What Writing is For Me

I received an early Monday morning email from the digital news editor at MyKawartha.com, titled "Unfortunate news". It started by saying, "I'm sorry to have to send this email, but unfortunately we are going to be discontinuing our blogs." It ended by telling me I could quit blogging immediately or I could continue until the end of the month.

You have no idea how relieved I was to get this notice. Writing on demand is not my cup of tea. I have considered handing in my notice for the papers I presently write for and make way for someone who has new, fresh thoughts and ideas.

I like to write for the fun of it. Sometimes, to release a little pressure. Other times, to be whimsical and just write for the pleasure I get from writing. There are times when my brain to hand connection helps me untangle my thoughts and see things from a different perspective. The odd time I really have something to say.

I'm uncomfortable with where I am at in my life right now. I'm fighting to regain my footing and find the "me" I was five years ago. I know I can't be "that" person again but I do want to feel good about the person I'm evolving into. I haven't quite found that spot yet and I honestly don't believe my struggle out of the quicksand of life is something people want to "pay" to read.

I like writing in my own little corner of the world where readership doesn't matter. I can just be "me" and it is enough. I can write or not. I can be happy or sad or anything in between. I can be "nothing" and let the words fall out of my nothingness onto the page and it is enough.

Writing under pressure makes me feel like I am not enough. Every single month, when I rummage through the archives of what I have written, I try to find something that is good enough to send out into the world. I feel like I have been submitting scraps of who I used to be and who I'm trying to evolve into becoming, but I'm a little bit lost as I go through this phase of evolution.

I see glimmers of where I want myself to go, how I want to retrain my thoughts and I think I see a way of getting there. Then I lose my train of thought. That's "life".

As we go from day to day, we are sometimes forging our own path. Other times we are following an old path that has become overgrown and it's hard to find our way. When things feel clearer, it's like driving down an old familiar country road. Other times, we are exploring new roads others have built.

I don't like new roads. I like well travelled, double lane highways where I know the route without having to think. I stop at the same places along the way. My destination rarely changes. I love my ruts. I always have and probably always will.

I scared myself this past weekend. I love my ruts so very much, that packing up and leaving this rutty, familiar life of mine was harder than it has ever been before. The anxiety levels I felt as I tried to make my way out the door were alarming to me. It shouldn't feel this hard to pack up and leave the house for a few days.

I know I need to shake things up in my life. Get up and do different things each morning. Travel unfamiliar routes and reroute some of my brain's wiring. Taking a different route should feel like an adventure, not the opening sequence of a horror film.

See? This is the stuff that no one wants to read. Not even me. I think I need to pack up my pen and write in private again. Or is there a market for writing that is going in circles and terrified that it may hold clues as to what it feels like as one walks the walk into the years leading to dementia? Yes. That's it. I'm feeling just a little bit shell shocked at the revelation of what this "brain fog" may actually signify.

I haven't had time to dig deeper into what I can do to prevent this. Life carries on no matter what else is going on. That is a good thing.

I walked into this week feeling worn down and beat up. My daycare family walked in the door and the week could not be going better. We managed to walk through our exposure to "Hand, Foot and Mouth Disease" relatively unscathed. One of my daycare family came down with it but, to our knowledge, no one else has (we realize now, that everyone was exposed to this all last week). Yee haw!! That means my obsessive compulsive lessons about "not putting anything in our mouths" and our current hand washing routines are enough. This brush with a contagious childhood/daycare disease opened up a dialogue between my daycare parents and me which has reassured me that "I am enough". It has been reiterated enough times for me to start believing it.

At one point, this past weekend my mom asked me, "Do your [daycare] kids like you?" My immediate response was "I don't think so". I confessed this revelation to my daycare parents and was reassured on many levels that I was wrong. I know there are definitely moments when my daycare family aren't very fond of me but when they walk in the door, they are happy to be here. They are content most of the time. We have many more positive moments than the drama of the moments I describe when I'm frustrated at behaviours which feel out of my control. But the soundtrack of most of our days is that of contented white noise. I actually stopped to listen for it this week. Contentment is in the air.

