Release the Dogs of War...and the Pain of Malpractice!

I'm taking a risk today. I find it is both easier to write and more appealing to your audience if you write when you are miserable or angry. Let's face it, there's more punch to the words when things are going wrong. HOWEVER...

Things are going VERY well for me! I thought I'd tell you about recent events.

I'd like to thank my friend and fellow classmate John for suggesting I see a therapist who specializes in Cranio-Sacral Therapy. I had what can only be described as a religious experience as this petite woman in her late 50s twisted me around, poked me all over, yanked on my feet, jumped on my back (literally) and pushed places other people shouldn't touch unless you're in a committed relationship. (I had my clothes on the whole time, but still...)

I will admit that for the first 20 minutes I lay on the table thinking, "This quack is taking me for $60 and I'm going to kill John when I get out of here!" At minute marker 22, things began to change. She mumbled something about putting my hip back where it belongs and I got nervous.

"Um....I walked in here on both legs so I'm pretty sure my hips are just where they're supposed to be!" I thought to myself as a mild sense of distress moved across my frame.

"Oh yes! There! There is definitely tension there," she said as she dug her fingers into my pelvic bone.

"Naturally!" I thought. "There's a stranger digging around in my nether regions with the apparent intent of harming me without leaving any evidence! Clearly keeping my clothes on was a ruse to keep from leaving bruises, you tricky devil!"

I made the appropriate noises - grunting, then yiping, followed by a howl and an outright "Ouch!" - to let her know she had encountered my pain threshold and had a solid foot and a half on the wrong side of the line.

My cries fell on deaf ears. The gouging continued...unmercifully.

This phase of the "massage" probably lasted 20 minutes. It felt like 2 weeks in an internment camp. Finally, she sat in a chair beside me. I thought perhaps she was going to pull out the candles and make this satanic ritual official. Instead, she slid her hands underneath me - placing one under my neck and another at the base of my spine. My word! I think she might have studied the ways of the Klingon warrior. She's about to tear me limb from limb while crying to her warrior ancestors in some gutteral screech of victory!

Fear was the only thing holding me on that table. My torturer...that is to say my therapist... began speaking to me. This was not the first time. She'd made small talk throughout the entire ordeal. She'd ask, "What part of North Carolina are you from?" then jerk my leg like it was a drumstick on Thanksgiving day.

But this time her questions were different. The gouging went from physical to emotional. She asked about the pain I had carried in my back for 31 years. (I had mentioned at the beginning of the session that I had a very traumatic surgery at the age of 5 and felt that my chronic back problems stemmed from that experience.) She asked if I could go back to that surgery, stand in that room, go to that 5 year old girl. My tears came instantly. The process of my transformation (the parts you've witnessed) and the personal therapy I've undergone as I train to be a counselor (the parts you haven't seen) had dug up this old wound, but I hadn't realized how close to the surface it had gotten.

As she pressed against my neck and spine, I stood beside that operating table looking down at myself at 5 years old. I saw the terror in my face as nurses held me down. I heard my screams as they denied my claims that the anesthetic wasn't working and I could feel them cutting into my back. I saw my mother sitting beside me, desperate to help but unable to take me away. That little girl looked up at me and I felt every ounce of her pain again - not then but right now, right here. I heard the therapist say, "There it is!" She sounded excited, as if "There it is!" was a good thing. I thought to myself, "THERE IT IS!" Only my thoughts sounded like the horrified screams of someone who's just seen the monster who's been terrorizing the village and is trying to alert the authorities.

She told me to feel the pain, to let it exist, not to shut myself off from it. After 31 years of keeping it safely stored in a knot in my back, the idea of letting the pain out was horrifying. Why in the world would I release that on myself? And yet, as she talked and I saw myself lying on that operating table I realized that I wasn't on that table - I was standing above. I had survived this scene.

My therapist gently asked, "what does that little girl need right now? what could ease her pain?"

"My mom." I answered right away. Even though my mother had been there with me and hadn't been unable to stop the doctor from hurting me then, I still looked to her for comfort now.

"What can she do for you right now? What can your mother do to help that little girl?"

First, I thought that just being held, feeling her hand on my arm would comfort me. Then I realized that I could completely change the script. She didn't have to help me re-survive this ordeal. "She can take me out of here!" I said with a hint of surprise and excitement in my voice.

"Good!" came my therapist's reply. "Where is she taking you?"

I didn't have to think. She had already lifted me off the table and we had turned and stepped out into a field. It was full of yellow flowers, green grass and sunshine. It was warm. It was safe. My mother was holding me and I was letting go. I slowly became aware that Jesus had joined us in that field. He moved in and wrapped us both up.

"Move that image into your heart," my therapist instructed. The image easily floated over to my heart and I felt it lodge there. I also felt my body begin to unravel. I felt three decades of stress and tension and fear and sorrow begin to leave me. I was able to take deep breaths. I wasn't afraid to move my hips. My neck and shoulders were softened.

Throughout the process, as I was moving images around and letting myself feel relief, my therapist commented on what she felt. She could tell when I released - unclinched - my hips. She could feel the blood and fluids begin to move around my spine.

I began to feel as if I had taken a Vicodin. The ache in my back was still there, but it was different. It now felt like a bruise that needs a little time to heal - instead of a gaping wound that will never go away.

After our session ended, I drifted out of the therapist's office in a fog. I felt like I had been carrying a house on my back and someone had finally shown me how to set it down. My mood has been so good for the last two days I almost feel intoxicated. It isn't that foggy, fuzzy feeling like you've had too much wine. It's more an inexplicable happiness that feels so good your brain thinks it must be on something.

As I drove from Springfield down to Cincinnati for a meeting (about an hour and a half drive), I stopped at a service station. I went inside to use the facilities. As I walked back to my car, I realized my hips were swinging like a lounge singer workin' it for tips. It suddenly dawned on me that my hips were so loose for the first time in my life that I was a danger to myself and others. I just laughed as I sashayed across the parking lot and thought to myself, "THIS is what freedom feels like!"

For those of you who are sadists and can't be content to hear my beautiful story of relief after decades of pain:

I bought a new lotion yesterday - excited that it is plant based and, I thought, healthier than most lotions. Turns out I'm allergic to whatever "plant matter" they put in it. Unfortunately, I didn't realize my allergy until I had slathered myself from head to toe to rectify the skin damage done by Ohio's unbelievably dry winter.

So now I'm covered in a red rash (and I mean COVERED) and doped up on Benadryl hoping it will stop the reaction long enough for me to get some sleep.

Still, I feel amazing. Before Tuesday morning (and the massage appointment), this lotion incident might have driven me over the edge. Instead, I'm kind of enjoying that warm fuzzy Benadryl feeling and using the kick-in time to write to you lovely folks.

What an incredible blessing to be able to be in this moment and feel so thankful for the gifts I've been given that head-to-toe red welts and itching are no deterrent! May each of you be given this peace that passes all understanding!

Excuse me...this is NOT what I ordered.

Apparently, change - even the good kind that makes you feel like you're getting to know the real you for the first time in your life - sucks...at least every once in a while and in a rather nasty way. I'm in a mood best described by the weather outside: cold, wet, gray, bitter, unpleasant, unwelcoming, sunless, miserable, blech. That last one is the scientific term for it - I looked it up.

