Self-Care in Political Chaos

Someone shared this clip from PBS with me: The surprising way to fight political exhaustion, in which sociologist Tressie McMillan Cottom talks about "agency" as a key to countering exhaustion from relentless horrible world news and politics. 

She's on point. It makes me think... if I'm standing still awhile, it starts to hurt and get heavy, my feet and hips ache, etc. But if I walk or move in some way, pain recedes. (I had a lot of retail jobs long ago.) Passive consumption of news forces us to stand and hold heaviness, which feels even MORE heavy because that's all we're attending to. I liked her term: agentic. 

This is why I've joined to volunteer with Action for Happiness, and why I've started making "little art" earnestly, on the regular, and why I'm returning to frequent entries here, and might even write poetry again. Since this post is public, I can't pretend I'll be a secret agent -- but I can be an agent for kindness. 

The Library, Mid-Winter

The Library, Mid-Winter

The library chair holds the shape of a body
better than the body holds the news.
Outside, the rain is a gray slant of percussion,
drumming a rhythm for a march starting 
somewhere south of our borders.

We ate eggs while discussing our work
of mending, healing hearts and minds.
We called out each other's blind spots
to examine, completely safe within
our connection of love and respect.

But it’s time to undress the Christmas tree,
to stow the baubles and lights, yet I dawdle.
The branches hold beloved memories
that visit once a year. There is no guarantee
I will unpack them again.

I think of the earth, waiting for the pine,
waiting for me -- to be turned back into
something that helps the flowers grow.

-Kathryn Harper

How I Spent Today

I spent part of today participating in the online volunteering with Action for Happiness. 

Originally I was seeking community, a group to visit and participate in locally in person. And perhaps I will find this. However, there are no groups associated with this organization in the western United States, so I figured I'd take the free training and see what develops. 

The training was easy and the concepts are simple. As with much wisdom, simple does not equate with low-effort. Experiencing joy on the regular is a practice; it only develops with continuous effort. 

AFH organizes itself around ten key points that form an acronym: GREAT DREAM. Attending to these keys contribute to one's own happiness as well as that of others. Additionally, not doing harm is a potent contribution to well-being. 

Giving: doing kind things for others

These acts can be small! The driver who is trying to merge into your lane? Let her. Look at the clerk as he rings up your purchase and say hello sincerely. Not adding to unhappiness also counts; if you're tempted to flip someone off because they did something thoughtless, take a breath and let it go.

   

Relating: connect with other people

We live in a digital world, and we've succumbed to the idea that social media is truly connection. To an extent it does provide connection, but in a limited way. We need to share space with others, to speak to people in person, or on the phone in real time engagement. We've got to leave our safe little caves where we watch the shadows on the wall and call that interaction, and take a little risk to participate in the three dimensional world.

 

Exercising: take care of your body

One thing I have discovered in the past three years is that my body -- and yours -- needs to move. And it deserves to move and feel good, even if it's not in great shape or sized according to cultural standards. In August 2022 I realized I was on a bad trajectory with what I ate, how I moved, and the weight I carried. I was in pain, and I knew that the extra weight would create more health problems as I age. So I began to move -- short stints of strength training -- to get strong. Only after I became a bit stronger did I begin to change how I ate. I knew I had to figure out how to eat to drop weight but in a way that didn't make me rebel and drop out. What worked for me was accepting that I need to record what I eat diligently; I can eat whatever I want, but I need to be honest with myself. This enabled me to better understand my energy needs. Three years later, I've dropped 77 pounds. I'm technically still overweight, but it's a whole new life. Exercise makes me feel centered, and sometimes it makes me feel awesome. You deserve to move!

 

Awareness: live mindfully

This buzzword, along with "zen", has permeated culture for the past couple of decades, but what does it really mean? For me, it means pausing, breathing, experiencing my senses, even if for one minute. It means staying off my phone while I eat and actually savoring the food. To listen to the sounds of my neighborhood. To take a break from my buzzing thoughts.

 

Trying Out: keep learning new things

Anything new! A recipe. A hobby. Read a new genre of book. Try a puzzle. Explore Duolingo. Learning keeps us vital. A curious mind prevents boredom.  

