All the more precious

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I write about love a lot on here. Not so much love stories, or being in love…more like the struggle of love. Which is ironic, because real love should not be a struggle at all.  It is for me, though. Not as much, lately, but something I’ll probably be working on for the rest of my life…and likely during the next life, too.

Last year, I wrote a blog post about a really difficult, yet amazing time in my life. These difficult, amazing times make for the best writing from me, if I do say so myself. I often go back and read this particular story about the deer, it’s that amazing. You can read it here.

The reason I’m sharing this post from last year is not to promote it, or get out of writing something worthy tonight. I received a decent amount of comments on that post, considering I’m not well-known in the blogging world. One comment in particular has stuck with me all this time. I reference a phrase from it almost weekly, at times…in my mind. I’ve never said it out loud or written it down. It just plays in my mind, like someone softly speaking it to me when I least expect it. I don’t really know why it’s stuck with me. Must be part of God’s plan. That’s what I tend to say when I can’t figure something out, “It must be God’s plan for me to fall in love with emotionally unavailable men”. It’s a great way to deflect responsibility. But sometimes, I think it’s true. Sometimes, you just gotta give it to God, or you’ll drive yourself crazy trying to figure it out.

Anyway, I’ve been repeating this phrase from that one comment a lot lately. Dealing with love, or more accurately, the loss of love. More like the loss of the idea of love…my expectations of love. God, there was a period of time during the past few years where I didn’t think I was capable of even feeling love, let alone worthy of receiving love. I’ve grown past those feelings, a bit. Not by experiencing love, per say…but by facing the loss of my expectations, I’ve been able to grieve the love I thought I should have had. Well, I’m still grieving, to be honest. Does grief ever truly end? I’m not sure it does. I think you just learn to live around it. Or through it. You spend your life fluidly dancing around it then diving right in and sinking a bit. I never even knew you could grieve a feeling or emotion, did you? I also didn’t realize you could grieve a person when he was still alive. Trust me, you can.

Anyway, back to this comment I was talking about. It was from Finding A Sober Miracle on WordPress. We didn’t know each other at all when she wrote this. Since then, we’ve developed a connection. Another part of God’s plan I haven’t quite figured out just yet. So, she reads my post about the deer and my fears and trauma and confusion and she just opens up her heart and speaks to me….

“Please know that nothing could ever change y our worth in the slightest. If anything, you are all the more precious for being the lost lamb.”

Why do I keep repeating “you are all the more precious for being the lost lamb”? Over and over and over…for a good year and a half now.

I suppose I really am a lost lamb. I’ve had the people I love most in this world walk away from me this year. I know it’s them, and not me. I get it all. I understand their capabilities. I realize my value is not lessened because other’s can’t see it.  But I’m still the lost lamb. Understanding someone’s behavior doesn’t make the tears go away. Knowing why you can’t be in a family any longer doesn’t make you feel any less lost. Overcoming a life of trauma does not mean you won’t be traumatized as an adult, and overcoming abandonment issues is challenging when you are currently being abandoned. Does this make me more precious to God? I hope so. I hope there’s some divine reason for it…

I’m giving it to God.

 

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS Oct. 13/18

 

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I cried writing this card

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Today my oldest son turned 18. We are looking at colleges and I’m preparing for my little bird to fly the nest. It’s bittersweet times around here.

Our family has been through a lot these past three years. My husband moved out two years ago, after a year of me having a therapeutic revolution of my own #metoo movement. My boys are well aware of it all, and have weathered the storm like warriors. God, I have been blessed.

I cried writing this card…

 

 

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS Oct. 6/18

 

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Take me home

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Today’s Stream of Social Consciousness word prompt by my friend Linda G. Hill is “Earworm“. At first glance, I turned my nose up at it. I was thinking “earwig” and thought, “how the hell am I going to write about a creepy bug?”  I then spent the next 10 minutes or so wondering why I always called it “earwig” when it appears the correct name is “earworm”.  Anyway, I finally googled it and realized she was not referring to the creepy bug, (which most definitely is named “earwig“). “Earworm” refers to a song that gets stuck in your head. Oh yes, I thought. I can write about this…