From Urban Dictionary: "blech"
A) a sound used to describe boredom, or mediocrite;
B) to find something wholly offensive as to want to throw up
to purge the sensation from the mind and/or body;
C) average
D) a superior form of blah
E) to feel gross, disgusting, depressed or icky

This mood caught me off guard. I've been feeling like a million bucks. Actually, I've been feeling like whatever makes a million bucks look at itself and say, "Dang. Guess I'm not such hot $%#$ afterall." I've felt invincible, smart, funny, energetic, with it, intriguing...heck, even sexy. So waking up Saturday morning and feeling like the whole world can kiss my newly appreciated #$% was completely unexpected! It was so unexpected that I went back to bed for another couple of hours. Finally, around noon, I decided I had to get out of bed. I went to the kitchen, made myself a sandwich, and sat down on the couch to play a little "Angry Birds" (stupid addictive game). TWO HOURS later I looked at the clock and felt miserable for wasting so much of my day. Especially since super-fantastic me had done such a bang up job of putting all my to dos on the calendar Friday night with little reminder alarms that kept going off. At 2:30p, I finished "Angry Birds" - that is I finished the entire game not just a round of playing it - and decided that I had wasted enough time. Now it was time to....

...slowly fall over and take a nap on the couch. I slept for FIVE HOURS. As a budding therapist, I would diagnose myself with mild depression (if not a touch of Bipolar Mood Disorder given the highs I experienced for the last week or so). I finally woke up, went to the kitchen...and ate. That's right, ladies and gentleman. I found myself on the same life schedule as a 2-week old. Eat, sleep, poop, repeat. I felt like a miserable zombie. The memory of my glorious personal breakthroughs was nowhere to be found. I did have a brief moment...a window...when I was sitting in that dang Poang chair (you remember the one) staring at the TV and trying to decide what to eat next when I heard Geneen Roth's words from Women, Food and God: "What am I really hungry for? I don't really want food. What feelings am I trying to avoid?"

The answer came back quick and fierce: "Miserable loneliness and depression, you stupid cow! Now get out of my way. I can't see the TV and I'm late for my every-fifteen-minute trek to the fridge to sigh in disgust while selecting another thing to eat that will only make me feel worse."

That tirade was quickly joined by a chorus of: "YEAH! The good times rolled, all right. They rolled right on past like they always do and now we feel like crap so shut up and leave us alone!" ("us"? Who the heck is "US"? Of course, I didn't catch that at the time.) I finally went to bed at 2:30am feeling even worse than I had when I woke up.

This morning (Sunday), I was grouchy as ever. I deliberately walked through the office instead of the dining room to avoid speaking to my roommate. It wasn't his fault. I just realized I would just as soon dig his eyeballs out of his head with my fingernails and dance around the house screeching as say "good morning" to him. Staying away seemed like the nicest thing I could do for us both. Naturally, he came into the office and said, "good morning." I think I grunted something like, "One step closer and I'll peel your face like a banana and set your hair on fire." Only I think it came out, "mornin'". Either way, he got the hint and went back to the dining room.

I decided I had to get out of the house. Clearly, being in this space yesterday proved disastrous. It seemed like lunch out and some time reading in the library would help me escape the mood monster that had taken up residence in my mouth (if not my mind). I gathered my things and reluctantly told my roommate where I was going. He said he'd like to tag along to everything but the reading. I enjoy his company and thankfully the kinder part of me saw this as an opportunity to grab onto something positive to help pull me out of the rotten mood I was in. We headed out to lunch at my new favorite neighborhood cafe (Cherry House Cafe) and proceeded to order another artery-clogging meal (a staple on the M.U.C. diet plan) complete with a side of ranch dressing. Halfway through the meal I realized I'd been bitching and moaning about the wait staff since we walked in - not exactly the beaming recommendation that makes a friend want to return to a place. I finally tried to just make myself shut up.

As we finished lunch and I started making a grocery list, I decided on a personal goal for the week that really brought my feelings to a head. This week I intend to eat at home all week - no restaurants, no excuses. I immediately felt panicky and began to whine like a toddler. It was embarrassing and horrifying to realize that a grown, intelligent woman could be reduced to a whiny pile of brat at the mere suggestion of doing something she herself wants to do. How does this make sense? What the heck is wrong with me? What happened to the girl who sees her value and wants to be the amazing creature God made her to be? Why do I resist every positive step I try to take? Why don't I want to run with the same enthusiasm I've felt all week into the loving arms of better eating habits and saving money by not eating out? #$%&^#$)#&@$*!!!!!

I didn't have answers. I just grumbled. I grumbled as I created my shopping list. I grumbled through the grocery store. I grumbled as we filled our water jugs at the amazing water place (that isn't the poisonous orange mess that comes out of the tap at my house). I grumbled as I unpacked the groceries and headed to the computer. I grumbled as I started writing this blog. I grumbled when I saw my brother's number on the phone and I grumbled as I picked up the phone and said, "hello."

His voice sounded cautious. He asked what I was doing and I mentioned the blog. He replied, "Ah. You sounded introspective." What a nice way of saying, "Wow. Could you be less friendly when you answer the phone?" Thankfully, his voice and the stories he tells had the same effect they always do - I started to feel happy again. It was like the snarly monster had snuck out the back door while I wasn't looking. We talked briefly about the benefits of writing stuff down and how helpful it can be to just get stuff out of you. Maybe that's what happened. Maybe writing this blog and giving my snarly feelings a place to exist allowed me to let them go. Maybe my brother will start biting the heads off kittens because my "dark passenger" (as Dexter would call it) passed through the phone to him and away from me. Maybe the chemicals in my brain have shifted. Maybe the cookie I ate at lunch really is the magic cureall for my problems and eating one everyday will keep those feelings at bay.

I don't know where the misery came from or where it's gone. I only know that two things were different in this dark cloud than in those I've experienced in the past: (1) I noticed what was happening and took steps - though not perfect ones - to minimize the damage to others; and (2) I kept going. I didn't let the whining and crying over how much I hate the idea of eating at home alone all week stop me from buying healthy food at the grocery store and adding "no restaurants this week" to my list of weekly goals to share with my accountability partner tomorrow morning. The mood didn't win. It was there. I weathered it. Now I'm heading back toward the super-fantastic feelings I had last week. I'm not letting this stupid mood wreck the progress I've made. I'm not less of a person because I couldn't maintain perfect happiness everyday. My transformation isn't a failure because sometimes I'd rather kick a puppy than pet one. I just have to chain up the beast, wait for the full moon to pass and then return to polite society.

Two things I'll leave you with:
(1) I'm starting a new segment I'm calling "Check this out!" on the sidebar of my blog. Basically, I'm going to showcase new things I discover. Maybe I'll share it because it's super useful, maybe it will be ridiculous and just has to be seen by others, maybe it's completely cheesy and just deserves a good laugh. I think you'll like this week's discovery: "Wrench Mints. When your breath is broke...Fix It!" (seriously! I couldn't make that up.); and

(2) HELP ME! I have decided to eat at home this week and I hate eating at home. I hate feeling alone. I hate taking time to cook. I hate washing dishes. Still, I can't let all my excuses keep me from making healthier and less expensive choices. So PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE share any and every idea you've got for how I can survive this week. I'll take menu suggestions, recipes, hints & tips, songs to play while I eat, things to do to psych myself up each day, ANYTHING! Please share your ideas in the comments section below.

Thank you for reading and sharing in my journey. If you are a local friend, please don't let me invite you out to dinner this week. But if you'd like to come over I'd be happy to cook and we can eat at the table like humans (instead of in front of the TV like the people who are destined to be future contestants on "The Biggest Loser").