My predictable little life is a busy (enough) one. I have cocooned myself from anything extra-curricular since my return home Sunday night. I'm saving my strength for the next hard thing I must do. I am meeting up with a friend on the upcoming long weekend. We are meeting at a mid-way point between where we both live. This means I must take a new road. It is only a single lane highway. I have only travelled it once before so I know it will take me where I need to go but our destination is brand new to me. Am I excited? No. Am I terrified? Not yet. Will I become paralyzed in fear in the hours before I blaze this (almost) new trail? Quite possibly.

I am fifty five years old and life still scares me. I think this thought and I think I am all alone. I write this thought aloud and often I hear the echo of "Me too!" when I go out into the big scary world and speak my truths out loud. "This" is why I write. It takes the fear out of living when you hear the words "Me too" come back to you.

To feel like I was alone in this journey called life would be the most terrifying thing of all. By speaking our truth out loud we often hear the answers we wouldn't hear if we kept silent. This is why I am such an open book. This openness has saved me from myself. Time and time again. Do I fear the day when the echo I hope to hear becomes a statement: "I don't feel this way. You are alone. Maybe you should call an expert in the field ..." That is my greatest fear of all.

The Gift of a Weekend Well Spent

There is no place I'd rather be, than "home". Perhaps this is a gift I learned to appreciate from my mom. I remember the years when "going back home" was where I would have much rather been.

This past weekend, I "went back home" to take Mom out for a Mother's Day breakfast. It was hard to push myself out of my brand new back door, but it was good. I wrote a little blog about it over at MyKawartha.com:

http://www.mykawartha.com/blogs/post/6545028-the-gift-of-a-weekend-well-spent/

Foggy Brain

From the moment I opened my eyes this morning, the ability to make clear, concise and definitive decisions have eluded me.

I stopped midway through the process of making my bed because I couldn't make a decision about my most favored pillow. I stopped halfway through that job and threw in a load of laundry. I ran upstairs to retrieve something and could have gotten lost in my usual routines and forgotten about my unmade bed. But I didn't. I remembered what I was doing downstairs and eventually made my way back upstairs again.

I wanted to color my hair this morning. I made that hard decision several days ago. I made that easy on myself by bringing up the spare towels (to cover the floor and counter top) and my "hair coloring shirt" last night. All I had to do was show up.

Except I really didn't feel like doing this. I had too many out of the ordinary tasks going on already. I was feeling anxious about adding one more job into my beloved morning routine of: waking up, making my bed, making my morning smoothie and coffee, then sitting down and reading/writing my way through the morning.

I do this every morning. I love my boring little routine. It calms my soul and soothes my anxieties. I wake up early so I don't miss this time. I went to bed late last night as I tried to tend to many little household tasks so I could wake up to a tidy and organized environment. I needed a little more sleep in order to be able to function. I should have gotten up earlier.

The anxiety within me started to rise and I jokingly thought "I have Sluggish Brain Syndrome". I thought I'll google that term and write a quick little blog about it. Can you imagine my surprise when Google automatically filled in the rest of my sentence when I started to type "sluggish bra ..." and it automatically completed it for me. There is a condition just as I described.

I clicked on the Wikipedia link for "Sluggish cognitive tempo" and it was far to clinical for my inattentive brain to register. So I clicked on "Brain fog - poor memory, difficulty thinking clearly, etc" and it described me to a "T". Crap! I don't have time for this!! My exhausted little brain cannot handle this input but it explains the way I felt when I tried working outside of my home several years ago. My anxiety levels hit the roof, I couldn't think on the spot, I was unable to make snap decisions and I was reprimanded by two supervisors within a two month time span for this very "syndrome".

I don't have the time nor energy for this right now but the site on "Brain fog" has many good suggestions that I can immediately put into practise.

I had planned on being out the door by 10:00 this morning but here I sit, with a head of unrinsed hair. My hair color solution was rinsed off long ago but I've been conditioning my newly colored hair ever since. My hair will be so soft and shiny it may hurt one's eyes if the sun reflects upon it the right way.

I must finish what I started last night. I don't know if I'm relieved or terrified to finally feel like I understand why carving a different path in the morning hurts so much. I feel like my legs, arms and brain are filled with lead this morning. All the more reason to push through.

I will ponder these new thoughts and see if I can find ways to reroute my brain's circuitry. After I get ready for the day and leave the house. I will clear my way through the fog and find my way. I think I see a path ...

