Compassion for others. Compassion for self. In equal measure, as consistently as possible.
It really is as simple as that. I think I'm just starting to get a feel for what this balancing act feels like when it's done right.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
In which my temper gets me in trouble, again.
Bad, bad, bad day yesterday, followed by the worst night I've had in a long time, and then my first ever hangover this morning. I'm mixed up and hurt and angry, completely unsure if I've been taken advantage of, or if I'm being an inconsiderate asshole myself. It's probably both, and I have no idea what to do about it.
I'm trying to recenter myself by any means I can, because I know I make crappy decisions when I feel like this. Watching the snow is helping. It's hilariously out of keeping with the weather, but I've been trying to clean up a poem I started a couple weeks ago. It's out of step with the snow, maybe, but crushingly appropriate to my mood.
Dandelion in December
You're too pale, you know,
spindly and awkward on a bent stalk.
Trying too hard, that's what,
like you're trying too hard.
The grass is so young.
Youth out of season
is bright smooth green,
not your pale sad yellow,
but there's nothing else blooming
for miles.
I'm trying to recenter myself by any means I can, because I know I make crappy decisions when I feel like this. Watching the snow is helping. It's hilariously out of keeping with the weather, but I've been trying to clean up a poem I started a couple weeks ago. It's out of step with the snow, maybe, but crushingly appropriate to my mood.
Dandelion in December
You're too pale, you know,
spindly and awkward on a bent stalk.
Trying too hard, that's what,
like you're trying too hard.
The grass is so young.
Youth out of season
is bright smooth green,
not your pale sad yellow,
but there's nothing else blooming
for miles.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
*grump*
I've discovered a flaw in my reasoning: making others a priority works best when it's reciprocated. And it's fucking exhausting when it's not.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Just another metaphor
I've been doing some thinking today, rehashing old thoughts in maybe a new way, and it felt for a while there like they were something productive, something to actually make me happier and snap me out of my funk. They go in circles, so it's hard to type them out.
Feminism is just a metaphor, like any other. It doesn't matter whether it's objectively true in any way, just that it feels true to me. And, in my version of feminism, the patriarchy isn't the villain; it's the narrator. Women are the villains, and the victims, and the cast of heroes is made up almost exclusively of men. Doesn't this explain so much about me, if not our world? I don't let myself think of myself as anything but a victim or a villain; if I'm not sitting lost and lonely, brokenhearted over the things I can't change, I must be doing something wrong, so I feel guilty. How horrifying is that? But it's true. I feel guilty all the time, almost no matter what I'm doing. If I'm not miserable, I feel guilty for it.
I blame too much on my mother, I know, and I don't have as much compassion for her as I would like. Maybe blaming her for this, though, is the key to that compassion. She taught me to think this way, not because she was a cruel and evil person (the villain of the piece), but because it was all she knew herself. We teach our children no more and no less than what we truly believe ourselves, right? I remember very clearly the first time I failed a class. It was ninth grade, and I finally got to march with the band in a competition for the first time. I was no good, but I was excited about it all the same, and I felt good and strong and proud in my silly purple uniform. But I failed biology, so I was ineligible and couldn't go to competition, and I was crushed for weeks. I remember one night we were eating dinner at the table (it must have been a holiday or something), and I couldn't stop crying over my food. No one had much sympathy, and when they told me it wasn't as big a deal as I was making it, I tried to explain: my whole life was made up of school, where I was awkward and miserable, and home, where everyone was always so angry. But in band, I got to be proud of myself and have fun. It was the only fun thing in my whole day. I don't remember the words I used, but I don't think I'll ever forget my mother's reaction. She slammed down the big white ceramic bowl, the one we mostly used for mashed potatoes, glared at me, and said "Welcome to adulthood." I ran to my room and cried myself to sleep, totally oblivious to the irony.
Yeah, it's a terrible story. I should have some compassion for that girl on the cusp of adulthood, being told that the entire rest of her life will be all responsibility and sadness. But more than that, right now I have some compassion for that angry, tired woman with the bowl of mashed potatoes she probably didn't want to make. She honestly believed, still does believe, that being an adult means doing what needs to be done, and having not one ounce of joy or pride or confidence.
When I promise myself that I won't become my mother, this is the moment I need to remember. It's one of the most important lessons she ever taught me, and one I desperately need to unlearn.