 

Direction: have goals to look forward to

What would you like to accomplish or change in your life? It could be a big goal. These are best approached in smaller stages. Or your goal could be to take a vacation, try a new cuisine, or go to bed a bit more regularly for better sleep. 

 

Resilience: find ways to bounce back 

This can be hard. We are evolutionarily designed to look for danger, to be cautious, which can result in seeing threat everywhere, feeling competitive, and judging oneself harshly for falling short. There is one person who will be with you and never leave you: yourself. Our life work is to learn to be our own friend and loving parent to ourselves, even if we did not receive ideal parenting. To try and if we fail, to say, "It's okay. Learning takes effort. I'm allowed to be imperfect and grow." 

 

Emotions: look for what's good

Again, we can get caught in negative assessments and stories of ourselves and others, and of the world. I'm not suggesting you be toxically positive and to ignore feelings such as sadness, disappointment, or anger. I'm asking you not to shortchange yourself by dismissing the good. If you are temperamentally more pessimistic, as I am, this will take effort. In my effort to be "an informed citizen" I find myself doomscrolling the news, but that brings me down. And it helps no one. So I balance this by turning my attention to appreciating the good as much as I can. 

 

Acceptance: be comfortable with who you are

This is a life project. It's connected to resilience. To accept that it's all right to make mistakes, to mess up -- it's a fact of being alive. What matters is learning, and learning to repair when needed. It's knowing some things about yourself that you like, and knowing your strengths, as well as knowing the areas you would like to change or need to improve, and being reasonable with your self-assessment. 

 

Meaning: be part of something bigger

We are not just here for our own satisfaction and gain. We need each other. Humans seek and create meaning in their lives. We are already part of something bigger. This understanding has the potential to make one feel insignificant, but it also means that we belong in the natural order of things. Someone asked me recently what I love about myself. My answer was: "That "I" am a universe of systems and life forms existing in a larger universe of life forms in this mystery." My body is made of cells, systems (skeletal, muscular, vascular, etc.) and bacteria populate it everywhere. All of it contributes to my existence. In turn, I am part of a family, a city, a state, a country, a culture, the human race, the world, the universe. I interact with all of it and have impact. I matter. So do you.

Perhaps you'd like to join me?

Jackie Summers on The Physics of Wishing

I've followed Jackie Summers on Facebook and on his Substack for several years. Based on what I know of his life story, he is a human phoenix. Much respect to him. He's an eloquent thinker and writer, as well as the first Black person in America with a license to make liquor. He created a drink based on the generational recipe from the African-Indiginous heritage of Barbados: Sorel Liqueur.

His recent post was about The Physics of Wishing, and I wanted to bookmark it for future reference. The entire post is worth reading. 

But the core of what I want to post are his instructions as follows:

How to Actually Send a Wish

(No physics degree required)

If any of those landed in your chest and you thought, “I hope that’s true for somebody I love”— here’s how you turn that into a real wish.

You don’t have to believe in magic. You just have to be willing to try an experiment.

1. Breathe once, on purpose.
Inhale a little slower than usual.
That’s your rhythm.

2. Let one person come to mind.
Just one. A friend, a lover, an ex, a parent, a stranger on the edge.

3. Find your stillness, set your intention.
Say it quietly in your head. Let your body feel what you mean.

4. Exhale slowly.
On that breath out, imagine the wish leaving your field and brushing theirs.

That’s it. That’s the whole spell.

No glitter. No angels getting their wings. Just a small increase in local coherence, from your nervous system to someone else’s.

Poem: A Therapy Hour

As a therapist, this reads true. It's not a script. For me, the poem evokes the essence of being a therapist, meeting whatever the client brings, staying present and authentic. Of course therapy also involves deeper responses, examinations of beliefs and thought patterns, skill practice.

Click to enlarge for better reading.

NPR Tiny Desk Contest 2023 - Andrea Gibson - MAGA HAT IN THE CHEMO ROOM

 

 

Andrea Gibson's brilliant force has departed their body. They were a beacon of courage and compassion communicated through poetry. I mourn our loss. May their brilliance and love manifest forever. 

