Recently I posted this little gem on FaceBook: So you
want to be an artist... a butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker, doctor,
lawyer, or chief--follow your heart, surround yourself with supportive, loving,
humorous friends and leap into yourself full-on. I am admittedly, a
self-proclaimed obnoxious FaceBooker.
There are reasons for this that I will gladly share with anyone that’s
interested, but there’s also the restricted setting, the delete button, the
stretch, yawn and scroll up or down move and the “why the hell do I care what
she’s having for breakfast or if she broke out in hives?” conversation starter
to engage your partner in a romantic tête-à-tête about how lucky you are not to
be me. Work it. I suppose I am simply pointing out the reality that we all have
the choice to relate, respond and interact according to our own needs and
desires. I posted this dime-store, arm-chair inspiration after a long-suffering,
stuck-in-a-rut, paralysis, stagnation and dread episodic life-time achievement
award stretch of time. Deciding to take a few BIG risks, put myself out there
and hope for the best, be the artist that I wish to be, was not easy or
cheerily achieved, at least not until very recently.
My full-on leaping into myself and a few frightened
individuals nearby is in need of some attention and regulation and toning down
occasionally, I’ll get there… It beats
the alternative, unless of course you are the frightened individual nearby and
well, like I just pointed out, choices
my friend. Move over to the left
slightly or put the squeeze on me, I’ll eventually cry uncle. I might give a little fight but I’m not that
big or physically adept, you’ll over take me in a moment of hours….I like to
imagine I still have a bit of scrappiness to me, depending on your size and
stamina it might be mere seconds.
The launching pad for my full-on leaping seemed to be made
up of years of carefully constructed and random acts of despair, with equal counts
of hope. I think in many ways it was
this equilibrium that kept things stagnant and ambivalent. Vulnerability began to seep into my existence
until I was not able to act or live authentically or fully. I suppose I was
lying in wait of a great big catastrophic act that would throw things off
kilter enough to force change. Fortunately,
that came to be, but this is colored with the shiny bright lenses of retrospect
and hindsight. At the time of the
catastrophic event, nothing seemed fortunate or even manageable. Everything seemed instead full of shame and
distrust and unbelievable insanity and then cloaked in the fantasy of thinking
I could take it, and manage it and wait it out after learning I couldn’t fix it.
It turns out that shame, and vulnerability and feelings of
worthlessness are the very feelings that divide those that achieve
whole-hearted lives and those that don’t.
It seems I was on the right track all along. It doesn’t need to take as long as I took,
try not to get stuck for too long. Brene
Brown, research professor at the University of Houston, has been studying vulnerability, shame and whole-hearted
living. She refers to vulnerability as the birthplace of creativity, innovation and change, and I have to agree. In a conversation she shared on
TED talks, The Power of Vulnerability,
she shares her findings and offers hope, as she focuses on the value of vulnerability
in risk-taking and believing we are enough.
She highlights qualities of those that live whole-hearted lives and the
benefits of being vulnerable. She also
discusses the pain and harm caused by shame and feelings of unworthiness that
leads to despair. Feeling worthy and
understanding the power of being vulnerable support authentic living. We can’t try new things, put ourselves out in
the world and achieve if we don’t understand that we are worthy enough to be
loved and alive even when we are vulnerable.
It is this vulnerability that creates trust in ourselves and empowers us
to achieve. The following excerpt
highlights Brown’s findings:
This is what I have found: to let ourselves be seen, deeply seen, vulnerably seen; to love with our whole hearts, even though there's no guarantee -- and that's really hard, and I can tell you as a parent,
that's excruciatingly difficult -- to practice gratitude and joy in those moments of terror, when we're wondering, "Can I love you this much? Can I believe in this this passionately? Can I be this fierce about this?" just to be able to stop and, instead of catastrophizing what might
happen, to say, "I'm just so grateful, because to feel this vulnerable means I'm alive." And the last, which I think is probably the most important, is to believe that we're enough. Because when we work from a place, I believe, that says, "I'm enough," then we stop screaming and start listening, we're kinder and gentler to the people around us, and we're kinder and gentler to ourselves.
Around three years ago, I embarked on a train ride three
hours north and inadvertently to the start of a new life. What I recall most about this trip was how I
suddenly and unexpectedly experienced this overwhelming sense of fear and
anxiety. I was so put off by this fear
that I quickly started to attempt to understand how this could be
possible. It was not plausible. I had traveled alone. I had taken public
transportation throughout the entirety of my life in one form or another. I
have traveled with others and organized and planned trips abroad for small
groups. It didn’t make any sense that
the act of taking a train, Amtrak no less, highly respectable mode of
transportation, would unravel me. I was
anxious. I was fidgeting through my
papers, my purse, my laptop. I’m a
travel fidgeter, but this was bigger. I
was in search of something and I was sure I would not find it here. I was afraid to leave my seat to stretch and
afraid to stay seated. I could not get
off this train fast enough.
