Despair is one of those things that affects everyone a little differently. For some, it's a black cloud dumping rain down on them in a constant, drenching deluge. Some experience it as the complete and total absence of light, hope, or joy.
For me, despair is a heavy load, unwieldy and hard to manage - like trying to carry 75 pounds of marbles in a plastic grocery bag. Each marble is a memory - a piece of evidence in the case I build
against myself. Sometimes, I sit and count them. This one was the time I let down my guard and it came back to bite me. That one is the memory of something that, when it happened, seemed magical, but now cast in the light of reality - is just another example of my foolish naivete. The bag itself is my thin veil of composure - the calm face that the world sees. And there are many moments when I think I have it under control, until I move wrong - maybe too abruptly or with too much ease or worse, someone asks a question and it rips a jagged hole through that bag. It splits, releasing a shower of hundreds of marbles: messy, loud, and public. After a moment of panic at being exposed, I shrug, get another bag, gather up my marbles and keep trudging on.
As unwieldy as they are, they are my marbles. I have earned them.
Yes, despair is a hard thing to get away from.
And logically, I realize that as long as I am carrying that bag, I am weighted down by those marbles. There is no room in my hands for anything else. At some point, I will have to stop counting and recounting them. They will go on the shelf with all the other marbles I have accumulated in my life. But in this moment, the marbles feel like all I have. Everything else is slipping away, but the marbles? The marbles are mine. I cling to them because they are the only thing that makes me feel alive.
I've written a lot on this blog about love of all kinds. I've learned that I believe in a love that's different than the Hollywood, fairy tale version we were sold as children. I've even spent some time working out a rubric for love. I spent a lot of time thinking about the process of learning to love oneself. All the experiences and all of the learning again and again bring me back to that: loving yourself.
Not to brag or anything, but I think I've done a pretty good job of learning self love. I'm much more gentle with myself these days: less critical, less judgmental, more patient, and way more forgiving. And I have seen direct evidence of how that impacts my relationship with others. Being kind and loving to myself has deepened my relationship with family and old friends. It has also, indirectly, brought into my life a whole new circle of friends. Making friends as an adult is a strange and perilous experience. It's hard to do, and when it does happen, it can often be shallow or short lived, based on convenience. But when it works, man, is it awesome.
Except...
What happens when - as you start to love yourself and you become aware of the fact that you are surround by other loving individuals? Nobody told me how hard it can be to just accept the fact that you are loved. Don't get me wrong. The being loved part isn't new; I've been blessed to be surrounded by loving people my whole life. But being aware of it, open to it and accepting of it? That's more foreign to me than Differential Calculus.
I see this as the next phase of growth. I've learned to love myself. I am able to love others. Man, I can dish out the love like nobody's business. But can I take it? Can I sit back and let others love me? It's a challenge, because to let others love you, you have to let others KNOW you.
To let others know you, you have to be willing to be known. To drop the facades, to break down the walls, to show your heart and speak your mind. That's a very vulnerable position to be in. Anything can happen: rejection, withdrawal, ridicule, abandonment. But... if anything can happen, you can also get affirmation, connection, empathy, and acceptance.
Acceptance is a beautiful gift. To have someone say, "I see your flaws and your shortcomings; I see your strengths and your gifts. They are all A-OK with me." That acceptance is a gift that almost seems too grand to accept. But accepting that gift gives others the freedom to accept it as well. And the beautiful thing is that it's contagious. Those who feel loved are better able to give love. Those who give love are better able to accept love. It becomes an upward spiral.
Opening ourselves up: to be vulnerable, to accept love, to be seen and known is scary. But from what I've seen, in most cases, it's a good gamble with a high payoff. And it's certainly more enjoyable than Calculus!
The difficulty in completing this act, I thought, was going to be in the scheduling. Being a single mom with split custody of The Boy and The Girl, I'm almost always on Mom Duty Monday and Tuesday nights. And it seems like every literary open mic in the Triangle takes place on - you guessed it! - Monday or Tuesday night. It took almost 9 months to find a venue, a day, and a time that works. Luckily, I found Lit Up Open Mic! So, on a cool and clear March evening, I made my way to Fortnight Brewing Company in Cary to cross this off my list.
