Outspoken

For those of us who are even semi-versed in feminist philosophy, some of the ideas in this blog post aren’t going to be particularly earth shattering. Nevertheless, I’m writing this post because of the amount of incredulity and rage I feel from some recent experiences, and I’m particularly infuriated because many of the comments have been from educated individuals who likely claim feminism as a part of their ideology. Moreover, I always want theory to touch the ground and to demonstrate what it looks like when broad philosophies touch the context of the particular.

I’ve had a run of experiences lately where people describe me as the following: “Outspoken. Candid. Direct. Blunt.”

And, to be quite frank, it really pisses me off. Believe me, I have faults, but I don't think that the aforementioned adjectives should be used to describe me, even in a mildly denigrative fashion. It makes me want to pound a sledgehammer into a tire in frustration because- in a nutshell- I strongly believe that these words are [mis]attributed to me simply because I’m a confident female. It pisses me off for additional multiple reasons that I’ll explore in a bit, but if I had to succinctly summarize my beef with these character proclamations, it can be condensed into that single sentence.

Here’s the long version of why these adjectives piss me off:

Pejorative
First, the majority of the adjectives in question have a negative, undesirable connotation. Of the four adjectives listed, I would happily accept only one of them as a label (candid). Oh, sure, you could argue semantics and talk about the reclamation and/or the subjectivity of their meaning. But really, for the most part- most people would say that these adjectives are not given as a compliments.

Here’s what really pisses me off about the fact that these “negative” characteristics are being ascribed to me. I have completed over a decade of school and work experience in the field of pastoral care and counseling. I am astutely cognizant of my word choice when I speak, and I am almost hypersensitive to the impact they may have on others. No, I’m certainly not perfect, and I do put my foot in my mouth occasionally, but for the most part, I’m very intentional with my language, and it’s resulted in a vibrant career caring for others as they experience the pain of missing deceased loved ones.

So…if I’m not being a dick when I speak…why do people ascribe these negative characteristics to me? Could it be- gasp- because I have a voice and I use it? Could it be that sometimes, my thoughts can be challenging? Could it be because you are not used to a female feeling confident in her agency?

Misappropriated
Second, while I recognize that everyone has the right to their opinion, most of the aforementioned adjectives are misappropriated. Sure, you could get into a philosophical argument over subjectivity and truth regarding the right to label someone, but ultimately, I purport that people label me as these adjectives because we still live in a sexist world where women are continually taught and rewarded to be demure. So, yes, I suppose compared to many women, I do appear outspoken because they continue to be relatively unassuming by comparison. But just because someone appears outspoken by comparison does not mean that they are actually outspoken, nor does it mean that they should be viewed in a pejorative manner.

Nonetheless, I don’t think that I’m actually outspoken; rather, I believe that I express high levels of agency and self-possession. For the love of God, I need to possess those characteristics with my life and my career. I teach students at the college level, and I’m responsible for the maintenance of a multifaceted bereavement program across the Des Moines metro. Here’s an example of when I need to be blunt. I’ve had a decent number of male clients over the years who have struggled with boundaries. Many of them have lost their spouse, and in the midst of their grief, they start to become inappropriate with me. I HAVE to shut that down. I’m not mean when I do it, but yes, you better believe that I am direct when I do it, because I CANNOT have the client harboring any sort of misguided hope about what is happening between us. Does this mean that I’m “outspoken”? Does this mean that I’m too “direct”? Since when does having the ability to speak truth plainly mean that someone is speaking out of turn?

To add to that point, I’m trained with having honest conversations about difficult topics. I’ve had to talk with clients about enmeshment, suicide, and well, all of the difficulty that occurs when someone dies. I’ve had to talk to students about plagiarism, sex, and respectful classroom conduct. As I’ll add in further detail below, I’m always very cognizant of the other person’s feelings in these conversations, but these subjects DO get addressed. In sum, I’m very comfortable with naming and discussing taboo topics, and somehow, this familiarity has contributed to my “outspoken” and “direct” adjectives. And, to be honest, that makes me feel quite sad, because it feels like authenticity, vulnerability, and truth telling are on the receiving end of negative connotation.

And again, let me be abundantly clear- I don’t think that “confidence” and “assertive” are license to say whatever you want. No, when we claim our voices- we still need to be mindful of the other person’s subjectivity and feelings. Which is why it is even MORE baffling to me that I have these labels ascribed to me. Yes, I’m quite forward when I need to be, but I’m always very conscious of my word choice. When I talk to a client about being enmeshed, it’s not like I say, “Hey, John Smith. You are super obsessed with your dead wife and that’s waaaay unhealthy. What’s wrong with you?” Instead, I might say something like this, “John, you’ve mentioned how close you and your wife are, and it’s clear that you loved each other very much. I’m wondering what it means that you didn’t have many hobbies or spend time with friends when you were together.” And then I would wait and see how John responded to that statement, and I would guide him down a path of some of my thoughts about the fact that they may have been enmeshed in addition to having a lovely marriage.

