Thursday, September 29, 2011
Evidently there ARE limits
I guess there are limits to how much one can grow and change. I feel overwhelmed, stretched, weary, and beaten. I set out with hope and confidence two weeks ago that I could set some goals in regards to getting ready
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Is Blood thicker than water?
Medical science says "yes". Blood is made up of all kinds of substances: Red blood cells, platelets, white blood cells, plasma, and water.
The colloquial cliche (blood is thicker than water) doesn't seem to ring as true for me, at least not all the time. The cliche: "we hurt those we love the most" seems to be a better fit in many of my life experiences.
Extended family (blood) seems to try to take advantage of each other at every opportunity. I wish I could say that I had only seen this in my family, but in many families, the older prey on the younger, and the stronger family member preys on the weaker, and the concept of family is destroyed by a kind of Civil War.
Many of us wander like wounded weary civil war veterans, searching for peace, trying to find the family we were so proud of in our youth. All that remains of that pretty picture is shattered fragments of an illusion which we once thought was real. We were young and we didn't look too deep into things.
I managed to get far enough away, so as not to be percieved as a threat, so I am able to maintain a shaky, tentative peace with my parents. They call if someone dies, but otherwise they are the North and I am the South, except in my history I rebelled, broke away and became my own country. I wanted to live life differently than their religious zeal would allow. So, I live as a pariah from my parents. They only tolerate me to be able spend time with my daughter, which grates on me.
Perhaps blood is thicker than water overall, even if it doesn't seem to be to them. I keep trying. I keep hoping. I keep allowing communication with the grandkids. So, at least to me blood is thicker than water.
I was raised to be smart, religious, legalistic, and judgemental. I am gracious, accepting, moderate, and intelligent. Obviously, what was done turned out decent.
I guess they are standing by the window waiting for the prodigal to come home, the same way I am. Waiting is my last resort, whereas it seems to be their only option.
Back to the original question: In regards to our children, this statement does ring true. The more I try to be a 'father' to my step daughter the more I become the typical step father- aloof, firm, and insensitive. Whereas with my 'birth children' a balance of firm and fair seems to come naturally most of the time.
I am realizing that the only way to achieve balance with my step-daughter is through the guidance of my soul mate which is her 'birth-mother'.
Blended family life has many lessons to teach. That "blood is thicker than water" is only one of them.
My parents treat complete strangers better than they treat me for some reason. I am not upset or offended at this truth, just curious and confused. I look at my children and wonder at what point I will consider "cutting my losses" and pulling out my investment in their life. If they do illegal drugs? If they get drunk? If they murder someone? If they get a DUI? If they steal money from me? I do see that these actions might require some different boundaries be set.
Hopefully never, hopefully I never see my time to help them in life has come to an end. Yet, I haven't done these things and my parents have gone silent. This is why I say I am curious.
The colloquial cliche (blood is thicker than water) doesn't seem to ring as true for me, at least not all the time. The cliche: "we hurt those we love the most" seems to be a better fit in many of my life experiences.
Extended family (blood) seems to try to take advantage of each other at every opportunity. I wish I could say that I had only seen this in my family, but in many families, the older prey on the younger, and the stronger family member preys on the weaker, and the concept of family is destroyed by a kind of Civil War.
Many of us wander like wounded weary civil war veterans, searching for peace, trying to find the family we were so proud of in our youth. All that remains of that pretty picture is shattered fragments of an illusion which we once thought was real. We were young and we didn't look too deep into things.
I managed to get far enough away, so as not to be percieved as a threat, so I am able to maintain a shaky, tentative peace with my parents. They call if someone dies, but otherwise they are the North and I am the South, except in my history I rebelled, broke away and became my own country. I wanted to live life differently than their religious zeal would allow. So, I live as a pariah from my parents. They only tolerate me to be able spend time with my daughter, which grates on me.
Perhaps blood is thicker than water overall, even if it doesn't seem to be to them. I keep trying. I keep hoping. I keep allowing communication with the grandkids. So, at least to me blood is thicker than water.
I was raised to be smart, religious, legalistic, and judgemental. I am gracious, accepting, moderate, and intelligent. Obviously, what was done turned out decent.
I guess they are standing by the window waiting for the prodigal to come home, the same way I am. Waiting is my last resort, whereas it seems to be their only option.
Back to the original question: In regards to our children, this statement does ring true. The more I try to be a 'father' to my step daughter the more I become the typical step father- aloof, firm, and insensitive. Whereas with my 'birth children' a balance of firm and fair seems to come naturally most of the time.
I am realizing that the only way to achieve balance with my step-daughter is through the guidance of my soul mate which is her 'birth-mother'.
Blended family life has many lessons to teach. That "blood is thicker than water" is only one of them.
My parents treat complete strangers better than they treat me for some reason. I am not upset or offended at this truth, just curious and confused. I look at my children and wonder at what point I will consider "cutting my losses" and pulling out my investment in their life. If they do illegal drugs? If they get drunk? If they murder someone? If they get a DUI? If they steal money from me? I do see that these actions might require some different boundaries be set.
Hopefully never, hopefully I never see my time to help them in life has come to an end. Yet, I haven't done these things and my parents have gone silent. This is why I say I am curious.
Is blood thicker than water?
Medical science says "yes". Blood is made up of all kinds of substances: Red blood cells, platelets, white blood cells, plasma, and water.
The colloquial cliche (blood is thicker than water) doesn't seem to ring as true for me, at least not all the time. The cliche: "we hurt those we love the most" seems to be a better fit in many of my life experiences.
Extended family (blood) seems to try to take advantage of each other at every opportunity. I wish I could say that I had only seen this in my family, but in many families, the older prey on the younger, and the stronger family member preys on the weaker, and the concept of family is destroyed by a kind of Civil War.
Many of us wander like wounded weary civil war veterans, searching for peace, trying to find the family we were so proud of in our youth. All that remains of that pretty picture is shattered fragments of an illusion which we once thought was real. We were young and we didn't look too deep into things.