I was fine until I got into the parking lot. I'm used to be in front of a crowd - heck! I've stared down hordes of middle schoolers barely breaking a sweat! I present in front of adults all the time. Turns out, while some of those skills are transferable, it's a lot easier to present academic information than it is to reveal the words of your heart. I'm not gonna lie. I sat in my car for about 15 minutes before making my way inside. Finally, bolstered by a few encouraging messages from my people and the arrival of my friend, Deb, I made it out of the car.
In hindsight, doing this at a brewery is a brilliant idea! There happened to be plenty of liquid courage on hand - though it only took a few sips before I headed over to the table to sign up. Not wanting to go first, I signed up for slot number 3, and went back to the table to wait my turn. The crowd was pretty chill - most folks just hanging out after work to have a beer, catch up with friends, and watch a soccer game on TV. Still, they were a tolerant bunch, and once the readings started, it was all good.
Our hostess, Elizabeth, made her introductions, and we were off. Turns out, there were only three readers signed up. The first person got up to read, and I listened intently while mentally psyching myself up. I figured I'd have about 5-10 minutes to get myself ready. However, the first reader shared... a haiku. 3 lines. And there was no second reader. So... it was all me.
As I stepped up to the mic, I decided that I wasn't going to just read. I was gonna perform. I started with a poem I wrote a few months ago called "Place for Rent." The speaker is a busybody real estate agent, so... I leaned into and got into character.
The audience listened. No one booed. I didn't die. It was all good.
So much so, that after the next reader went, I got up again. And again.
As the night progressed, we heard some pretty amazing stuff... passionate, poignant, lovely. For me the highlight was Deb overcoming her shyness and reading a beautiful poem she wrote. Check her out:
My phone ran out of space, so I didn't get the whole piece, but trust me. It was wonderful!
If you followed any of the links above, you will see that the bulk of what I read was pretty fraught. And that makes sense. Most of what I wrote over the last year was HEAVILY influenced by the ending of a romantic relationship, and the self reflection and processing that experience prompted. During that time, I was a prolific writer... I had so much angst and emotion in me that I had to get it all out - and luckily the paper caught most of it for me. Lately, I've been feeling pretty darned good. While that makes for a lovely life, it doesn't lead to much in the way of good writing. Still the last poem that I read was one that wrote this week. I think is more representative of where I am right now. It's called "Maker."
So that happened. And it was pretty great!
I can say that it's not easy to get up and bare your soul to an audience of strangers. I was so stupid nervous! When I watch these videos, I have to laugh a little at the fake sass I managed to conjure. (Ok, not fake... exaggerated. I'm plenty sassy.) Still, I shared a little piece of myself with that audience, and the world didn't end. In fact, it felt pretty amazing. I highly recommend it! Now go write something. Or draw something. Or sing something. Or make something. Because ultimately, it's not for the audience; it's for you. Thanks for reading.
P.S. If you want to read a whole bunch of angst filled pseudo-poetry, you can check out my other site: Biting Off More Than I Can Chew. That's where I hide all the really embarrassing stuff! -rfk
I've been feeling really off lately. I can't quite put my finger on the cause. All I know is that I've been feeling isolated, lonely, and blue. I think I cope with it pretty well; I'm still doing the things I normally do, see the people I normally see. I'm functional. But everything feels... hollow.
I think part of it is, looking back on where I was a year ago I realize that, while I have grown a tremendous amount and learned SO MUCH, my life still just isn't the way I had hoped it would be. I don't have anything figured out any better than I did last year. In fact, I think I have to honestly say that I'm more tangled up now than I was then.
The thing that scares me is that I'm doing all the healthy, self care things I've learned to do, and the feeling persists. I feel blocked and afraid - so much so, that it has taken me nearly 3 weeks to get these thoughts down in writing!
The worst part is that I can't really put my finger on what's causing this feeling. Last year, my pain had a face and a name. It was logical, explainable, relate-able. This year, it feels like a gross oversimplification to attribute all these feelings to one singular cause. I can't seem to put it into words, and that compounds the issue.