When I was about five years old or so, my family drove from Massachusetts to Disney World. We took my dad’s blue truck. The back pickup bed had a cab on it and we slept in there on blankets and pillows, goofing off and playing games to stave off the boredom. God, it’s amazing any kids at all survived back then…how did people think popping kids in the back of a truck with nothing to secure them was a good idea? Anyway, on one particular stretch of the journey, I was riding shotgun with my dad. My brother and sister were in the back cab, while my mom was napping in the back seat. This was in the mid 70s, so no CDs or cassettes for music. I’m sure we probably could have had an 8 track player in there, but Dad didn’t roll like that. He was old-school. We were in an isolated area of endless highway with no radio reception, so he ended up just turning it off. I’m not sure if it was the last song on the radio, or maybe it was the only popular song I knew, but I started singing “Country Roads” by John Denver. The problem was, I only knew the chorus. “Country roads, take me home….to the place…I belonggggggg…..West Virginia…mountain momma….take me home…country roads….”. I must have sung that chorus for a good 3 or 4 hours. After about the 50th round, my dad looks over at me, sitting there in my pigtails, crooning to him and says, “Don’t you know any other words to that song? Or any OTHER songs?” I giggled and said, “nope!” and kept on serenading him, until we finally reached an area of reception and my anthem was replaced by something else…probably Crystal Gayle or Gordon Lightfoot or someone like that.

Throughout the years, my dad and I would reminisce about that day, and one of us would sing the chorus and we both would end up with wide smiles as we returned to that blue pickup truck. It unofficially became “our song”.

I’m 46 now. My dad is 77. Life has it’s funny way of not working out the way you plan, you know?  Families sometimes become fractured and before you realize what’s happening, relationships are just gone. I don’t really get to talk to my dad anymore, and it’s kind of weird how that song seems to be popping up everywhere lately. Except I don’t find myself with that wide smile any longer…instead, I end up with kind of a tight throat and a tear or two rolling down my cheek….like right now. Maybe life will figure out a way to turn things back around again.  God, I miss him.

Take me home… to the place I belong…

 

 

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS Sept. 8/18

 

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Bodily functions…it’s not fair

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How interesting are our bodies? I mean, seriously… all these organs and systems performing bodily functions without us ever having to put much thought into it at all. Other than knowing we need to  eat, drink, use the bathroom, exercise, brush our teeth and such, we can pretty much live our day-to-day lives without worrying about our body parts functioning they way they are supposed to. Pretty easy to take this sort of thing for granted. That is, until you realize your body isn’t functioning correctly anymore.

I have two rare disorders. Well, I don’t think they are so much “rare”  as “rarely diagnosed”. I spent my entire life with symptoms no specialist could explain. After having a rheumatologist coldly ask me, “why are you here?” and telling me, “You’re looking for a unifying diagnosis for all of your symptoms and you aren’t going to find one”…and having another doctor tell me that I should consider going on an antidepressant, I just stopped complaining. I knew whatever I had wouldn’t kill me, as I’ve made it this far. So, I stopped reporting any symptoms at my visits and resigned myself to a life of chronic pain, allergic reactions, worsening eyesight, severe digestive issues, pre-glaucoma, two heart arrhythmias, insomnia, frequent joint dislocations, chemical sensitivities, dizziness, shortness of breath, light-headedness, weakness, fatigue, dental problems, metabolic syndrome…I’m sure I could elaborate more, but I’m sure you get the picture. The thing is, even though I resigned myself, in my early 40’s,  to living this life, I just KNEW there was a diagnosis somewhere. It’s just not normal for someone that young to have so many medical problems that are not explained.

So, I researched. And I researched. And I researched. It seemed hopeless, but there was nothing else to do, so I kept plugging away, losing hope day by day. Until one day…

I came across an article written by a doctor describing my EXACT journey! I cried reading it. He was describing me. I wrote to him, telling him just that, along with describing my symptoms and years of being told there was nothing wrong with me. This amazing man actually wrote back to me, stating it did indeed sound like I had Mast Cell Activation Syndrome. I took his letter, along with some other research I’d found and brought it as a presentation to my allergist, who then referred me to the Mast Cell Clinic at Brigham and Women’s hospital in Boston, where I finally received the diagnosis and am on a medication regime which has greatly improved my quality of life.