I managed to get far enough away, so as not to be percieved as a threat, so I am able to maintain a shaky, tentative peace with my parents. They call if someone dies, but otherwise they are the North and I am the South, except in my history I rebelled, broke away and became my own country. I wanted to live life differently than their religious zeal would allow. So, I live as a pariah from my parents. They only tolerate me to be able spend time with my daughter, which grates on me.
Perhaps blood is thicker than water overall, even if it doesn't seem to be to them. I keep trying. I keep hoping. I keep allowing communication with the grandkids. So, at least to me blood is thicker than water.
I was raised to be smart, religious, legalistic, and judgemental. I am gracious, accepting, moderate, and intelligent. Obviously, what was done turned out decent.
I guess they are standing by the window waiting for the prodigal to come home, the same way I am,
The colloquial cliche (blood is thicker than water) doesn't seem to ring as true for me, at least not all the time. The cliche: "we hurt those we love the most" seems to be a better fit in many of my life experiences.
Extended family (blood) seems to try to take advantage of each other at every opportunity. I wish I could say that I had only seen this in my family, but in many families, the older prey on the younger, and the stronger family member preys on the weaker, and the concept of family is destroyed by a kind of Civil War.
Many of us wander like wounded weary civil war veterans, searching for peace, trying to find the family we were so proud of in our youth. All that remains of that pretty picture is shattered fragments of an illusion which we once thought was real. We were young and we didn't look too deep into things.
I managed to get far enough away, so as not to be percieved as a threat, so I am able to maintain a shaky, tentative peace with my parents. They call if someone dies, but otherwise they are the North and I am the South, except in my history I rebelled, broke away and became my own country. I wanted to live life differently than their religious zeal would allow. So, I live as a pariah from my parents. They only tolerate me to be able spend time with my daughter, which grates on me.
Perhaps blood is thicker than water overall, even if it doesn't seem to be to them. I keep trying. I keep hoping. I keep allowing communication with the grandkids. So, at least to me blood is thicker than water.
I was raised to be smart, religious, legalistic, and judgemental. I am gracious, accepting, moderate, and intelligent. Obviously, what was done turned out decent.
I guess they are standing by the window waiting for the prodigal to come home, the same way I am,
Monday, August 29, 2011
She
Grace without shadow is she,
Illuminating wisdom circumspect,
Intriquing hidden mystery,
Reserved for only me;
Joyful bliss without boundary,
Rooted, grounded, flexible, free,
Amazing oximoronity,
Winging my heart away with she,
Love, open, beyond degree,
Unfathomable Scope, unknowable depth,
Receiving imaginably more than I see,
Everything shared exhibits endless fertility;
She
She be the other world of me,
wildly blossoming,
contagiously living,
a love spending spree,
Seeking to overwhelm the world she sees
with beauty
For Kimberly, my soulmate!
-Aaron
Illuminating wisdom circumspect,
Intriquing hidden mystery,
Reserved for only me;
Joyful bliss without boundary,
Rooted, grounded, flexible, free,
Amazing oximoronity,
Winging my heart away with she,
Love, open, beyond degree,
Unfathomable Scope, unknowable depth,
Receiving imaginably more than I see,
Everything shared exhibits endless fertility;
She
She be the other world of me,
wildly blossoming,
contagiously living,
a love spending spree,
Seeking to overwhelm the world she sees
with beauty
For Kimberly, my soulmate!
-Aaron
Thursday, August 4, 2011
The Few, the proud, the Pheresed!!
I volunteered to be pheresed. The process takes 1 hour per unit of platelets...but they said I was very healthy and could donate (2) units if I wanted...I said sure.
They hooked me up via all the tubes and a big needle to this big boxy machine; everything was good until about 45 minutes later when I realized that I had to pee really bad there was no way to stop the process without stopping the donation completely...just short of a full unit, so I decided to hold it...well that idea lasted about 5 more minutes, when I started to ask about other options.
They offered to bring in a sterile container I could pee into (with them all out of the room)I was happy for that option and begin trying to get my clothes prepared for this...while juggling the cables, hoses and a really big needle in my arm...this was happening during the "drawing' part of the cycle, when the blood was being drawn out of me. Well...I guess the suction in combination with the movement and slight bending of my arm caused the vein in my arm to collapse or somethingI instantly felt terrible...not to mention the machines started blearing an alarm so I had to make a quick decision...I pulled my pants back up before calling the female attendant back into the room.
The room was already graying out...I was feeling like headed and nauseated....it is a really uncomfortable feeling!! I started sweating buckets of water, through all my clothing, running down my forehead in little rivers. I started to feel like the bad feelings were leveling out a bit...and I had to pee really bad at this point...my bladder was throbbing!
They extracted the needle, wrapped up my arm and spoke soothing words to me. I felt pretty terrible, but maybe i felt good enough to go to the bathroom real quick. I took it slow and swung my legs around over the side of the well padded laid-back chair. I sat up in preparation to stand on my feet.
The restless uncomfort of the moment before felt like the best day of my life compared to how I felt in that moment before I tried to stand up.
I was so miserable that I could only give the attendant and the newly arrived doctor blow by blow snippets of my pain...."my hands are numb"....My lips are numb....my whole face in numb...and then everything is graying out...I can barely see where I look..Everything ached with wrongness...then the nurse who was taking my blood pressure gasped. She read off my blood pressure 75/80!!
I was fading and quite honestly all I wanted to do was pass out into oblivion, it was so miserable. I am thankful that the doctor showed up...she asked why my legs weren't raised up...she hitched up the lower portion of the chain and my legs were pointing almost straight up in the air!! It was only seconds before the gray went away, I stopped sweating, and then my nausea...all like magic my blood pressure was back to normal the next time they checked it...something like 140/80. After a minute I felt as good as I did when I walked in as soon as I felt better, you can guess what I wanted to do. A male doctor walked me to the bathroom...and I used the bathroom.
Note to self: don't drink a whole lot of fluids before getting pheresed.
