Fruit in my dessert

Fly, Birdie, Fly

People often say that as your children grow up, you have to let them go, let them fly. For this anxious mother, I have to let them go so that I can fly too.

It was the fall of 2011. My three-year-old was in preschool five whopping half-days per week and it was glorious. He had gotten a coveted morning spot which worked exponentially better for all of our schedules - including his one-year-old sister - than the two afternoons per week the year before. In one of our first weekly updates from the teacher, she announced they would be going a class field trip to a nature center. Out of town. On a school bus. What?!?! School itself didn't stress me out, but field trips off the island were a whole other story.

I did what any normal neurotic, anxious, fearful-of-death mother would do and got to work looking up laws about seat belts and car seats on school buses in New York! I mean, the West Side Highway and Saw Mill River Parkway are essentially race tracks! And buses tip over - like, all. the. time. It turned out that it was in fact against the law to put a three-year-old on a bus not in a car seat. Phew. I could couch my fear in the law - one of my favorite things to do! I'm not crazy. SEE! It's right here. But I didn't want my kid to miss the trip. So, of course, I drove him in our car. Yes. I. Did. He was too young to be embarrassed and I was too proud and self righteous and it was a great trip. And the bus didn't crash so those other kids got lucky too.

Flash forward to 2017. My now nine-year-old has been on countless school trips. I went on a lot of them in the early days. I was anxious about things like crossing streets and likely things like him falling off the subway platform. As time went on, I admitted to myself that I HATED going on field trips. It's not fun to be in charge of other people's children. It's not fun when kids misbehave or feeling like I have to tell them what to do. It's not enjoyable being vigilant. It's exhausting. It's not fun losing all the (flexible yet demanding) work time and figuring out how to get it all done. I still go sometimes - in a pinch - or if he asks - because I know I'm lucky to still be asked and because I get to learn cool stuff and because my schedule allows it.

I think part of my lessened fear and anxiety has had to do with my son getting older and me being more ready for him to do more as he experienced more of life without me and still came home at the end of the day. I had always worked, but mostly part-time and mostly from home, with him with a sitter within 5-10 blocks if not in another room for his early years. As he spent more time at school, with friends, at activities, I could breathe the tiniest bit deeper when he was away from me. My brain also had become occupied with more - juggling more work responsibilities and a second child left just a little less time to obsess and worry. 

I've also actively worked on reducing my anxiety. For this particular representation of it, a few months of cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT*) was very helpful. I was going for pretty intense anxiety around some health challenges (other posts to come) and did some work to transfer some of what I was learning to the "I'm afraid my kid is gonna die" anxiety. I have been a fan of talk therapy for nearly 20 years and gone on and off over the years. After trying the medication route with not much success, CBT was recommended and I was in fact the prime candidate my doctor thought I would be. It's not perfect, and as my CBT therapist had to tell me more than once, his goal was to help me REDUCE the anxiety, not ELIMINATE it (which had always been, and still is - don't tell him - my goal). There would be spikes and valleys, he said. And there are. But thanks to that work, for the most part, I've been able to get down from the spikes more easily and more quickly than before.

He is on a trip to Ellis Island today. I don't even know how they got to the boat. 

I better go make a call.

*I did not plan to mention CBT in this post and this is not an endorsement of it. It has been helpful to me, as have lots of other things. I'm certainly not a qualified medical professional and it would make me anxious if you thought I was.