However, not all my symptoms were due to this new diagnosis. Mast Cells have nothing to do with dislocated joints, severe pain and a few other weird things about me.. So, I did a little more research. OK…I did a LOT more research.  I kept going until I found another article, describing a disorder that is commonly diagnosed with Mast Cell Activation Syndrome…Ehler’s-Danlos Syndrome. It’s a connective tissue disorder which results in faulty collagen. I took myself to a geneticist in Boston who upon meeting me stated, “You obviously have some type of connective tissue disorder”. I laughed. “Obviously! Let’s tell that to the 25 doctors I’ve seen before you who told me I was crazy!” I tell ya, even though there is no cure for these two disorders, the validation of a diagnosis is kind of healing in itself.

Unfortunately, my two sons were just diagnosed with connective tissue disorders a few weeks ago. And even more unfortunately, theirs looks to be affecting their vascular system, putting them at risk for ruptured aneurysms. We are still in the diagnosing stage, in regards to determining which type they have. It’s one thing for me to have this crap, but for my boys…that’s a whole other story. It’s not fair. I’m scared. I hate that I gave this to them. I hate that they had to have echo cardiograms last week and will have to have them frequently for the rest of their lives. I hated watching my oldest son’s face as the cardiologist described his enlarged aortic root. I hated watching my youngest son’s face as the geneticist pointed out the physical characteristics of Marfans’s Syndrome…of which he has many. I hated listening to my son nervously whispering, “I hope I don’t have to have surgery on my heart”.  I hate taking my kids to the chiropractor every few weeks to push in a dislocated joint.  I hate that my son had to quit playing high school basketball because his shoulder won’t stay in place and his body won’t function the way he wants it to. I hate him being in pain…much more than I hate myself being in pain.  I’d take all of his pain and add it to mine in  a heartbeat to keep him safe. That’s how moms roll…

Wow, that was sort of a venting session there. Sorry. I don’t hate much in this world, but watching my children suffer…yeah, I do hate that. However…

…life goes on….

 

 

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS August 11/18

 

 

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Calling for a miracle

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I haven’t written on here in a while. I suppose in some ways, that’s a good thing. I really started this whole writing thing as a way to process the difficult things in my life. Almost like writing was a calling…I would feel an overwhelming urge to write about certain things and then somehow felt better afterwards. I haven’t felt that way most of this year, hence my absence on here.  I sort of found a place of contentment and I’ve been doing my thing elsewhere.

So…I’m back. You just never know when you’re gonna get that calling, you know?

I felt the urge to write the other day. I spewed it out on my Facebook page before going to bed, after a few weeks of feeling discontent. I’ve got hundreds of people I actually know on Facebook. Putting my shit out on the line there is a lot more risky than putting it on here. It’s vulnerability at it’s finest.

My inner demons, who had been so well tamed this year, kind of crept back up on me. Almost out of nowhere, yet almost like they were there the whole time. I know, that sounds confusing. That’s because it is. I’m in the middle of an endless struggle to accept the loss of some people I love, all because I have told my story. Not everyone can handle this kind of shit, so instead…they let me go. And I’ve been pondering ways to get them back.

These past few weeks, I was feeling angst. Turmoil. Insecure. Unlovable. These are my inner demons, and when they rise in me, it usually signals I’m on the verge of a change in my life. I never do know what that change is going to be…

This is what I wrote:

Facebook reality check:
I post some pretty amazing photos of some pretty amazing experiences, don’t I? I just scrolled through my page and it looks FANTASTIC! I tell you what, I most definitely am GRATEFUL for the blessings I have in my life. But if I’m going to keep it real here…it’s not all sandbars and sunflower fields. I have to work really hard at having these amazing experiences, because life doesn’t just happen that way naturally. Life shits on me a lot… as I’m sure it shits on you, too. It’s like a checks and balances system. You gotta go through the bad in order to appreciate the good. And sometimes, it seems as though I create the messes in my life myself, just as a byproduct of the other messes I’ve lived through. Like I can’t get out of my own way…out of my own thoughts, sometimes. We all have our inner demons, don’t we? I know I’m not the only one who struggles with negative feelings regarding the self. We surely all have them, at one point or another, some more frequently than others, some not. All caused by different experiences, though the details don’t matter, as the feelings are the same. The difference is in how we deal with these feelings. My “Plan A” for dealing is the tremendous amount of time I spend on self-care. You know, all these “amazing” experiences you see on here, and my meditation and my faith and my writing and my reflecting and my service. And it works…for the most part. But not always.There’s always an underlying struggle in my soul. Because, you know…life keeps shitting on you. Or something happens to remind you of the old shit. Or maybe YOU decide to uncover the old shit, just because you’re human. Maybe that old shit never really does go away, you just have to learn how to live around it. Or maybe it’s new shit. Whatever. I’m sure I’ll never figure it out. All I know is, today I was not feeling like the amazing, empowered, enlightened Jami. My inner demons have been creeping up this week…feelings of insecurity, difficulty with acceptance, awareness of broken places…put whatever demon you choose in there, it will fit. This is the underlying struggle. And when I feel like that, I feel like a fraud. I look at what I put out to the world and I feel like I’m trying to pull a fast one over on everyone, which is funny, because I honestly do not care what anyone thinks of me. Maybe what that feeling really is, is that I’m trying to pull a fast one on ME. So, what do I do then? I write it all out. I put it ALL out there, for whoever is bored enough to read this much on a Facebook post. This is my “Plan B” for dealing with life…being honest and vulnerable. Somehow, stripping myself to the raw core of who I am…exposing all my flaws, my insecurities…my brokenness…somehow, it cleanses me. Almost like being baptized. I spent my entire life stuffing things down, hiding the real me from everyone, including myself…for fear of no one accepting me, or not feeling loved, or whatever the struggle is. Maybe it was really more a fear of me not loving myself. Fear keeps you from being brave. When you strip it all down and show the world the not so amazing parts of you, there’s really nothing left to be afraid of. It’s uncomfortable to do this, yet at the same time…freeing. This is how I am brave.

Hey, you have your methods, I have mine…but, I’m willing to bet a piece or two of this sounds familiar to a few of you.

It works. I haven’t even hit “post” yet, and already I’m feeling a little absolved. The struggle has softened. I think I might do something amazing tomorrow…

It’s funny how listening to the call and writing it out changes my perspective almost immediately. I’ve read that miracles are really just a change in perception. I purged that angst and now I’m back (hopefully) on the path to contentment, with a few changes. An old friend read my post and felt called to offer me a Harmonyum treatment (similar to Reiki, but not…you’ll have to look it up). I felt lighter walking out of there. I visited a friend I’d been meaning to see but hadn’t gotten around to lately. I said “yes” to a few dates I’d been saying “no” to. I got caught up on a few things I’d been avoiding in my life. I started meditating more. And I made a conscious decision to try to stop getting people back into my life who don’t want to be here, no matter how much I love them. Again. Will it stick? Who knows? All I can do is make the intention for today, and we’ll see what tomorrow brings. In the meantime, I’m enjoying the change in perception.

 

 

 

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS August 4/18

 

 

 

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Reservation for 7

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I’m nearing in on 2 years of being single after a 20 year relationship.  Where I am at right now, I am quite content. I enjoy my independence and have found that transitioning to being single at this stage of my life has been one of the most empowering things I have done. I think I am brave and love myself fiercely. I kick ass at a job I love, I’m raising 2 amazing boys and I surround myself with friends who love me. Life is good.

Each Wednesday, my friends and I go out to dinner. “Supper Club” we call it. It’s usually 3 to 5 couples…and me. We make a reservation for 7 or 13 and sit at a long table and enjoy each other’s company. I often joke about being the “7th wheel” or “13th wheel”. When I occasionally find a man I might want to date, and it inevitably doesn’t work out, the men in this group put their arms around me and say, “who cares about that guy? You’ve got us.” Yep…I’m dating my friends. My girlfriend just got a new car…a 7 seater. She said “It’s perfect for the 3 couples and you!” At first, I laughed…but then realized it’s not only funny, but kind of sad at the same time.

