It's all about me...and forgiveness.

Of late, I haven't been able to write anything, nada, zilch. Journaling has been my outlet for so much of my life, I feel somehow unfinished when I am unable to pen (or type) my thoughts.

I've come to realize these many years and years of digging into my own psyche, these years spent trying to understand my failings (of course I never dig deep to understand my successes) have taken their toll. I've exhausted my compassion for myself. I'm just plain weary of seeking answers. Some I am just not ready emotionally to handle. And, others...well...I already know why...I have known for quite some time. There are aspects of my personality that I just don't like.

I amaze myself at times with my complete willingness to accept others as they are. I am quite willing to always be open, to always attempt to understand, and accept another's behavior/s. There is very little about other people's behavior that I will not accept, (except for the usual suspects of course...ya'know the standards...child abuse, wanton unnecessary violence, deliberately destroying the country you swore to do your best for...those type of things), to all others I seek out their innate goodness instead. I offer them acceptance, and to many in my life love as well. No matter what, I do offer love and acceptance...and for those that have caused me harm, I seek to forgive.



But, I have not forgiven myself. I thought I had, but I haven't.
Why not? I try to tell myself, I'm not so bad.
I've never, and cannot imagine myself ever, setting out to intentionally harm another with my actions or words. I make mistakes, I'm human. I'm fallible, I misjudge, I sometimes do awful things. Things I beat myself up for. Things that make me angry with myself. Silly self-directed anger. I get mad at myself when I yell at Moose or Turtle, I blame myself for their being youngsters and misbehaving. I criticize myself for my children's poor judgments. Hell, I even blame myself for soon-to-be-ex's behaviors! There isn't much I don't blame myself for.



Once again, I have to ask myself, "Am I that important? That powerful?"

The answer of course is easy, "NO! I'm not!"



I can only be responsible for my own behaviors, no one else's.



Seems so simple.



Yet for me...it doesn't seem to be.



I find myself getting caught up in a cycle of self-anger, self-destruction, self-hatred. The more I allow myself to feel one, the stronger they all become. I then become overwhelmed with fears...fear of failure, fear of rejection, fear of nonapproval (my own mostly), which then feeds the parasitical feelings of low self-esteem, and low self-worth.



Allowing myself to continue down this path is me...resisting healing.



With several different folks of late, I have discussed, what at times seems confounding...this need for some to remain victims, long, long after a trauma, long after they should be far along their path to healing. But, in some ways, maybe, I am beginning to understand. This self-loathing, this penance of mine over past mistakes, allows me to continue to be a victim, to continue to feel the pain. I become a martyr to my own pain and feelings of low worth. OK, even I think I am being a bit hard on myself here...yeah...I have made, do make, and will continue to make mistakes...but not for the lack of trying...but then again...if I am unworthy, and despicable...then I don't have to try do I?



Maybe I did have take this hard look at myself. Have I been a victim for so long that I don't know any other way to be? So, I become my own victim?


I think...maybe even know, that I have held this mistaken notion that it is a sign of inner weakness to forgive myself. I know I still have trouble with those aspects of myself that I label as selfish. But, we are all selfish, very few of us are truly selfless. If we act in an unselfish way, is also self-gratification...it gives us good feelings about...ourselves.



So, has all of this led me to something profound? Able to take more steps along the path of self-healing? Or, am I more self-involved than ever?



Try, try again...eventually...it will stick...Yeah? Once again, I must breathe, and breathe again, I must let go of the pain, the self-blame, the self-hatred, the self-judgment of the past, and my fears of the future. I have to be vulnerable to, and allow myself to trust in those that are able to see the good in me. I have to let my self-burdening, self-limiting, self-doubting behaviors go.


I am only powerful enough to affect one person. ME!


I have to forgive me.






*Sometimes...I really find myself terribly bemusing...how self-involved can one really be?
Gotta tell myself as many times as it takes...Just live babe, just live the best you can.*








Leona Lewis - Forgive Me

Test Your Jitter Factor

OnePlusYou Quizzes and Widgets

The above score, Very High-Productive Worker, Jittery, was me at 10:15 PM. Dunno why I feel so tired...maybe I just have a very fast index finger.

I can't imagine what it would have been at 10:15 this morning, after I'd had 4 large mugs of coffee!