Very much still Under Construction!
~MUC

Comments welcome...finally!

It turns out...you guys can't comment if I don't give you permission to do so. (Mwah-ha-ha-ha-ha!) Well, today I changed the setting to allow you to share your brilliant thoughts and thoughtful commentary. All stupid thoughts and thoughtless commentary may be inserted elsewhere!

My thanks to my friend Nicole for alerting me to the faux pas.

I look forward to reading your remarks!

Somebody's Knocking...Should I Let Him In?

I'm establishing 2 businesses right now (yes, while going to grad school and completing my internship...oh, and eventually sanding and painting another cabinet door). In the course of growing my businesses, I've encountered a remarkable number of folks who've been cheering me on, encouraging my steps and looking for ways to partner with me. Last week, I had a meeting with a few folks I believed to be my most ardent supporters. We had an energetic session and I walked away feeling like Superman walking away from the Hall of Justice. [I did my research to make sure that reference is accurate so I don't lose readers who can't resist the urge to say things like, "It's the LEAGUE of Justice. Sheesh!" or "Batman was the head of the Super Friends, not Superman. Ridiculous!"]

While conducting my research, I learned that the "Super Enemies" lived in a parallel universe and met in the "Hall of Evil". Get this! The Hall of Evil looks exactly like the Hall of Justice...except for a gargoyle over the door.

After the day I had today, I feel a bit like I went to bed in my spaceship last night floating dreamily through the galaxy, woke up and walked into what I believed to be the Hall of Justice...only to discover I was actually in the Hall of Evil surrounded by Super Enemies!

I don't think it's too much of a stretch to say SUPER Enemies. Let me explain. Tonight, I had a conversation during which I actually said the following: "I pulled away because I didn't know how to tell you how I was feeling. The kind of partnership you were asking for is too intimate for me. I'm not comfortable creating a situation where we are legally bound to one another. I'm in a business partnership with my best friend of over a decade and we still treat our relationship like a Faberge' egg. We know how volatile this legal arrangement is. We are actually having to file our taxes together. I'm just not comfortable adding a third person to that mix. And frankly, I'm not sure I'll ever be that comfortable."

Can you spot the key words and phrases that, from my perspective, denote giant stop signs that I expect my listener to respect?

How about: "I pulled away," "too intimate," "I'm not comfortable," "bound," "Faberge' egg," "volatile," "legal arrangement," "actually having to," "not comfortable," "not...ever...comfortable"? Where I'm from, just one of these little dynamos would be enough to raise the hair on the back of your neck and make you take a step back. In this case, I gave my "ardent supporter" no less than TEN (10) blaring warning bells. I wasn't subtle. I took total blame for having been subtle before and intentionally (and painfully, I might add) forced myself to lay out exactly how I felt.

OH! I almost forgot this part:

"I get physically uncomfortable and feel myself tense up when you talk about a partnership. I actually tighten up all over and think 'please stop saying that.'"

OK....so I really, really, REALLY didn't mince words here. I said, "PLEASE STOP SAYING THAT!"

After my heartfelt words, SE seemed to stop the pursuit. His irritation-turned-pout actually turned friendly again and I began to relax. Finally! After months of trying to relay this message, I began to feel myself sitting straighter in my seat. At one point, I realized I was almost towering over SE as I'm quite a bit taller than he (even sitting down) and sitting fully erect possibly for the first time in decades. I felt great! Another Superman-leaving-the-HOJ moment. Life was good!

As we began to wrap up the discussion and move toward the door, SE asked, "So what are we going to do about a phone so I can print my business cards?"

If I were a cartoon wolf, this is the point where my jaw would drop 12 inches to the table, my eyes would bug out of my head, my bowtie would start spinning and steam would shoot out of my ears. INCREDIBLE! So...when I say, "I hate this idea so much I'm physically sick about it!" your response is, "Great! When can we get started?"??? What kind of planet is this? This is clearly NOT the Hall of Justice! In a Hall of Justice, deep seeded concerns and bravely confessed inner fears are met with compassion, respect and, if nothing else, a modicum of back-the-hell-off.

After the meeting, I got in touch with my ACTUAL business partner and relayed the story. The incident had been so completely impossible I needed to tell someone so I could get outside of my swirling head long enough to really see what had happened. As she listened to my tale and let out a loud guffaw of disbelieving laughter at the business card comment, I relaxed a little. At least I wasn't the only one who thought his response was insane. That's when the song I loved as a kid started playing in my head:

"Somebody's knockin'. Should I let him in? Lord, it's the devil. Would you look at him? I've heard about him but I never dreamed he'd have blue eyes and blue jeans."

Though no blue-eyed, blue jean clad characters have darkened my door recently, I've been feeling the distinct presence of something dark in my life fighting really hard to tear me down. Now before you call the paddy wagon...I'm not hearing voices or seeing spectres reaching out to me from the darkness. I have, however, felt like the stronger I get and the harder I push to make my transformation the more times I seem to encounter soullessness. That's what the conversation felt like - like I was talking to someone with an inability to hear or understand the pleadings of my soul.

My ACTUAL business partner has met SE before. So she struggles as much as I do to believe that this guy is really evil. Frankly, we both like him very much and we want to believe that he must simply be misguided...not plotting against my soul. That's when she said something ominous without even trying: "Well, maybe he didn't intend to come across the way he did. Let me play DEVIL'S ADVOCATE for a minu..."

We both paused for a moment and then started to laugh...an honest but somewhat uncomfortable laugh. The way you would laugh if you found your cat playing with something only to realize it was actually a squirell's head. It's a feeling of shock, horror, an unreasonable need to laugh and a sick feeling you can't shake.

So what do you do at this point? How do you behave if you're starting to wonder if the actual devil is putting his nasty little fingers in your life? I deeply and honestly believe that the closer you get to making real and lasting changes for the better, the harder the devil fights to tear you down. All he has to do is stop your progress. He doesn't have to ruin you. He just has to stop you from growing. Then you'll stagnate and rot in your feelings of doubt, defeat and fear. What he might not have realized was that I noticed my spine straighten in the middle of that exchange. I didn't let that moment pass without taking note of how authentic it felt for me to sit up straight and establish a boundary I desparately need to feel good about this business and myself. As a matter of fact, I didn't just like the feeling of straightening up...I loved it! I'm keeping it. I haven't slouched yet.

My ACTUAL business partner and I decided that prayer was answer #1. So tonight I prayed for guidance, revelation and protection as I continue to grow. I searched the Bible for clues on how to deal with the situation. I was stunned to find "keep your mouth shut" jumping out of the text at me over and over again.

So, my dear readers, I continue this journey with a great deal more caution and reserve as I realize that I'm a valuable commodity and there's a battle going on to claim me. What about you? Have you figured out how much you matter yet? Do you pay attention to those times when you want with all your heart to make a change in your life but seem inexplicably incapable of doing what you truly want to do? You matter. You're incredibly valuable. And you're not imagining those forces.

Call on your Super Friends. Head back to the Hall of Justice. Share your struggles in the comments section. Talk to us about what you've faced in the past, what you're facing right now, or what you're afraid you'll face if you even start to try.

It's time to suit up, Super Friends! The battle's on.

One, Two, Three, Four...I Declare Soul War!

Did you know there once lived a man who actually, physically wrestled with God? I'm not making it up. Read for yourself (Genesis 32)!