I am not afraid to express my perceptions and voice. I’m intentional with how I do so, and yet, somehow, the mere fact that I am confident and capable enough of doing it has labeled me as “outspoken,” and “direct.”

Growth
This one is a bit more personal than the two reasons mentioned previously, but that doesn’t make it any less significant or valid.

I used to have a very diminished voice and presence. It’s taken me decades to feel comfortable interacting in the world with my innate sensitivity and spaciness. When I went to school at Vanderbilt, my awkwardness and discomfort was magnified in a context that accepted only perfection. Sometimes I would have to write my words down before I would speak, and other times, I would still stumble over them because I was so anxious with having to talk to people in that toxic environment. For anyone that’s interacted with me in the last couple of years, this probably sounds extremely baffling (and mildly unbelievable.) No, I sincerely assure you that I am not exaggerating. My voice and confidence were so emaciated in Nashville that it felt personally dangerous to allow any part of me to seep outside myself. I will certainly own that I played a part in allowing myself to become this depreciated, but the context and system most definitely exacerbated it.

In 2012, I graduated from Vanderbilt, moved to Des Moines, and broke up with my long-term boyfriend all within the space of a couple of months. The simultaneous experience of these events was catastrophic, but it resulted in a long and (ultimately) fulfilling process of putting myself back together. For the first time in my adult life, I was single, and I had to learn how to advocate for myself. I had to learn how to meet my needs for companionship and validation outside of a partner, and as I quickly realized, no one was going to simply hand it to me. Additionally, after going to school for one million years, I was finally an adult who had to learn how to function both within a professional environment and a routine work schedule. And although it was certainly a process with its own pitfalls, I love that I finally, finally found a strong and confident voice. I discovered a career as a hospice grief counselor that rewarded my innate gifts; my extreme sensitivity was finally a significant asset, and I had an instinctive creativity for developing programs that supported our bereaved clients. Instead of stumbling over my words, I found myself leading groups, teaching workshops, and continually speaking and advocating for grief with ease. When I engage in public speaking and presentations, I barely use notes anymore because I'm so comfortable with my message and material. Additionally, I grew in my personal life as well. As noted above, I quickly realized that as a single woman living alone, there was only one person who could address my need for connection. I joined a couple of different organizations before finding my true love- TGR Fitness. I found a place that empowered me so much physically that I felt mentally and emotionally stronger as well. After several years of membership, I’ve grown to the point that I teach one of the classes, maintain several friends, and participate in our shows. I am comfortable and confident with my voice in many facets of my life.

The point of showcasing the last 10 years of my life is to illustrate how extraordinarily painful it is to hear people describe me as “outspoken” and “blunt.” I used to be so much more timid; I was afraid of outwardly displaying any part of my voice and personality for fear that it would be trampled upon. It’s taken an insane amount of pain and work to be the confident woman that I am today; it was literally blood, sweat, and tears that led to the level of self-possession I maintain currently. So to hear someone describe my voice- the one that I had hid for so long- as something that is too forceful or powerful- feels like a gigantic slap in the face to the trauma I endured to find it, as well as to the  joy I feel now for feeling comfortable enough to express it.  

I will always, always maintain that we need to be intentional about how we use our words, and we need to do our best to show compassion to others. I am incredibly aware of other people's feelings, and yet, I know that I still fall short at times. I can always, always grow in this area. But I will NOT apologize for having opinions, challenging people’s assertions, being genuine, discussing difficult topics, and showcasing authentic awkwardness.

That’s called being a strong and vulnerable human being. I’ve worked hard for it, and I’m not letting it go.

#Untamed Follow Up

 Approximately one year ago, I wrote and posted a blog referencing an excerpt from Glennon Doyle's book Untamed. The post talked about how we are all born to be goddamn cheetahs running free in the wild, but throughout our lives and various experiences, society tames us. We then end up being these beautiful creatures, trapped behind bars, not utilizing our talents and capabilities to our fullest potentials, and we simply fantasize or not ever know what running free in the jungle truly feels like. In honor of writing that post almost one year ago, I would like to reflect on the ways I have #untamed myself, as well as the ways I am still tamed.

Here are the ways I have become #untamed: 

1) I pursued a love interest for like the first time ever. I said goodbye to emotionally unavailable married men and confronted my fear of intimacy and abandonment for the first time in 27 years. I got to know someone, and am still getting to know someone, on a deeper level. I'd be lying to you if I said it wasn't terrifying. I'd also be lying to you if I said I didn't feel the most alive I ever have in my short 28 years of life. 

2) This love interest I pursued was first a friend and is now my girlfriend of almost, believe it or not, one year. I told my mother about me pursuing a woman before I knew it would develop into anything #vulnerable. My mother was supportive(ish) in the best way she knew how to be and responded by saying she loved me. She has directly and indirectly expressed her discomfort with my relationship, and I've clarified what is her concern as opposed to my own. Her and I have become a little distant since I've started dating a woman. I don't blame her; I know she is responding authentically and in the way she best knows how. 