Mr. Son at 8:30 PM. came in at the delusions of Godhood stage...too many cans of Red Bull methinks.

Time to...Lighten Up

No matter what situations life throws at you...


No matter how long and treacherous your journey may seem...


Remember, there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

The Divorce Blues

In this process called divorce, I must admit I had many preconceived notions before it all came to pass.

I thought it would be over with by now...silly me.

For the first year, it was I who had to start each new stage, and I who procrastinated with each one. Not because I did not want the divorce, not that at all. It was because I feel my pain, his pain, and my children's pain with each additional nudge toward the legal ending of this marriage. Each step toward that final decree is another nail in the coffin which holds 30 years of our lives.

I have spent many hours remembering the years of my marriage.

Many hours weighing it out in my mind.

Many hours wondering about the...if onlys...and the whys.

Many hours searching and sifting memories.

Many hours reminding myself of why I had to say ENOUGH.

Many nights, so many nights, tossing and turning, nights when I awake at two, three, four in the morning with remnant feelings left over from unremembered dreams. Dreams which leave me full of fears and tears. But, there have also been nights when those remnant feelings were...of a peaceful sort...then I must've dreamed of the special moments of our lives, those filled with joy, love, and sharing.

A friend told me last night she has heard it takes approximately 12 years for some to lose their anger and bitterness after divorce. What a long time that is. Will I care then if he is still bitter? As I care now?

There are times when I feel out of sorts, when I feel as if something is missing. These times have me wondering. Is having that intimate knowledge of another what I miss? Even though I do not miss him, nor his daily presence in my life, (truth be told, I sometimes revel that he is not a daily presence), there is something magical about having the ability...of looking into and feeling as if one knows another's soul...a something I lived my entire adult life thinking we had...when we tried hard enough...and now...it is gone.

In the living and sharing of our lives together, there were times, even toward the end, when that special intimacy would suddenly be there. We meshed, we knew, we would forget our pain, and share our joys and frustrations, accomplishments and disappointments, lost loved ones, mutual fears and tears. After a while it became automatic, this intimacy formed over our years of living, working, and playing together.

Until quite recently, it was still there on occasion, not even noticed at first, except afterward. Only when the good feelings would begin to dissipate, would we remember that this kind of intimacy will never be again, it is gone now, dead. As dead as the marriage. Eventually the feeling of that moment would ebb away, and an awkwardness would develop between us, we would each look away from the other, and then I would take my leave of him. Funny, it was/is always me doing the actual leaving. Knowing we will never have that specialness between us again...is painful.

He is very angry with me now. I understand that, I truly do. I don't like it, but I do understand. There are times when I too, have to goad myself into feeling angry, when I have to direct that anger outward toward him, or I forget my why of leaving, and once again face my own self-blame.

So there are days, when I have to remind myself that I wasn't crazy, that I didn't make it all up, that he truly did want me to be a different me. It wasn't just a minor thing I did that annoyed, or a little change here and there, or a tweaking of my personality, it was a major overhaul, a surgical removal of all that is me. This I must remind myself of. Because if I don't, I fall into my old patterns of behavior, my old patterns of self-blame and loathing. It was easy, is easy, to blame myself. So I remind myself, I was not, and am not alone in this. This death of a marriage is mutual.

I remember thinking...several years ago...that when my marriage ended, I would be grievously saddened, but also feel as if the ending portended a new beginning...silly me.

It isn't the ending of the marriage that will bring me a new beginning. It is me, finding the truth. The truth of who I really am, and accepting her. I spent so many years feeling unacceptable, I don't know how to accept me. I can't blame him, I lived it, I allowed it all to continue for so many years. Whatever my weaknesses were and are, it is I who must overcome them. Only I.

Thus I find myself losing my newly won faith in myself, losing my reborn self-confidence. My emotions of late have been in turmoil. So many holding sway within me, I find myself unable to differentiate them at times. There is still fear of the unknown. Along with grief, sadness, anger, guilt, shame, love, confusion, plus some I have not yet named. I know not what direction to take with my life, I am still standing on that precipice of old...only this time it is not quite as frightening. When I am able to look past all of the emotional pain...I see something new...I don't hate myself anymore, not as often anyway. There are days when I can let it all go, and just be.

