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It’s ‘Fine’
Yesterday, for a myriad of reasons – I was upset. Physically hurting and my emotional nerves exposed.
I was shamefully aware of my negative attitude.
I tried to sequester myself as much as I could, tried to limit the words that came out of my mouth – because I knew they were being tainted by my mood.
I still had to interact though – when people came to me. I kept my responses short – bit down on the bitchy verbal Tourette’s that strained to come out of my mouth.
I failed a couple of times – but owned it. I said to one person, ‘God, I’m sorry – I am being a completely unreasonable bitch.’
To be fair, (to myself for once), my responses were not completely unreasonable. But if there’s one thing I’ve practiced to a fairly consistent level of aptitude – it is choosing to filter my responses and to find a positive way to respond, rather than react.
Then my son called.
Why, oh why do we hurt the ones we love?
I think it has a lot to do with having more interaction with them than anyone, mixed with the arrogant assumption that our loved ones will forgive us. Also, lashing out stems from fear, and where there is great emotion – there is something that we care greatly about behind it.
The phone call came at a bad time, (Okay, any hour yesterday was a ‘bad time’) and unless he was calling to tell me he loved me and by the way, the house was clean, laundry done and a cake magically appeared in the fridge, there wasn’t anything he could have said to his advantage.
I was upset that he stayed up most of the night before – I was upset that our conversations about him doing more around the house had not resulted in him actually doing more around the house. I was upset that … let’s face it, I was just upset.
I spat words at him – and when he reacted – I struck again. Verbally. I reached a point where I could not be a part of the conversation any longer and … CLICK!
I hung up.
I’ve told him one of the worst things you can do is hang up on someone. It’s rude – it’s unkind – it’s immature. Apropos response on my behalf I suppose, considering I was being rude, unkind and immature.
5 O’Clock finally arrived.
I drove home – with my tail between my legs. (Which is a quite uncomfortable to sit by the way.)
When we finally spoke – I apologized. I calmly expressed my frustrations and we spoke eye to eye.
I apologized for the way I spoke to him and he said, “Mom, it’s fine.”
That didn’t sit well with me.
“No,” I said, “no it’s not fine. It may be forgivable – perhaps even to some degree understandable – but it is NOT ‘fine’ for someone to speak to you that way. Don’t you go through life thinking that it is.”
No matter how hurt, angry or exposed I feel, I will keep practicing the choice to respond positively – and if I can’t – I’ll practice removing myself from the situation until I can.
Because negative reactions are never ‘fine’.
fine1
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1.of high quality.“this was a fine piece of filmmaking”
synonyms: excellent, first-class, first-rate, great, exceptional, outstanding, quality, superior, splendid, magnificent, exquisite, choice, select, prime, supreme, superb, wonderful, superlative, of high quality, second to none; More “fine wines”antonyms: poor -
(of a person) worthy of or eliciting admiration.“what a fine human being he is”
synonyms: worthy, admirable, praiseworthy, laudable, estimable, upright, upstanding, respectable More “a fine citizen” -
good; satisfactory.“relations in the group were fine”
synonyms: all right, acceptable, suitable, good (enough), passable, satisfactory, adequate, reasonable, tolerable; More informalOK“the initiative is fine, but it’s not enough on its own”antonyms: unsatisfactory -
used to express one’s agreement with or acquiescence to something.“anything you want is fine by me, Linda”
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synonyms: impressive, imposing, striking, splendid, grand, majestic, magnificent, stately More “a fine old house”
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1.in a satisfactory or pleasing manner; very well.““And how’s the job-hunting going?” “Oh, fine.””
Catabolic hearts and Candy Corn pencils
I spent last night with a few tears – and like a child in need of comfort, I also grabbed a blanket and my bear.
Yesterday brought joy and sadness, love and aloneness, hope and fear. And sometimes, it’s all just too much to process.
It wasn’t due to any one thing in particular – things build over time to overflowing and when there is no outlet – blanket and bear come into play.
I joke about saying too much – about not editing myself. But the fact is, I keep so much inside that it hurts sometimes.
You know when someone notices that you’re out of sorts and hugs you? That dam that bursts because of that hug?
I feel like life (and, yes, me too) constantly plugs up my dam with no relief in sight.
When I desperately need a hug.
And to be heard.
And seen.
I posted this on my Facebook wall this afternoon – after a day of feeling unwell physically, but mostly overwhelmed emotionally.