They hooked me up via all the tubes and a big needle to this big boxy machine; everything was good until about 45 minutes later when I realized that I had to pee really bad there was no way to stop the process without stopping the donation completely...just short of a full unit, so I decided to hold it...well that idea lasted about 5 more minutes, when I started to ask about other options.
They offered to bring in a sterile container I could pee into (with them all out of the room)I was happy for that option and begin trying to get my clothes prepared for this...while juggling the cables, hoses and a really big needle in my arm...this was happening during the "drawing' part of the cycle, when the blood was being drawn out of me. Well...I guess the suction in combination with the movement and slight bending of my arm caused the vein in my arm to collapse or somethingI instantly felt terrible...not to mention the machines started blearing an alarm so I had to make a quick decision...I pulled my pants back up before calling the female attendant back into the room.
The room was already graying out...I was feeling like headed and nauseated....it is a really uncomfortable feeling!! I started sweating buckets of water, through all my clothing, running down my forehead in little rivers. I started to feel like the bad feelings were leveling out a bit...and I had to pee really bad at this point...my bladder was throbbing!
They extracted the needle, wrapped up my arm and spoke soothing words to me. I felt pretty terrible, but maybe i felt good enough to go to the bathroom real quick. I took it slow and swung my legs around over the side of the well padded laid-back chair. I sat up in preparation to stand on my feet.
The restless uncomfort of the moment before felt like the best day of my life compared to how I felt in that moment before I tried to stand up.
I was so miserable that I could only give the attendant and the newly arrived doctor blow by blow snippets of my pain...."my hands are numb"....My lips are numb....my whole face in numb...and then everything is graying out...I can barely see where I look..Everything ached with wrongness...then the nurse who was taking my blood pressure gasped. She read off my blood pressure 75/80!!
I was fading and quite honestly all I wanted to do was pass out into oblivion, it was so miserable. I am thankful that the doctor showed up...she asked why my legs weren't raised up...she hitched up the lower portion of the chain and my legs were pointing almost straight up in the air!! It was only seconds before the gray went away, I stopped sweating, and then my nausea...all like magic my blood pressure was back to normal the next time they checked it...something like 140/80. After a minute I felt as good as I did when I walked in as soon as I felt better, you can guess what I wanted to do. A male doctor walked me to the bathroom...and I used the bathroom.
Note to self: don't drink a whole lot of fluids before getting pheresed.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
I will listen
I can't find the right words to help my friend. He is painfully stuck on the horns of a dilemma concerning divorce. We have talked for 100+ hours trying to figure out what the best decision is for him. To him it seems that every decision has the same result: Pain!
From the other side of divorce I continue to share my experience, comforting him that the pain marks the transition to a happier life for all involved. He parrots the same lines as right wing America: "Divorce is evil, it will destroy the lives of my children, my wife will commit suicide..." The outlook to him is so bleak that it seems like the next worse step would be thermonuclear war and a post apocalyptic winter!
I could fill in all the things he has done and that she has done, but it still wouldn't make it my decision or YOUR (pl) decision as to what is right for him or them. The main point is he can't live with her anymore, it is not good for him, not good for her. They are not soulmates, they were married for pregnancy and because he felt like it what the 'right thing to do'.
I told him that the foundation for any of my good decisions rests in a quiet secret that, I only then realized, I hadn't shared often. I had been sharing how my mindset changed as I worked through separation, divorce, single parenting, and holding down a 12 hour shift job in the Marine Corps. I had shared how there WAS a light at the end of the tunnel and I just pushed through the pain and negative feelings that surrounded me day after day. I tell him that his life will be better one day. The secret is that the source of my steady progression through the tunnel, and my steady growth in every area of life comes from my quiet submission to God's plan for my life. Sometimes glimpsed as kneeling in tears at an altar, but mostly kneeling in my heart before His majesty, and in this small quiet group of moments he gives me the next step in His plan for me.
I don't usually share anything about my relationship with God in words, whether written or spoken. I am currently learning to share my relationship with God through my actions, through the way I live my life, through the way I love, words are so limiting, temporary and frail in comparison. Words can be argued, picked apart, can be wrongly interpreted, but when your walk does your talk it is not as easily ignored.
Back to my story and my dilemma: My friend rebutted my secret with the fact that he has waited for God to talk, for God to show him the next step; and has received no response at any of the multitude of times he has requested it over the course of his life. Perhaps he didn't get a response because he was going about it in 'my' way, using my technique for communicating with God. I have heard that some people feel like they can talk to God better in certain places: on their knees by their bed, in the kitchen, at church, at the altar. Perhaps he is trying to communicate the wrong way for him, or I wonder if I am supposed to communicate for him to God and back. I always thought the each person should communicate to God for themselves.
The idea of needing someone to communicate to and from God for you would support the massive amount of clergy we have in this country. I wonder if I have some natural inclination to be a kind of unofficial go-between for people around me and God? going bck the last 20 years in my adult life, I realize it has always been easy for me to hear God's voice for my own life as well as for others. I have noticed that I have a knack for giving people the next step to take their relationship with God to the next level. This is an interesting digression.
Let me put all fears to rest though, I enjoy doing "all things in moderation" too much to give it up to be official clergy, being a layman is very satisfying for me, I am content.
Perhaps if I pray with my friend for a few minutes God will talk to him. His mind is so full of conflicting emotions and thoughts right now. He claims that it helps him to have me listen. From personal experience I know it does, and am grateful for the people that truly, actively listen to me. I want to be more help to him, but maybe being a good listener will be just enough to get him through, and grow our friendship at the same time.
Helplessness
I can't find the right words to help my friend. He is painfully stuck on the horns of a decision concerning divorce. We have talked for 100+ hours trying to figure out what the best decision is for him. To him it seems that every decision has the same result: Pain!
From the other side of divorce I continue to share my experience, comforting him that the pain marks the transition to a happier life for all involved. He parrots the same lines as right wing America: "Divorce is evil, it will destroy the lives of my children, my wife will commit suicide..." The outlook to him is so bleak that it seems like the next worse step would be thermonuclear war and a post apocalyptic winter!