We were at Supper Club the other night. Reservation for 7. Each couple sat across from each other, with me at the end, looking at an empty seat across from me. I couldn’t really see or hear my friends at the other end of the table too well, so I leaned in over my friend’s lap so I could be part of the conversation. He put his arm around my shoulder and I jokingly snuggled  into him. It was all in fun, his wife sitting across from us, and we were all laughing about it. That’s what’s so great about this group of friends. We all truly love each other, and no one feels threatened by their husband putting his arm around me and hugging me. As we chatted, I thought about how his arm felt on my back, and realized something, which I softly said aloud to his wife…”No one touches me anymore”. It was kind of a sad thing to say, and I’m really not sure why I said it out loud. It just sort of happened. She looked at me with a sad face, and told her husband to keep touching me, which he did. Just a gentle rub on the shoulder, while we finished our conversation. Seriously…how lucky am I to have friends like these? I think pretty lucky…

So, we will continue to make reservations for 7, or 13, and enjoy the company of good friends…but I wouldn’t mind if, some day, we made it an even number.

 

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS June 16/18

 

 

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It Never Goes Away

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Linda asked us to write about our favorite word today.  That’s a tough one, as there’s just SO many good ones out there. I suppose it all depends on my mood. Lately though, I’ve been enjoying the meaning of this certain word quite a bit. Vulnerability. I know, at first glance it reads like a bad word. Like describing someone who isn’t safe, or scared, maybe. It’s uncomfortable. I suppose that’s kind of true. When you are vulnerable, you are at risk. Sometimes, you get hurt. Or sad. Or scared. But those things are exactly what I like about vulnerability. I purposefully place myself in the position of being vulnerable as often as I can. It’s where I’m real. No walls up, no defensive coping mechanisms, no pretending. Just raw, honest, real…me.

When you step into the uncomfortable arena of vulnerability, it’s like being a seed which has been buried for weeks, germinating in the cold dirt, and finally the shell cracks open. It feels like total destruction, but really…that is the moment when you begin to grow.  It really is quite beautiful to experience.

I’ve been published again. I’m in this month’s issue of Nursing 2018. This is my second article published in a nursing journal, but this one doesn’t seem to be getting quite the accolades from my friends as the first one. This one shines a light on uneasiness  and vulnerability and shame…and that’s exactly what I love about it…

 

 

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS June 2/18

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Help me with my blog please!

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I was notified that a large number of spammers were using my registration to send out spams. Word press was going to shut down my account if I didn’t install Google captcha. So I installed it, but now it seems like no one can comment on my posts. I’ve had people tell me they commented on the post I wrote before of this, the “Letters” one, but nothing is showing up. Does anyone have any ideas? Of course, if you can’t comment on this, you won’t be able to help me…

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Letting go letters

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I’m a crier. Hard core. You know, one of those people who can’t seem to hold it in AT ALL, who wells up even when she’s not sad. It happens when I’m mad, when I’m frustrated, when I see a mother love a newborn baby, when I watch videos of soldiers surprising their kids with an early homecoming,  or maybe when I’m too hungry and something super minor happens…like when they mess up my order at the pizza place. Well, come on…you can’t just PICK OFF olives, you know. That oil soaks IN, dammit. Anyway, I turn into a mess, and get emotional and it kind of bubbles up and ruins whatever conversation I was supposed to be having and turns it into feelings overload. Not a big deal with the soldier videos, but kind of a big deal when it’s from me being hurt or frustrated. Basically when my emotional expectations are not met.

That being said…I haven’t done that in quite some time now. Months, really. It’s actually kind of awesome to have this new sense of calmness about me. I mean, sure… I still cry. When sad things happen. Or when I think long enough about sad things. That’s normal. That’s what people do when they are sad…they cry. And I enjoy the cry when it’s about something beautiful. I don’t ever want to lose that type of cry. But, I don’t do much of the over crying about people not meeting my emotional expectations anymore. Especially when I want to talk to someone about something important. Last summer, every time I talked to someone I cared deeply for, about things between us that was hurting me, it always ended up with me hard-core emotionally crying, which caused them to completely shut down and run away.  I was trying so desperately to get them to see my point of view, and it simply was impossible. Frustrating, devastating at times, but inevitably impossible. Ugh.