One Vanilla Iced Capp, Please!

My Fitbit tells me that I logged over 25,000 steps yesterday.

It was a busy day with the kids, I did yard work then still had errands to run after I showered and cleaned off the day's grime. I felt a little like I walked a few miles so I treated myself with a vanilla iced coffee at the time I am usually falling asleep. This was a very unwise move.

My Fitbit also tells me I only slept 4 hours and 23 minutes last night. I shook my head and thought "You fool!! You shouldn't have ended your day with coffee and sugar combo pack!" It is no wonder I feel exhausted this morning.

My Fitbit wore itself out counting my steps last night and was in need of charging a day ahead of when I normally charge it. I even tuckered out my Fitbit. Yay, me!!

My cell phone's battery was down to 47%, the iPad's battery charge was depleted to 44%. Everything is plugged in and charging at the moment. And here I sit with my second cup of coffee trying to charge myself up for the day ahead. I don't feel too charged up yet.

I guess I need another vanilla iced coffee to push me through the day. Actually a vanilla iced cappuccino sounds better. Make that a double!

It is Time to Adjust My Vision

I really need to make an appointment to adjust my "perspectacles". I am really losing grip over what is important and what I need to let slide.

I don't love the heat. We went from winter to summer too fast. We didn't have time to enjoy the mild weather before we tipped the thermometer and hit the 30's. I get grumpy when I'm hot. And I was hot.

I ceremoniously turned on the air conditioner and blamed menopause for the fact that I couldn't cool myself down. Until I asked someone at the very end of our day, if it felt cooler inside the house than out (it was too hot to take the kids outside this afternoon so we stayed inside where it was "cool"). Their answer was a bit of a shrug and "It seems to to be a bit cooler in here..."

It was that moment when I realized I had not taken the cover off the air conditioner before I turned it on. I raced to the thermostat and turned off the air conditioning. But it was too late. The damage was done.

I brushed off the outside of the air conditioning unit, came inside and set the temperature lower to kick start the a/c unit. Then we went outside, enjoyed some time with our cats and waited to hear the air conditioning kick in.

I was berating myself for making such an avoidable and costly error. Visions of repair bills &/or a whole new air conditioner were dancing through my mind. "You have no one to blame but yourself!" I couldn't stop the loop berating thoughts.

Then we sat still and watched our frisky, curious little cats. They were in their glory. Jet, our "pup" has it out for a bee that has decided to visit our yard. He literally chases that bee around like a pup would. Running leaps, with both paws in the air. He misses every time. Then Ray, our logical thinking cat, spotted the bee. He calculated the trajectory of the bee, his timing, the wind direction and "WHOOMPH!" He got it!!

He immediately started limping because the bee got the last word. Our poor little smart cat got stung by the bee.

My Youngest immediately started to tell me of all the ramifications if we didn't get the stinger out of our skittish cat's paw. I knew before we started talking, that our cat would have none of that. I was right.

We came inside and I googled two things. 1) "Air conditioner doesn't work" and 2) "What to do if your cat gets stung by a bee"

Of course the first thing you check when your a/c doesn't work is the power supply. Did a breaker get flipped? Then it got technical. It had stories and diagrams about how to check the thermostat. How about if the motor got overheated because some fool forgot to take the cover off?? I was too embarrassed to google that question.

Feeling in over my head, I googled our cat's bee sting. They suggested using the edge of a credit card to get the stinger out. Sooner than later. Because if the venom got into the cat's system and the cat was allergic to bees, they could go into anaphylactic shock.

While my Youngest tried to doctor our cat, I went downstairs to trouble shoot our air conditioner's troubles. And sure enough! I checked the breaker box and the reason the air conditioning wasn't working was staring me right in the face. I flipped the switch and "POOF!" we were back in business.

Meanwhile my Youngest had done all she could do for our cat and decided just to watch him for symptoms of an allergic reaction. An hour later, his paw pad was a bit swollen and he would lick and bite at it a little bit but his body language was not that of a cat in pain.

I went to sleep in a cool house with a grateful cat snoozing and breathing easy, at my side. All was right in our world.

Then I woke up and read of the fires raging, houses destroyed and families displaced in Fort McMurray, Alberta.