I could fill in all the things he has done and that she has done, but it still wouldn't make it my decision or YOUR (pl) decision as to what is write for him or them. The main point is he can't live with her anymore, it is not good for him, not good for her. They are not soulmates, they were married for pregnancy and because he felt like it what the 'right thing to do'.
I told him that the foundation for any of my good decisions rests in a quiet secret that, I only then realized, I hadn't shared often. I had been sharing how my mindset changed as I worked through separation, divorce, single parenting, and holding down a 12 hour shift job in the Marine Corps. I had shared how there WAS a light at the end of the tunnel and I just pushed through the pain and negative feelings that surrounded me day after day. I tell him that his life will be better one day. The secret is that the source of my steady progression through the tunnel, and my steady growth in every area of life comes from my quiet submission to God's plan for my life. Sometimes glimpsed as kneeling in tears at an altar, but mostly kneeling in my heart before His majesty, and in this small quiet group of moments he gives me the next step in His plan for me.
I don't usually share anything about my relationship with God in words, whether written or spoken. I am currently learning to share my relationship with God through my actions, through the way I live my life, through the way I love, words are so limiting, temporary and frail in comparison. Words can be argued, picked apart, can be wrongly interpreted, but when your walk does your talk it is not as easily ignored.
Back to my story and my dilemma: My friend rebutted my secret with the fact that he has waited for God to talk, for God to show him the next step; and has received no response at any of the multitude of times he has requested it over the course of his life. Perhaps he didn't get a response because he was going about it in 'my' way, using my technique for communicating with God. I have heard that some people feel like they can talk to God better in certain places: on their knees by their bed, in the kitchen, at church, at the altar. Perhaps he is trying to communicate the wrong way for him, or I wonder if I am supposed to communicate for him to God and back. I always thought the each person should communicate to God for themselves.
The idea of needing someone to communicate to and from God for you would support the massive amount of clergy we have in this country. I wonder if I have some natural inclination to be a kind of unofficial go-between for people around me and God? going bck the last 20 years in my adult life, I realize it has always been easy for me to hear God's voice for my own life as well as for others. I have noticed that I have a knack for giving people the next step to take their relationship with God to the next level. This is an interesting digression.
Let me put all fears to rest though, I enjoy doing "all things in moderation" too much to give it up to be official clergy, being a layman is very satisfying for me, I am content.
Perhaps if I pray with my friend for a few minutes God will talk to him. His mind is so full of conflicting emotions and thoughts right now. He claims that it helps me to have me listen, and I know it does, and am grateful for the people that truly, actively listen to me. I want to be more help to him, but maybe being a good listening will be just enough to get him through, and grow our friendship at the same time.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Progress
Abigail's birthday is today. She is having a good day. We have seen a lot of measurable progress with Abigail since starting her on the regime of medication and counseling to help her find health. She is much more playful and happy at all times. She is more expressive about things she doesn't like, to the point where she is content to loudly annouce the slightest infraction of her boundaries. We were hoping to see the thumbsucking go away but it is still around.
The girls have a new modus operindi when it comes to bedtime. They wait like predators to pounce from underneath their blankets, then when I sit on their bed to tuck them it, they push off the covers and jump on top of me. I feign that I have been completely overpowered, until finally I realize or remember my full strength and toss them one at a time back into their bed, after that it looks like my normal tucking in practices: I pray for them, then give them each a kiss on the cheek and a big hug. Lastly, before I leave the room I tell them that I love them both. It is times like these that they are so much fun, it is times like these that I will miss someday soon. Time slows down in these moments, and becomes the precious commodity that I sacrifice so much to protect. Yet it slips right through my fingers.
The girls have a new modus operindi when it comes to bedtime. They wait like predators to pounce from underneath their blankets, then when I sit on their bed to tuck them it, they push off the covers and jump on top of me. I feign that I have been completely overpowered, until finally I realize or remember my full strength and toss them one at a time back into their bed, after that it looks like my normal tucking in practices: I pray for them, then give them each a kiss on the cheek and a big hug. Lastly, before I leave the room I tell them that I love them both. It is times like these that they are so much fun, it is times like these that I will miss someday soon. Time slows down in these moments, and becomes the precious commodity that I sacrifice so much to protect. Yet it slips right through my fingers.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Bending Towards Harshness
My last post about seeing myself in stark reality has sparked some insightful and refreshing conversation (invisible to you). I have come to realize that one's life will always appear jilted or janky when compared unfairly to the lives of others.
The lives of others become a mirror of sorts through which I am able to villify decisions I make from a safe distance, on one hand, and on the other hand I can use the lives of others to Saint myself, so that I feel good about where I am. I think the analytical term for this is 'projection'. The lives of others will suit whatever use I require of them in regards to my own motivation.
I was using seemingly successful lives around me past, present, and future to attempt to berate myself into growing faster, or igniting a quick change in my life. I now see this is unwholesome motivation.
The reality I have begun peering into is that I am decent. In some ways I am insightful. I seek to be a refreshment to others, in whichever way I can. I try to guide my children to healthier, happier lives now and in the future. I do fail. I don't quit trying. I seek paradigm shifting growth.
Please don't be fooled into thinking that I have changed my perspective. This post is a small effort to continue to push that idea of my positive self-image, like pushing a pebble up a hill. It is almost selfish the way I want to jump the process and motivate myself to more growth, through guilt and harshness, than i am ready for. It is only 'almost' selfish because I want a better me for my children, my soulmate and all my relationships.
Wrong beliefs are not easy to undo, they are deep seated, entrenched. A slow relentless pull is the only way to extract them out of my subconscious, like pulling an old rotten stump out of the front yard. So, leaning into it, I trust the process, one slow,steady sometimes painful step at a time.