A few of these people, well…we haven’t talked in months. In the weeks that followed us not talking, I still did all the heavy-duty crying, just all by myself. I was no longer trying to get them to see my point of view, but I still wanted them to. Or at least, I wanted them to understand my point of view, except that was never going to happen with all of my emotions, combined with their emotional unavailability. That’s an incompatible, yet common mix right there.  Anyone who’s been reading my blog understands that I’m a magnet for emotionally unavailable men because I was raised in a family of emotionally unavailable men. (Yes, it’s THAT easy to figure out!) I’m not sure if me crying to myself was better or worse. I’m sure MUCH better for them, but not so much for me. I still felt all those feelings, and had to hold on to them. Well, I didn’t have to, but I did. That is, until I didn’t.

Want to know how I finally realized how to not hold on to those feelings anymore? Letters. Yep. I wrote them letters. Long, organic, messy, handwritten, stained with tears letters. I poured the contents of my soul out in those letters. Vulnerable, raw and honest. I wrote all the things I couldn’t get out of my mouth, either due to crying, or due to fear, or due to interruptions or whatever other reason keeps one from getting their point across. I was able to say the things I that were eating away at my core. I got them OUT of my body, my  mind, my soul. When the words left me, they took the emotions with them. Emotions were meant to be felt and released, not ignored and hidden. Many of the things I wrote were things my insecurities would NEVER allow me to say to someone. But in those letters, I was free to say it all…the good, the bad…the ugly. Because, no one was ever going to read them. That’s right, I never sent them. Sure, I’ve sent people in my life plenty of emotional letters over the past few years…that’s what I do. I write. But these letters, these ones are different. These are therapy. These release angst and lead me to the path of inner peace, by gracing me with the gift of letting go.

Those letters, along with many other things I do for myself,  have helped me to let go of any expectations from people I love. I don’t seek validation from them anymore. I accept their decisions as things I have no control over, and that they are not any reflection of me. I only cry once in a while, and it’s just to clear out the cobwebs of sadness from them not being in my life anymore.  If I cry more than that, I’ll just write another letter…but I haven’t written one since December…

I can let go of anything now.

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS May 5/18

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Not a single word spoken

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I have been neglecting my blog. Even worse, I’ve been neglecting my friend’s blogs…my community on here. I’m sorry.

There’s so many things to blame it on…I’m back in college now, at age 46. No easy task for a single mom who works full time. Not to mention I still take drum lessons, go to church and attend my weekly meditation class. I’m keeping up with book club, and socializing with my friends. My boys are growing, and we are spending time getting them new clothes, new shoes, track gear, hair cuts…we even toured a few colleges last week (yikes!)

One of our Yarmouth police officers was shot and killed in the line of duty last week. Our town is still grieving the loss. Life is fleeting and each day is a gift…please don’t ever forget that.

I started this blog amidst turmoil in my life. I didn’t know what was going to happen to me, if I was going to be able to handle things…if I was going to heal. Well, turmoil still rears it’s ugly head from time to time, but I’ve learned how to remain at peace while it surrounds me, so it doesn’t really matter anymore. And yes, I sure can handle things now. Like a boss. And of course…I did heal.

I suppose accomplishing all these things is what’s kept me from here lately…I’ve been living…really living. Experiencing each day with intent, with purpose, with gratitude. I think about everyone on here…you all know who you are. The ones who supported me, cheered me on, lifted me up when I didn’t know how to do that for myself. I didn’t seek you out…the universe brought each one of you into my life for a reason. My amazing blogger friends, so dear to me. You all take turns popping in my head at random times. My tribe. That’s how you know who your tribe is…you can go quite some time without a single word spoken, yet still be an active part of each other’s existence. I know we all have friends like this in our lives, but you guys are different…we’ve never even met. I think that’s something special…don’t you?

Well, this is NOT where I thought this Stream of Social Consciousness was going to go, but I suppose that’s the whole point of this thing. I thought I was going to simply write about why I haven’t been writing. Turned out to be a lesson in gratitude.

 

 

This post was written in response to Linda G Hill’s Stream of Social Consciousness. Check it out at the link below. She rocks.

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS April 21/18

 

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