3) I've said "I love you," more times than I can count, to a human that is not a biological family member. 

4) I informed my dad I was dating a woman prior to going home for Christmas. I generally don't ever inform my dad I'm dating anyone because it's usually not relevant (remember, I generally date emotionally unavailable people?), but this person felt/feels different to me. My dad responded by saying, "Oh yeah?" And then followed up by saying he figured due to my snapchats. My dad and I have strangely enough gotten closer over the course of the last year. He wrote me every week while I was away at military training for six weeks (see next bullet point). 

5) I went away to a 6 week military training only to communicate with my partner via weekly letter. I had no idea whether or not my relationship would survive that stint (it did, thankfully), but I did it anyway. I knew Kristen would survive the end of it all regardless. Talk about trusting yourself and your partner though..

6) I started a virtual book club with some of my people. I used to barely read and now here I am running whole book club with assignments, discussion questions and Powerpoints! We've met twice already! 

7) I quit my job without having another job lined up. My last day is June 18th and I still have no idea what I'll be doing, but I know what I don't want to be doing.

8) I'm moving from San Jose to Los Angeles because I can, and simply want to, no other reason.

Here are the ways I am still working on becoming #untamed: 

1) Overthinking. I overthink a lot. I overthink what others say about me or about my relationship. There is a level of confidence that comes with not over thinking. You know your path, you know yourself and you know that your own opinion is the most valuable, so you simply acknowledge the other opinions but don't dwell on them or let them dictate your next move. I'm getting better at this, but am still actively working on it.

2) Speaking out. I have begun to speak out more against racism and white privilege, and I don't just mean when someone makes a blatantly racist comment. I mean calling out the systemic injustices that come out through our actions, language and existence, and having uncomfortable conversations with people I work with or know on a personal level. This is a new and growing practice for me. I am happy to prioritize this area of work.

3) Saying no and doing what I want to do. I still struggle with trying to appease everyone and oftentimes sacrifice my own wants, comfort and happiness at the expense of others'. This has been a slow, yet necessary journey for me. I'm reminded by Molly (big sis) and my girlfriend constantly to put myself first and not take on the feelings or obligations of others. 

4) Comparing myself to others. This comes with the territory of overthinking. I still compare my growth, relationship, body, you name it, to others. It's damn hard not to do. I am more aware of when I am doing this though and try to be kind and patient to/with myself in the process.

Anyway, that's all I got for now, folks. I am by no means a fully #untamed woman, and I anticipate this will be a lifelong journey for me. Some moments, days, months and years may be more #untamed than others, and that's okay because life and growth are never a straight trajectory. I would love to hear everyone's thoughts on how they are #untamed and still becoming #untamed, so we can boost each other up and support each other on our pathways to be goddamn cheetahs. 

Peace, love and positive energy,

<3 Kristen

DOES THAT MEAN I'M NOT MAKING PROGRESS??!!

 A couple weeks ago, I was feeling really stressed out about work for a number of reasons. A severe case of imposter syndrome and anxiety upped the ante so by the time I had my therapist appointment that day, I was fully bogged down and ensconced in that prickly place in my brain. The place that tells me I'm one typo or imperfection away from being fired, that I'm not good at what I do, that I'm failing at everything, that I can't handle it.

I started telling my therapist everything I was thinking about regarding myself as a failed, soon to be booted out onto the job market grant writer. We talked through everything and at the end of the conversation, I was feeling more calm and like I had a plan in place. Believe it or not, this was not the highpoint of the session.

Up until this point, I had vented, worried, swore, and calmed down. By this time, we still had some time remaining and in the calm, I realized my therapist and I had had this conversation before - about work, about feeling like an imposter, about feeling like a failure - all of it. I told her this as I  burst into tears. I cried, DOES THIS MEAN I'M NOT MAKING PROGRESS??!! In the moment, it felt so scary. I have spent a lot of time and effort working on myself. The thought that I had regressed and needed help with something I hadn't needed help with for a long time - it felt like the rug had slipped out from beneath me.

Does this mean I'm not making progress?! I cry-yelled on the trail I walk on during my therapy appointments. The geese gave me the evil eye and hissed at me. It was in this moment of angst, and fear that all I had been working for had been for naught, that my therapist used an analogy I found very powerful and I want to share it.

She used the analogy of weight-lifting. When we begin weightlifting, we might need a spotter to lift 100 pounds (these numbers are not recommended, accurate, or anything other than made up to illustrate the point - the only thing I know is that I'm pretty sure I can lift 30 pounds without a spotter. Lol.). As we work, we might not need a spotter at this weight anymore but when we move up to 150 or 200 pounds, we're going to need the spotter again. It doesn't mean your not making progress. It means you're tackling bigger things. Or, it might mean that on any given day, that 100 pounds is heavy again. Even though you have been lifting 100 pounds for a year, maybe you didn't get enough sleep, you didn't eat the right foods, or you ran a marathon before you tried to lift the 100 pounds. Any number of things impact whether or not on any given day we need that spotter.

