Unhappy News (and dreams and fears)

October 19, 2010 By TheOrganicSister

I’m feeling like the rubber ball attached to a paddle, one second flying high with wild excitement, the next being bashed against a wall. Success, failure, inspiration, frustration, pieces clicking into place, only to crumble apart again. A person can only ride a rollercoaster for so long before they need to vomit. Consider this my vomit.

Yesterday we were dealt a nasty blow to our dreams. The possibility of leaving Las Vegas by January has ended. The idea of two or three extra months here shouldn’t leave me in tears on the floor, but it did.

I don’t want to be here. I resist it with every fiber of my being. I make it clear to everyone I speak with that I’m only visiting. That this is not my home. I don’t feel good here, I don’t feel whole or fed or at peace here. I feel needy and desperate and lonely and empty. It took me 28 years to escape this the first time and seven months later I’m here again.

I don’t want to hear that there is a reason, that there is a message or a lesson in all this. I don’t want to hear that I need to let go, that I need to trust. I know it, but I resist it anyway.

Why? Because I’m afraid. I’m afraid of feeling trapped. I’m afraid of some giant cosmic hand telling me I’m “supposed to” be somewhere that makes me unhappy. I’m afraid of losing what I’ve found or finding that I didn’t deserve it in the first place.

In this past year I’ve wholeheartedly embraced a fear that has had me paralyzed for decades. I’ve lived in fear of Too Good Too Last, and I carefully kept my life and my joy at bay. I kept myself from loving or living unconditionally to protect myself from the pain that follows loss. Does that even make sense? I’ve felt that anything good will be taken from me, so I keep things two degrees off Good just to play it safe.

I thought through this amazing journey that I had conquered all of that. But as soon as Justin broke the news yesterday I felt that crushing fear, that desperate grasp for safety, those fortress walls springing back around me, my chest tightening and my joy slipping through my fingers. I heard that old familiar voice, “See? I told you it couldn’t last. Something was bound to come along and tear our dreams apart. This is it. It’s going to fall apart and you’re going to be trapped. You don’t deserve anything more.”

Ouch. I know it doesn’t even sound rational. It doesn’t feel rational either. It hurts. And it’s scary. It’s rubbing up against beliefs and thoughts I’m not ready to examine and it’s not accepting my attempt to put it off. It’s challenging me and it’s forcing me to stretch and grow. And all of that is good. I know it’s good. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

I want to face this. I want to push through it. I want to be handed a challenge and fly over it. I want to feel energized and more determined by it. I want to keep smiling, keep holding onto my joy. I want to embrace my fear with compassion.

I want to say I’m not in tears, hiding my face in my pillow and guarding myself against anything that feels good. I want to say I’m not pushing away the love I’m handed, letting go of the dreams I have for fear of more pain. I want to say I’m not questioning my spirituality, questioning whether Gd really is the bully with the magnifying glass burning holes in my heart.

But I can’t say any of that right now. It wouldn’t be real, authentic.

In this moment, right now, I hurt. In this moment, I feel a suffocating fear. This moment is messy and ugly and demanding tears. This moment is not allowing me to move.

So I’m doing the only thing this moment is asking me to do: I’m sitting in it. I’m allowing myself to cry or feel afraid or guarded. I’m allowing myself to resist. I’m embracing the messy and the vulnerable and the whiney. I’m playing the victim, and the Blame Game, and the big baby. I’m wallowing and hurting and questioning. I’m distracting myself. I’m wavering between sobs and angry outbursts.

No, it doesn’t really make sense. No, the details aren’t really that big of a deal. But this is what Life has handed my heart: not another three months, but a giant serving of Here’s Your Opportunity with a side of It’s Time To Face This Already.

It’s never about the details. It’s never about what happened or what’s going to happen. It’s about the messages we have hidden in our hearts, the stories we listen to, how they affect us, what we feel and what’s happening inside of us. It’s the bigger picture, when we can see it…and when we can’t.

I can’t see it. I can say it, but I’m too deep in it to really know it to be true. I can look at the words and reread them and still I hear that cynical, biting voice in my mind. So I’m holding onto the only two things I really do know to be true: I can be nothing but authentic. And life will ebb and flow, all things will pass.

This is me, authentic. Waiting for the fear to pass, for my ability to let it go.