I spend so much time ashamed that nothing really feels good to me except being around other people, so ashamed that it consumes my thoughts when I'm alone and I'm not just lonely, I'm overwhelmed by shame and self hate. Of course I'm alone, who would want to be around me, I have no confidence or strength, nothing to draw people to me. And the worst part is, there's some tiny kernel of truth in that (I'm not going to meet new people sitting alone in my apartment), so it's very easy to convince myself that it's the defining truth of my existence.
But it's not. So the only thing that brings me happiness right now is other people? Fine. I'm going to delight in other people, and I'm not going to apologize to anybody for it, not even myself. I'll see David on Thursday and Lain on Friday, and this will be the highlight of my winter. I'm going to stop being ashamed of that, and start acting like it's true. I'm going to clean this apartment, top to bottom, because even if it's kinda plain and cramped with old, ugly furniture, it can at least be clean. I can fill it up with smells of cookies and citrus and sandalwood, make it warm and inviting, and be proud to invite people in and make them feel welcomed and calm.
I'm going to keep repeating to myself things people have said to me that I find flattering, but let myself believe them for once. Livvy says I've got a skill for comforting people who are down, taking care of them with my picnics of fruit and cheese and my sweet-smelling sugar scrubs. I'm going to clean out the fridge of all the sad, half-rotten things I haven't thrown out, fill it back up with fresh fruit and the tastiest cheeses I can afford, stock up on the ingredients for the things I cook best. David used to tell me I was beautiful, that he sometimes couldn't resist me even when he was trying. So I'll wear my favorite sweaters, style my hair and put on some makeup, not because I need it but because it makes me feel more confident, and I will blow him away with how good I look, maybe even make him regret that I'm not even a little bit his anymore. And if that makes him uncomfortable and he leaves right away, so be it. I don't want to spend one more second with him apologizing for myself. I've done more than enough of that already.
Will this mood last? Will I be able to hold on to this confidence and self-possession for the next three days and actually get all of these things done? I don't see why not. Because the one thing that always brings me joy is seeing the people I care about, and I'm about to see two of them who live very far away. As long as I keep that in mind, I think I can also find some joy in scrubbing the floor and folding my laundry.
And if not? It's all still true. Metaphors work because they're true.
Feminism is just a metaphor, like any other. It doesn't matter whether it's objectively true in any way, just that it feels true to me. And, in my version of feminism, the patriarchy isn't the villain; it's the narrator. Women are the villains, and the victims, and the cast of heroes is made up almost exclusively of men. Doesn't this explain so much about me, if not our world? I don't let myself think of myself as anything but a victim or a villain; if I'm not sitting lost and lonely, brokenhearted over the things I can't change, I must be doing something wrong, so I feel guilty. How horrifying is that? But it's true. I feel guilty all the time, almost no matter what I'm doing. If I'm not miserable, I feel guilty for it.
I blame too much on my mother, I know, and I don't have as much compassion for her as I would like. Maybe blaming her for this, though, is the key to that compassion. She taught me to think this way, not because she was a cruel and evil person (the villain of the piece), but because it was all she knew herself. We teach our children no more and no less than what we truly believe ourselves, right? I remember very clearly the first time I failed a class. It was ninth grade, and I finally got to march with the band in a competition for the first time. I was no good, but I was excited about it all the same, and I felt good and strong and proud in my silly purple uniform. But I failed biology, so I was ineligible and couldn't go to competition, and I was crushed for weeks. I remember one night we were eating dinner at the table (it must have been a holiday or something), and I couldn't stop crying over my food. No one had much sympathy, and when they told me it wasn't as big a deal as I was making it, I tried to explain: my whole life was made up of school, where I was awkward and miserable, and home, where everyone was always so angry. But in band, I got to be proud of myself and have fun. It was the only fun thing in my whole day. I don't remember the words I used, but I don't think I'll ever forget my mother's reaction. She slammed down the big white ceramic bowl, the one we mostly used for mashed potatoes, glared at me, and said "Welcome to adulthood." I ran to my room and cried myself to sleep, totally oblivious to the irony.
Yeah, it's a terrible story. I should have some compassion for that girl on the cusp of adulthood, being told that the entire rest of her life will be all responsibility and sadness. But more than that, right now I have some compassion for that angry, tired woman with the bowl of mashed potatoes she probably didn't want to make. She honestly believed, still does believe, that being an adult means doing what needs to be done, and having not one ounce of joy or pride or confidence.
When I promise myself that I won't become my mother, this is the moment I need to remember. It's one of the most important lessons she ever taught me, and one I desperately need to unlearn.