She said, it's the same with your mental health journey. When you first started, you needed a spotter more frequently and for smaller things. As we grow in our mental health journey, some of those things we no longer need a spotter for. We're working on the 200 pound mental lift. The 100 pound mental lift...we nailed that a few months ago. But sometimes, stressors in our life (and things that exacerbate stressors, like lack of sleep, too much caffeine, inattention to mental wellness practices, etc.) can make that 100 pound mental weight feel heavy again. And we need a spotter. It doesn't take away from the progress we have made - it means sometimes we need help. And that's okay.

I started thinking about the analogy more. Sports analogies make sense to me because I'm very active and grew up playing and watching sports. We might not need a spotter for the leg press but we might need a spotter on the chest press - we might need a spotter farther than we can see into the future for the damn chest press. There are some areas of my life where I needed coaching and I've managed pretty well (complete with bumbling and stumbling) after that. There are other areas of my life where I consistently need to talk through things with my therapist to feel like I can "lift" them. I'm getting better at all of them - just the way muscles strengthen with practice. But the chest press area of my life (usually relationships and my internal monologue) might always be weaker then my leg press areas. And some days, like that day a couple weeks ago, I might need a spotter in the leg press areas.

Another point that came up in the same conversation (I warned you - I like sports analogies) was that I wouldn't go for a run or do yoga or stay physically active until next week and all of a sudden proclaim myself done for the rest of my life. Like I'd made it, worked out enough to last me all my days. I started laughing at the thought - that physical health wasn't a daily, weekly, monthly, yearly effort. BUT - and this was mind blowing to me - NEITHER IS MENTAL HEALTH. I'm not going to reach some place where there is a golden halo placed on my head and all of a sudden, I've arrived. Mental health is like physical health in that I need to be intentional and practice, learn, grow, and work on the things I need to work on most days, every week, and every year of my life.

I have always been committed to growing as a person - to me that meant learning new things, learning how to love people better, learning to love myself better. I just hadn't thought about the fact that the same way I go out and run 4-5 miles even when I'm not training for anything, I need to practice the 4-5 mile equivalent of mental health work each day. My life is better when I do. And it's helpful to know it's not a destination I or anyone will ever make it to - it's a practice that, like running, I can learn to enjoy because of the benefits it brings to my life.

I'm still working on this...I see my therapists regularly but I want to put as much time and effort into mental health maintenance and practice as I do for physical health. This can be reading, listening to a podcast, writing, meditating and it doesn't have to be for a long time. I'm going to work on fitting these things into my day to day. I was depending on therapy sessions - and I need those, too. What I realized is depending solely on that is like depending solely on running for an hour every two weeks and then expecting myself to be able to complete a half-marathon seamlessly. And I'm not saying some people can't do that - the same way I'm sure some people don't have to break down to their therapist about being stressed at work. We all started at different starting lines with different abilities and coaches (or lack thereof) along the way.

I'll keep working on the chest press and maintaining my leg press. I know I've made progress, grown and developed...AND I know I still need a spotter some days, some weeks, some years. And that's okay.

The Darkness

Recently, I suffered a loss.  The particulars, the details - they are of no import.  A loss is a loss, no matter the circumstances.  I will just say that my perception of something was very different than reality.  Due to the fact I chose to overlook what were probably obvious signs that my beliefs and hopes about what was were very far from the truth, what was likely right in front of my face but I refused to acknowledge, the loss was unexpected and unanticipated. Anticipated loss is one thing; unanticipated loss is quite another animal all together.  Although I thought I was done with him, Darkness came to visit me after this situation occurred. Well shit.  I really thought I had moved past Darkness and yet, here he was again, in full regalia.  This was a double gut punch – to not only suffer a loss, but to also discover that I had not rid myself of Darkness after all the work I had done on myself over the past year.  

For whatever reason, this bout of Darkness was overwhelming.  Perhaps it is because I truly allowed myself to feel the Darkness as I lacked the desire and energy to fight with him once again.  Perhaps it was because I was confused by my circumstances-there was only one way they made sense and I was refusing to, once again, accept the truth.  I’d like to think, however, that the reason this bout of Darkness was so crippling was because, deep down, I knew the only way around this suffering was to go through it or that there was more going on than I could comprehend.  Whatever the reason, Darkness took me to some very black places I had not visited in quite some time.  It’s hard for me to have the courage to share this, but I wrote about the Darkness, mostly to try to get Darkness out of my mind.  I understand this is dark and intense – I don’t have a muse when I am happy.  But I am sharing it because I do want to be open about how much I had let Darkness in. I warn you, you won’t feel happy after reading this.  You may even question if I am okay.  I will tell you, I am, indeed, okay.  Please understand this poem captures a moment in time – a moment that I truly and deeply felt, but it does not represent the end of this story. 

   

The Glass House – By Jill Alesch

Pieces of glass scattered all around, 

What once was a house has now been torn down.