Filed Under: Organic Wisdom Tagged With: authenticity, choosing happiness, disappointment, dreams, fear, Las Vegas, lessons, life, messy, RV, sadness, spirituality, this sucks, this too shall pass

Body Compassion

July 2, 2010 By TheOrganicSister

This is the post in which a very depressed state of being gets more deeply accepted and channeled into a place of compassion. I hope.

Physically speaking, my body is not in a very good place. Scoliosis leads to lots of chronic conditions and major spinal fusions leave you very few corrective options. I’m recently dealing with increased nerve impingement and degeneration and just learned of an increased risk for osteoporosis. All of this has made it difficult for me to play, hoop, or sleep comfortably; to sit, stand or walk for too long.

Being very much a “fixer” and an avid learner/researcher, it’s been incredibly frustrating to find so few solutions to the problem. (Exercise, yoga, chiropractic…even massage has caused problems.)

There have only been two things that have made a significant impact on both pain and energy:

Gluten-free foods
Grass-fed meat and dairy

The first is not easy to stick to on the road. The second can be difficult to find; we’ve used sites like LocalHarvest.org and farmer’s markets but with less luck than we hoped.

But it dawned on me recently that if I’m not careful, and maybe even if I am, I’m going to end up in a wheelchair within a decade or two. Needless to say, such a thought is enough to knock you down a bit. I spent several days in a serious depression while I processed and talked through my fears and struggles.

Then I read Ronnie’s words on unschooling her body.

Love my body. Love where I live. Love what is. It sounds like unschooling. I could unschool my body.

Wait. Unschool my body? What would that look like?

If I were going to unschool my body…
I would make lots of cool stuff available to it (gear and hikes and massages).
I would spend time with it.
I would have fun with it and do things it enjoys.
I would enjoy it.
I would provide it with a fun and colorful variety of foods.
I would feel good about it.
I would feel good.

I would not disparage it.
I would not feel ashamed of it.
I would not compare it to other bodies in negative ways.
I would not abuse it.

And I absolutely would not let society or any individual tell me what it should be.

I got to thinking about this, about treating my body with compassion, treating it as I would treat my child, with compassion and trust. Instead of focusing on or pushing it towards what I want it to be, simply loving it for what it is…

What might that look like for me?

I would regularly point out its strengths.
I would show my appreciation for its abilities.
I would view its pain with loving compassion.
I would actively and insistently seek out the foods it needs.
I would be gentle and not push it to do things.
I would slow down to its pace.
I would find things that made it feel good.
I would spoil it with love.
I would smile when I see it.
I would seek out activities it would enjoy.
I would listen intently to it.
I would accept it and love it unconditionally.
I would validate it and the other people it affects (like my son and husband) without making anyone wrong.

Can I do this? Can I love myself and my body with the same unconditional love and acceptance, giving it everything it needs without excuses or resentment?

Ronnie’s words have been my guidance over the past week as I make my way toward a more authentic relationship with my body, one that is aligned with the way in which we choose to live with each other. Just like our family relationships, there have been less than authentic moments. There have been times of frustration, and even downright body neglect.

But there have also been successes: a new pillow has made for a very happy neck in the morning, almost no gluten has decreased my low back and knee pain substantially, more water has left me with more energy. I was even able to share in the water park fun yesterday while still honoring my bodies limits. And my dear sweet hubby has been instrumental in making sure I’m taking care of me.

But mostly, I’ve been changing my perspective.

I’ve reminded myself that whatever may happen down the road, I need to live fully and authentically in this moment right now. I can’t fully control what the future holds or what this body may be capable of, but I can fully live without regret. I can enjoy everything it will allow me until that’s no longer an option.

Rejoice in the things that are present; all else is beyond thee. ~Montaigne

What about you? Can you love your body like you love your child?

Filed Under: Organic Health, Organic Learning, Organic Parenting Tagged With: authenticity, body unschooling, learning without school, life learning, life without school, links, pain, scoliosis, unschooling

Two Years and Authenticity

May 20, 2010 By TheOrganicSister 53 Comments

Ready for the bangs to go…

My dreads and I have been together for two years. Compared to the first year, it really doesn’t seem like much has changed.

I fluctuate between no ‘poo and shampoo and have been experimenting with liquid soap nuts. It would probably be good if I made up my mind, but I’m a creature of non-habit when it comes to this. I have noticed a change in the amount of dandruff since we’ve been on the road and I’m assuming it has to do with a combination of softer water and less drying climates.

It doesn’t feel as if they’ve done any growing but my bangs have and I’m ready to say goodbye to them.