 

Andrea Gibson's website.

 

Andrea Gibson's Substack.

Emotional Education

Music Meditation

These are links to songs that, listened to in sequence, are a form of meditation. I'm providing Youtube links because I don't know if you use Spotify, Tidal, Apple Music, etc. Youtube inserts ads in the middle of songs (unless you pay), so I recommend using your favorite service that won't impede listening. 

They have been on rotation on my song list this year.

Inspiration Drive: https://youtu.be/qq_V4NY9K24 

Gajumaru: https://youtu.be/qTse2hkPxYU 

Stillness is Waiting: https://youtu.be/KsiQmZWq2j0 

Total time: 12 minutes 24 seconds

Perilous Dark Path

"We seldom go freely into the belly of the beast. Unless we face a major disaster like the death of a friend or spouse or loss of a marriage or job, we usually will not go there. As a culture, we have to be taught the language of descent. That is the great language of religion. It teaches us to enter willingly, trustingly into the dark periods of life. These dark periods are good teachers. Religious energy is in the dark questions, seldom in the answers. Answers are the way out, but that is not what we are here for. But when we look at the questions, we look for the opening to transformation. Fixing something doesn't usually transform us. We try to change events in order to avoid changing ourselves. We must learn to stay with the pain of life, without answers, without conclusions, and some days without meaning. That is the path, the perilous dark path of true prayer."

---Richard Rohr, Everything Belongs: The Gift of Contemplative Prayer

Release From Perpetual Childhood

All I want for my 60th birthday is for you to give this your time and attention, and to let me know you’ve read it. I don't need a discussion. One of the burdens of being gifted with psychological insight is that I understand context. I understand how life shapes people, and that “hurt people hurt people.” I have spent decades of my life doing this regarding my parents, particularly Dad. I have used this compassion for him against myself; it has been a tool I use to disregard the actual damage he inflicted on me. I’ve told myself: he came from poverty, abuse, Catholicism, death of his father at 14, is probably autistic, has anxiety disorder. He provided a roof, food, clothing, financial support. He did not physically beat me regularly; he did not sexually abuse me. He “did the best he could.”

But in reality, I grew up without a sense of self, feeling worthless, scared, defensive, withdrawn, needing external validation to justify my existence. And while Mom contributed (especially by using me as her therapist to cope with the marriage), the bulk of responsibility falls on Dad’s shoulders. He did not see or treat me as a person for the first three decades of my life. He once made a comment at a family gathering (in 2006?) that we were probably terrified of him as kids. That oblique reference stuck with me, and I realized it was the closest he would ever come of admitting the damage he had done to us. And yes, once I got my master’s degree and met A, then married and had a kid, his regard shifted toward more respect and some admiration for my creative talents (writing and art) and intelligence. By then it was too late for me to care. The damage he wrought outweighed it. These are some of my most potent memories of him in relationship with me.

Physical

• One time while camping, we were packing up very early to leave, around 7 a.m. I was probably in middle school. I happened to shut the car door too hard, and he reacted by grabbing me and snarling not to do that.

• When I was really little, I remember him holding me while we were on a big boat, like a ferry, and him pretending that he was going to let me fall; it terrified me. 

• I remember him whipping my legs with a belt when I was around 9 or 10. It was summertime. I’d been mean to Tony and pushed him. Then I had to go to swim lessons with my obviously whipped legs. 

• At 26, home on spring break from college, a conversation about school and money escalated, and I tried to pause it. I suggested we talk when we were calmer and tried to leave the room. He became enraged and came at me to prevent me from walking away from him. T actually had to intervene to keep him from my physically.

• There was zero physical affection from him; no security or safety.

Emotional

• As an under-10 child, I felt that his default toward me was disapproval and dislike; as a teen I thought he was angry at me and that he hated me.

• His method of punishment in adolescence was to ground me indefinitely (no seeing friends, no phone use, no going anywhere other than school and church); not knowing when this would end was torment.

• When he was angry at me, he would scream, “You are not my daughter!” 

• In high school when angry with me, he would threaten to send me away to a boarding school. 

• He was angry and punitive regarding math struggles in elementary school; I felt stupid.