I realized that more than the train being the impetus for my
fear, somehow I had discerned that I had lost myself. I had been on a longer journey
that encompassed too many years of minimizing myself while zealously attempting
to maximize those around me. On that
train I seemed to finally notice there was very little left that was familiar. I barely recognized the person I had become
and she was somehow at the helm of this trip.
What had come crashing down on me was the realization that I was alone
on a train- that I was alone, period. That
I was alone without even myself to rely on and worse, I was not able to rely on
anyone else.
The reality that I was not
dealing with was that I was heading north on a train bound to the southern tip
of my marriage. I am sure, now, it was
probably pulsating in each pore not yet named or implicitly fathomed. How
can it be? Few of us end a marriage with
certitude and confidence. I was taking the train to spend some time to
revitalize and recover my marriage. Instead
it was the beginning of me relinquishing, removing myself from it and
renouncing the falseness of it. My now former husband had taken his car a few
days earlier and this was supposed to be an opportunity to spend a few days
alone before driving back together, and so I took the train. The weekend was gentle and unremarkable as we
tenuously moved toward the end of a 20 year relationship without entirely
understanding or grasping the yet to be determined finality. Perhaps it was remarkable in it’s
disquieting calm. Occasionally there
were bright moments that felt supportive. There were moments of maybe and
occasional glimpses at familiarity. I
could not, however, shake the sense of fear that overtook me on the train. There
were no attempts to heal or support or erase the damages long endured. Most of what was wrong was never even
acknowledged directly it was hidden and tightly concealed. The train ride highlighted for me the depth
of vulnerability and a sense of foreboding discomfort that would later force
change. I suppose I knew I was not really
getting off that train until I reached a new destination.
While the end of my marriage has been difficult and
challenging, to put it mildly, the possibility of remaining in it would have
been fatal. Maybe not in the
melodramatic sense of the word but certainly the death of spirit and vitality
was already evident. The vulnerability I
felt, in nearly every waking moment and interaction, or perhaps the readiness
to recognize the full scope of how it had sedated and paralyzed me is what
ultimately saved me.
I hadn’t realized how much I had stopped being me. I had stoically carried on. I stayed
busy. I have a tendency toward that
busyness thing. I recently spent my
first day of summer vacation tearing up my yard and laying stairs and a pathway
through the backyard-because I had a day off and I had better fill it. I justify that this is “me”. This busyness is what makes me tick. Except that I often forget to step back and
determine whether I am busy to avoid, or busy to fulfill. The yard work was to fulfill. I recently spent a great deal of time
uploading pictures from my childhood in a blatant attempt to avoid. I need to apply to school for the program I
have finally and happily determined I want to pursue, after months of avoiding
and nearly heading down a path I have no need to be on. And quite frankly, some of this school pursuit
is also an attempt to avoid managing some other areas of my life that need
tighter management. Like paperwork and financial
planning for the future, and for the here and now, just little stuff like that.
I had stopped being me, piece by piece, and over time. I think I held on to some remnants. I crafted, rather than created. I mothered.
I did this fully and full-on. I
sometimes did this very well and I often did this with many flaws and misguided
attempts. But I always did this with
love. Usually great BIG OVER THE TOP love with maybe sometimes not enough
elbow-room for others. I didn’t realize
that giving up big pieces of me would interfere with the authenticity of the
relationships I had with my children in spite of my large attempts. That revealed itself much later. It turns out it’s hard to prompt and promote
and motivate with genuine authenticity while promoting and pretending through a
life that is false or superficial. I
also did not realize to the full extent that the tension and strife that I had been feeling, made
me incredibly stressed. It turns out stress has a way of landing on children in
loud bursts of frustration at the fear of not being able to protect your
children from things like, stress and fear. I
gardened and labored and toiled as a way to make something grow with nurturance
and love. My garden thrived. I could not make my marriage thrive or grow,
or survive even. I laughed fully, less
and less, but sometimes smiled widely. I
seldom played, but occasionally with fervor.
I was serious, sad, and so entirely uncertain. But I was busy! And afraid. And sometimes
smiling with fervor. I was someone else
entirely.
I tried to smile through the pain. I shut down and shut out. Alone, I questioned and searched and looked
within. I wanted for more and cautiously
attempted to initiate, engage or otherwise interest. I was rejected. I attempted to minimize the feelings that
followed of deserving to be disregarded but they seeped in until I was almost
full of unworthiness. Thankfully I had
not given up all of myself. I knew that
this did not match the inner reality of me.