I did this because I felt safe putting it there, I am very selective about who my ‘friends’ are on Facebook. People that know me and ‘get me’ are privy to my mostly quirky, sometimes funny and often odd status updates.
I don’t have friends I don’t trust.
What I really wanted to do was write about it here though. So I’m going to.
I have a lot on my plate and on my mind. A lot weighing on my heart also.
I find it necessary, again, to reiterate that I am a happy person – and a grateful person – and a loving person. And I know what is important in life.
But I am also a human person.
I used to think it was not okay to permit myself to feel my sadness. That I was somehow being ungrateful by doing that.
I know not to wallow in it – not to become melancholic – but it is necessary to feel. Denying myself permission to acknowledge sadness or fears is not healthy. And there is no growth when one does not acknowledge, assess and address a feeling or emotion.
Still, lately I’ve pent everything up. Putting one foot in front of the other and plugging away at life, while I tackled real and imagined problems alone.
The soul has this amazing ability to take a lot of crap from us – but has its limit. I reached mine.
Then I came home to mail.
Real mail.
Not just an envelope either – a small package.
It was from a dear friend in California (she actually taught me how to do what I do for a living over 14 years ago!)
Inside – was this letter, the sweet pencil and a bag of Halloween candy:
Here I was questioning whether I am worthy of love – and I receive this sweet, sweet gift. That she knows me so well – that something reminded her of me – that she made the effort to go the extra mile and purchase the item and tell me that she thought of me … such love.
And to want to feel connected to me.
What a blessing to have such friends.
I’ll take the pencil to work with me tomorrow and put it somewhere I can look at it as a reminder.
And because it touched me so – my heart can’t possibly be in a catabolic state. It’s still capable of processing love.
It’s just scared.
Home
I made this nest I write in.
I fought for it, clung to it and worked for it.
Behind the door I’m home.
Sanctuary.
I can be me – uncensored.
Here I am safe and loved.
My words unedited, understood.
I fill the space with colors, memories, scents.
Books, clay and paintbrushes –
Plants and sweets.
And love.
Musings from the Laundromat: Simple pleasures & silver trolleys edition
It has been a perfect morning.
I walked into the laundromat today with happy in my heart and relaxed in my step. ‘Midnight Train to Georgia’ was playing on the laundromat’s radio. I greeted the lady who works behind the counter – noticing her bright pink top. “Hi” I said, “I like your top!” “Thank you” she smiled.
She walked away with a hint of a smile still on her lips as I grabbed my cash card with the yellow wrist coil. I always pick yellow if it’s available.
I loaded five dollars onto the card and toted my laundry over to my favorite machines.
And here I sit at my favorite spot about to share my morning with you.
I’m reading an amazing book ‘The Glass Castle’ by Jeannette Walls. My friend Betty gave it to me to borrow last week.
I love that I have friends who enjoy a good book. I love the fact that they think of me when they’re finished with that same book.
I woke at 7 this morning. I slept in. After making a pot of coffee and letting the dog outside, I crawled back into bed to read.
A little while later, after retrieving a cup of the freshly brewed coffee, feeding the dog and laying back down on my bed – Nic appeared in my room.
“Hey” I said, as I let my book holding arm flop down onto the bed.
He joined me and rested his head on my chest. I put my free arm around him, patting his back.
We lay there, quietly, as he blinked at the wall.
“What are you thinking about?”
“The words on the painting … looks like it says Edward Woot”
I shifted my gaze to the painting as he continued,, “I think it is Woot”.
We both knew it wasn’t. But we considered the painting until we were joined by the dog.
“Aw! Now the whole family is here!” I said.
We focused our quiet gazes on Butters. Then back to nothing. Just enjoying the moment.
Not a thing was lost on me. I held carefully and quietly in my heart the following thoughts, not wanting them to disappear.
I held the gratitude that my son still looks for me in the morning. That he likes me and wants to have a moment with me. I held the joy that we were both looking at a painting together – one he gave me for Christmas – that we both appreciate art. I savored the fact that I was holding a book – that I get such immense pleasure from reading. I was grateful for my ‘boy’ in my arms and my dog at our feet.
I digested everything about that moment – while managing to stay in it.
Our silence gave way to laughter when Butters started nibbling on her leg and I announced it was obviously bath day.