I read of the refugee crisis in Europe "The situation for our refugees is worse now than it was in the fall. Borders have closed. Food is running out. Babies are dying. Parents are desperate. The evil the refugees are running from is real and it remains." (quoted from Momastery.com).

I read of the hundreds of thousands who are homeless.

And my biggest worry was a non-functioning air conditioner and a cat with a bee sting??

Give your head a shake, girl!! People are fighting for their lives out there and you are bothered because you can't keep cool and bubble wrap and protect your little family from the threat of a bee sting?

It is time to open my eyes a little wider and look out beyond the smallness of my world. It is time to adjust my vision and remind myself of our good fortunes and share what I can, when I can.

Life is very good over in this little cool haven or ours. Our bee-stung cat is running around like a kitten this morning. I am ever grateful for the little glitches in our day which serve to remind me how very fortunate we are.

The Need to be Heard

I had not yet completed my on-line course with Brené Brown when I found myself acting more courageously than I have in a very long time.

Life handed me the greatest "Living Brave" graduation gift. I don't know if it would have happened on its own or if came from a deep desire to "write my own ending" but I did it. I walked into the arena where I fought the battle that brought me to my knees and I "lost". That was almost five years ago and the scar tissue still stung every time I walked by that battleground.

I walked into that building with the intent of talking to the people who made a positive impact while I was working there. Their office was closed and the building was almost vacant because everyone was in meetings and they were basically closed for business. The only staff member I saw was working in the office that "almost did me in".

I bravely walked through that door, with the intent of asking her to pass along my thanks to the department which made a lasting impression on me and helped me know which way to turn when the events in my life headed me down a path where I needed to turn to that very department in another location.

What happened instead was a conversation about my experience working in "that office". She asked the questions. I just answered them. I was careful with my words and summarized my story in three sentences. She knew everything I wasn't saying and she validated that others have walked my path and she was walking it at that very moment. That validation, the knowing eyes and her statement that a lot of good people have left because of a situation she has been trying to fight (but not succeeding) gave me all I needed to write my new ending. I had already "written" it in my mind before I walked through that door but there was more truth to it after facing my fears, walking through that door and having that conversation.

I had taken all I could learn from this past experience and moved on. But the way I felt each and every time I walked by this place of business told me my work here was not done. Not the way my heart lurched, my breath became shallow and I could feel the angst I felt while I was employed there.

I took this lesson and wrote about it within my "Living Brave" course. I wrote a new ending, as Brené puts it. I didn't spin a tale, I just made it more about the fact that this workplace would have dragged me under and took me down if I would have stayed. And I would have stayed if that had been an option. But it wasn't. Thank goodness!

As I wrote my new ending and focused on the fact that I needed to be removed from the line of fire, I reheard the actual conversation that took place when I was asked to "resign from this position". I was told this was the best move for me. Perhaps not in the words I needed to hear but I don't think I heard anything beyond "You will not pass your probation if you stay". "I failed. I was terrible. This was unjust. I wasn't given a fair chance! I FAILED!!", was all I heard as I rewound the tape and recalled the anxiety I lived during that time.

This was almost five years ago. Five YEARS. And I hadn't completely let go of the emotion. Even though I knew better. Even though I talked my way through, out and beyond this. Even though my head knew better, my heart started beating to the beat of anxiousness each and every time I walked past this building

Then I walked back in. Someone asked me to tell them my story. They asked! My story has been told. My words have been released at the scene of the crime and no one went down.

Sometimes that is all we really need. To be heard. To be validated. We cannot always return to the the place where our lives were broken, but when we can and when we can put a voice to the wounds of our past, it is life affirming.

"Yes, that was harsh and unfair. I hear you." This conversation changed my heart. I believe the scar tissue can begin to heal now.

Stepping Back Into My Field of Dreams

I have been missing in action over here for the past while and I have finally put some words to just a little of what has been going on within this happy little mind of mine.

I don't know if this "happy" has come from finding "17 Ways to Build My Courage" or if completing Brené Brown's "Living Brave" course has rerouted my thoughts or if it is simply "sitting out in the sun" again that has me looking up and out of this tired little world. But something is working!

I wrote a little blog about it over at MyKawartha.com. Please come join me and a way back into finding your dreams too! http://www.mykawartha.com/blogs/post/6523569-stepping-back-into-my-field-of-dreams/