But as we move closer to the finality of it all, and I know I will have to sit across a table from him, and listen to him tell me why I am so undeserving. Then I begin to wrestle my monster again. The monster isn't him anymore, maybe it never was. The monster of the abyss is me.

I am fighting myself now. Questioning my every thought when it comes to the future. Wondering if I will fail myself.

I told someone recently, I need to find a new passion. Something that consumes me, something that is my reason for being. I allowed my youthful passions to be smothered out. Later, as I became a wife and mother, those were my passions...to be the best I could be...to be better than my best. That is gone now. I must find something new to fit my need to care deeply.

I don't know how to live without passion, I feel only half alive without it.

I know a portion of this lack of passion has to do with all of these endings that are filling my life right now. I feel it as I sit in meetings covering topics that once fascinated me, topics I now ask myself why they are important.

There are days when I don't think about it, I just try to live, move on, be the best person I can be...and then some silly little thing will happen...and I falter...if I falter too long I become mired in self-defeating thoughts. Thoughts that generate a miasma that seems to permeate my heart and soul.

I spent several years of my life teaching others how devastatingly damaging words can be. Yet, until recently I didn't really understand how deeply embedded negative messages can become. Words cause harm when used enough. Words become weapons, when repeated and repeated for years and years, they cut deep. The resulting wounds are not healing as I thought they would. There are days when I still believe the words, when I still believe the message. There are days when I don't know how not to.

I am wearying of this battle.

There are days when I ask myself if it is all worth it. Life as I once knew it is over with, and I know not where to go from here. I have dreams, but they are not the strengthening answers I need right now, this minute.

People tell me talking helps. It doesn't feel so, because as I talk, all the wounds are reopened, bleed and I hear the words again. I hear them as truth. Even as I know they are not, they were in control for so long, it takes all I have to fight past them.

I have often said I distrust words, but I also distrust actions. I lived a life for so long in which actions and words held different meanings, both caused so much harm. I distrust all now. Even when the actions and the words match, I distrust. I don't know who or what to believe anymore.

Writing helps...as I see my thoughts and fears take shape on the page I can view them without so much emotion...eventually.

The worst thing about all of this, is the energy it takes to continue the battle. I don't, and won't accept defeat, yet, by days end I often feel defeated.

I want to believe the good things about me...but damn it all...I failed...how can that be good?

Why wasn't it enough? Why wasn't it ever enough?

I wish for the day when I can put this all behind me...when I can say and believe, "I did the best I could...it wasn't good enough...but I tried...I tried so hard."

But, maybe I won't be able to honestly tell myself that, maybe I didn't try hard enough, or maybe I gave up too soon. Maybe I didn't give my best, or maybe it just didn't matter, and no matter what I did it would never be enough. Maybe, I have to find my own enough.

Where did my strength go? It has seeped away...leaving me with tears falling...more signs of weakness and self-defeat.

Each day I start out fresh...less fearful, more sure...ready to do battle again. I can go for several weeks feeling strong and sure.

But there always, always, comes a time when I once again feel as if I am desperately swimming against the current....unsure. Flailing and floundering, strength ebbing away, leaving only weakness.

I really, really, really, really hate it when I feel this way.

I wrote the following to someone going through a situation similar to my own, I meant them, still do, I guess I just need to listen more closely to myself.

"I think we all deserve a chance to be who we are, as we are, while
trying to be the best person we can be. It's not too much to ask to be
loved for who/what we are."

Tomorrow is another day. Perhaps my strength will return with the rising of the sun.

Ahmad's Diary

"Ahmad Fadam was a member of the Iraqi staff in the newsroom of The New York Times in Baghdad. He left Baghdad in May to take up a visiting fellowship at the University of North Carolina..."

I find his story fascinating, informative, and feel he is just one of the many Iraqi's all American's need to hear/read.

Ahmad's Diary

Ahmad's Podcasts

Ahmad's Blog

Wouldn't it be

wonderful


if there were no bombings tomorrow?



Sigh.

Memories of a Summer Past

June was a very busy month. My coworkers and I spent several weeks busily putting the finishing touches to a huge first-time ever event, finally reaching the culmination point of months and months of work at the end of June. An event that turned out to be more successful than we had dared to dream.