A friend casually referenced this story in a conversation a couple of weeks ago and I was incredulous. Naturally, I asked if he was making that up. I mean what else do you say when someone tells you a man wrestled with God...and WON! My friend suggested I read the chapter for myself. I thought I should and promptly forgot about the conversation. (Look, I'm trying to change, but these things don't happen overnight!)

So a couple of days after our conversation I was listening to the book on tape I've mentioned before (Ruth Graham's In Every Pew Sits a Broken Heart) and she referenced the same story. I have an understanding with God that I am slow to learn and need clear, repeated and not-so-subtle clues when He wants me to do something. At the time, I thought, "Oh ho! I think God wants me to check out this story." A week later (still hadn't read the story), Ruth referenced it again.

"Ok!" I thought to myself...and probably said out loud since I was sitting alone in my car in the parking lot of a Skyline Chili listening to the end of the book before going in to feed my craving for cheese coneys and a 3-way. [I'm not a pervert. Look it up! Skyline Chili 3-way]

So last night, after finally finishing Geneen Roth's Women, Food and God, I decided it was time to get out my Bible and figure out why God wanted me to read this story.

Here's the Cliff's Notes version of the story:

Jacob (brother to Esau who tricked his father into giving him his brother's birthright by saying to his blind father, "I am Esau") had wandered the countryside manipulating folks, generating ill will with family members and generally sneaking his way to prosperity. Eventually, Jacob encounters his uncle's estate and agrees to stick around for years to earn the right to marry Rachel. In typical Biblical fashion, 20 years go by before Jacob is able to leave his uncle's place and when he goes he has acquired 2 wives (sisters at that), a ton of kids (by about 4 women) and lots and lots and lots of livestock. Jacob decides he is ready to leave town because his uncle keeps taking advantage of him, so Jacob and his entire clan set out to reconnect with the brother he cheated (Esau). Naturally, half way between a rock and a hard place (that is, half way between the uncle's place and the encounter with Esau), Jacob begins to break down. He's scared to death Esau is going to reject him - rightfully so. So Jacob sends wave after wave of bribe ahead to try to ease his brother's ire before they meet. Finally, Jacob is left alone. That's when the wrestling incident occurs.

Basically, we're told that a man (who is later revealed to be a pre-incarnate Jesus) wrestles with Jacob all through the night. As dawn approaches, God/Jesus decides it's time for the wrestling match to end. So with one touch he gives Jacob a hip injury that ends up lasting him a lifetime and tells Jacob it's time for the fight to end and for Jacob to let go.

BUT...and here's the interesting and important part....Jacob says he's not going to let go until God blesses him. Literally, he says, "I won't let you go until you Bless Me!"

Now THIS is a head scratcher!

First, seriously...a MAN wrestled with GOD? Did that really happen? How do I get my head around that??

Second, God eventually says that Jacob won the wrestling match. Again, I ask....SERIOUSLY?? How does that happen? How does a man defeat God? How does a man wrestle God?

Third, what in the world am I supposed to understand about this? Why is God so keen on me seeking out this story and reading it?

Given our recent history, I've become infinitely more comfortable actually talking to God. After the night of misery...which turned out to be the revelation of my sciatica, and after saying to God, "Ok! I give up. If you want me you're going to have to come get me because I don't understand and I'm not real happy with you"...after all of that, I've got a strangely calm feeling about asking Him frank questions. I just ask. I'm not trying to position my questions in the "proper" way (whatever that is). I'm also asking Him what I really want to know and telling Him what I really think instead of what I think I'm supposed to think.

SO....I decide to just ask, "What in the world? What do you want me to get from this?"

I began to research on the internet (I believe He will answer my questions, but I no longer believe the answers will come by my lying in bed waiting for Him to whisper the answers in my ear - now I'll do the research and trust Him to guide me to the answers). So I found an article that really explained what was going on in the story. I won't explain the entire article. It is very well written - and easy to read - so I suggest you read it for yourself. The link on "article" will take you to it.

Here's what I figured out:

Jacob was wrestling with God both physically and metaphorically. Jacob believed in God, knew God favored him (afterall, he has all those kids and sheep). What Jacob had been unable or unwilling to do was be completely authentic and trust God to take complete control of his life. I've been working really hard during this transformation to learn how to be authentic. So I was feeling pretty good about that. But the complete control thing was the part I really needed to hear.

At the time, I actually thought I had given complete control over to God. I had given up. I had started listening. I ask Him questions and talk with Him about my decisions. I thought I was getting it. So why did He make me listen to this story? What wasn't I getting?

I read through the story again and really zeroed in on Jacob's plea: "Bless me!"

Hmm...that feels a little familiar. Not sure I'm there yet, but I think that's the area that matters to me.

I read on and looked for God's response to Jacob's plea. Get this! God says, "What's your name?" [This is the part the article really helped me understand.] God didn't ask Jacob his name because God didn't know who He was wrestling all night long. (I mean, seriously, that would have been weird....not like wrestling with someone you know.) The article explained that God asked because Jacob was asking for a blessing...and the last time Jacob had asked for a blessing he used somebody else's name. Jacob claimed to be Esau when he asked for his father's blessing (Esau's birthright). Aha! Now we're getting somewhere. So God is asking Jacob for his name to find out if, after all the struggles and trials and running and manipulating, Jacob is finally ready to be AUTHENTIC. Is Jacob ready to accept responsibility for what he's done? Is he willing to admit that he's the jerk that caused so much trouble and pain? [Interesting to note that God lets *or makes* Jacob wrestle with it. No easy answers here!]

This is when I started to get the, "Hey, I think I might be that guy" feeling. Jacob was still holding on (literally and figuratively) for the same reason that I haven't been able to completely let go of control. He isn't sure if God will bless him! He isn't letting go until God promises to give him blessings, to give him the good things in life. Note, he doesn't cry, "Forgive me!" He isn't saying, "Wipe my slate clean." Jacob is asking for BLESSINGS.

I really let that sink in. What about me? What am I asking God for? What am I afraid of? Why am I not letting go?

I realized that I, like Jacob, have trouble believing that God will give me anything good in THIS life. I get the whole repent and have a good time in heaven thing. That's easy. What I want to know is if getting fully on God's team means I don't get to have any fun anymore. Do I have to give up the things I love? Do I have to give up people I love? Do I spend the rest of my earthly life suffering for the cause in order to show the world that I'm saved? Afterall, that's in there, too. The Bible clearly says you are going to suffer for Christ's sake. You are going to be persecuted. These aren't exactly the kinds of things you put on the campaign poster! No wonder non-Christians think this is a bum wrap.

I once heard that if a human had to wait longer than 10 seconds after flipping a light switch before the light came on he would never realize that flipping the switch turned on the light. If we're not able to wait more than 10 SECONDS for something as simple as a light, how in the world are we supposed to wait a literal lifetime before receiving any blessings? No wonder we see Christians wandering off the path so often. That's a REALLY long time to have to remind yourself that you're struggling now because eventually (and how long you have to wait is a complete unknown) you will get your mansion.

Now here I sit, realizing that I'm afraid God can't or WON'T give me the things in life that make me happy. I'm holding on to the reins, unable to completely surrender because I don't want to be unhappy for the rest of my life. I want to feel good. I want excitement, titilation, adventure, love - deep, passionate love- and sex! I love sex! I don't want to have to be a eunuch.

Will He come through for me? I don't deserve it. We both know that. Being forgiven means I've been made a clean slate - so in theory that should take care of it. But what if I'm wrong? What if it's all downhill from here?