Inside Outside Upside Down

A couple of years ago, I tried this daily journaling "thing" and, while challenging for a bunch of reasons, it was also a positive experience. On the eve of my 40th birthday, I'm going to try it again. The first topic is Journey, with the following quote:

“There is only one journey. Going inside yourself.” — Rainer Maria Rilke

Going inside is crucial. But if you don't take what you learn when you go inside and use it on the outside, does it really matter what your journey is? Of course it matters, but in my own personal journeys inside - down rabbit holes and up to the sky - I am often focused on how I will use what I'm figuring out to do better, see more, help others, live a more peaceful existence. Is the Western in me too strong to just be? To just journey for the sake of the journey? I find that almost incomprehensible, though very appealing. To journey for the sake of the journey. I almost felt that way once, backpacking through Europe. But even then, it was about learning, expanding, deepening, and it changed the course of my life and the way I look at so many things forever more. I could not "unsee" or "unlearn" or "unknow" the things I had experienced and come to recognize. The same can be said of becoming a mother - for sure. While that journey is more outward in its daily expressions, it is beyond a doubt an inward journey of learning so very much that I never even knew could exist before I was living it.

And, now, today, on the eve of my 40th birthday, I begin to think about the new journeys ahead, the years, the moments, the experiences, the ambitions that I'm finally allowing to reawaken step-by-step, moment-by-moment, trying to remind myself that as so many things, this journey is not linear. It's not meant to be. It doesn't have to be. It would be less revealing if it were. I am still and likely always will be terrified of something or many things, because, that, that is part of me and I think always will be. But I am certainly pushing myself in new and different ways to tell the fear to wait a minute, an hour, a day - because I have something more important to do, to figure out. I have a journey to go on and I don't know where it's going to take me quite yet, but perhaps that's the point. If I keep telling myself I can't wait, perhaps this is the moment I will start believing it's true.

We Are All Wounded

We are all wounded.

Some of us more obviously than others.

Some of us more deeply.

But we are all wounded.

 

It's shocking really.

With all the wounds we have

that we can look so unwounded,

so healthy, so full of life, so

every day "normal."

 

We really should be applauding 

and applauded.

Each. And. Every. One. Of. Us.

Every. Day.

 

It's kind of messed up that we 

bring these tiny beings into the 

world, knowing that they too

will be wounded. Immediately. 

 

And often. 

And that they'll wound us.

Even more.

 

It's not so simple as us wanting

them to unwound us or fix our 

pain.

 

But rather. We know.

Even with all the wounds.

The pain.

The fear.

 

This place, this life, the magic, 

the other wounded beings.

 

It's all worth it.

 

Tend to your wounds. Help

others heal from theirs - or

at least.

Distract them from the pain.

 

Remember.

Acknowledge.

 

Try not to wound yourself or 

others on purpose.

 

This is what matters.

 

by Karen Dahl

written at the Genius Bar on Friday 1/15/16. I should have my phone confiscated more often.

Partnership

 

Thank you.

 

For making it possible for me to do this important work.

For making it possible for me to do this important work.

 

I feel lucky.

 

To be the one who gets to pick her children up from school.

To be the one who gets fly away for an exciting project at a moment’s notice.

 

It is special.

 

When I get to be the one to fly away for an exciting project at a moment’s notice.

When I get to be the one who gets to pick his children up from school.

 

Thank you.

For taking care of us, often at the detriment of your time, your energy, your space, your you.

For taking care of us, often at the detriment of your time, your energy, your space, your you.

 

I wanted you to know I see you.

 

How hard you work. Every. Single. Minute. Of. Every. Single. Day.

Putting on your brave face every day. Your calmness when there’s a storm inside. Your certain tone when you don’t know the answer.

 

Sometimes it feels like.

 

We’re plodding along.

We’re ships passing in the night.

 

I didn’t want to let another moment pass without saying it.

Too far apart to see, to feel, to touch.

 

I love you. Thank you.

I love you. Thank you.

 

___

I wrote this for Brian and me today. I think I/we needed it. xo - kdahlface

Journal Day 30: Breathe

“Keep a green tree in your heart and perhaps a singing bird will come.” 

- Chinese proverb

My heart is asking me to...breathe. 

The last day. 30 days. I did it. But now to make it not for naught.

To take the lessons. The nuggets. Make them come to life. To influence.

Look up. Have faith. Believe.

Relax (a little). Look up. Look out. Less in.

