustration, I blocked her email. Just like the rest of the family, I was sick and tired of trying.
If I could go back in time, I don't think I would refrain from making accusations. I still feel that anger is something we all need to learn to manage, but I would have forgiven. And then, I would have listened. I would have listened to how my actions affected her, and if she was willing, to anything else that was bogging her life down.
I want to make it perfectly clear that I don't blame myself for her death. It was not my fault. But, should have, could have, would have... There are still few days that I don't consider the answers to these questions, take a moment to feel the sorrow, and then allow myself to rise compassionately above them.
Like Leah, I also struggle with Mental Illness, and sometimes, all I need is for someone to listen. Anyone. Not with the intent to give any advice, because all our stories are unique. Whom among us, really understands the struggles of another? I would like to propose no one. I just sometimes want a safe place to speak, where there are no ramifications for saying things the wrong way. Where there is no offense or reading into things. I've heard too many statements like "It's not about you". Life is short, so my advice is to hold your advice. Give those who hurt a safe place to speak by listening. Listening with empathy. In doing so, you give them the one thing that they are lacking. Hope.
Listening, this is what we do when we love someone.
Sunday, May 13, 2018
Family: the fundamental unit of society?
A few weeks ago, something had happened in our family, and that had led us to a rather deep discussion on the couch. There we were, our couches facing parallel on either side of the living room, facing each other like a debate team.
But there were no debates, and I feel fortunate to have a family, where I have both the opportunity to speak, and listen. There is no interrupting. Virginie and the kids have gotten into the habit of listening thoroughly, asking clarifying questions when appropriate, and only then, making a statement about there opinion.
For those who don't know me, I am a former member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Often referred to as the "Mormon Church". Most of the beliefs I held have been challenged, and for the most part, I'm happy with my belief system. Beliefs about God, the purpose of life, loving self and others have been refined to make way for ones that make me proud to be who I am.
There are a few that have stuck with me though. One of those is about family. During our "deep talk" I asked the children what words came to mind when they thought about the word "Family". They came up with two: Love, and support.
I've reflected on these two qualities a lot lately. It's driven me to ask many questions about my own extended families. I don't know about anyone else, but it's far too easy to loose contact in Virginie's and my extended families. Understandably, we all have busy lives and taking care of our own immediate family unit becomes the most important.
And yet, I feel like I'm making excuses for family sometimes.
About 2 years ago now, I renovated our old house. It started off simple, but quickly grew to a mountain of work, I felt excited about, but perhaps overwhelmed by. I spent 6 months replacing floors, replacing drywall, counters, cupboards, plumbing, leveling, and painting. I would get up at 5:00am, go to work, finish at 2:00pm or 3:00pm, go to the old house, and work till 11pm. Then start the whole process over again. As I neared the end of the project, I began to ask myself one fundamental question:
Where was my family?
What I mean is: Could I rely on them? What were the expectations? Had they even been set? I realized that even though the LDS church had taught us to "put family first", we had not taken the time as a family to define what that actually meant.
The moral of this blog post? I still believe the family to be the fundamental unit of society. But I believe we cannot assume to adopt any belief without defining it's relevant application to us. For my extended family, many live far away. It's not appropriate to expect them to come and help. But we have to talk. We have to define what a family looks like, and have the confidence to encourage others to fulfill that vision. Without it, we will all have different ideas, and that just creates a culture of misunderstanding.
Family. They are relationships we can build, when we love someone.
But there were no debates, and I feel fortunate to have a family, where I have both the opportunity to speak, and listen. There is no interrupting. Virginie and the kids have gotten into the habit of listening thoroughly, asking clarifying questions when appropriate, and only then, making a statement about there opinion.
For those who don't know me, I am a former member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Often referred to as the "Mormon Church". Most of the beliefs I held have been challenged, and for the most part, I'm happy with my belief system. Beliefs about God, the purpose of life, loving self and others have been refined to make way for ones that make me proud to be who I am.
There are a few that have stuck with me though. One of those is about family. During our "deep talk" I asked the children what words came to mind when they thought about the word "Family". They came up with two: Love, and support.