I suppose....He did make Jacob the father of the Jewish nation. He changed Jacob's name to Isreal. That was kind of a big deal.

I know He has the power and the ability. I'm just not sure He has the inclination to bless me. School has been getting more exciting. Work is getting more exciting. I'm paying attention to the little things and finding joy in something a simple as eating a salad. (Think about it next time you eat a salad: you are putting leaves in your mouth...and then they are going down your throat...until you have a stomach full of leaves. It tickles when you think about it!) It seems the next step is to believe that He can and WILL provide for my personal life, my intimate life with the same love and caring He has shown in the other parts of my life.

Like everything, I feel like this has to rumenate. I've stopped the full-body wrestling, but I'm still arm wrestling while I ask for reassurance like Jacob did.

"Father, will you bless me?"

By the way, that joint that God touched & crippled on Jacob? Believed to be the SCIATIC NERVE! (Seriously!)

Anybody got a plunger?

I've been away for a while. This is what I've been dealing with...













Only the water at my house isn't clean!

Yes, folks, we have a blockage. To be more precise, a friendly Roto-Rooter man told me that for $2400 he could dig up and patch the hole that currently exists in the main sewer line about 85 ft. from my front door. I can tell you with certainty that it takes 8 days of conservative living to fill 85 ft. of sewer line to capacity. I can also tell you that there's only one way to know you've reached capacity. {See above photo...only imagine MUCH dirtier water.} I can also tell you that I don't have $2400.

My roommate, who has been an absolute blessing of patience during this whole fiasco, suggested we formulate some form of "Power Plunge" to blast through the sewer line blockage. I LOVE the idea. The City of Beavercreek? Maybe not so much.

Of course, the city used my call to the police to report an attempted break-in at my house as an opportunity to threaten to sue me because a piece of my fence had fallen under the weight of the snow and my pool was no longer properly secured. So maybe I wouldn't feel too bad if there just happened to be a giant sewer explosion on my street! I'm just certain they'd find a way to bill me for it. So we're on to find other solutions.

For those who wonder if God has a sense of humor, I offer up my current plumbing situation which just happens to coincide with my coming face-to-face with my own spiritual constipation. Oh...and I've had bronchitis. So I've literally had a life threatening blockage as the crud in my lungs has made it difficult to take in oxygen.

I'm finding relief of these personal issues is much less financially taxing than the plumbing problem but oh so much more expensive. To break through the spiritual and emotional blockage, I'm having to encounter and deal with all the "stuff" that I've carefully built up around my heart and mind. The mind stuff is the most surprising. Discovering that you keep people at bay because someone hurt your heart and you don't want to be hurt again isn't exactly a "Contact NASA! We've got news!" kind of discovery. Everybody has those kinds of protections in place. If you ever had a stupid boyfriend who decided he needed to break up with you right before summer because he was going to be working at the pool and there was a good chance the tramp in his neighborhood was going to be at the pool everyday so he needed to be free just in case she decided to prove her trampiness (and there was a good chance she was going to do just that), then you've wrapped your heart in bubble wrap and made sure that every boy since has paid the price for the lessons you learned from that first love. [Yes, Jason, I mean you!]

The most difficult blockage to break through are the stories I've built up in my mind to protect myself. See if any of these sound familiar (either because you know me and have heard me saying these things or because you've told yourself the same or something similar):

• I can't do this by myself. I need someone to help me.


• I prefer to work with other people. I don't like to work alone.


• I can't meet the demands that the "public" puts on me when I'm in a helping position.


• I don't know how to do it.


• I feel like it shouldn't be this hard.


• I know I've told former clients these things but somehow I can't seem to learn my own lessons.


• I don't really want to do it.


• I have all these great ideas. I just don't know how to make them happen.

Sound familiar?

Last week I had a MISERABLE night. I couldn't sleep. I had what I thought was gas pain, perhaps caused by dehydration (I had taken a LOT of cough syrup at this point and was desparately thirsty). I took all sorts of remedies for that problem (drugs, home remedies, prayer, you name it). The pain got so bad that I couldn't lie down for more than a minute at a time. The only way I found relief was to pace. I was also completely exhausted from having bronchitis and coughing til my muscles ached. I have never experienced another such miserable night.

Since I thought the pain was intestinal, I was doing everything I could to try to force the release of what I believed were air bubbles trapped in my abdomen. For hours, I stood in my bathroom wrapped in a sheet repeatedly falling against the wall trying to make something happen that would relieve the pain. I prayed for God to relieve my suffering. I prayed for sleep. I prayed for Him to stop the pain. I was furious that He wouldn't solve the problem I knew full well He had the power to make disappear without an ounce of effort on His part. I was furious that He would leave me there struggling, hurting, crying, calling to Him. I was especially perturbed because I'd been working through my feelings about Him (well, you know...you've read the earlier entry). I felt like I was putting all this work into our relationship and He wasn't even bothering to show up in my hour of need.

The next morning I went to the pharmacy. The minute the pharmacist asked, "How can I help you?" I fell to pieces. Her question reached the place inside of me that hurt the most. It was all I had hoped God would say to me all night long. It was exactly what I wanted to hear from everyone in my life. I wanted someone to help me. I was desparate for help. I was desparate for someone to stand beside me and do this whole life thing with me. I didn't want to have to live one more minute of one more day by myself. Afterall, I had done what I believed God wanted me to do. I admitted that I was powerless by myself. I admitted that I needed help. Isn't that the big fear we're all supposed to be fighting? The fear of reaching out and asking for help?

The pharmacist was lovely. She told me not to worry about the fact that tears were pouring out of my face like someone had knocked the cap off a fire hydrant. She didn't mind that my nose was running and my words came out with sobs as I gasped for breath and told her of my pain and asked for help. "Pedialyte!" She believed my self-diagnosis and suggested that a good rehydrating would give me the relief I desparately sought.

I drank nearly 2 gallons of Pedialyte. It's perfectly lovely stuff and if my problem had been dehydration I feel certain that Pedialyte would have done the trick.

I went home miserable, frustrated and convinced that God was done with me. I thought, as Ruth Graham once wrote, "Have I outsinned God's grace?" I was sure He had abandoned me and I was on my own. That's when I decided I might as well start solving some problems on my own since no help was on the way. I sat down at my desk, back still throbbing, and began to make phone calls. I called plumbers to get a 2nd opinion. Afterall, I still didn't have $2400. I called the mortgage company to talk about my current financial situation and the fact that their daily calls weren't going to help me come up with the January payment. I started facing every problem that I had been ignoring for fear that facing them was too much and I couldn't handle it.

Slowly but surely I began to feel better. My back was still hurting with that acute and agonizing pain that hadn't ceased for nearly 18 hours now, but I was feeling better. I was still coughing. The bronchitis hadn't let up. The plumbing was still overflowing. I still didn't have $2400. What was different? That's when I realized that I was feeling my own two feet underneath me. I was standing on my own. I wasn't lying around crying about how miserable life was and how weak and powerless I was. I was just handling it.

How irritating. So all my weeping and calling and crying to God had to be ignored because I was too stubborn or too encased in the stupid fear-filled self-talk to realize that I didn't need to be rescued? I had to be allowed to moan and wail and bellow about my complete inability to help myself before I would wake up and realize that leaning on God doesn't mean ignoring the natural abilities He has given me? How disgusting. I felt like I'd been flailing my arms and crying for a life guard only to discover that the water didn't even come up to my knees and all I had to do was stand up.