The lives of others become a mirror of sorts through which I am able to villify decisions I make from a safe distance, on one hand, and on the other hand I can use the lives of others to Saint myself, so that I feel good about where I am. I think the analytical term for this is 'projection'. The lives of others will suit whatever use I require of them in regards to my own motivation.
I was using seemingly successful lives around me past, present, and future to attempt to berate myself into growing faster, or igniting a quick change in my life. I now see this is unwholesome motivation.
The reality I have begun peering into is that I am decent. In some ways I am insightful. I seek to be a refreshment to others, in whichever way I can. I try to guide my children to healthier, happier lives now and in the future. I do fail. I don't quit trying. I seek paradigm shifting growth.
Please don't be fooled into thinking that I have changed my perspective. This post is a small effort to continue to push that idea of my positive self-image, like pushing a pebble up a hill. It is almost selfish the way I want to jump the process and motivate myself to more growth, through guilt and harshness, than i am ready for. It is only 'almost' selfish because I want a better me for my children, my soulmate and all my relationships.
Wrong beliefs are not easy to undo, they are deep seated, entrenched. A slow relentless pull is the only way to extract them out of my subconscious, like pulling an old rotten stump out of the front yard. So, leaning into it, I trust the process, one slow,steady sometimes painful step at a time.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Mirage-like illusion
There are days, like today, when I get a glimpse of a different reality. The mirage I am used to flickers for a brief moment and I get to see the ways I have deceived myself.
Let me mention quickly that I do some things well. The problem is that I do a few other things not so well. I have a tendency to sabotage my own success, which results in a below average performance.
My normal response to the feedback of below average performance is to defend my position, hold up my recent accomplishments and validate my feelings on any listening ear I can find.
Today, i realized this. I caught a glimpse for the first time in a while of the insecure, hurting person I am. I don't have any really juicy stories of pain I have caused on others, but I have caused plenty of disappointment.
I feel it is important to allow this view into my true self to bring a kind of pause. I mourn the lost potential, the lost promotions, and the lost time.
My relationships aren't magically protected from this same sabotage. I am just now discovering tactics I use to distance the ones I love the most. I am not sure this is all related to one internal issue. The negative is given too much weight without the mention of the positive as well, so:
In the open, honest relationship with my soulmate, these tactics are identified, discussed, and forgiven. In the relationships with my children I do invest more time than most other people I know. I fervently try to start them off a little better than I was in life, and I feel like I have succeeded to some extent.
I recognize that 'below-average' is above poor and adverse. So, in other words, I am only partially failing in most areas of my life.
Recognizing these grim realities is supposedly the first step to fixing them. I will let you know how this goes.
This new reality I have glimpsed will of course require a paradigm shift of epic proportions, but I have everything to gain, and nothing to lose except failure and mediocrity. I will let you know what I learn as I seek.
Let me mention quickly that I do some things well. The problem is that I do a few other things not so well. I have a tendency to sabotage my own success, which results in a below average performance.
My normal response to the feedback of below average performance is to defend my position, hold up my recent accomplishments and validate my feelings on any listening ear I can find.
Today, i realized this. I caught a glimpse for the first time in a while of the insecure, hurting person I am. I don't have any really juicy stories of pain I have caused on others, but I have caused plenty of disappointment.
I feel it is important to allow this view into my true self to bring a kind of pause. I mourn the lost potential, the lost promotions, and the lost time.
My relationships aren't magically protected from this same sabotage. I am just now discovering tactics I use to distance the ones I love the most. I am not sure this is all related to one internal issue. The negative is given too much weight without the mention of the positive as well, so:
In the open, honest relationship with my soulmate, these tactics are identified, discussed, and forgiven. In the relationships with my children I do invest more time than most other people I know. I fervently try to start them off a little better than I was in life, and I feel like I have succeeded to some extent.
I recognize that 'below-average' is above poor and adverse. So, in other words, I am only partially failing in most areas of my life.
Recognizing these grim realities is supposedly the first step to fixing them. I will let you know how this goes.
This new reality I have glimpsed will of course require a paradigm shift of epic proportions, but I have everything to gain, and nothing to lose except failure and mediocrity. I will let you know what I learn as I seek.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Medication
Abigail's psychological testing results came back a few weeks ago. She is more worried and more anxious than 98% of other children her age. Kimberly and I investigate the evidence: Insomnia, self-absorbtion, low self-esteem, passive resistance, consistent unhappiness...Yep, sounds like the testing has 'hit the nail right on the head'.
We look at each other silently gauging the other's thoughts, we unanimously decide without words that we would like to see what medication options are available for Abigail. One might think that this decision was made flippantly, but the conclusion of the testing makes sense based on the plethura of daily experience we have with our troubled little lady, as well as many talks with her teacher, and constant communication with each other.
They suggested a small dose of anti-anxiety medication. We are staunchly opposed to the use of medication of this sort as any kind of solution to the problem. We hope this to be a medium through which Abigail would allow her heart to be examined by the therapist and for tools to be learned so that she is capable of coping with her inner turmoil without the medication.
There is a nagging voice in the back of my mind that tells me that this isn't going to work, that therapy and medication aren't going to get anything done. I have to trust her to God's hands, and hope that every step we take in the process is going to push against the dam of hurt inside of the wounded little girl.
Her precious heart is held captive by this hurt, which I am at least partially to blame for. She is the innocent victim of two divorces; two events which will forever be imprinted on her memory. The fighting, the uncertainty, the confusion, the loss, the undeniable shame, and the blame that a child can't help but place back upon herself.
I pray that God can take this curse and somehow, in His way, turn it into a blessing for her.
We look at each other silently gauging the other's thoughts, we unanimously decide without words that we would like to see what medication options are available for Abigail. One might think that this decision was made flippantly, but the conclusion of the testing makes sense based on the plethura of daily experience we have with our troubled little lady, as well as many talks with her teacher, and constant communication with each other.
They suggested a small dose of anti-anxiety medication. We are staunchly opposed to the use of medication of this sort as any kind of solution to the problem. We hope this to be a medium through which Abigail would allow her heart to be examined by the therapist and for tools to be learned so that she is capable of coping with her inner turmoil without the medication.