But, prior to the event, I didn't know it would end successfully. There is an old maxim, "Too many cooks spoil the broth." So true. I was in charge of one half of the event we were planning. As the date drew nigh, and stress levels rose, several well-intentioned people wanted a hand in my portion of the planning. I cannot count the number of times I told everyone, "It's going to be great, I've done things similar to this for years." Sigh, they weren't very good at listening. The more "ideas" that were thrown at me, the higher my own feelings of stress would rise. Near the end, a few days before the event itself, all the good intentioned interference became rather overwhelming, I began to feel as if it were all going to fall apart. On this most stressful of days something occurred that I eventually viewed as quite serendipitous. It had me remembering, and with the memories, my self confidence came back.

Memories that had me dancing and singing at my desk.

And...I have X.Dell to thank for it.

Several weeks prior to this rather stress-filled June day, X.Dell had begun posting several entries on his blog about the songster Sam Cooke. After reading his essays, I had added a Sam Cooke themed station to my Pandora.com radio stations. That morning, as is usual on the days I am not on call, I opened up Pandora, and left it playing quietly in the background, listening to, but not really hearing the songs being aired.

By about midday I was feeling lost, feeling as if my project had been jinxed by all of the negativity surrounding it. When suddenly I became aware of the music emitting from my speakers. Long forgotten memories poured out. Memories of a small slice of time when my world was filled more with innocence and joy, than worry and fear. A time when life was just life, each day was simply...a new day to experience.

Get Ready by The Temptations had begun to play.

Suddenly, I was transported back to the summer of 1969.

A summer of changes, a summer in which for the first time in several years I could be a child free of her very real fears, a summer that had profound effects on the developing me.

My family had recently moved to Bloomington, Indiana. Our new home was only a few short blocks from the downtown area, and, only a few more blocks from the University Campus. Even at the ripe young age of 'almost' ten, I could sense the differentness so often found within certain college towns in the Midwest. There was a feeling of freedom inherent in that small University town, one that had not been apparent in the previous small town I had lived in.

At that age there was very little I was aware of outside my own immediate family and small circle of friends. Yet the aura of the sixties, and, the change in attitudes wrought during that time period, had permeated my life. There had been a lot of changes taking place in my family in the months prior to the move. Changes in the young woman that was my mother at the time. Changes that are more easily viewed historically than when actually living them. For a few brief years,(I now believe), my mother 'lived' her life as who she truly was, instead of the way she (and society) thought she should. In this brief spate of time, my mother had lost her father, and, my parents had separated and divorced. I can only surmise that the first event precipitated the second. In losing her father, she found her own voice, and she listened to it, (for a few short years anyway). In the interim she had opened her own home business, and had openly taken a lover. Gone were her days of emulating Jackie Kennedy, the days when she wanted to live the "Father Knows Best" lifestyle.

We also had neighbors that were different than what I was used to, they were the now stereotypical 'flower children' of the times. What I remember the most about our neighbors, was the long beautiful golden hair of the young women and men that were always coming and going, the psychedelic rock music emanating from their open windows, and paper mache candle wax covered Chianti Bottles. Being only a few months shy of my 10th birthday I had no clue they, or we, were living against the then middle-class norm.

But, the most important influence upon me that summer of 1969 was Belinda. Within hours of moving in to our new home, Belinda introduced herself to me, and into my life. She was a year older, and so much more sophisticated (in my mind anyway). I thought Belinda knew everything! She had much older siblings, and was ever eager to emulate them.

All I learned that summer of 69' from my worldly best friend set the stage for my later teen years. Her influence allowed me to let go of my shy little girl ways, and even some of my tomboyish ways. Belinda taught me how to freely and courageously walk the streets of a small city, ( prior to this time, my family had almost always lived in the country, or very small sub-divisions several miles from whatever small town we lived near). She taught me how to dance uninhibitedly, she taught me about boys, and how to flirt. Our friendship, and the times, opened my young spirit up again.

Right before our move, my mother had purchased a new/used console stereo, and along with it came stacks of LP's. Overlapping, and blending with all my memories of Belinda and the summer of '69, are... The Temptations. One day in our search through my mother's albums, we stumbled upon their album, Get Ready. The two songs which strike deep into my memory are Get Ready, and Say You. After we discovered the Temptations and Get Ready, we listened to practically nothing else the rest of the summer. I still remember a day (or it could have been many days) my mother begged us to play something else. We tried, but, sooner than my mother liked, The Temptations were back on the turn table.