The back pain still persisted and I needed to find relief from the pain because it was something I truly couldn't resolve for myself. No amount of self-actualization was going to take the pain away. So I returned to the doctor who had prescribed the cough syrup that I believed had caused my dehydration and pains the night before.

"Sciatica!" he said.

"What?!?" came my incredulous reply.

"You don't have gas pain. There's no constipation. You have sciatica. It's a symptom of a more serious problem...which your regular doctor will have to help you discover and treat. But for now you need Vicodin."

"I'm sorry. WHAT?!?!?!?"

So I spent that entire night throwing myself against the bathroom wall, drinking olive oil mixed with orange juice, downing Mylanta and Gas-X and drinking gallons upon gallons of water to solve a problem I don't have?? Um.......MY PLUMBING ISN'T WORKING! That is to say the actual plumbing at my house is stopped up. This isn't exactly the time to discover that MY personal plumbing is not only working but is now fully loaded to work in overdrive. SON OF A *%&#$!!!!

So there I sat, having just realized that I've spent time, money, tears and physical pain trying to solve problems I don't even have. How can someone who is literally trained to help people discover their problems and work through them be so far off in her own diagnosis? Will I be denied my license if the Counselors Social Workers Marriage and Family Therapists Board discovers this major character flaw? Oh, wait. Does this classify as negative self talk?

I drove home, took 2 Vicodin and in 10 minutes was completely pain free. It was the most unbelievable shift from the unbearable emotional and physical agony I had felt for the last 24 hours to a feeling of pain free, energized, relieved bliss. I was stunned.

Why have I clung so tightly to the belief that I'm incapable? Why have I wanted so desparately for someone else to do everything with me if I'm perfectly capable of doing it on my own? Am I actually afraid of success? I always thought that was a cheeseball theory. Or am I afraid that discovering that I don't need to depend on someone else will mean that I never get to? Does being strong and independent mean that I don't get a spouse to share my life with because I have the capacity to handle it on my own? Do I have to be single because I can be? Do I get less of God's help because I need less of it? Will He leave me to struggle on my own because I can work it out? Does the squeaky wheel get all of the grease? Do those whiny, snivelly girls who act all dainty and helpless end up getting the men who want to take care of them? Does being strong and successful mean being alone?

As I floated in the sweet physical peace that Vicodin provided and grappled with the questions that the day's and week's experiences had raised, I decided to check the mail. My school loan had come through and the school sent me a check for the amount that exceeded what I needed to pay for classes. $1800. Or as I like to call it....75% of the way to sweet flushing freedom.

It's funny. Even though there's no water flowing around here, it sure does feel like I've just been given the world's biggest swirly!

Allegory of the Cave of my mind

"Last of he will be able to see the sun, and not mere reflections of him in the water, but he will see him in his own proper place, and not in another; and he will contemplate him as he is. "
~Socrates speaking in Plato's Allegory of the Cave

So much is happening in such a short period of time that I almost feel the need to write daily. I won't begin that habit because I don't want to overwhelm my followers (yes...both of you! LOL) and I don't want to create an expectation (even if I'm the only one who has it) of daily entries.

First, I've had a very odd sensation since I posted, "Hey, Thoroughbred, why the long face?" I found myself inexplicably drawn to talking with God. I have spent decades avoiding Him and putting off prayer until I felt too guilty to put it off any more...or going into prayer with a laundry list of "I know"s and "I want"s. I wasn't listening. I was pretty sure He wasn't listening. And I knew it should matter to me, but it only mattered that it never felt right. I felt like an outsider to a club with no idea how to find the secret door to even ask for entry. For these reasons, I was surprised to find myself eager to talk with God after that blog entry. It was as if I just needed to unload my grievances with Him before we could have an open dialogue. I still don't know exactly what He's doing or what He wants with me. I'm just going with the flow and accepting that I feel an urge to talk with Him. So I'm doing it and waiting to see what will happen next.

Second, today is the first full day without cable and KC (of KC Chronicles fame) went back to Cackalacky after a fun-filled weekend visit. I have some sort of horrible chest cold or pre-bronchial thing that a classmate was kind enough to bring to class last week. So I've been at home, wrapped up in various blankets, reading books, writing, researching, talking on the phone, eating, and occassionally thinking of what I could be watching on TV right now. I can tell you this has been the longest day I've experienced in a VERY long time. I feel like I've gotten a lot done and missed a lot all at the same time. I've found myself moving from task to task, unable to sit for much more than about 30 minutes at a time without looking for something else to do. I wonder if I'll get accustomed to the quiet and will eventually slow to a healthier pace...or if I'll go crazy and start hiding in the bushes and jumping out in front of oncoming traffic just to entertain myself. Again...remains to be seen.

Third, I've just taken a quiz I think you might find interesting. It outlines your character strengths. Here's the short version of my results:

Your Top Character Strength: Fairness, equity, and justice
Treating all people fairly is one of your abiding principles. You do not let your personal feelings bias your decisions about other people. You give everyone a chance.

2nd Character Strength: Capacity to love and be loved
You value close relations with others, in particular those in which sharing and caring are reciprocated. The people to whom you feel most close are the same people who feel most close to you.

3rd Character Strength: Judgment, critical thinking, and open-mindedness
Thinking things through and examining them from all sides are important aspects of who you are. You do not jump to conclusions, and you rely only on solid evidence to make your decisions. You are able to change your mind.

4th Character Strength: Social intelligence
You are aware of the motives and feelings of other people. You know what to do to fit in to different social situations, and you know what to do to put others at ease.

5th Character Strength: Creativity, ingenuity, and originality
Thinking of new ways to do things is a crucial part of who you are. You are never content with doing something the conventional way if a better way is possible.

I was a bit surprised when I saw that justice, fairness and equity were my top character strengths. I didn't realize those things were so important to me. I've always said you should never ask for what you deserve (aka "justice") because you might just get it. And as a believer in Original Sin, I'm not looking for justice. I want grace and mercy. Justice is what lands you in eternal suffering.

So now I'm left to wonder what this means. I care about justice, fairness and equity more than anything else? Is that one of the reasons I'm so disappointed in the world? Is the apparent lack of justice and fairness just bumming me out to the point that I'm stuffing myself with food I don't want and all other manner of self-medicating just to escape the miserable facts of life? Ugh.

This is going to take some digesting. Please share your thoughts and comments!
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ALSO, here's where you can find the survey: http://viainstitute.org/. Just click on the red "Take the VIA Survey" box on the right side of the screen. I'd love to see your results. Please feel free to share the short version of your results in the comments section of this blog.
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I just canceled cable.

Hey, Thoroughbred, why the long face?

It turns out, "just be yourself" is easier said than done. Especially when you've spent 36 years learning how to be in a world full of people who aren't always good to you.

I promised you in my first post that I would share the good, the bad and the ugly. Right now I'm feeling like a tsunami of the last two. I get in the mood to read "Women, Food and God." I start to feel all philosophical. I drive around town aimlessly looking for the best place to go to read and journal my thoughts because I'm miserable in my own house. I can't trust myself to sit in the beautiful new space I've created for myself in the den because I won't turn off the stupid television. I know I have a horrible addiction to cable, but I refuse to call and have them cancel the service. When I do read and journal, I am filled with amazing thoughts of how I can be different...how my life can be different. Then I fail. Again and again I return to the ivory leather-clad Poang chair I bought from IKEA with money I should have used to pay a bill or save for emergencies. I sit in that chair thinking of all the things I should be doing. I silently yell at myself to get up and do ANY of the hundreds of things I thought of while I was "in the mood for change." And I sit. I don't move. I hate mysef more and more by the minute. I'm disgusted that I can quit smoking, finish college, move alone to a new state, end an 8-year on-again/off-again disaster of a relationship...but I can't make myself do anything right now.