To feel. To notice. Move on. Breathe.

Suck in. Suck up. Eyes open.

Stop hitting. Yourself. So much. Enough.

Stop looking from the outside. And at the outside. Stop comparing.

Let go. Let life unfold. Make good choices and move forward. Stop trying to predict so much.

Look at what's here. Right now. So lucky. It's okay. It's going to be okay.

And if it's not okay, that will be okay too. Try harder to believe this one.

The singing birds are here. Green trees too.

Cry.

Love.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Journal Day 29: Caterpillars

There is nothing in a caterpillar that tells you it's going to be a butterfly. 

-R. Buckminster Fuller

The transformation I’d like to trust more is…the unfolding of life. Meaning, I'd like to stop trying to predict the future, including planning for every worst case scenario that I can think of. I'd like to get more comfortable with not knowing what's going to happen, and ending sentences with a preposition. I spend a lot of time preparing, planning, making sure no stone is left unturned, no scenario is left unpredicted. The problem is that I think there is some value in this. Little things like bringing water because someone might get thirsty make sense. I can't even think of some of the predicting I do that doesn't make sense (to me) right now but I'm sure someone close to me can.

Of late, I've had a few minor medical issues that I've predicted to be medical disasters before a doctor's examination. I plan out how it will go, what it will mean, how devastating it will be, how I will handle it with the kids, etc. Aside from a feeling that I need to prepare for the worst, I've also known way too many friends and family where disasterous situations and diagnoses have come true. And, I think, why not me? I'm next. I hate this thinking for two reasons - in some ways it feels like it trivializes what friends and family have and are experiencing, and it's also ridiculously self-centered. And wasteful. I feel like my mind is wasting time thinking terrible things when I should be living. While I think that I know why I do it - fear of death, need to control, among others, sometimes I can't seem to flip the switch off.

The fear of death thing is 99% about leaving my kids without a mother and much, much less about me worrying about what will happen to me. And leaving them without a mother is all tied together with wanting to be the one to give them the perfect childhood filled with love, just the right amount of adversity and challenges, and comfort, and love, to make them strong, well-developed, balanced, loving people. Because I'm self-centered enough to think that as great as B is, he can't do it without me - that I'm the only one who can do it. In my perfect way.

It's ridiculous really. Maybe the more I write about it (perhaps no longer ad nauseum in such a public forum) I will really start to believe that my children - and my life - will turn into a butterfly whether or not I'm in charge, or even here. And while I desperately want to be here until the end of time (which I'm also pretty sure is happening in our lifetime), maybe realizing it's okay if I'm not.

That things are going to work out, or they're not, regardless of how I feel or think or obsess or plan for them. The thing that still stops me is the fear of missing the signs that will help me make the choices I do have to influence the working out or not part. This is the part of the struggle that I can't shake.

Journal Day 28: Legos are Life

“Have no fear of perfection…you’ll never reach it.” - Salvador Dali

I feel like I've spent a fair amount of space on fear and perfection in my #30DayJournal already so I'm not sure I want to write too much more about either topic, but Dali's phrasing is interesting. Fear of perfection. Maybe that's actually what I need. If I feared it, I wouldn't aim for it.

As I've thought about "letting go" and what I'm willing to let go of - for my own sake - I've been thinking about what it would look like to let go of aiming for perfection. What it would look like to let go of fear. What concrete steps I can take, things that I would notice to spur me on further in the process of letting go. I'm still thinking...

I just turned to my six-year-old for some help. Slightly exploitative and a tiny bit developmentally inappropriate, but helpful, perhaps...(slightly edited/condensed due to imperfect memory):

Me: What do you think about the word perfect?

6-year-old: ...

Me: Do you think it's good to try to be perfect?

6-year-old: Yes.

Me: Why?

6-year-old: Because...

Me: Do you ever try to be perfect?

6-year-old: Yes.

Me: When?