A future, a dream, the hope that once shone,

Shuttered and shattered, I am all alone.  

 

The shards are many, the destruction is so intense,

Nothing can be mended, the trauma is too dense.

People say I’m strong, that I will rebuild again, 

They don’t know I’m too tired, the lights have all been dimmed.

 

Even if I did the house would still be made of glass,

Pretty on the outside, but never made to last.

My old friend Darkness arises from the pile, 

Looks at me and smiles, it has been a short while.

 

Yet he and I both know is he is never far away, 

He is always close, I can’t keep him at bay.

He reminds me that when I’m happy, he is always near,

Then invites me to his table and says, “Drink up, my dear.”

 

We have a nice chat, Darkness and I, 

I accept that I’m broken, it’s pointless to try.

There is no one who loves me like Darkness can, 

I acknowledge my fate, it’s who I am.  

 

Marred and battered to a point beyond grace,

When it comes to love, I deserve but a taste.

Like an intimate lover, Darkness wraps his arms around me, I give him my heart and throw away the key.  

 

I don’t know how it came to be or why,

But in the end, it is always just Darkness and I.  

I read and re-read this poem.  I kept reading it until one day, it didn’t make me cry.  And it was then, when it no longer hurt to read the words I had written, that I began to realize I was feeding the Darkness with some of my thoughts about and resentments over the situation.   Darkness wasn’t holding me, I was holding Darkness.  By doing this, I was only extending my suffering and grief.  By doing this, I had invited Darkness to stay because I was refusing to look at the underlying reason for Darkness’s visit.  I was so focused on how I had been wronged, or what I could have done differently, or why did this have to happen to me, or how could I have been so stupid as to not see what was really going on that I was completely ignoring the real reason Darkness had come to pay me a visit. And so he was going to stay until I was open to understanding why he had come with such force. 

   

Interestingly enough, it seems God and the Universe always give us what we need when we are ready to receive it.  Someone at work asked me how I was doing, and my eyes welled up with tears and spilled out onto my cheeks.  Although I was embarrassed by an extreme reaction to a rather simple question, especially while at work, this person who I don’t know very well at all, said to me something I will never forget.  “Jill, I don’t know what is going on, but you have to think of yourself like a tree.  If the roots are good, you can always cut and prune the branches and they grow back.  Sometimes branches are broken by things out of our control, but they always grow back if you mind the roots.  And, if they don’t grow back, it is for a reason, but the tree can still be beautiful.”   I thought about these words for a few days.  I knew my roots were good, so the branch that had been broken would either grow back or it wouldn’t, but one dead branch wouldn’t kill my tree or make it less beautiful.  It was then that I began to wonder if, perhaps, I had been looking at Darkness all wrong.  I began to consider the possibility that maybe Darkness had come because I needed to cut down some branches.  Perhaps Darkness would stay until I fully learned what he had come to reveal to me.  Maybe, just maybe, Darkness was not my enemy at all.  Maybe Darkness did love me like no one else could, but in a way I had not considered before.    

As I pondered this possibility, I began to look deeper into what Darkness may have wanted me to learn.  I concluded that Darkness was telling me it was time to trim my tree, cut down some branches and prune some others.  And then I saw this quote randomly on Instagram, “You will suffer until you become the best version of yourself,” and I knew I was on the right track.  It hasn’t been easy – this personal inventory of sorts.  I had to quit a part-time job I enjoyed and let people down when I did, but God and the Universe had given me several signs it was time to go, and I had not listened before now.  I stopped drinking as well, which was also not easy, but Darkness wanted me to trim down these branches with a clear mind so I didn’t cut off or trim the wrong branches-some of them – like my kids and extended family-are good and need to grow and flourish.  I recommitted myself to my own physical health.  I re-joined an organization and a way of life I left three years ago.  Darkness dissipated with each step I took in the right direction, and yet he was still lingering.  Darkness didn’t leave me until the day I decided to commit the next six months of my life to pruning my tree, taking it down to the damn roots if I needed to.  I had finally learned what Darkness was trying to tell me – that I needed to focus on me without any extraneous distractions.  Darkness and I agreed to revisit this item after six months minimum, but he also told me to be prepared for it to take longer.  Regardless of the time frame, I needed to take this time to tend to my tree and grow as a person.  Yes, I had done some of that over the last year, but Darkness has now told me I am not anywhere close to being finished.  Maybe, just maybe if I listen to Darkness, I won’t end up building another Glass House.  Perhaps, Darkness, as much as I hate the way I feel when he is near, is actually my best friend and mentor. 

I am hopeful Darkness will leave me alone while I am focusing only on myself and my kids.  I do know that eventually he will pay me another visit.  However, when he does, I am simply going to invite him in as a friend and ask him what he wants me to learn.   I am not going to argue with him or try to convince him I have been wronged.  I am not going to resist his cold embrace, but I am also not going to sit at his table for three weeks in self-pity.  When I sit at Darkness’s table, he will allow me to stay if I sit there.  I don’t think, as I once did, that Darkness invites me to his table – I think I invite myself.  I also no longer think Darkness actually wants me to sit at his table, but as long as I keep serving food and drink, he will permit the indulgence--not out of cruelty, as I once thought, but maybe out of the hardest kind of tough love. 