In addition to the utter disgust I feel for my stubborn refusal to move, I'm saddled with the anguish of knowing that I was following a diet plan that was working. Then two weeks of visiting from my folks (I love you and mean no disrespect) and I jumped off the wagon. I didn't fall. I jumped. I started the week saying I want to be careful of what I eat. Then I listed all the restaurants I wanted to take them to and spent hours talking about the amazing dishes I wanted them to try. So you jumped off the wagon, you say. Just get back on it, you tell me. Well...seems pretty freaking easy. Only I refuse to do it. I sit in that d#$& Poang chair and talk to myself about how easy it is to follow the program, how great I was doing at keeping track of my progress, about how wonderful it felt to see results EVERY SINGLE WEEK from the moment I started. I will talk to myself about how easy and smart it would be to just start again...as I walk to the refrigerator to get a snack and take it back to my chair.

But wait! I'm not reserving all the hatred for me. I'm blaming you, too. Suddenly I find myself filled with disgust for the people closest to me. I'm irritated by all the ways they made me act like something I'm not. They made me wear a mask to keep them comfortable. They made me suggest food as our only way to socialize. They made me worry about whether I was being too loud, too pushy, too brash, too me. I start thinking that the only escape is to wipe the slate clean. I'll just dump all my friends. I'll start fresh. That's what I did when I decided to quit smoking. I just ended all of the relationships I had with smokers. I cut those people and those activities out of my life completely. I walked away and never looked back. Ok...I looked back for a minute, but their clothes smelled so bad that I couldn't stand to hang out there anymore.

Oh, and don't forget God. I always say you should NEVER ask for what you deserve. I know that all people are sinners. I've made decisions in my life that are textbook one-way tickets to hell. I believe completely and fully that the only way for me to be saved is to believe in Jesus and to ask for God's forgiveness. That doesn't change the fact that last night...and right now...I'm more than a little pissed at His whole design. Why, on your own green earth, would you create me if you knew I was going to be a horrible sinner? Why would you make me so flawed? Why did you let one person after another after another hurt me? But worse...why did you let me hurt everyone else? Why did you unleash me on my friends and family? Why would you let someone like me near people who....well, near PEOPLE? I make horrible decisions. I'm selfish. I'm mean. I'm filled with rage when someone hurts me and I am quick to turn it on the next person I can find. (Just ask my little brother how he found out about Santa.) I've always said I was too afraid of you and too smart to ask "Why?". I guess at this point I'm so buried in my complete inability to make a single change in my life that I figure what do I have to lose? Not being mad at you didn't help. Maybe there's some rage I have to let out.

As a therapist you learn that anger is always a mask for another emotion. Anger doesn't just exist by itself. I think my anger is masking hurt. Why would you let doctors carve up my back when I was 5 years old while I screamed in agony? Why would you make me carry the scar of that pain for the rest of my life? Why would you let that sad, horrible deaf boy next door touch me? Why would you let the girl next door at our new house do the same? Why didn't you make me the kind of person who could say, "NO!!!!!" then? And why did you make me the kind of person who wouldn't say, "No." in my 20s? And why is "No" all I can say to myself now?

So here I sit. angry. sad. tired. hopeless. stubborn. beligerent. broken.

You win, Lord. I admit that I can't do a thing without you. I'm just not sure I'm willing to do anything with you just yet. I hope you're serious about that whole forgiveness thing. Cause I'm pretty sure I'm going to need you to forgive me for the way I feel about you right now.

You Can't Make a Cake Without Breaking a Few Yokes

The transformation has begun! Or the renovation. Or the "Great Uncovering". Or whatever you'd like to call it. As expected, things are a mess and the pain has already started.

Step 1 for the house renovation was to get the right tools and dismantle the kitchen. I have done just that. In an unexpected move, I actually went to the know-it-all guy at Lowe's with a cabinet door in hand and "let" him investigate the best plan of attack for my project. We (he) determined the best plan (sandpaper and paint). I bought the supplies and headed home.


I realized very quickly that to keep up the momentum - and prevent the usual mid-project melt down - I would need inspiration. So I quickly finished sanding one door, primed it and completely painted it. It looks fantastic!


Half way through sanding the 2nd door, my shoulders started to burn. That's when visions of the other 24 doors started to taunt me. I heard the familiar chorus of "WHY do I start these grandiose projects?" Thankfully, the pristine, newly painted reminder caught my eye and I settled down a bit. I reminded myself that there's no deadline. Afterall, my roommate is delighted there are no doors on the cabinets. He sees closing and reopening the same cabinet door as an inexcusable waste of his time and energy. I'm not having company any time soon - well none that will care if there are or are not doors on the kitchen cabinets. The only person who might raise a stink is ME. And complaining to me makes no sense since I haven't taken my own advice in decades.


So that brings us to the second part of the transformation - the renovation of ME.


I started, as promised, to read "Women, Food and God" by Geneen Roth. I was startled and a little disconcerted to discover that her first message is (paraphrased) "There's nothing wrong with you. Stop trying to fix yourself." For a girl who just started a blog based on the comparison between her personal and home transformations, this was less than welcome news.


There's nothing wrong with me? Stop trying to fix myself? How is that even possible? If you'll recall, even teenage girls can tell you there is plenty wrong with me. And if there's nothing to be changed, why do I still have 208 pages to read?


I continued reading because I wanted an explanation for why I paid $24 for a book about NOT making myself better. As I continued, I discovered the 2nd message (paraphrased) "Live in the moment. Pay no attention to the mistakes of your past or the 'what ifs' of the future. You're missing what is happening right now." Hmm....that sounds oddly familiar. Oh, wait! "Give us THIS DAY our daily bread." Dang! She's right. It does all come back to God.


So I have to figure out how to get better without changing anything? My big quest for transformation requires me to stop going on quests? Then I read Geneen's words: "They can relate to the belief that if they keep themselves wounded and damaged, they will be loved." Uh oh. That's starting to ring some bells. I'm having flashbacks to every time I slowed myself, dumbed myself down, pretended not to know how to do something and tried to act casual to keep from spooking a guy.


I continue reading: "They fit in by hating themselves." Oh, crap! How often have I wanted to say, "I'm having a fantastic day!" only to catch the words in my throat as I make eye contact with a room full of women who are waiting for my tales of woe to confirm that I'm one of them? Enough times that having a tale of woe has become automatic. I don't have the flash anymore. I go immediately to my Complaint-of-the-Day.


Geneen's next question stops me in my tracks: "When you sense yourself directly, immediately, right now, without preconception, who are you? [...] The you who is not your past, not your habits, not your compulsions."


Hmm...


I'm suddenly remembering a relationship in which the guy I was dating repeatedly called me a Ferrari and talked about how much precision one needed to be in a relationship with me. I was mortified! I told him he was mistaken or perhaps I had shown him the wrong thing (afterall, it had to be my fault). I explained that I'm really very casual, low maintenance...breezy. Every magazine article and woman-centered self help book I'd ever read told me that it is VITAL for me to be "breezy". To show my guy just how little effort is required to be with me. To act like I'm hard to get. That, they told me, was the recipe for being the perfect girlfriend. That attitude was what would drive the boys mad and send them running after me, dying to be in my presence. The less they thought I cared, the more they'd clamour to my side. So I bickered with his assessment and after each conversation I worked harder to show him how available I was and how convenient a relationship with me could be.

