Holding Back

Letting in the Light

“I think we are embarrassed by how much pain we have been in throughout our entire lives. Because we are embarrassed, we don’t share this truth with one another. But the embarrassment is just that— embarrassment. We need to have mercy on ourselves. We all feel embarrassed. Actually, when we do share our embarrassment, we experience relief. The holding back is what is hard.”

-Stephen Levine, “Living the Life You Wish to Live”

Recently, a good friend who knows a lot about me, double-dog-dared me to start writing the meat of my story. I told her that I had just realized  that I’ve been focusing on what I call the sweet stuff.  You know, the stories that don’t take into account the times when life was a bitch, when the pain was unbearable,  and when I believed that all those bad things that happened were my fault.

Sure, I’ve mentioned my dysfunctional family, hinted at the traumas I’ve experienced, but it’s all been lingering in the background haze that is my life.  I’ve been aware of it, but unwilling or unable to share it.  Perhaps not ready is a better way of putting it.

I came to this realization during Writing Your Life Story class one day when the teacher had us do a ten minute free write on what family means to us. That request stopped me in my tracks.  I couldn’t get the pen moving across the paper.  I felt a rock growing in my solar plexus where anxiety always hits me first.  It was an I don’t want to go there moment.

What finally made its way to the page was the following:

“Family has always been a puzzlement for me.  I know what I wanted it to be, a    beautiful group of loving people who cared endlessly about me and were always there to kiss a boo-boo, to help with homework in a patient way.  A unit of older and younger people who always dressed-up for dinner on Sunday, lived in the same place forever and had large family gatherings where everyone got along.

I always envied my friends whose dads hugged them and told them that he loved them.  Dads who were there for all kinds of activities and who took their kids on special outings.  I always imagined my family as being all that.  I had some of  those  things.  Mom was very loving when I was small, kissed my wounds and tried to protect me from the world at large.”

It took me ten minutes to write those few lines and I became aware that I’ve been living much of my life in my imagination, making it better when it was worse and worse when it was better.  But most of all, unable to unwind the string I’ve kept wound in a tight ball, tucked in my back pocket, where it bulges out like an overgrown cheek.

Much of it made it’s way out during therapy after my mother died when family secrets started spilling out during my hour-long sessions, sometimes several times a week.  At the time I knew that I was beginning to integrate all it into my being but also knew it would all become clearer with time and that words on paper would bring closure to the pain.  Hence this blog which I began a year ago on November 30th.

One Rich Life, is still the container for my stories.  It has kept me writing and has helped to clear the cobwebs away.  For a long time, I believed that I had no stories to tell.  If you had asked me to recall an event in my early life, I would have said that I don’t remember or it never happened. But the more I write here, the more stories rise to the top of my consciousness, like cream on fresh, raw milk.

Somedays it feels like it might become a book.  Other days it’s unclear where I’m going with it.  Whatever it becomes, it is clearly a healing mechanism for me, helping me understand where I have come from and how I got to be me.

In coming posts I hope begin to venture into the down-and-dirty stories, that are difficult for me but that need to be aired out so that I can continue to move forward.  I hope you’ll continue to come along on this journey.

My New Year …

Most people celebrate the New Year on January 1st.  I do celebrate then too, but it is September 1st, that is the true New Year’s Day for me.  I think it has something to do with loving school and learning. When I was kid, I adored getting a new dress for the first day of school, and shoes of course.  I would have preferred shiny, black patent-leather Mary Janes, but mostly I got brown and white saddle shoes.

Then there were the new pencils with a special box to keep them in, along with erasers in tiny animal shapes.  A notebook, very sturdy, and whatever else I could talk my mother into, made it an exciting time of year.  Almost as good as Christmas!  There were no ipads, ipods, or computers back then.  But what I did have, I loved and treasured.

For me, September and fall, means it’s time to get serious.  Gone are the frilly salad days of summer.  Now I tend toward more substantial things, like hearty soups and stews.  A pot roast simmering away in the slow cooker is cause to celebrate, along with pumpkin or apple pie, and at breakfast, bowls of steaming oatmeal, with plain yogurt, walnuts, raisins and honey … sometimes I throw in an over-ripe banana.

It’s time for sweaters. Turtlenecks and over-sized bulky cardigans that I can wrap myself in on a cold autumn day, as I rustle my way through the dense carpet of leaves gathering on the ground.  Socks are cozy and my footwear of choice inside the house.  No slippers, just socks, thick, colorful, and the crazier the design the better.

It’s still warm here, but the nights are cooling down as the days shorten.  My sleep is deeper, and throughout the fall and winter, I love sleeping with a window slightly ajar, snuggled up in wool blankets, only my nose showing, to breathe in crisp air, lightly scented with wood smoke.  That’s heaven in my book.

And speaking of books, it’s the time of year when I do the most reading.  The stack of reading material next to my chair tends to grow and I often find myself reading 3 books at once, going from one to another, as my mood changes.  That is getting a bit frustrating though, as I try to unlearn my multitasking habits.  So I’ll narrow it down to two books.   One to read during the day, usually something I’m interested in learning about and don’t want to doze off while I’m reading. For the evenings, I like something a bit lighter that I can easily find my way back to, after it’s fallen out of my hands to the floor as sleep overtakes me.

This year, I’ve enrolled in three classes that will start later in the month. I’ve chosen two through the UVA Ollie program (Osher Lifelong Learning Institute),  Writing your Life and The Examined Life, as a way to keep me writing and getting feedback on what I’ve been pouring out on to paper.  They each meet once a week for 6 weeks.

My herbalist, is offering an 8 week class in Ayurveda, an ancient way of taking care of oneself, from India.  We will learn about its history, and how to apply it to live a healthy life style.  Part yoga, food prep, and discussion, it will help me as I continue to try to keep myself from becoming what I call, a rocking chair granny.  I want to leave this planet moving, not sitting on my front porch watching the world go by.

I am risking my sanity a bit, I suppose.  My time is pretty much spoken for through the fall and I worry some about having time for making art.  But I’m very excited about the learning I will be doing. I intend to keep up a regular exercise routine and putter about the garden as well.   If I can keep the overwhelm and I have to do everything parts of myself under control it should be a great time.  I do expect a visit from one or both of these companions from time to time, but it seems to get easier as I continue to set my limits, listen to my body, and understanding that I am not going for a PhD.

So, once again, Happy New Year.  I hope your fall will be as exciting as mine is looking.