• I had a boy penpal from another country in high school. Once, I got a letter and wrote back and asked Dad for a stamp. He raged at me for asking, because he thought I hadn’t waited long enough after receiving the letter. I was showing I was “too eager.”

• Numerous times in high school and my 20s, in anger he said I was a loser and I would never finish anything.

• His general demeanor and emotional transmission was terrifying; just existing in the house felt dangerous.

• In high school, he’d rage at Mom late at night. I could hear it from my bed. I remember once standing at the top of the stairs, screaming “Stop it! Stop iiiitt!” He came to the bottom of the stairs and told me to mind my business. 

• When I moved back in at 25 to pay off debt, he sat me down and told me I was a “guest” and not to interfere with T’s last year of high school. Any infractions would result in me getting kicked out.

• As a child/teen, any time I mentioned a career I might like, he negated it mostly using reasons having to do with my personality (except teaching, which he said there was a glut of teachers); I couldn’t be a journalist because I wasn’t “competitive enough.” I couldn’t be a counselor because I was “too sensitive.”

• His psychological power over me continued into my mid-20s. I remember when I wrote a letter to him explaining that I decided I was going to study psychology, despite it not having financial potential, for the sake of my interest in it. I had been living independently and paying my own way for years, yet I still felt I had to make a case to him. 

• At 19, I was working full-time for a dentist who went on eight weeks vacation in the winter without paying me. Without income I wasn’t going to be able to pay rent. I was so scared and depressed with my life. Having hardly any money, I shoplifted Nytol, because I was going to commit suicide. I happened to get arrested. I was too scared to tell Dad because I was certain he would kick me out of the house. He ended up not doing so, but the point is that his abuse of me had led me to assume this. 

• No care was expressed toward my emotional state that led me to feeling suicidal.

• He forbade me going to therapy as long as I lived under his roof, which I ignored. But I had to keep it secret.

• He ordered me to go to church as long as I lived under his roof, which I finally rebelled against at 20 and told him I’d just lie and say I did. 

Neglect

• I felt invisible to him; he expressed no interest in what I thought, wanted, or needed, and elicited no conversations. He was utterly incurious about me.

• After T was born, I held even less importance, because the SON, especially a genius son, had been given to him. (I do not fault T in any way for this; he didn’t choose it.) 

• He refused to give me rides for extracurricular activities. I remember he got so angry once when an introductory Junior Achievement session let out later than expected. He raged as if it was my fault. So, I just stopped joining anything after 9th grade.

• He basically ignored me as an adolescent; there were days and weeks he did not speak to me.

• In elementary school I desperately wanted to join school band and play flute; he would not let me join. It was out of the question to even discuss.

• I taught myself to ride a bike on my best friend’s bike at age 5. I desperately wanted a bike, but he said “No bike until 5th grade.” I felt so babyish and stupid using the tricycle. Mom snuck behind him and got me a used bike in 4th grade, which somehow I was allowed to keep. 

• I was nothing to him. I was his burden, something to provide for and get married off and out of the house. That message came through clearly in the atmosphere of the household. 

• I was nearly 30 when I finally realized I am really, really intelligent; his utter disregard for me all those years kept me from really seeing this.

Financial

• In my junior year of high school I worked at the state fair demonstration kitchen with my friend S. I earned $200 for two weeks. S got to use her earnings as she wanted. Dad made me put all but $20 in the bank.

• He would not allow me to buy my own stereo or boombox while I lived at home, even at age 18, 19, 20, when I was paying rent to live there.

• I paid rent and bought my own groceries after age 18 while living at the house.

• I dearly wanted a 10-speed bike for all of high school. I researched them and saved money. I tried to present this to him, and he exploded. The subject was closed; he would not even hear me out.

• He refused to fill out the FAFSA form which is required for applying for student loans.

• After a year at OCC trying to study a major he deemed acceptable, I decided to take a break and look for work. I told him I didn’t want to waste his money. But only two weeks after I told him, I had not gotten a job yet. He screamed me that I was “screwing” him. 