I didn't realize that he wasn't criticizing me for being high maintenance. When I think back now, there was a sense of pride and titilation in his voice when he talked about the complexities of me. He wasn't griping because being with me was such hard work. He was showing off. Pointing out that he could handle me. He has the skills it takes to be with someone as discerning as I am.

Now that is an image I can relate to. I've been in relationships with guys who thought they could just start pushing buttons, grinding gears and stomping on pedals. The result: I whined and groaned and we went nowhere. When I tried to explain that the nuisances of communication would make our relationship a smooth and very exciting ride, those guys scratched their heads and looked at me like I was speaking another language.

To give another anology, I was like a race horse dating a Clydesdale. Both are perfectly fine animals with strengths, beauties, value. Yet, try to race a Clydesdale against a Thoroughbred and that big, clunky horse will wear out or lose interest. Likewise, yoke a Thoroughbred to a Clydesdale and that racing machine will go crazy. I can't slow myself down to go at your pace and you can't pick up enough speed to feel the power I feel when I let myself go. So I'm taking off the yoke. In intimate relationships, work relationships and friendships, I'm not going to try to be what I think everyone wants from me. I need to figure out who I am and how we fit...or if we don't.

My task now is to figure out how to be high maintenance without being a royal pain in the butt. I've seen a lot of strong, intelligent, independent women trying to show their strength but coming off as a shrew. You know the type. They used to call them "ball busters" until that term was deemed non-P.C. They come out swinging and showing their strength like men. They haven't mastered the quiet grace and elegance innate in truly powerful women.


So, I'm breaking the yoke. I'm questing without questing. Learning how to be myself and finding it unbelievable that it is so incredibly hard to stop faking it in so many areas of my life. I feel like I've woken up from a coma. How many years have I been away? How long will it take to bring myself back to life?


Here's hoping I can master it by our deadline of June 4th! :-)

Two apologies.

Dear KC (of KC Chronicles fame),

I'm writing to tell you that I owe us both a HUGE apology.

First, I will apologize to you. I consider you my best friend. You have been there for me and supported me in ways that nobody else ever has. I respect your opinions and I value your friendship. However, I have been remiss in my duties as your friend. You have talked about your Toastmasters speeches and I have supported you 95%. I say 95% because I never took the time to watch your "Break Up By PowerPoint" presentation until just now.

That brings us to my second apology. I would like to apologize to myself for waiting so long to enrich my life with that experience. I laughed out loud. I mean the kind of laugh that is sudden, unexpected and embarrassing if it sneaks out in public. You are HILARIOUS! Your presentation skills are phenomenal. I've always known that for 2 reasons: 1) we've met. and 2) you have trophies to prove it. That still doesn't excuse me from not taking the time to watch the presentation I just saw.

Fan-freakin'-tastic!

You remain my idol!

Thank you and I'm sorry to us both.
~MUC

Welcome to "Meredith Under Construction"

Welcome! This blog will "chronicle" (to borrow a word from the dear friend who inspired me to start this blog) my journey of self discovery and home renovation. I welcome you to join me for the transformation. I encourage you to pray for my success. Please do NOT pray that I receive patience. Patience comes through tribulation and frankly I've had quite enough of that.

In addition to the inspiration I received from my friend's fantastic blog (KC Chronicles - be sure to check it out!), I was "inspired" by a recent experience in a counseling group. I am currently a Counselor Trainee serving in a community mental health facility. [NOTE: This blog is NOT to be considered a source of professional advice or guidance. It is for entertainment purposes only. If you have a real mental health emergency, please contact your local community mental health facility. A hospital is a good place to receive help if you are not familiar with the location of your nearest mental health facility.]

Now back to our story:

I host a group for teen girls to discuss life, struggles, growth and things of that nature. The group is fantastic. The girls are amazing. They are also VERY honest. Recently, we were playing a game in group during which we each had to answer questions on cards drawn from a deck. I drew the question, "What are 2 things you want to accomplish in your lifetime?"

I quickly replied, "I want to start a counseling center I call a 'Life Support Center' [more to come on that later] and I want to get married."

Two girls simultaneously and with great horror in their voices hollered, "You're not married?!?!?" Subsequently, one of them added, "Aren't you like 40 or something?!?"

I was stunned. I won't go into details about the personal journey I had to take in that moment to control my reaction, think like a counselor, determine the lessons I needed to teach them and the patience it took to calmly reply in a way that was both helpful to them and not hurtful to them. [See how I don't really need that patience prayer?] I will instead talk about the aftermath of that experience.

After realizing that my secret fears are justified because society does, in fact, see me as an outcast and a loser for being 36 (NOT "40 or something") and unmarried, I decided I have some personal work to do. My brain gave voice to the questions I was sure those teen girls were dying to ask:

• Why aren't you married?
• What's wrong with you?
• Doesn't anybody love you?
• Are you completely alone?
• How do you survive like that?
• Why doesn't anyone want to be with you?
• Do you even love yourself? Everybody says you have to love yourself before someone else can love you. Maybe that's your problem. You don't even love yourself.

Now, friends, I can tell you that when your own brain asks you if you love yourself you realize you have a real problem. That brings us back to the reason for this blog. I began to realize the more someone professes his love for me, the more I struggle with trust issues. My mean-spirited brain was right. Stupid honest internal dialogue. I don't love myself. Frankly, I've always thought the concept was a little hokey. Normally I would think, "so what." But I'm beginning to realize that this little character flaw is affecting my relationships. I don't feel loveable, so I don't trust someone who claims to love me. There must be something wrong with a person who can truly know me, know my life story and still choose to love me. Either he wasn't paying attention when I told him the story so I need to spend a lot of time showing him all of my worst traits until he recognizes the truth. Or there is something wrong with him and I need to be cautious until I discover his deep dark secret.

How depressing, right?!?

Well, I'm not stopping there. I'm just beginning. I've decided to begin a journey of self discovery to see if I can get to a place where I can honestly say I love myself. Step 1: stop chuckling to myself about how stupid that sounds. Step 2: figure out how the heck you learn to love yourself. How does that even happen?

I've decided to tie my personal renovation to my home renovation. I'm reinventing the space I live in - both personally and environmentally. The best way I know to remake a space is to start by tearing down the old, stripping away the worn out bits, cleaning off the years of accumulated crud and at least make the outside look good. So...I've taken down all the cabinet doors in my kitchen and I'm sanding them down one at a time, repainting them and giving the kitchen a much needed facelift. For the personal transformation, I've watched about 200 hours of "What Not To Wear" and I'm teaching myself how to dress for the life I want. What? It's a start. It may be purely cosmetic, but it gives me something to work toward. Without a visual reminder, I'll give up half way through this project. I promise.

I'm also reading "Women, Food and God" by Geneen Roth. I'm hoping it will help me discover the deeper internal damage - the same I'm sure to find as I rehab the house.

So....I promise that most entries won't be this long. I promise to be open and honest and share what is really happening with my transformation - not just the pretty parts that make me look good. I also promise to have an Open House when I'm done. I'm shooting for June 1st (although that's a Wednesday, so I may opt for June 4th for convenience sake). I invite you to join me that day to see the big reveal (location to be announced closer to the actual date).

I look forward to reading your comments. Please don't forget those prayers - I'm going to need them. And seriously...I'll know if you pray for patience!