One of the things I have learned to do is to reach out for help when I'm feeling overwhelmed or lonely. But how do you call someone up and say, "Well, I'm not really sure what my deal is or why I feel this way. All I know is I feel really, really, really crappy. Can you fix it?" And when someone asks how I am, the only thing I can think to say is, "I'm mostly OK." Because I am. Mostly.
And how do you put it out into the world that you're struggling without coming across as an overwrought drama queen or an attention-seeking adolescent? Aren't I, as a capable and self-aware adult, supposed to be able to handle my own mess without dragging others into it? And how do you ask for help, when you have no idea what kind of help you need?
The only think I can think to do with all this is to just... own it. This pain and discomfort is mine. This is how I feel. This is what I'm struggling with. Maybe that's the most courageous thing to do. Because just feeling blah doesn't make for a very compelling story.
I know it will get better - that this, too, shall pass. But right now, I just have no idea how.
All I know to do is to acknowledge that right now, in this moment, things do not feel awesome. And I guess that's kind of the point.
This morning, Timehop informed that that one year ago today, I published My List. On one hand, that was a seriously quick year. I feel like I blinked and it passed! On the other, when I think about all that has happened in the last 365 days, it seems like a millennium. And when I really stop to consider all the changes that have taken place, it takes my breath away a little.
When I embarked on this project, I think it's safe to say I was a little lost. My heart had been broken. While from the outside, it looked like I had it all figured out, inside I didn't feel certain about anything. I didn't know who I was.
Or rather, I had lost touch with who I was.
I always knew, but it was very hard for me to accept and love that person. I lived my life afraid to show who I was, because I feared judgement and rejection. This project was meant to push the limits of my courage and goad me into living a more authentic life.
If I'm honest, I think this endeavor started out as a way to show the world I was worthy. Hey everybody! Look at me! Look how BRAVE I am!! But as time has passed, I'm the one who's been convinced. I'm not quite done with the list, but I have to say that the mission has been successful. But not in the way I anticipated.
It has been a beautiful, messy, exciting, clumsy, amazing year. I have done some pretty cool things! I have also fallen flat on my ass. The beauty of the experience is that whether it's been a triumph or a failure, or somewhere in between, it's all been perfectly acceptable. It's all been OK. OK to celebrate. OK to feel sorry for myself. OK to put myself out there. OK to hide in my house. I've learned in the last year that I'm OK. It doesn't matter what fresh hell I am digging up, or what thing I'm obsessively worrying about. I am OK.
So the project that started off about courage and authenticity ended up teaching me about acceptance and love. And while I can't say I do it 100% of the time, I am much better at giving the acceptance and love that I always reserved for others to myself.
In the last year, I've really come to enjoy the person I am. I've learned to cut her some slack - because she tries really, really hard. I've learned to back off with the criticism and dial up the acceptance. Hell, I've even learned to speak to her with kindness and affection instead of harsh judgement. In taking on this project, I've learned to love myself - my real self. Not just the fancy, flawlessly put together, competent face I show the world, but the mixed up, awkward, trying-too-hard, desperate to be loved one.
In the process, my ability to love the people around me has grown too. I am enjoying my relationship with my children so much more. The mood in our home is lighter, more relaxed, more fun. I am a more patient, more loving friend. I don't absorb the problems of those around me, and I am more open, more vulnerable and more willing to ask for what I need. I have removed many of the barriers I had built against love. As each one falls, I find myself more and more ready to love and be loved.
That's quite something. And it all came from making a silly little list of things I wanted to do.
I have a folder of emails that I keep buried in my in-box. They are a sort of miserable greatest hits of the last eighteen months or so. When the great schism happened, I went through and deleted 95% of the vast store of emails, text messages, and chats that I had collected over about 6 months. If there was one thing we did a lot of, it was TALK. Good gracious there was a bunch of it! And maybe it's the teacher in me that led me to hang on to them. I'm used to collecting artifacts and work samples to document everything. For whatever reason, I kept a sample from the beginning, the middle, and the end.