There was just something about The Temptations that struck a chord within us both. Our days would often start with a walk uptown, but every afternoon, we would be drawn to the living room, and the huge stereo cabinet set against the wall. With supreme reverence we would slip the record out of its sleeve, gently place it on the turn table, flip the switch, and take our positions on the front porch. Then we danced.

We danced, and danced, and danced. I don't remember ever tiring, just dancing. Dancing until it was time for Belinda to walk back across the street to have dinner with her family. I didn't recognize the feelings then, but looking back on it, I see it, I feel it, we were experiencing the budding into womanhood, we were reveling in our very femaleness.

My Summer of The Temptations. A summer of pure feeling. A summer like no other.

Patriotism

A much touted word of late.

With several definitions it seems.

There is Bush Regime/Republican pretend patriotism, which is accompanied by accessories that must be worn at all times, these accessories include a flag lapel pin, blinders, and a gag. The gag is optional if one has the ability to scream over, and drown out, those that disagree with the right wing conservative and/or evangelical viewpoint.

The following statement by Hermann Goering, may well be a definitive statement for these real patriots. "Naturally the common people don't want war; neither in Russia, nor in England, nor in America, nor in Germany. That is understood. But after all, it is the leaders of the country who determine policy, and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along, whether it is a democracy, or a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship. Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is to tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same in any country."


I asked myself, what patriotism, being a good citizen means to me...I found myself in rather good company, if I do say so myself.

"My country, right or wrong; if right, to be kept right; and if wrong, to be set right." Carl Schurz

"What do we mean by patriotism in the context of our times? I venture to suggest that what we mean is a sense of national responsibility ... a patriotism which is not short, frenzied outbursts of emotion, but the tranquil and steady dedication of a lifetime." Adlai E. Stevenson

"There are two visions of America. One precedes our founding fathers and finds its roots in the harshness of our puritan past. It is very suspicious of freedom, uncomfortable with diversity, hostile to science, unfriendly to reason, contemptuous of personal autonomy. It sees America as a religious nation. It views patriotism as allegiance to God. It secretly adores coercion and conformity. Despite our constitution, despite the legacy of the Enlightenment, it appeals to millions of Americans and threatens our freedom.

The other vision finds its roots in the spirit of our founding revolution and in the leaders of this nation who embraced the age of reason. It loves freedom, encourages diversity, embraces science and affirms the dignity and rights of every individual. It sees America as a moral nation, neither completely religious nor completely secular. It defines patriotism as love of country and of the people who make it strong. It defends all citizens against unjust coercion and irrational conformity." Rabbi Sherwin Wine

"To announce that there must be no criticism of the president, or that we are to stand by the president, right or wrong, is not only unpatriotic and servile, but is morally treasonable to the American public." Theodore Roosevelt

"We must not confuse dissent with disloyalty. When the loyal opposition dies, I think the soul of America dies with it." Edward R. Murrow

"To me, patriotism is upholding the ideals and principles on which the nation was founded..." Capt. Nate Rawlings

I miss having pride in my country.

Millineum Mother Daughter Rite of Passage?

Miss Daughter and I went on a little shopping trip this evening.

Two stores, several purchases.

At store number one, due to a broken condom 6 weeks ago, a late period, and the possibility of the morning after pill not working. I purchased her an at-home pregnancy test.

At store number two, the purchases consisted of two vibrators... both very pretty in varying shades of blue, (one for her, one for me), batteries to go with, some lubricant , and two bumper stickers that portray our political leanings.

Yep, you read that right, I bought my 18 year old daughter her first vibrator, and ya'know what? It felt really good, great in fact.

By the way, the pregnancy test was negative. HUGE sigh of relief!

I didn't think the purchases had much of a connection. But, maybe, just maybe, I was nursing an unconscious silly hope that the vibrator would help negate the need for purchasing more at-home-pregnancy tests, at least until her birth control pills are effective. 'Tis a thought. Not a very rational one, but then again, I have never claimed to be a rational being.

It did put an irrational fear in Boyfriend's mind...he thinks she will prefer the vibrator to him...nah...couldn't happen. Could it?