I was worthy of more. I awoke and
slowly rebuilt. I restored and
improved. I smiled more, and laughed
fully. I made decisions, independently,
and did not ask for approval or forgiveness.
I got my groove back, and remembered that I had a great big groovy thing
going on. I recognized my limitations
and my strengths and embraced them both equally. I relied heavily on the kindness and support
of a few close friends and I did not buckle under the weight and former shame
of asking for, and needing, this help.
This may have been the hardest part of my journey, with the exception of
forgiving myself. And it was the most
important part, the life-reviving part.
This sense that we are needed and we need and we are equally worthy of
both is what makes us thrive and grow and live fully. We can’t do it alone. We aren’t meant to and we aren’t made to.
I am still working on forgiving myself. For staying.
For going. For giving up me. For getting angry. For not getting angry enough. For blaming someone else for not caring enough. For taking on debts and taking on the bulk of responsibilities
and then blaming. For thinking that I
was helping my children when so much turned out hurtful and could have been
avoided. For not seeing things as they
were, so flamboyantly loudly, full of fervor they were. I am forgiving myself for not fighting back
the untruths and the accusations, and I am forgiving myself for believing it
was better to quietly move on. I can’t
change anything that happened, I can only move on with acceptance and
purpose. I forgive. I hope. I live.
It becomes too easy to blame and begrudge and belittle. We live in a society that celebrates weakness
and ugliness more so than it celebrates strength and honor. We create monsters so we can excuse our own
transgressions. Or we become the monster someone else created
to make them less accountable for their own indiscretions. At the end of the day, I know who I am. I know what I have achieved and what I need to do differently next time
out. At the end of each and every day, I know my son is sleeping soundly
in a home I have built for him. I know
my older children struggle, and play and work and at the end of the day if they
need anything, they can and will call me and we will struggle and work and play
through it to the end because we are worthy of this life and the love we have
to give and take. We value.
I am working on some dastardly patterns that I finally see,
full on. There is one in which I throw
myself at someone unavailable in an effort to test my worthiness. I throw myself at someone unavailable so that
I may avoid finding out if love and trust truly exist beyond my controlled
attempts at convincing myself they do not. This has been tested again and
again. The results of this test: I am
worthy, he is still unavailable-it is time to let go and "to love with my whole heart, even though there's no guarantee -- ". It’s a pattern though, it may need a more
comprehensive approach- sandblaster anyone?
Lobotomy? A large brick wielded at the right side of my cerebral
cortex with precise aim, that's where my art and creativity function, so be careful. Hypnosis? You are sleepy, and hot and worthy, avoid the
unmovable. At the count of three you will
stop attempting contact with the unavailable.
And you will only attend to yourself for the time being. 1….2…..3….
I better go check my messages and send five to see if he is available
yet… Patterns die hard, and the first step is recognizing them. The second step is avoiding, denying,
minimizing and rearranging.
Relinquishing comes later. I have
a little time yet. I have a hard time
with relinquishing, which explains why I am honestly imagining where it will be
tattooed upon my………cerebral cortex ? I’m just not sure if that will have
the same impact as the coveted lobotomy. RELINQUISH How will that look on my bosom,
my lower back or upper ass, maybe my calf?
The trouble is I need to have it in full view all the time. Can they tattoo the inside of my cornea?
I am working on friendships.
I am starting new ones and feeding older ones. I have not previously done so well here. I have tried to live alone in privacy to hide
or shield or build upon or maybe deny shame and sorrow. I have left friends for relationships, or
relocation, or reasons no longer remembered.
I have been righteous and I have been reverent and at the end of it all
I have realized I have missed out. I have not been a friend fully, because I have not been living fully. I am
ready for friendship. I have been
blessed with the opportunity to reconnect.
I am also recognizing that I have some incredibly worthwhile friends new and
old, and I have room for more. I have
the desire and determination to work on them and enjoy them fully, finally.
I am working on being an artist. I am creating and experimenting. I am
exploring my inhibitions and I am pushing some of my limits. I am exhibiting my work, and I have had
success selling a few pieces. I have
achieved much more from the support and encouragement of friends and
strangers. I have not had any of my
biggest fears validated. I have not been
questioned or rejected or criticized.
Which does not mean I have attained complete adoration and unbridled
levels of worship, but that was never the goal.
I am an artist. I am working on
it and with it and in it. Most of all, I
am thriving in it and loving it, the struggle, the challenge, the tension and finally
the trust in myself that shines through and makes it possible.
I am vulnerable and I am worthy, and I am so much more.
I have to go, I think this is my stop, it’s been a great
ride, except for those several bumpy patches of tumult and fear, but they were
also important and worthy and life giving. My soul was nourished on this ride and it was strengthened.
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