I spend so much time ashamed that nothing really feels good to me except being around other people, so ashamed that it consumes my thoughts when I'm alone and I'm not just lonely, I'm overwhelmed by shame and self hate. Of course I'm alone, who would want to be around me, I have no confidence or strength, nothing to draw people to me. And the worst part is, there's some tiny kernel of truth in that (I'm not going to meet new people sitting alone in my apartment), so it's very easy to convince myself that it's the defining truth of my existence.
But it's not. So the only thing that brings me happiness right now is other people? Fine. I'm going to delight in other people, and I'm not going to apologize to anybody for it, not even myself. I'll see David on Thursday and Lain on Friday, and this will be the highlight of my winter. I'm going to stop being ashamed of that, and start acting like it's true. I'm going to clean this apartment, top to bottom, because even if it's kinda plain and cramped with old, ugly furniture, it can at least be clean. I can fill it up with smells of cookies and citrus and sandalwood, make it warm and inviting, and be proud to invite people in and make them feel welcomed and calm.
I'm going to keep repeating to myself things people have said to me that I find flattering, but let myself believe them for once. Livvy says I've got a skill for comforting people who are down, taking care of them with my picnics of fruit and cheese and my sweet-smelling sugar scrubs. I'm going to clean out the fridge of all the sad, half-rotten things I haven't thrown out, fill it back up with fresh fruit and the tastiest cheeses I can afford, stock up on the ingredients for the things I cook best. David used to tell me I was beautiful, that he sometimes couldn't resist me even when he was trying. So I'll wear my favorite sweaters, style my hair and put on some makeup, not because I need it but because it makes me feel more confident, and I will blow him away with how good I look, maybe even make him regret that I'm not even a little bit his anymore. And if that makes him uncomfortable and he leaves right away, so be it. I don't want to spend one more second with him apologizing for myself. I've done more than enough of that already.
Will this mood last? Will I be able to hold on to this confidence and self-possession for the next three days and actually get all of these things done? I don't see why not. Because the one thing that always brings me joy is seeing the people I care about, and I'm about to see two of them who live very far away. As long as I keep that in mind, I think I can also find some joy in scrubbing the floor and folding my laundry.
And if not? It's all still true. Metaphors work because they're true.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
It's like watching a tennis match
or a pendulum, or a yo-yo, or some other overplayed metaphor.
This morning feels not so much like morning as it does some unnatural midnight sunrise. I just spent another sleepless night tying myself in knots over things I can't change, trying and failing to distract myself from thoughts I know will only upset me. I sincerely wish I knew how to stop doing this. The voice of my therapist in my head (a metaphor, not a creepy hallucination) tells me that, on some level, I'm choosing to dwell on these things, I need to process them, and I won't be done dwelling until I'm ready to be done. I recall this making sense at some other time, but it's decidedly unhelpful at the moment. It's eight am, sunny and clear, and I just spent the last two hours watching my bedroom wall get incrementally brighter as I got incrementally sadder.
This shit needs an off switch.
This is a negative thought pattern. It is not the sum total of my existence. I will feel better later, possibly even very soon. I have not always felt this bad. There are people who care for me, even when they're not around. Yes, I'm lecturing myself, and yes, I'm doing it on my freaking blog. It's not helping yet, but I seem to remember that it has in the past, so I'll keep at it for awhile.
But in my head, 'cause purging or no, this is sounding pretty pathetic.
This morning feels not so much like morning as it does some unnatural midnight sunrise. I just spent another sleepless night tying myself in knots over things I can't change, trying and failing to distract myself from thoughts I know will only upset me. I sincerely wish I knew how to stop doing this. The voice of my therapist in my head (a metaphor, not a creepy hallucination) tells me that, on some level, I'm choosing to dwell on these things, I need to process them, and I won't be done dwelling until I'm ready to be done. I recall this making sense at some other time, but it's decidedly unhelpful at the moment. It's eight am, sunny and clear, and I just spent the last two hours watching my bedroom wall get incrementally brighter as I got incrementally sadder.
This shit needs an off switch.
This is a negative thought pattern. It is not the sum total of my existence. I will feel better later, possibly even very soon. I have not always felt this bad. There are people who care for me, even when they're not around. Yes, I'm lecturing myself, and yes, I'm doing it on my freaking blog. It's not helping yet, but I seem to remember that it has in the past, so I'll keep at it for awhile.
But in my head, 'cause purging or no, this is sounding pretty pathetic.