I've reflected on these two qualities a lot lately. It's driven me to ask many questions about my own extended families. I don't know about anyone else, but it's far too easy to loose contact in Virginie's and my extended families. Understandably, we all have busy lives and taking care of our own immediate family unit becomes the most important.
And yet, I feel like I'm making excuses for family sometimes.
About 2 years ago now, I renovated our old house. It started off simple, but quickly grew to a mountain of work, I felt excited about, but perhaps overwhelmed by. I spent 6 months replacing floors, replacing drywall, counters, cupboards, plumbing, leveling, and painting. I would get up at 5:00am, go to work, finish at 2:00pm or 3:00pm, go to the old house, and work till 11pm. Then start the whole process over again. As I neared the end of the project, I began to ask myself one fundamental question:
Where was my family?
What I mean is: Could I rely on them? What were the expectations? Had they even been set? I realized that even though the LDS church had taught us to "put family first", we had not taken the time as a family to define what that actually meant.
The moral of this blog post? I still believe the family to be the fundamental unit of society. But I believe we cannot assume to adopt any belief without defining it's relevant application to us. For my extended family, many live far away. It's not appropriate to expect them to come and help. But we have to talk. We have to define what a family looks like, and have the confidence to encourage others to fulfill that vision. Without it, we will all have different ideas, and that just creates a culture of misunderstanding.
Family. They are relationships we can build, when we love someone.
Tuesday, May 1, 2018
Talking, yelling, screaming
I wish some things were easier to write about... As I sit here now, my fingers flowing effortlessly across the keyboard and staring at the soft glow of the computer monitor, I am reminded of some things that are not so easy to do.
Talking.
I don't know if it's just me, or if other people struggle with it as well, but I often feel that sometimes I have to say things the wrong way before I can say them the right way, but by the time I've said it the wrong way, people are offended, and my chance is gone. With this in mind, I've become accustomed to stating my word with extreme care. It's a bit of a paradox for me.
I guess I've adopted the idea that people who are giving me feedback are doing the exact same thing. They are not sure what they want to say, and by giving them time, and a safe place to express themselves is something I can do and provide as a person to help the communication go well.
Speaking of "trans", I get less and less weird looks these days from people who don't understand what gender I am, but I get more weird looks from people as Virginie and I stroll down the street hand in hand. I went for a lunch time run a few days ago and walked into the hotel where Virginie was working to say "hi". She kissed me and we embraced. As I left, I wondered about those who had seen us. I'm not planning on changing anything, this is who I am. I am a Woman, in love with a Woman that has learned to love my uniqueness back. I am the richest person alive. With that said, It's far to easy to see peoples "body language" and make assumptions. So, I've decided to adopt the mentality that if they have an issue with me, they will say it. With words. It's the same courtesy that I give others.
And yes, there are those that are yelling. Even screaming inside. Suffering with demons that are so severe that they contemplate and sometimes succeed in ending their own lives. It makes me ask myself, why is it so hard to talk?
Virginie mentioned one time after viewing a talk by Dr. Berne Brown that she felt she needed to learn to be more vulnerable. To show with greater confidence her needs, and desires. I've come to realize over the years that we all take baby steps. First, people need to show they are vulnerable through hints. They can be very subtle, and you need to be patient and compassionate, I have to remember: "It's not about me!". But over time, the hints will become whispers, then words, and eventually... confidence. It takes a long time, and yet I feel deep within the investment is worth it.
I've lived most of my life feeling like my life here on "earth" for lack of a better word is only temporary, and that my consciousness if part of a much bigger plan from a loving "Father in Heaven". Leaving religion and those beliefs behind has been very healthy for me. It's helped me to realize the inherent goodness in everyone. Not just members of the same religion. But there have been consequences. First and foremost, I don't know anymore if there is a life after this. For this reason, I'm much more motivated to live my life each day to the best of my ability, and to do my best to "talk" to others when that becomes too difficult.