6-year-old: [Thinks for a minute.] In my shows. My dance show every year at school.

Me: Any other times? When you play soccer?

6-year-old: ...

Me: School work?

6-year-old: At school or homework?

Me: Either.

6-year-old: Well, I try not to mess up what I write, because then I have to fix it, and that interrupts school.

Me: What about with your legos?

6-year-old: No.

Me: Why?

6-year-old: Because I can build whatever I want.

Me: Are you done talking about this topic?

6-year-old: Yes, but I'll talk to you about something else.

Me: Okay, what?

6-year-old: Baseball. Who won the Mariners game last night? [he was quizzing me.] Did the Yankees win their game last night? Who did they play?

I went 3 for 3. Not that it matters.

But that last bit, "because I can build whatever I want." Maybe I can use that to reframe some of my own perfection issues. My issues with right and wrong and black and white.

New mantra: Life is legos. Legos are life.

Full disclosure:

While I was writing this, the 6-year-old came in to tell me that if I was going to finish cleaning up the crayon bin that I had purposefully spilled over to get stuck crayons out that he had started to clean up for me, that I had to do it by color, and to keep all like colors together in the same sections.

Nature or nurture? Regardless, it warms my heart.

Clearly, I have a long way to go.

Journal Day 27: Good Sense

“The chief enemy of creativity is good sense.” ― Pablo Picasso

Is it though? I've got lots of good sense. I've sort of won awards for it. Me=good sense. Me=voice of reason. I don't consider myself creative. Really - that's not begging for internet love. I promise.

I have long debated Picasso's premise (mostly with myself). Especially in the moments when I'm feeling particularly "creative" in not-so-productive ways. Or when I'm thinking I need to give the therapist a call, or in the rare moments when I have wondered whether medication for my worry and anxiety might not be a bad idea. And, then I think (in a somewhat cliche, expected manner) if I get medicated, then I won't be me, I won't be "creative."

I think I've got creativity inside of me. Like, it wouldn't be in the top five adjectives I use to describe myself, at least professionally speaking. But I actually do think I've got creativity inside and it comes out sometimes. It's clearly been used up this month with this #90day I mean #30dayjournal, but I come up with good solutions that I would classify as creative. I'm not "a" creative like I consider B to be, but throw a problem at me and I can solve it - creatively. Does that count?

Also, this whole writing thing, okay maybe that's not super creative - or at least this version isn't. 

Fine. What's wrong with good sense anyway?

Journal Day 26: Keeping My Soul Aloft

The principal thing in this world is to keep one's soul aloft. - Gustave Flaubert

Representation of the things that weigh me down that I'm going to try to let go of...

As the #30dayjournal project winds down, and I tire of my own self-reflection, ramblings, nonsense, and despair over none of my enlightened musings going viral, tonight I'll stick to the prompts provided and play it straight. And short. Here we go!

What brings me most alive is…love. No, seriously. Love of my husband, my children, when I get to do good and meaningful work; friends, colleagues, strangers, moments, chocolate, Yankees, music, travel to new and old places, New York, soccer, life. Love of people, experiences, and yes, some things. 

I am open to experiencing more… chocolate. Okay, this one is difficult. Discomfort? Uncertainty? Yes, uncertainty. That would be good for me. More uncertainty. Really. I'm going to be open to that. Patience is part of this, yes? I'm in. 

The things that weigh me down are…anxiety, fear, control issues, much of what I've written about this month, not eating, sleeping properly or for optimal health, worry. Prediction of future potential catastrophe. Repeated attempts at perfection.

I am willing to consider letting go of…doing laundry? Folding it? Dishes? Okay, fine. I'm going to try to let go of obsessing about...(I keep writing and deleting ideas)...Why is letting go so hard?!?!? Okay, trying to be perect, make the perfect decision every time. Trying to be conscious of when I'm doing that and letting it go. As much as I can.