By the look of the sky, I needed to take care of that quickly. The clouds outside were grey and looked heavy with rain. I suggested to Nic that we could just pour her shampoo over her and put her out when the rain began.
I got up instead and carried my 70 pound, hairy, leg nibbling manatee into the tub.
What began as a bath for Butters gave way to cleaning – I threw myself into the task, taking the large rug from the kitchen outside so I could wash the floor. Of course, Nic took that opportunity to make himself something to eat. His timing is impeccable. I worked around him – so very grateful to have a kitchen to clean. And too grateful for the food and my son to be annoyed by his timing.
Satisfied with the clean dog, the clean house and my fed and occupied son I took my turn in the tub. So grateful for the soothing stream of water on my back.
I’ll be making a small pork roast today – and enjoying my son in between his games and the book in between time with my son.
And speaking of that book – the friend that loaned it to me finished a particularly difficult book this morning (due to the content.) She commented to me:
“By the way, I finished the horrible one I was reading this a.m. I had to see how it ended and be done with it. I learned a grocery cart in Great Britain is a trolley. I was trying to find some lil gems in it to get through it :)”
I love that she said that. That’s what we do isn’t it? Look for the gems when things are tough? Well it’s what we should do.
I replied to her:
“There’s always a silver trolley if you look hard enough.”
The day when fear asked me to look at it
Had unexpected discussions today with two people I respect, about fear.
Both conversations were independent of one another. So I have to consider that the universe put the topic in my path for a reason.
My truth and understanding is that every negative emotion I’ve had has stemmed from fear. Envy? Fear I’m not enough. Anger? Fear I am not in control. Hate? Fear I possess or am capable of possessing a characteristic of the person or thing I’m hating. (Although, I haven’t ‘hated’ for a very long time. Hate is such a strong word.)
I experienced something last week that I processed quickly enough so that I didn’t react – instead I responded. I was able to understand and diffuse a toxic situation.
I shared something personal with someone I trusted.
That person, in turn, shared it with someone else, accompanied by a derogatory comment … but accidentally sent it to me.
I addressed the issue immediately. I told this person, “I shared that with you in confidence – had I wanted that other person to know, I would have shared it with them.” Denial followed. But, when you have proof in black and white – it’s hard to deny.
I was then treated very cooly by that person.
It’s funny isn’t it? When we’ve harmed another, we tend to treat them as if they were the perpetrator of the wrong doing. Out of embarrassment? Guilt?
Okay, maybe not so funny – but it is a common reaction to getting caught hurting someone.
I sent this person another message – telling them that I understood the temptation to share the information, as obviously I felt the need to share it. And ‘Let’s start the day over.’
Of course, it took the rest of that day getting the cold/embarrassed shoulder and half of today – but the latter part of the day, their shame must have dissipated and they forgave themselves enough to warm the shoulder back up.
I forgive them.
I shared this story, because I’ve come to understand a lot about others through understanding myself.
As I said to one of the people I discussed ‘Fear’ with today – “I still have fear. But I no longer sit in it. I acknowledge it, examine where it’s coming from and address it.”
And I let it go.
I’ve had moments in the past when I’ve been absolutely crippled with fear. It’s just a most horrible feeling.
Fear of losing someone – fear of financial insecurity – fear of failure.
But I’ve come through those moments. Everything worked out. As long as I looked the situation in the eye – searched for the root of it and did the work to the best of my ability to fix what I could.
Sometimes a situation like losing someone, can’t be fixed. But my attitude about it can be. I have to believe that nothing happens by mistake.
My fear of financial insecurity? Probably a healthy fear, especially considering that I am not a material girl.
I feared not being able to provide shelter, food and necessities for my son and myself. Having almost been homeless – counting out change and selling items to pawn shops for gas money in order to job hunt tends to strike some fear into you.
But, we did not find ourselves homeless, or hungry. I had faith, kept moving forward and I did find a job.
When I realized that job was not going to afford me the ability to meet our needs, I took a second job.
As for the fear of failure – as long as I’m doing the next right thing – realizing where my shortcomings stem from and making the effort to change them – I cannot fail.
I combat fear with faith. And I feed my faith with gratitude.
And the more I am grateful – the more peaceful my heart becomes. The more peaceful my heart becomes, the better I become at loving others. The better I love others, the quicker I am to understand and forgive them.
And loving others helps me to understand and love myself. I don’t fear that.
Debauchery Soup 