There is a nagging voice in the back of my mind that tells me that this isn't going to work, that therapy and medication aren't going to get anything done. I have to trust her to God's hands, and hope that every step we take in the process is going to push against the dam of hurt inside of the wounded little girl.
Her precious heart is held captive by this hurt, which I am at least partially to blame for. She is the innocent victim of two divorces; two events which will forever be imprinted on her memory. The fighting, the uncertainty, the confusion, the loss, the undeniable shame, and the blame that a child can't help but place back upon herself.
I pray that God can take this curse and somehow, in His way, turn it into a blessing for her.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Why we hurt ourselves
Why do we make decisions that are destructive to our health, sanity, stress, and overall well being? Why do we reward achieving goals and milestones with pain?
The first answer that pops into my head is: We think we deserve it.
The second answer: Chances are; we do deserve it. I get so out of touch with myself, that I flail at myself internally doing any pain and damage I can. This is, of course, counterintuitive, illogical, almost unthinkable!
Why do I do this? I struggle with all my faculties to figure out why I would do harm to myself. Now; to be clear, my 'harm' is mild, I am not punching walls, or jumping off of cliffs, nor am I cutting myself or piercing anything. The harm I do myself consists of food and beverage choices. This concept, though less severe, is still parallel, perhaps, to the reasoning that leads to the more extreme choices that I mentioned earlier in this paragraph.
The best part? I have successfully passed this behavior to my son. Not the self-evaluation and self-awareness, no not that, but the drive to make destructive choices.
Kim and I sat down with him this last weekend. "The Plan"(discussed in earlier blog post) had its first true and hard test on Zechariah. He completely snubbed "The Plan" on Friday. He barely got 2/6 points which is to say he took responsibility for two of the six areas of his day. We were honestly seeking to find why he was resisting, so hard, this plan which rewards easily and asks so little. Kim and I spoke with him, trying to draw an answer out by reasonably trying to understand his position. Still he would not speak, he wore a look of sadness and passive defiance.
After feeling him out for ten minutes and letting the awkward silence settle, Zech announced feebly: "nobody likes to work." Kimberly and I tried to exude kind and understanding sentiment in an effort to pull any of the thoughts we could from him. He went on: "most of the kids at school, most adults I know, hate work, and try to get away from it as much as possible." Kim and I recognized his heartfelt response as we eased back into our chairs letting out one deep breath.
It seems that Zech is starting to understand a part of what it means to be an adult, which may be good news, since he is only 11. Kim and I were relieved to be able to add to his understanding carefully.
We explained that there are plenty of people that work day after day simply for a paycheck, so that they may subsist. We see this all around us. Then there are those who use 'work' as a stepping stone to get to where they want to be in life. We went on, 'work' is seldom fun, whether it is pushing through boring assignments in school, or hiking through 20 years in the Marine Corps. People struggle through college, technical school, certification boards, and such so that they can do the jobs they want to do, so that they can accomplish their dreams. People do 'work' so that they can listen to people's problems (my dream), bring justice to anyone and everyone (Kim's dream), writing for TV (an old friend's dream), treat and save children's lives (Kim's mom's dream) and many, myriads of other dreams.
Peharps this is a middle class-centric understanding, but 'work' is the sacrifice that makes our dreams possible, no one is going to give them to us.
The discussion must have helped. Zechariah went about his few chores with a suprisingly different attitude the next day, even the extra ones he earned for having done so little the day before. He took criticism and instruction easily now. We compared the amount of work we are asking of him, for indeed, in the 6 areas of his day, most tasks are ones which he already has to perform (getting dressed, to school, breakfast), leaving only a few which really constitue 'work' (doing dishes, vacuuming, and sweeping). Once I explained to him that we expect a hearty 30 minutes of work out of him, at most, for the various rewards we are offering, then he clearly saw that the small sacrifice was worth the rewards.
Wouldn't it be nice if I could correct my wrong behaviors in him before he faces this world? I am not optomistic, but it is something worth trying.
The first answer that pops into my head is: We think we deserve it.
The second answer: Chances are; we do deserve it. I get so out of touch with myself, that I flail at myself internally doing any pain and damage I can. This is, of course, counterintuitive, illogical, almost unthinkable!
Why do I do this? I struggle with all my faculties to figure out why I would do harm to myself. Now; to be clear, my 'harm' is mild, I am not punching walls, or jumping off of cliffs, nor am I cutting myself or piercing anything. The harm I do myself consists of food and beverage choices. This concept, though less severe, is still parallel, perhaps, to the reasoning that leads to the more extreme choices that I mentioned earlier in this paragraph.
The best part? I have successfully passed this behavior to my son. Not the self-evaluation and self-awareness, no not that, but the drive to make destructive choices.
Kim and I sat down with him this last weekend. "The Plan"(discussed in earlier blog post) had its first true and hard test on Zechariah. He completely snubbed "The Plan" on Friday. He barely got 2/6 points which is to say he took responsibility for two of the six areas of his day. We were honestly seeking to find why he was resisting, so hard, this plan which rewards easily and asks so little. Kim and I spoke with him, trying to draw an answer out by reasonably trying to understand his position. Still he would not speak, he wore a look of sadness and passive defiance.
After feeling him out for ten minutes and letting the awkward silence settle, Zech announced feebly: "nobody likes to work." Kimberly and I tried to exude kind and understanding sentiment in an effort to pull any of the thoughts we could from him. He went on: "most of the kids at school, most adults I know, hate work, and try to get away from it as much as possible." Kim and I recognized his heartfelt response as we eased back into our chairs letting out one deep breath.
It seems that Zech is starting to understand a part of what it means to be an adult, which may be good news, since he is only 11. Kim and I were relieved to be able to add to his understanding carefully.