Day One, Year One and Year Two

The meaning and lessons they teach me are the same and are still a near-daily occurrence. (Some people never learn. ) I’m still understanding a lot about judgment, self-acceptance and vanity.

I’ve had a few times this past year where I was ready to pick up the scissors and say goodbye. One particular incident had me feeling so completely self-conscious I faced almost a month of doubt:

Two days before Christmas, Zeb and I ventured out to the stores. I really should have known better – crowds and craziness overwhelm me. I was doing good though, handling what was coming my way until we walked down one particular aisle in one particular store looking for one particular item.

A woman and her teen daughter were there and I watched them for a moment. They were gorgeous in a matching sort of way that made me smile for them. Their hair was curled the same, their clothes were trendy, their makeup perfect. They were talking animatedly and by their demeanor you could tell they were close and enjoying their shopping trip together.

But then the daughter took one looked at me – perhaps she saw my frizzy, unwrapped dreads, lack of makeup and casual clothes – and she leaned over and whispered to her mom who looked my way, rolled her eyes and made a loud comment to her daughter that simply crushed me.

I don’t even remember the exact words now (something about my childhood, I think), nor do they really matter. What hurt was in one glance she assumed she knew my life story. She made a snap judgment about me based on my outward appearance, disregarding anything else she could have taken in – the smile I had given them moments before, the connection I had with my son as we looked for his dad’s gift, the tired look in my eyes that said it had already been a long morning.

It wasn’t the only negative encounter I had that day; after all it was two days before Christmas and everyone was stressed. But it was the one that set my mood for the following week. And by the time I got home and was in tears from the affect of the stress, it was the only experience I was really crying over. (Thank goodness for loving husbands and their comforting embraces.)

For several weeks the judgment I felt lingered over me. I allowed their hurtful comments to make me feel ugly and doubt myself and all that I do.

But beneath my doubt and my hurt feelings the same words kept echoing:

21. Let go of what others want me to be and Just Be Me

I put the desire out there. I stated what I wanted to do. But I had no idea my resolve would be so quickly tested.

I remembered something I wrote almost four years ago about the impact one particular woman had on me.

So I was watching “So You Think You Can Dance”…I don’t know why but I always get sucked into the auditions and lose interest in the actual competition.

Anyway, there was a girl on there that was, well….unique. She had this red/orange/bleachy looking hair and a very eccentric attitude. Instantly I loved her. You could tell dance was her self-expression. And through the choreography, you could see her start to break down. She just couldn’t do it. They put her up on the chopping block because of it and asked her to redeem herself by dancing in her own style to prove she could dance. And well, she went nutsy. Flailing, running, really indistinguishable.

But here’s what resonated with me: They called her crazy and she was deeply thankful for that. She said she felt like she was losing herself in the choreography and admitted her craziness and even looked relieved when they cut her. (I was PMSing so I cried with her. It was great.)

And then I started thinking. Do I love me enough to lose a huge opportunity because it might make me a little more like the rest of the world?

Or maybe I should’ve ask Do I love me enough to risk my feelings being hurt by someone who doesn’t know me well enough to judge?

How I Tend To Wear Them These Days

Well, I didn’t shave my head, nor do I still want to. So I guess I can answer that question with a resounding Yes! I realize now that authenticity – or whatever this is driving me to the brink of insanity – isn’t always easy or accepted or appreciated.

But authentic is the only thing I can be.

P.S. I have a super cool dready giveaway from Sand and Sky Creations coming up soon! Stay tuned!

Filed Under: Organic Wisdom Tagged With: 28 Things, authenticity, Dreadlocks, organic beauty

Claiming The First Meltdown

April 3, 2010 By TheOrganicSister 17 Comments

Bad weather, bad traffic, too much noise, too little space and boondocking outside a casino, for goodness sake…I managed to get through dinner by listening to music that never grows old and pretending I heard nothing else as I made spaghetti and the guys played Mario on the DS. But by the time it came to washing dishes, sticking my hands in cold water put me over the over-stimulation edge.

What do you do when it’s too cold and windy to go for a walk?

You walk 10 feet to the back of your small RV, press your hands over your ears as hard as possible and listen to your breath for 10 minutes. You try not to explode as your RV slowly closes in around you, going from cozy and comfortable to a minuscule sliver of living space. You allow your mind to wander from questioning your sanity, to questioning tomorrow’s plans, to wondering what your friends are doing, to looking forward to an upcoming gathering until you realize your hands are regaining circulation and the noises within the RV aren’t quite so overbearing.