This morning, as I sat outside and enjoyed my morning coffee in solace, reflecting on my branches, I happened to notice a particular tree outside my backyard.  It was small-probably not even noticeable because it was surrounded by other beautiful flowering trees.  But this tree I had focused on, small as it may be, had lush pink flowers whereas the trees it stood amongst were all adorned with white flowers.  I reflected that right now, my tree looks injured and awkward.  Some of the branches are severed, some are cracked, and some need some pruning.  There are but a few flowers.  Yet, I know it won’t always be that way because of the lesson Darkness taught me.  Now, when I picture what my tree will look like six months or a year from now, I picture that small pink tree outside my backyard.  It may be small and still growing, but it is strong, beautiful, unique, well pruned, surrounded by other beautiful trees and not afraid to just be the tree that God and the Universe intended it to be. 

Side note:  I used to refer to myself as an asshole at least once in every blog-I thought it was funny, to be honest.  This is the first blog where I didn’t call myself an asshole.  When I call myself an asshole, I am sitting at Darkness’s table because I am actually not an asshole.  I am a deeply sensitive and loving person who has been hurt, so sometimes I hide behind a tough exterior but that does not make me an asshole.  I will no longer be using that term to refer to myself in these blogs.  This is also a branch I needed to cut down and I am not sure what will grow in its place, but perhaps it will be something kinder, gentler and more reflective of who I am as a human being.    

Second side note:  When I say cutting off branches, I do not mean I am going to cut people off (unless they are harming me in some way) or ghost them.  To date, I have only cut two people out of my life entirely and when I did, I didn’t ghost them because I think that is particularly cruel.  Rather, I told each of these people what I was doing and why.  For the most part, I won’t block people who have come into my life in some capacity because no matter what someone has done or what our history may be, I’d like to think I will always be there as a friend or someone that can be counted on when a person is need.  That is the kind of person I am and always want to be.  It is my greatest attribute and, maybe, also my worst, but it is how I would want to be treated-as a human being who deserves dignity and respect-not a commodity that can be easily discarded. 

One-Handed

My daughter, Adeline, got a gymnastics bar from Santa this year. I have written before about how she came into this world: rip roaring and practically doing flips on the delivery table. The girl is bouncy and full of energy.

Thus, it was no surprise that she loved her gymnastics bar that she received from Santa and was a natural on it. In only a couple of days, she was pulling herself up completely by hanging on it and pulling both of her feet up to the bar. Soon after, she started performing a more daring task – doing it with one hand.

One night as we watched a movie together, er I mean sat in the living room together because Adeline does not sit still enough to watch movies, Adeline was on her bar. She pulled up and did her one-handed hang trick and confidently shouted, “One hand! See! Only one hand!” My mouth literally opened and I almost told her something to make her stop or be quiet until I caught myself. My initial reaction was that she was rubbing it in to LJ, who I am not sure even 4 months later can perform this trick. I almost told her not to brag so as not to make LJ feel badly. BUT I stopped myself. At the time, I actually don’t know why I stopped myself. I just let her talk about her accomplishment of her one-handed trick.

It just so happens; motherhood is one big, long course in self-development. I’ve consistently written and posted about how I have learned and continue to learn so much from my children. This lesson from Adeline was HUGE for me. I am tired of girls and women playing down their accomplishments so as not to make anyone else feel inferior. I am tired of girls and women not shouting their accomplishments from the roof tops and rejoicing with each other. I am tired of girls and women thinking that if they talk about their wins and accomplishments that they are boastful and arrogant. I am tired of girls and women thinking they need to be humble and nice. (As an aside, boys and men also do this, but in my experience and as is backed by research, girls and women tend to do this more.)

Celebrating our wins and sharing our successes encourages others to rise up! The world is not limited to having only one person who can do a one-handed bar hang! When she celebrates her abilities and accomplishments, she inspires us all to do the same. When you let your light and your energy shine, you attract others to it. Please. Stop playing small to prevent others from feeling inferior. Take up room, be loud about your accomplishments and pull others up with you. Love.

A Love Letter to My Friends and to Friendship

I’ve wanted to write this blog post for a long time, but I’ve questioned what angle to use, and I’ve also struggled with finding the precise words to convey my sentiments. I’ve finally settled on primarily focusing on anecdotal experience per usual, for I do believe that praxis is the most useful way to demonstrate theory.

This blog post is a love letter to my friends, as well as to the concept of friendship in particular. One of the greatest thinkers in western civilization, Aristotle, wrote prolifically about friendships and the value they contribute to human life. For those of you who are not familiar with ancient philosophy, Aristotle lived in the 300’s BCE, so he was writing about the significance of this human relationship category already thousands of years ago. It has always been an integral relational dynamic.

