Work In Progress

Brené Brown talks about being vulnerable, naming your shame, sharing your stories with people who have earned the right to hear them...... which takes a lot of courage. Sista is that person for me.  We can be brave and courageous with each other! We name our shame, pick at the vulnerable parts and lay them out like a picnic on a blanket and invite each other to sit and share.   We name the shames, explore the tender spots  and  find places where love fits instead.  Then, we toss the garbage and end with a hug, smile and we might even laugh until we pee a little. (Damn you age and babies...) I feel the need to say, if it was a real picnic, Sista would have the super healthy one with lots of greens and legumes, no meat and delish sugar free, wheat free snacks! She works hard to provide a good dietary foundation for her family. Mine would be brownies and licorice. Last night Sista texted me from evening swimming lessons with her kids:...

While I have a scheduled appointment to see my therapist, the email from the insurance company wanting a status update always throws me for a loop and I take a day or two to catch my breath.  There is still much I have to deal with surrounding return to work. Just the other day, when I was using my Goddess cards, the Goddess Kali dropped at my feet.  FEAR.  Kali had literally flipped out of the deck and landed face up at my feet while I held the other cards in my hands.  Once I read what she was all about in the book that accompanies the card, I tried the visualization----climbing a hilly path to a plane of vision where I meet Kali, see what I need to see, give her a gift and return.  I didn't get a lot from the visualization at the time, but that night I dreamed horrible dreams about being judged and feeling ashamed, about people wanting me to fail, about being unable to find things and stay organized.  I felt awful when I woke up, probably because ...

Since I love to dance, one of the ways I have chosen to help get fit and meet my dancing shoes need is to get back into Zumba at the gym.  So for the past month, I have been going to a yoga/tai chi/Pilates class on Mondays, a yoga class on Friday mornings and Zumba Gold on Wednesday mornings.  Zumba Gold is a "lite" version that includes a bit more instruction and more low impact moves.    When my oldest was home last week for Thanksgiving and his subsequent reading week, I took advantage of him being home and booked him in for all the dental, doctor, hair, driving lessons I could which ate up my morning gym time.  Feeling guilty, I thought I would go to an evening of "real Zumba".     I didn't think much of it as I had previously done "real Zumba" to the point where I became pretty good at it (or at least I could keep up yet felt tired but energized by the end of class). What occupied my mind prior to going that night w...

I am back at the Leaning Tower of Pisa that started this whole blog over 80 posts ago (and yes that is me in the foreground).   Back then, I was an observer; intellectualizing the Tower and the path in my head as I took a few steps in the general direction to  plant a shovel here and there, probing the soil for a good point of entry.  Work in Progress signs were hung and after a few weeks the digging began.  And like any project--there were delays--and unexpected circumstances which allowed me to emerge from the musty subterranean tunnel to gulp down the fresh air I didn't know I was missing while searching for the broken part in me that made me so off balance.    But it's been months and months and I am far below the Tower, digging; the cool dampness compressing my lungs; words and thoughts  absorbed by the loamy damp earth; each shovel exposing more and more of my damaged spirit.  It has been heart a...

Elbow deep in my bag on my arm, my fingers walked  quickly  over the contents, quickly identifying and then rejecting each item in a blind attempt to locate my wallet. The last few items beeped through the scanner as drops of sweat formed and slowly rolled down the back of my shirt.   The cashier shifted from one foot to the other, letting out an audible sigh. She shared a knowing smirk with the growing line behind me.   "It's in here somewhere".  My purse puddled on the counter in front of me, I continued to dig, feeling a flash of warmth ricochet around my body.  My hand returned over and over to my sister's wallet that I was carrying for her as she scanned the birthday cards for an appropriate selection.   "Let me grab my sister."   As I bolted from the cashier line, I saw her heading my way and waved her forward.  The line collectively shook there heads.   I quickly fi...

The subtitle for this chapter is Letting Go of Perfection.  I have blogged about my challenges with perfection....my perfectionista persona and my glaring lack of self-compassion.  I can excuse others for many things, but in therapy I used words like failure, incompetent, stupid and weak like a whack a mole hammer to beat myself down.  My therapist was always commenting that I was incredibly hard on myself.  I am not sure I ever agreed with her.  Brené Brown writes that our attempts to be perfect are our attempts to avoid shame, blame and judgement from others. The problem is, the more we strive to be this unattainable perfect the more we have to keep it up--to do better--to avoid letting people see our true, flawed, vulnerable selves. She says perfectionists are looking for approval and acceptance, not from themselves, but from others.  This is self-destructive because you cannot control the perceptions of others.  Continuall...

 Like many of the things Brene Brown talks about in The Gifts of Imperfection, Authenticity is not something you have or don't have, it is something you have the potential for, it just takes practice. So those people who practice it daily have become really good at being honest, showing up and "letting their true self be seen". The fact that many of the concepts she talks about--perfectionism, courage, compassion etc. are all choices makes me feel hopeful. I can have or be any of these things.  But it is also daunting.  It means I have to practice. Some of it may feel familiar, like riding a bike, I just need to get on a pedal a bit and I have it, but other parts are going to be like handing me a baton again.  Yes, I took baton lessons when I was about 8 --but I am surely going to clunk myself in the head a lot before I can get the damn thing spinning around properly.  And with anything that is hard, or hurts, who wants to try that each and every day...

It is a cool outside this morning and I have on my fluffy red robe as I sit outside and watch the birds flit back and forth from the fence to the feeder----arrogantly tossing aside imperfect sunflower seeds to get to the good ones.   The discarded seeds, some empty, some full, punctuate my deck, waiting for the squirrels, who will later claim this easy buffet. I am still reading Brené and The Gifts of Imperfection. Feels a bit like learning a new language ---I see the words---I hear the words---but the meaning is so diffuse...I need to read and reread and sometimes, even read out loud to make the words stick It is hard work.    And while the smooth cover of her book lies balanced on my palm, seemingly weightless, many of the concepts have a density that knocks me flat on my ass ---like a large medicine ball. CATCH THIS ONE!   Oooooooof!   I am down.    Eyes wide, trying to catch my breath, wrestling with the weight of hefty concept...