Then you shuffle up to your husband, accept the hug he offers, and whisper a sorry while promising him it will indeed happen again. Then you take his hand and wander inside to see if New Mexico casinos are any different than Las Vegas casinos. You come back to your warm and cozy home, curl up with your 10 year old and some Harry Potter and breath in deep that life – in all it’s sticky, messy, unpredictable, emotional, dramatic beauty – is still so good.

Because it is good. Especially if you’ve read the great news on Justin’s blog…

Filed Under: Life on the Road Tagged With: albuquerque, authenticity, HSP, life, links, music, new mexico

Highly-Sensitive Transitioning: Before The Move

January 30, 2010 By TheOrganicSister 14 Comments

Zeb, making a list of our dreams: places and people we want to see
and things we want to do on the road.

When we first started discussing the decision to travel full-time and eventually settle outside of Vegas, we included Zeb. How could we not? He’s one-third of our family and his experience will be as life-changing as ours.

So, we sat down. We talked over our situation and our choices as best we could without overwhelming him or stressing out an easily-stressed soul. We told him every pro and con of full-time RVing we could think of, we gave him a timeline for being on the road but were honest that it could change, we discussed the potential challenges. And we asked what he thought.

He was hesitant, for sure. Thoughtful and questioning. But after some time, and a promise we’d make room for his Legos, he told us it would work for him.

And then he was excited…for about a week. That’s when his real transitioning began.

Zeb is an emotional, highly-sensitive child. He creates strong attachments to animals, friends and family, as well as things that hold special significance. For years he kept his school reports and certificates on his walls because it reminded him of *something* good from those difficult years. So it’s really no wonder that this transition – away from loved ones, best friends, his hometown, all that he knows, even his pets – would hit him hard.

All at once he was torn between sadness and anger. This isn’t to say he wasn’t simultaneously excited. But he realized how much he would miss his friends and family. He worried that he’d be bored. Truthfully, I think he was a bit afraid of such a Huge Unknown. In his ten years, he’s experienced some pretty difficult stuff and it’s left him leaning heavily toward the hesitant side of life. Now here we were, and he was feeling as if the security we’ve built for ourselves was being stripped away. It’s a big world out there and it’s already proven to sometimes be scary.

This went on for awhile. Some days – many days – I didn’t handle it well. Truthfully, my own excitement was building and I was feeling resentful for his raining over my parade. I didn’t want to be pulled into the emotional upset and away from the budding joy. Internally, I didn’t think I had the energy to handle it.

On those days I tried to rationalize with him, remind him how much fun we’d have, how many more friends we’ll see and make, how many things we’ll have the opportunity to do. I took lots of deep breaths and left the room countless times. It’s not that I didn’t understand him. It’s that I was too wrapped up in my own expectations to react to his needs.

He doesn’t need to be rationalized with or reminded that he had once agreed. He needs to mourn what we are leaving behind, so that he can be prepared to move ahead.

Zeb has always needed a slow transition. He’s slow to get out of bed, slow to stop one thing and start another. We work with this by giving him plenty of notice before we leave, before we eat, before company comes.

And this anger and sadness was the beginning phase of a very big transition. All he needed from me was a place to vent, some validation over what will surely suck and some patience. So I finally stopped rationalizing or talking him out of his emotions. I stopped trying to fix it. (Wait. I thought I learned this one already?)

I allowed myself to be his emotional punching bag.

He needed a safe place to let it all out. And with lots of deep breaths and quiet reminders to myself to keep my mouth shut, I became that place. Sometimes he yelled, other times he cried. Sometimes he questioned and voiced concern. Some days he talked excitedly and made plans. At one point he blamed us for ruining his life and called us names, hating us with conviction. And that’s about when I was suddenly able to see past my own expectations and look with compassion on my son who was grieving a loss in advance.

And as soon as I managed to stay present and compassionate during his storm, it passed. In a matter of an hour he went from total meltdown to cuddling in our arms. In the end he gave us a look that resembled a Thank You, a hug that said I Love You Too and he was off to conquer the day without the heavy emotional load dragging him down.

I’m not about to assume we’ve seen the end. He’s not that kind of kid. And he still has his moments of fear amid the moments of excitement, although they aren’t as explosive now. But if I can remember to breath and not take it personally, I know we’ll get through them, too.

There is plenty more to say on the subject of transitioning/moving/traveling with a highly-sensitive child. You could probably consider this Part One.