My soul soars whenever…I let it (you know, when all those other things and life fall into place).

 

Journal Day 25: Terrified

I've been absolutely terrified every moment of my life and I've never let it keep me from doing a single thing that I wanted to do. — Georgia O'Keeffe

Pretty much this. This may be the closest thing to true for me so far. I mean, not every minute, but a lot of them. But I push and I pull and I take a deep breath and I jump. Some of the things seem small afterward, or even during, like "what on earth was I so scared of?" Other things seem big until the very end and even in retrospect...and just as scary. But I know enough to know that if I didn't do things that scared me - and now, if I didn't let the kids do things that scare me, or even B, not that I'm really allowed to "let" him do stuff, but you know, that whole death thing - anyways, if I didn't do that stuff, I'd probably be dead in a whole other way. A terrible kind of alive dead way.

Now, I'm not as strong as Ms. O'Keefe (or perhaps as dramatic), because I've definitely let fear get in the way sometimes. But I hope not when it mattered too much. And quite frankly, my ego tells me that I actually surrendered to the fear and the knowledge that sometimes my fear is too much and I can't make it go away or control it and I make choices to not do things because they are inconsequential enough to let go of and save myself (and those around me) some anxiety.

Most timely example: B and I have never flown together, without the children, since having children. I know the odds, the rational stats, the whole "safer than a car" argument, etc. But here's the thing. I can't wrap my head around it quite yet - almost, but not yet. And really, what are we missing? On the once in a blue moon times we are alone, together, without the children, I'm good with wherever. Why stress out to chill out with my dude? Nah. Maybe later. I know #firstworldproblem. #notreallyaproblem.

Old examples: Trying out for stuff. A lot. Taking a trip with school to Europe (after saving up the money so my mom's fear couldn't stop me). Studying abroad. Traveling abroad. Alone. NYC. AmeriCorps. Moving. Flying. Working for a Presidential campaign. For a former President. Harvard. Marriage. Kids. NYC. While all of these things were unbelievable - seriously, unbelievable - opportunities, they all took their turns scaring the sh&* out of me in big and small ways. Like, really scared. Every last one of them. But I guess that's what they mean when they talk about the difference between "good fear" and "bad fear" and trusting your gut. And, luck has a lot to do with it I believe. And being in the right place at the right time - which means you have to move around a bit.

But sometimes fear makes your gut go away. And for a while it stopped me. Growing up, the death fear - specifically of my mom, dad, and sister dying, and the fear of someone breaking into our home when we were home could be debilitating at times. I had ridiculous nightmares throughout my childhood from a very young age and was scared whenever any member of my family left that they were not coming back. To the point, that as a teen, I remember being left home alone for one of the very first times and swearing I heard noises and crawling under my bed with my (corded) phone and debating for several minutes that felt like an hour whether I should call 9-1-1 because even though I was pretty sure my mind was playing tricks on me, I wasn't really sure...yeah, that kind of stuff.

While my fear doesn't look like this anymore, and it hasn't stopped me from living, I'm still the girl who's scared in the country or the burbs or the low-level apartment to not shut and lock all the windows at night (duh on the door). I'm sure there's at least one metaphor here that I'm too tired to notice.

My fears have both lessened and increased with motherhood. Less fears for me. More fears for them. The great effect this has had is to make my fears of old about all sorts of things matter SO much less to me now. Social anxiety, getting worked up about "little things," fewer anxieties in professional situations. I care less. I care, but less. Sometimes people call this, "putting it in perspective" but really, we're all putting things in perspective - doesn't mean one perspective is write or wrong or less or more. It's just that I've got mine and you've got yours. I get that they don't have to match. You don't have to get angry about the things I get angry about (though you should) and you don't have to be thrilled about the things that thrill me (though you could).

Basically, what I'm saying is, I'm totally Zen now. Fear? Terrified? Who titled this post anyway?

#30DayJournal #Day25 #LosingMyMind