We explained that there are plenty of people that work day after day simply for a paycheck, so that they may subsist. We see this all around us. Then there are those who use 'work' as a stepping stone to get to where they want to be in life. We went on, 'work' is seldom fun, whether it is pushing through boring assignments in school, or hiking through 20 years in the Marine Corps. People struggle through college, technical school, certification boards, and such so that they can do the jobs they want to do, so that they can accomplish their dreams. People do 'work' so that they can listen to people's problems (my dream), bring justice to anyone and everyone (Kim's dream), writing for TV (an old friend's dream), treat and save children's lives (Kim's mom's dream) and many, myriads of other dreams.
Peharps this is a middle class-centric understanding, but 'work' is the sacrifice that makes our dreams possible, no one is going to give them to us.
The discussion must have helped. Zechariah went about his few chores with a suprisingly different attitude the next day, even the extra ones he earned for having done so little the day before. He took criticism and instruction easily now. We compared the amount of work we are asking of him, for indeed, in the 6 areas of his day, most tasks are ones which he already has to perform (getting dressed, to school, breakfast), leaving only a few which really constitue 'work' (doing dishes, vacuuming, and sweeping). Once I explained to him that we expect a hearty 30 minutes of work out of him, at most, for the various rewards we are offering, then he clearly saw that the small sacrifice was worth the rewards.
Wouldn't it be nice if I could correct my wrong behaviors in him before he faces this world? I am not optomistic, but it is something worth trying.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
A new friend
Today I made a new friend. Philip is a busy single, successful guy. He walked into my office this morning looking for light banter. We clumsily stumbled into a bit more than we expected. Friendly passerby greetings marked our relationship at the casual acquaintance level before today. Today something changed. I listened.
I listened as Philip discussed a few heady topics: Divorce, aloneness, coping, loss, and yearning for friendship. I peppered his sharing with a few of my own experiences and insights, as he seemed to relax a bit in the chair. We experienced agreement, shared longings, and exchanged tentative smiles. He almost subconsciously mutters, "I never get to talk with anyone about this stuff."
Relationship level when our talk was concluded? Casual Acquaintance still, but with an open door to the slow steady steps towards a friendship that might be just hearty enough to survive outside of work.
Healthy friendships are the answers to so many questions in this life. Nothing yields a comparable long-term fulfillment. Unfortunately our society doesn't give us building blocks or good instructions. Though a few are lucky, most healthy friendships are only obtained by true seekers.
I listened as Philip discussed a few heady topics: Divorce, aloneness, coping, loss, and yearning for friendship. I peppered his sharing with a few of my own experiences and insights, as he seemed to relax a bit in the chair. We experienced agreement, shared longings, and exchanged tentative smiles. He almost subconsciously mutters, "I never get to talk with anyone about this stuff."
Relationship level when our talk was concluded? Casual Acquaintance still, but with an open door to the slow steady steps towards a friendship that might be just hearty enough to survive outside of work.
Healthy friendships are the answers to so many questions in this life. Nothing yields a comparable long-term fulfillment. Unfortunately our society doesn't give us building blocks or good instructions. Though a few are lucky, most healthy friendships are only obtained by true seekers.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Day 10
The counselor helping us with our family troubles (which we previously considered individual problems with each child) suggested coming up with a schedule of events made for each child which will guide them through the different time periods of the day.
He printed off an example for us to take a look at. His example was a page and a half of basic tasks, it was a little too detailed for our taste, but my mind instantly grabbed the idea and begin forming it to suit our unique family.
It took a few days to get a rough plan forged in the fires of an excel spreadsheet. It was a bit simpler, but I still believed it had the detail required to guide the children throughout their day.
Before working on a schedule I didn't realize how much like an emotional minefield their life was. The children would go about their day, playing, trying to keep themselves busy with fun activities, randomly grabbed to clean up messes, randomly disciplined for not completing whichever chore they were randomly grabbed for. It was kind of like afganistan for children. Don't misunderstand me, the children didn't get wounded physically, but emotionally they were hitting discipline and disapproval 'IEDs' all the time.
I introduced "THE PLAN" to them Monday night at the dinner table after everyone had finished eating. I was suprised to find that they were very interested. They asked questions from the dinner table for about an hour. The plan laid down a schedule of events with penalties but also substantial rewards. I gauged their reactions to the different sections and had to make some 'on the fly' adjustments so they would all buy into it. I had printed off 'THE PLAN' for each of them.
This week has been testing and evaluation for "THE PLAN". I have made further tweeks to it to get the desired results. Kimberly has been amazed that the children picked it up so quickly.
The counselor said that giving the children guidelines of what was expected of them, as long as it is reasonable, will allow them to feel better about themselves, and allow us to consistently reward or discipline them.
We recognize that we haven't even started full implementation of "The Plan" but we are hopeful that we will see continued results. The results we have seen so far are as follows:
-Consistently clean common areas
-Children guiding themselves through morning schedule before school
-Abigail is more expressive
-Children anxious to start bedtime schedule and get to bed on time
-Children taking responsibility for their free time
-Kimberly spents less time throughout the day juggling children
He printed off an example for us to take a look at. His example was a page and a half of basic tasks, it was a little too detailed for our taste, but my mind instantly grabbed the idea and begin forming it to suit our unique family.
It took a few days to get a rough plan forged in the fires of an excel spreadsheet. It was a bit simpler, but I still believed it had the detail required to guide the children throughout their day.
Before working on a schedule I didn't realize how much like an emotional minefield their life was. The children would go about their day, playing, trying to keep themselves busy with fun activities, randomly grabbed to clean up messes, randomly disciplined for not completing whichever chore they were randomly grabbed for. It was kind of like afganistan for children. Don't misunderstand me, the children didn't get wounded physically, but emotionally they were hitting discipline and disapproval 'IEDs' all the time.
I introduced "THE PLAN" to them Monday night at the dinner table after everyone had finished eating. I was suprised to find that they were very interested. They asked questions from the dinner table for about an hour. The plan laid down a schedule of events with penalties but also substantial rewards. I gauged their reactions to the different sections and had to make some 'on the fly' adjustments so they would all buy into it. I had printed off 'THE PLAN' for each of them.