To flourish as a human being, you need friends. Yes, I am going to make a universal
statement, and I am going to stand by it. In a culture that focuses on individualism and differences, some may consider such a broad proclamation brash or oppressive. And yet, there are some universal statements that do apply to all of humanity. For example, we all need water to live and oxygen to breathe. I’m not going to say how many friends one needs or anything as prescriptive as that, but I am convinced that human beings need friendship in order to thrive.

I am at a place in my life where I can’t tell you how much I value my friends. Let me give some recent examples:

1)    I was freaking out about something yesterday, and my friend Krystal popped into a private conference room at work to chat with me on the phone for 20 minutes to help calm me down. She interrupted her work day while at the office because I needed her. I’m so thankful that she recognized that I was spiraling, and she was willing to drop everything for me.

2)    My friend, Amy, turned 40 this past February. Consequently, our mutual friend, Ellyse, organized this incredibly thoughtful trip to Omaha where we honored her and made her feel special. Our third friend in the group, Lynsey, rented a freakin’ IGLOO for us to hang out in that weekend! We also dressed up in costume themes each day. I can’t tell you how privileged I am to belong to a friend group that is not only incredibly considerate of one another, but they also are confident and fun enough that they love dressing in costumes regularly.

3)    My anxiety has been a bit high lately, and like any responsible adult that teaches healthy coping skills in her professional life, I’ve handled it by drinking alcohol. A couple of weeks ago, I got freakin’ hammered at a Mexican restaurant. We’re talking stumbling, lacking-a-filter level drunk. My friend, Aundrea, stayed sober, and she put up with my annoying self. She took me to her house, and we played Mario Kart so I could sober up before I drove home.

4)  My friend, Kati, regularly makes extra food for dinner and will text me to come over and grab a plate. Sometimes I will stay and chat for awhile, and other times, I'll catch up briefly and then go home. It feels so warm and hospitable to receive the gift of food from someone and to know that they are thoughtful enough to share it with you.

5)    I did a “Clued Up” event with some gym friends this past Saturday. Some of the women that participated I am super close with, and others, I am at a more acquaintance level. And still- the older I get- the more I am CONVINCED that this “third level” or “acquaintance level” friendship is actually one of the most valuable and integral circles we need in our life (and it’s precisely what has been missing in the pandemic for many people…and it’s a gigantic separate-but-related diatribe I would LOVE to go on.) It was so fun to dress up with acquaintances and to do an event with them. Additionally, we had time after the event to grab drinks and get to know each other better, as well as to create some movement beyond acquaintance level. It was a delightful day.

I am so grateful to have this level of friendship in my life. These people (and some others not mentioned) are a layer of “family” in my life, and to be perfectly candid and controversial, I’m happy and confident in my decision to not social distance with them throughout the duration of the pandemic. I don’t think that I- or what makes me special as “Anne”- would have survived if I had social distanced from them. To anyone listed above, I love and adore you.

I implore people to find, cultivate, and nourish their friendships. We can’t survive this life – at least not very well- without them. I’ve written before about the danger of prioritizing the nuclear family HERE, and I want to reiterate that love should not be a hierarchy. The love we have for spouses, children, parents, siblings, friends- it’s all still LOVE- and all of the forms are special and powerful in their own unique way. For those that are married and/or have children as a part of the “traditional” nuclear family, I want to validate that this IS indeed a special kind of love, but that it is not necessarily a higher form. Isn’t that what makes love so powerful, anyhow? That it can exist in so many different ways and between so many different people? Difference does not indicate better or worse; rather, difference implies uniqueness, particularity, and exceptionalism. We NEED diverse forms of love so that we express different parts of our identity, and so that we are well-rounded in who supports us.

And- to be perfectly blunt- not only do we need friends for the aforementioned reasons, but also, the esteemed nuclear family is not always possible or sustainable. I had dinner with a friend this week, and he was telling me how he had always dreamed of marrying a college sweetheart. So, when he started dating someone his freshman year of college, he put the majority of his energy into that relationship. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have achieved this dream that he never bothered to make many friends during college OR seminary. And yet, despite his efforts, they ended up going through a divorce after 13 years of a fairly happy marriage. Life is complicated, and sometimes, love just isn’t enough. So, not only did he lose the very thing he sought to keep, but he had to endure it without the support of friends.  He missed out on the multiple benefits of friendship when he was with his wife, AND he missed out on friendship as he grieved this significant loss.

Here’s also what I’ll tell you from my experience of listening to people’s stories for a living: Life is hard. Life can be real fucking hard. It can also certainly be joyous, exhilarating, and peaceful. But, no one makes it out of this life without some real effin’ battle scars. If you haven’t experienced it already, some day, you will have an experience in life that brings you to your knees, and you will question everything you have previously thought about the structure of the universe. And you’ll be begging for something- anything- to hold on to for security and hope. Right now, I have 3 additional friends (on top of the one I just mentioned) who are going through the divorce process. I know a friend who is 35 years old who has been given a terminal diagnosis for breast cancer. I know a friend whose mother just died. I know a friend who is coming to terms with the news that she will never bear children. I know a friend who has been unemployed for over a year and was also rejected from further education opportunities. 