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
Post and Re-post
It occurred to me today that, though we all struggle every day to be the people we're becoming, maybe the person I want to be isn't so far away or ill-defined as I've been thinking. This isn't a new thought. I was just reading back through some old posts and was startled that some of them could literally be re-posted with just a couple names changed and be as accurate right now as they were the first time around. For example:
Jan 17, '07
I’m scared half to death. Relieved that there haven’t been terribly many fights or ugly confrontations ... Worried that I’m being unfair to [David], that ... as flawed as what we had together was, it really was the best I’ll ever get. (And isn’t that just the gooey candy center of this all? That I’m still afraid I don’t deserve any better.)
Jan 22, '07
I wish I had known years ago how much easier it is to simply ignore him in return, rather than scrabbling for morsels of his affection. I’m happier and have more time to pursue my own interests ...
Feb 1, '07
Apparently I’m a glutton for punishment, even unconsciously. Stupid emotions. Stupid guys, with their height and broad shoulders and emotional inaccessibility. Stupid dreams, making me think about it even when I’m asleep.
Am I on some kind of three year cycle here? In some ways, I almost hope I am; there are some very happy posts in the spring of '07. At the same time, there's also several months more of mulling over my relationship with Ben and much (obviously downplayed) excitement over meeting David. I'm hoping to change that part this time around. David was and still is important to me, obviously, but there's nothing in me that even approaches the bitterness and dysfunction I carried back then. I've honestly grown more than I realized in that time. And while I can't guarantee that I won't fall head-over-heels for someone new in the near future, I am much more aware of myself now and won't be mistaking desire for trust any time soon. Arguably, I'm not likely to trust anyone new for a long time now, and that's something I'll need to deal with.
In the mean time, I have my personal narrative to keep me company. Maybe it's time I started paying a bit more attention to it.
Jan 17, '07
I’m scared half to death. Relieved that there haven’t been terribly many fights or ugly confrontations ... Worried that I’m being unfair to [David], that ... as flawed as what we had together was, it really was the best I’ll ever get. (And isn’t that just the gooey candy center of this all? That I’m still afraid I don’t deserve any better.)
Jan 22, '07
I wish I had known years ago how much easier it is to simply ignore him in return, rather than scrabbling for morsels of his affection. I’m happier and have more time to pursue my own interests ...
Feb 1, '07
Apparently I’m a glutton for punishment, even unconsciously. Stupid emotions. Stupid guys, with their height and broad shoulders and emotional inaccessibility. Stupid dreams, making me think about it even when I’m asleep.
Am I on some kind of three year cycle here? In some ways, I almost hope I am; there are some very happy posts in the spring of '07. At the same time, there's also several months more of mulling over my relationship with Ben and much (obviously downplayed) excitement over meeting David. I'm hoping to change that part this time around. David was and still is important to me, obviously, but there's nothing in me that even approaches the bitterness and dysfunction I carried back then. I've honestly grown more than I realized in that time. And while I can't guarantee that I won't fall head-over-heels for someone new in the near future, I am much more aware of myself now and won't be mistaking desire for trust any time soon. Arguably, I'm not likely to trust anyone new for a long time now, and that's something I'll need to deal with.
In the mean time, I have my personal narrative to keep me company. Maybe it's time I started paying a bit more attention to it.
Sunday, December 06, 2009
We all know how I feel about hope, right?
I think maybe, just maybe, I see the pieces starting to fall into place, and soon enough I'll remember that sense of resolution, that particular self-possession and self-control it took me so long to cultivate.
I feel like myself today. And I did the day before yesterday as well. And, I think, several times over the last week. That's a strange, vaguely agrammatical thing to say, but my overarching aversion to optimism won't allow me to clarify it much more, even in my own mind.
I'm looking forward to the holidays, confident that I will see people I love and that they will be happy to see me. I honestly can't say whether or not that's happened before (my confidence, of course, being the thing which is so often lacking). There will be hugs and laughter and long nights with nothing better to do than talk until the sun comes up. If I'm perfectly honest with myself, I can't imagine anything better than that.
Can you hear me smiling, internets?
I feel like myself today. And I did the day before yesterday as well. And, I think, several times over the last week. That's a strange, vaguely agrammatical thing to say, but my overarching aversion to optimism won't allow me to clarify it much more, even in my own mind.
I'm looking forward to the holidays, confident that I will see people I love and that they will be happy to see me. I honestly can't say whether or not that's happened before (my confidence, of course, being the thing which is so often lacking). There will be hugs and laughter and long nights with nothing better to do than talk until the sun comes up. If I'm perfectly honest with myself, I can't imagine anything better than that.
Can you hear me smiling, internets?
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