• He used my sisters’ mistakes against me: L left college after one year, so he decreed that I would not be allowed to go away to college. E borrowed his money to buy her car, and apparently stopped paying on the loan at some point. In response he forbade me to even get a driver’s license while I live under his roof. I was 20 when I moved out, and 21 when I got a license. 

• When I wanted to go full-time to college in my later 20s, I couldn’t get enough financial aid. He offered to loan me $8000, with the following conditions: I was to pay it in full within five years of the loan issue; I could not get a car, take a vacation, get married, or have a child during that period; I would work all of my breaks at a temp job. It was demeaning, and I felt horrible about accepting the terms. I talked with Mom, and she replied that if I really wanted to get the degree, I would have to. So I did, with misgiving.

• When I later proposed to take summer classes so I could graduate sooner and start repayment (I was so worried about how I would repay it), he became enraged that I was trying to change the contract. (That’s when he came at me and T intervened.) That’s the moment I woke up and said “no more,” and decided my self-respect was worth more than the degree, and left.

• The day after the incident, I met Mom for coffee. She handed a memo to me from him, which told me I “bit the hand” that fed me, because he had intended to forgive the loan upon completion. And that I was to return the house key, not initiate any contact with him, to wait until he decided to engage with me. Oh, and the money he’d “loaned” me at that point ($3000) would be forgiven provided I showed him passing grades for the year.

• After being arrested, he told me he would not be engaging a lawyer for guidance. (I did not end up needing one, but I was extremely scared of what would happen.)

After re-reading all this, I’m astounded that I kept any contact with him at all over the years. Any non-family member reading this would be as well. His sperm provided half my DNA and gave me the opportunity to be embodied. He provided the basics and the occasional kind gesture, such as building me a bookcase or typing table. He did the bare minimum a parent is supposed to do for a child. But in all aspects of being a FATHER, I give him a FAILING grade. He treated me as his possession. He wielded power over me not recklessly, but with cruelty. He used his energy in an effort to kill my spirit. And he nearly succeeded.

And so on this father’s day in 2023, I lay him to rest. He is dead to me. I am done.

[Footnote: my father died at age 93 on December 1, 2023. We are at peace.]

Confession

I have a confession. I was not enthusiastic about going camping. We began doing it when G was four, and I've loved it. I grew up camping, and many of my favorite memories are of those trips. Once we arrive and settle in, it's lovely. But there is a lot of prep beforehand, especially with food. H likes to seal food well so it stays sanitary in the cooler, and we try to bring all that we need from the beginning. This year, H and I have new dietary considerations which required us to reconfigure the menu. I felt so much resistance to doing all this. And yet it was going to be camping with friends, one of the first times in years, something H has longed for. And camping is H's relaxation. It's where he rests and becomes refreshed. It's really critical for his health. G loves going. But when G came down sick, a part of me was relieved. I don't feel very friendly toward myself about that. 

This begs the perennial question: why do I resist and avoid actions that support my well-being? I feel better when I walk daily, eat healthy, go camping, talk with friends, make art -- but I do not do them! About the only thing I consistently do that I know is good for me is read books. Sometimes I even use reading as a form of escape or hiding. I did that for years. Reading is as vital to me as breathing.

Returning to work in the profession I abandoned 18 years ago has been rejuvenating. I love doing it. And I don't resist it. Is it because I am paid for it? In part, yes. There is something gratifying about providing service that others value and recognize. But it's also because it makes me happy to do this work. It uses my gifts. It allows me to engage intimately with people. Even more so, I love doing this work because I know I am good at it, and I am equipped to do it. What I didn't grok 18 years ago at the start of the career is something I understand now in my being: I am enough. Knowing this gives confidence, clarity, an affirmation of what is called appropriate entitlement. And finally, I am able to do to consistently because I know other people depend on me to show up.

Doing this work with others brings me to a place or state similar to when I make art: wholly engaged, vibrant, in flow, aligned with the universe. I also engage this state when writing, though somewhat less so, because writing requires fumbling around a bit more. Reading brings me to this state as well, but not with the same presence. Reading is a form of consumption and creation, but the work is entirely internal. Hmm. I feel I am on the verge of understanding something for myself, but need to percolate a bit more.