For those that are tired of talking but are yelling, even screaming inside. Please, don't give up. Our inner demons are what makes us human, and may I suggest perfect. Because a perfect human being is literally in the symphony of all the voices both inside and out, both good and bad. They are what makes us who we are. It's what makes all of us an inspiration. They come together to create the tapestry of our lives, our interactions with others. It's what creates our good memories and our bad, and don't forget. Without our bad memories, or our bad moments, we would never be able to appreciate our good ones. You are as unique and wonderful today as you have ever been, and ever will be. So, if you need to scream, scream at me. I get it! I won't yell back, I know it's not about me. It's about you. It's about all the voices in your heart, and in your head that you cannot figure out because they won't stop talking all at the same time. It's okay, get it all out. Have confidence! Tomorrow will be better, and I will still be here then to listen because sometimes we don't figure everything out in one day. For most, it lasts a lifetime.
Listening... This is what we can do when we love someone.
Talking.
I don't know if it's just me, or if other people struggle with it as well, but I often feel that sometimes I have to say things the wrong way before I can say them the right way, but by the time I've said it the wrong way, people are offended, and my chance is gone. With this in mind, I've become accustomed to stating my word with extreme care. It's a bit of a paradox for me.
I guess I've adopted the idea that people who are giving me feedback are doing the exact same thing. They are not sure what they want to say, and by giving them time, and a safe place to express themselves is something I can do and provide as a person to help the communication go well.
Speaking of "trans", I get less and less weird looks these days from people who don't understand what gender I am, but I get more weird looks from people as Virginie and I stroll down the street hand in hand. I went for a lunch time run a few days ago and walked into the hotel where Virginie was working to say "hi". She kissed me and we embraced. As I left, I wondered about those who had seen us. I'm not planning on changing anything, this is who I am. I am a Woman, in love with a Woman that has learned to love my uniqueness back. I am the richest person alive. With that said, It's far to easy to see peoples "body language" and make assumptions. So, I've decided to adopt the mentality that if they have an issue with me, they will say it. With words. It's the same courtesy that I give others.
And yes, there are those that are yelling. Even screaming inside. Suffering with demons that are so severe that they contemplate and sometimes succeed in ending their own lives. It makes me ask myself, why is it so hard to talk?
Virginie mentioned one time after viewing a talk by Dr. Berne Brown that she felt she needed to learn to be more vulnerable. To show with greater confidence her needs, and desires. I've come to realize over the years that we all take baby steps. First, people need to show they are vulnerable through hints. They can be very subtle, and you need to be patient and compassionate, I have to remember: "It's not about me!". But over time, the hints will become whispers, then words, and eventually... confidence. It takes a long time, and yet I feel deep within the investment is worth it.
I've lived most of my life feeling like my life here on "earth" for lack of a better word is only temporary, and that my consciousness if part of a much bigger plan from a loving "Father in Heaven". Leaving religion and those beliefs behind has been very healthy for me. It's helped me to realize the inherent goodness in everyone. Not just members of the same religion. But there have been consequences. First and foremost, I don't know anymore if there is a life after this. For this reason, I'm much more motivated to live my life each day to the best of my ability, and to do my best to "talk" to others when that becomes too difficult.
For those that are tired of talking but are yelling, even screaming inside. Please, don't give up. Our inner demons are what makes us human, and may I suggest perfect. Because a perfect human being is literally in the symphony of all the voices both inside and out, both good and bad. They are what makes us who we are. It's what makes all of us an inspiration. They come together to create the tapestry of our lives, our interactions with others. It's what creates our good memories and our bad, and don't forget. Without our bad memories, or our bad moments, we would never be able to appreciate our good ones. You are as unique and wonderful today as you have ever been, and ever will be. So, if you need to scream, scream at me. I get it! I won't yell back, I know it's not about me. It's about you. It's about all the voices in your heart, and in your head that you cannot figure out because they won't stop talking all at the same time. It's okay, get it all out. Have confidence! Tomorrow will be better, and I will still be here then to listen because sometimes we don't figure everything out in one day. For most, it lasts a lifetime.
Listening... This is what we can do when we love someone.
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