These messages were all brutal to read. The beginning ones - because they were so sweet and tender, so full of promises and hope. The middle ones - because they clearly showed the fault lines that and signaled the descent that would end in flames and burning. But the ending ones - the ending ones were hardest because they captured the immensity of the anger and hurt that eventually led to the final break.
Despite the fact that these were brutally painful to read, I had made a habit of revisiting them over the course of the last year. Sometimes, it was because I was feeling nostalgic and needed a dose of reality. Sometimes because I was feeling sorry for myself, and I wanted to fan the flames of my pity party bonfire. Sometimes, it was a reminder of how far I've come from that point. As the year progressed, I would use the hurt they generated as a measure. Much like doctor may palpate a wounded area to see if it's healing properly, I would poke at my wounds by re-reading these messages. I told myself it was to measure my progress - to see how much it still hurt my heart, but I think there was some self-punishment at work there too. Regardless of the reason, the effect was consistent. Almost without fail, just opening the folder would bring on a wave of anxiety, anger, hurt and sometimes tears. I would feel my face flush and get the feeling that the world was falling out from under me.
In the early days and weeks, I probed frequently. I read and re-read them, forcing myself to feel every bit of it. However, I found that poking at a wound too much hindered its healing, so as time went on, I revisited them less and less.
I stumbled upon this folder today while looking for something else. I had honestly forgotten it was there. In fact, it took me a minute to realize what was in the folder I had named "Brain Dump." When I opened it and saw the index, I expected the flush, the anxiety, the hurt, the anger, the tears. Instead, I got... nothing. I opened one of the messages, and read over it. I noted how overwrought our words had been - how loaded and angry - but the emotional wallop that usually came with remembering them was gone.
Could this really be the case?
I pulled up the worst one of the bunch. It was the howler that I could only bring myself to read a handful of times - so full of venom that I hated to even think about it. There was a time when those words cut me so deeply that I could barely stand it. No one had ever spoken of me - before or since - in such a harsh and hateful way, and at the time, it had cut me to the core. I trotted that one out when I was feeling particularly self-flagellating, and it had never failed to deliver.
Today, I didn't feel the need to even open it. I knew that the things in it were not true, knew that the person who wrote it knew nothing about me - not really. I also knew that the words contained in that email were so far removed from my my life as it is now that it was no longer a reliable artifact. I had learned all I could from this experience. I didn't have to keep poking. The pain was gone. It was time to let the rest of it go too.
Today is the first day of the new year, and as the relentlessly self improving woman I am, prior to today I gave some thought to my New Year's Resolutions. It's kind of a compulsion, really. I love to have a plan or a project. I like something to focus my attention and effort on - because my brain needs the distraction. And honestly, I think that the planning and action and reflection is good for me. This time last year, I embarked on this project, and it led me to have one of the BEST years of my life so far. What's not to like?
As I sat down to think about what I wanted to change, something strange started to happen. I looked at the areas of my life and realized that I am pretty darned happy with the way things are. My relationship with my children has never been better. They are healthy and happy, and we have a ton of fun together. I have a job that I love and am challenged by. I have a rich and varied group of wonderful people who I can call my friends. I love and am loved. I've become more honest and up front about my feelings and as a result, feel much more balanced and authentic. I have a beautiful home with everything I need - including two furry beasties who love a good cuddle. My financial house is (mostly) in order. Life is... good. Really good.
So this year, instead of picking something to overhaul and change about my life, I resolve to appreciate what I have. I resolve to enjoy the unfolding of events and to savor the sweetness of my days. I resolve to accept (and maybe even celebrate) my imperfections and to learn from my mistakes. I resolve to cut myself some slack when I don't get it just right and to give myself some credit when I do. I resolve to love myself as openly and deeply as I love my friends and family. And I resolve to be here now.
So the projects and the goals will have to wait a little while, because this year, I'm going to be too busy being grateful. Oh, and eating more vegetables.
May your New Year be filled with love, joy, peace, and all the things that make you happy.