We absolutely need friends to survive the shit that life throws at us. I mean, we also need them for the peaceful and joyous times as well for they are a continual boost to our happiness, meaning, and expression- but my God, again, we really need them in the dark times. And for those of you that value empiricism, research continually demonstrates that support is the number one predictor of someone finding hope and meaning after experiencing distress.

People often joke about how difficult it is to find friends as you grow older in life. There’s this meme going around Christian circles about the “miracle” of Jesus having 12 close friends in his thirties. I understand this to some degree- it’s not like college where you are surrounded by people your age and you don’t have to worry about the responsibilities of adulthood- but, to be honest, I find this meme, well, sort of offensive. It IS possible to have good friends in your 30’s, and actually, the majority of my current close friends are people that I’ve met in the last 5 years or so.

I’m not saying it’s easy. Having friends takes significant time, energy, and intentionality in a world that already demands much of us. I often teach my bereaved clients about how to cultivate friendships, and I always compare it to dating. Because, other than the physical component, finding friends- and keeping them- IS similar to dating. And it means that you have to PUT YOURSELF OUT THERE, it means that you WILL be rejected, and it means you HAVE to nurture the relationship if you want it to endure. I can give you several examples of negative “friendship dating” stories that I’ve experienced. There was the time that I invited a gym acquaintance to a tumbling show, and she responded with, “Hmmm. Maybe!” and never followed up later. (Slightly passive aggressive rejection.) I have another friend that I hung out with a couple of times, and I thought that we would be close because we have a lot of common interests in sports. However, her incredibly abrasive and Type ‘A’ personality was NOT a good fit for me, and the friendship has since fizzled out. (Sometimes, common interest isn’t enough. What makes a good relationship is often ineffable!)

But again, just like dating, putting yourself out there can be incredibly rewarding. At the beginning of the pandemic, there was a woman that I kind of joked around with at aerial class. Well, as the pandemic wore on, many of my previous friends chose to continue to social distance from me (which, again, is their prerogative and choice! We all have different needs and contexts.) However, as I noted earlier, social distancing from friends was NOT sustainable for ME, and I needed more time with friends than what I had been receiving. It finally hit me that, well, I needed to find some new friends and to expand my social circle yet again because of the chasm the pandemic had created with some previous connections. So, I took the initiative to ask this woman to hang out, and we’ve been good friends ever since. We’ve done a tube float, pumpkin patch, Mario Kart, sledding, etc. since then. Actually, I’m referring to the friend in the third item numbered above, Aundrea- the one that put up with my tanked ass a couple of weeks ago. So, ya know. Friendship is so much like dating- you have to put yourself out there, and you have to understand that you will be rejected, and you will have poor matches. And that is “normal,” and “okay.” Just keep trying.

Friendship is like any other relationship- incredibly rewarding, and yet, it obviously requires work, and it does include its own set of challenges. You still have to set boundaries, clarify expectations, maintain humility, be open to both asking and receiving forgiveness, and discover compromise. I do have a lot of wonderful friends, but let me be clear, I've also effed up in my friendships, fallen short, and have had other people do the same to me. It's a part of being human.

But, as I hope this blog post made abundantly clear, all of those dynamics (that are present in all other relationships, nonetheless!) still make friendship incredibly WORTH it. It’s a gift and type of love that is incredibly unique, and as I maintained throughout this post, necessary for human thriving.

So, no matter how old you are or what phase of life you are experiencing, make sure you make time for finding and maintaining friendships. You need it, and they are more than worth it.

To all of my friends- those specifically listed in this blog and those not- I love you!!

 

 

Caterpillar Me

 
I stare in the mirror and I think about all of the hard work I’ve had to put in to get to this point in my life; hard work meaning emotional and physical, although you and I both know the emotional work is what’s actually the toughest. Every now and again I catch myself grabbing a bottle of wine when I want to cry or be angry, one time I walked all the way to the store just to turn around at the door because I recognized the tactic of numbing I had become so accustomed to the last nine years. They weren’t lying when they said, “For every loss there is a hidden gain. And for every gain there is a hidden loss.” I have wondered how I can simultaneously feel so incredibly full, all the while still feeling alone. I knew I was growing, as the places and people once so comfortable to me started to feel unfamiliar. Like a snake shedding its skin or a caterpillar attempting to break out of its cocoon. Cocoons- I imagine they are a very cozy place, yet also very dark and secluded. They keep you safe, but you also cannot experience anything but, that is, until you spread your wings to leave the confines of its walls when you’re good and ready to do so. Or maybe you're never really quite ready to the leave the confines of its walls, you just simply become too big and outgrow the place that was once so warm, sheltered and homelike, that you have no other choice than to break free and fly away, into the open air, feeling vulnerable and uncertain of the life to come.