This week has been testing and evaluation for "THE PLAN". I have made further tweeks to it to get the desired results. Kimberly has been amazed that the children picked it up so quickly.
The counselor said that giving the children guidelines of what was expected of them, as long as it is reasonable, will allow them to feel better about themselves, and allow us to consistently reward or discipline them.
We recognize that we haven't even started full implementation of "The Plan" but we are hopeful that we will see continued results. The results we have seen so far are as follows:
-Consistently clean common areas
-Children guiding themselves through morning schedule before school
-Abigail is more expressive
-Children anxious to start bedtime schedule and get to bed on time
-Children taking responsibility for their free time
-Kimberly spents less time throughout the day juggling children
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Day 1 Silent Seeking
I have felt full of feelings lately. I need to empty them into a private format. This seemed the way to go.
Abigail is not out of the woods yet, in regards to her issues. We find little ways to help her experience happiness, but it is always short lived. It is almost as if we convince her that she is special and lovable for a few moments, then she returns to the lies, which say something is wrong with her and that she is of less value than everyone around herself.
Kim and I are on the look out for any ideas from any source: Friends, family, teachers, books, analogies, prayer, and Abigail herself. It is easy to see most of the contributing factors. It is hard to find out how to counter act the damage done, or at least find how to get love to that area of her heart, so that healing can occur.
I am currently reading a book: Strong Fathers, Strong Daughters by Meg Meeker M.D. This book gives me hope with its central theme that if you are trying your best as a father; you are making a difference. I believe myself more free to love my daughters without hesistation or constraint than ever before. I drew back from bringing my full self into my relationship with them, I backed off and backed down because they are girls. I find it revolutionary that they need my ability to see right through their stories, facades, and circumstances. They need me to notice their feelings and help them identify them, so that they can express the feelings and be free of them once again. They need so much from me, but I am finding, that all the needs they have are built into my wiring as a man.
I have been allocating some time to think and discuss the issues with which Makayla struggles. Her father died when she was 3. His family keeps him 'alive' for Makayla, thinking it will comfort her and perhaps form her into a 'replacement' for him to them. This tenuous connection seems to be a source of pain and internal misery for her, though they are wonderful people and terrific Grandparents. She is told through their actions to be faithful to him, to keep her loyalty to him, even though he can't contribute to the relationship anymore. Her family sends her 'gifts from him' for Christmas, and letters from him for Easter. I am sure that it helps them cope with the loss they feel but it seems to give an unhealthy reality to this 7 year old girl who seems to be stuck in her own grieving process. I am seeking for ways to break through to her and get her back on track with this important process. The fragility of the hearts stuck together in the grieving process is not lost on me. I am hoping that by helping Makayla move on, that it will unstick everyone else as well, since they seem to be stuck for her.
Both my young ladies need my intense focus and help. I am always seeking for answers to their dilemnas. Some mornings, as I drive to work, I leave the music off. I allow my thoughts to flow. These thoughts: bring answers, they pushes theories futher down the road towards trial, they bring me to a spirit of thankfulness before God. The silence that used to remind me how broken I was, and how much pain I was carrying, now heals me, encourages me, and answers me.
I open up my mind and spirit to commune with the God of the universe, sometimes he contributes, other times he remains silent. He is always praised and remembered in these times. It is ironic that I praise him for the silence...the silence that was once soul crushing.
Relationships give all knowledge meaning.
Abigail is not out of the woods yet, in regards to her issues. We find little ways to help her experience happiness, but it is always short lived. It is almost as if we convince her that she is special and lovable for a few moments, then she returns to the lies, which say something is wrong with her and that she is of less value than everyone around herself.
Kim and I are on the look out for any ideas from any source: Friends, family, teachers, books, analogies, prayer, and Abigail herself. It is easy to see most of the contributing factors. It is hard to find out how to counter act the damage done, or at least find how to get love to that area of her heart, so that healing can occur.
I am currently reading a book: Strong Fathers, Strong Daughters by Meg Meeker M.D. This book gives me hope with its central theme that if you are trying your best as a father; you are making a difference. I believe myself more free to love my daughters without hesistation or constraint than ever before. I drew back from bringing my full self into my relationship with them, I backed off and backed down because they are girls. I find it revolutionary that they need my ability to see right through their stories, facades, and circumstances. They need me to notice their feelings and help them identify them, so that they can express the feelings and be free of them once again. They need so much from me, but I am finding, that all the needs they have are built into my wiring as a man.
I have been allocating some time to think and discuss the issues with which Makayla struggles. Her father died when she was 3. His family keeps him 'alive' for Makayla, thinking it will comfort her and perhaps form her into a 'replacement' for him to them. This tenuous connection seems to be a source of pain and internal misery for her, though they are wonderful people and terrific Grandparents. She is told through their actions to be faithful to him, to keep her loyalty to him, even though he can't contribute to the relationship anymore. Her family sends her 'gifts from him' for Christmas, and letters from him for Easter. I am sure that it helps them cope with the loss they feel but it seems to give an unhealthy reality to this 7 year old girl who seems to be stuck in her own grieving process. I am seeking for ways to break through to her and get her back on track with this important process. The fragility of the hearts stuck together in the grieving process is not lost on me. I am hoping that by helping Makayla move on, that it will unstick everyone else as well, since they seem to be stuck for her.
Both my young ladies need my intense focus and help. I am always seeking for answers to their dilemnas. Some mornings, as I drive to work, I leave the music off. I allow my thoughts to flow. These thoughts: bring answers, they pushes theories futher down the road towards trial, they bring me to a spirit of thankfulness before God. The silence that used to remind me how broken I was, and how much pain I was carrying, now heals me, encourages me, and answers me.
I open up my mind and spirit to commune with the God of the universe, sometimes he contributes, other times he remains silent. He is always praised and remembered in these times. It is ironic that I praise him for the silence...the silence that was once soul crushing.
Relationships give all knowledge meaning.
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