If you’re reading this, you are a survivor. Yay, you!
An inspiring internet friend of mine runs a Facebook group called Club Moxie: Bouncing Back from Difficult Sh*t. I highly recommend this group if, like Stephanie and me, you’ve been through some of that sh*t yourself. As she says in her “about” section, “Club Moxie is a place where ordinary people have candid conversations about the ins and outs of bouncing back from all kinds of difficult life circumstances. Honesty heals. Being heard heals. Togetherness heals.”
On any given day, you can go to this group for inspiration on how to reframe your situation into one that you can not only survive, but also learn, grow, and thrive from. The group also shows you that you’re not alone. It is an uplifting place, and we all could use one of those every now and then.
I can sometimes be a fly in the ointment in that group, because I am nothing if not cynical. And sometimes I just can’t join the cheerleading squad. Not that day. Not for that meme. And that’s okay. This group doesn’t judge. In fact, it usually makes me see things from perspectives I haven’t encountered before. It gives me fresh eyes, and fresh ways to cope. And it doesn’t hurt that it has inspired many a blog post.
Recently, Stephanie posted the meme below, and also wrote above it: “We don’t have to look outside ourselves for inspiration. WE can inspire OURSELVES. When I’m feeling down or on the verge of defeated, it can be really helpful for me to recall all the times in the past when I kept going and made it through.”
Wow. Insight!
I have often drawn inspiration from others. It’s my gut instinct to do so. I even did it above, when I said I’m inspired by Stephanie’s group. I think this is a great habit to have, but her Facebook post made me realize that I often overlook a very important resource for inspiration. Me. Because here I am. And that means that I am a survivor.
Good news! If you’re reading this, you are a survivor, too! And you know yourself better than anyone else does. Think of the untapped potential for inspiration you’ve got, just sitting there in your own head.
Many of us have been taught that pride is a bad thing. I’ve never believed that. I think it’s perfectly natural to be proud of your achievements, proud of your strengths, proud of your skills, proud of those moments when, against all odds, you brought your best self forward and did what you needed to do. The right thing. The hard thing. You may have had help along the way. We all have. But in the end, it’s you who got yourself to this point, and that’s impressive as hell. Own it!
We all have our unique life experiences. Think of yours as pearls of wisdom that only you possess. Even those moments that you wish had gone differently can, at the very least, provide very important lessons that you can draw upon moving forward. You have wisdom that you earned all on your own.
I am setting the intention, right now, to stop overlooking the unique treasure within me. Every single one of us has value. Most of us don’t hesitate to share those assets with others. But we need to remember that we deserve to benefit from our own experiential strength as well. Think of it as a gift from the past you.
And oh, what a gift it is!
A big thanks to StoryCorps for inspiring this blog and my first book.http://amzn.to/2mlPVh5
True confession: I’ve always looked at mid-life crises with a bit of disdain. From the outside, they look like privileged temper tantrums at the prospect of growing old. That type of behavior gets little sympathy from me. Aging is inevitable.
The stereotypical midlife crisis is described as an aging man buying a sports car and a bad toupee, and leaving his wife for a ditzy 20 year old. And while that does sometimes happen, that’s really not the typical crisis. First of all, many of us can’t afford crisis-mobiles or trophy wives.
And while psychological crises can occur at any time in one’s life (or, in fact, not at all), these mid-stage ones seem to draw the most attention. According to Wikipedia, this time in life is a period of great transition. To quote the article directly:
The condition may occur from the ages of 45–64. Mid-life crises last about 3–10 years in men and 2–5 years in women. A mid-life crisis could be caused by aging itself, or aging in combination with changes, problems, or regrets over:
work or career (or lack thereof)
spousal relationships (or lack of them)
maturation of children (or lack of children)
aging or death of parents (or lack of them)
physical changes associated with aging (or lack of them)
Individuals experiencing a mid-life crisis may feel:
humiliation among more successful colleagues
longing to achieve a feeling of youthfulness
need to spend more time alone or with certain peers
a heightened sense of their sexuality or lack of it
ennui, confusion, resentment or anger due to their discontent with their marital, work, health, economic, or social status
ambition to right the missteps they feel they have taken early in life.
Without going into the specifics, let me describe what I’m going through at the moment. For the past 20 years, a huge amount of my ego has been wrapped up in being a bridgetender. I love my job, and I take great pride in doing it well. When someone asks me who I am, bridgetender is one of the first things I think to say.
But lately my reputation has been getting attacked at work. Viciously. Unjustifiably. And my efforts to defend myself have gone unheard and/or have not been validated. It’s hard to prove that you’re not a (insert horrible thing here). Especially when you mostly work alone. Although my work should speak for itself, in the form of well-functioning and clean machinery, and great customer feedback, it’s as though all of a sudden these things can only be seen by me. I feel like I’m at the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party, and no attempts to exercise logic will be tolerated.
These attacks came totally out of the blue and therefore left me stunned for quite some time. Given the sources, though, I am no longer stunned. What I am is deeply and profoundly depressed and confused and disappointed, and, frankly, pissed off.
It’s hard to maintain pride in my work when my work is being discounted, overlooked, contradicted, and attacked. But since I’ve allowed all my ego to be wrapped up in that pride, the question becomes this: Without that pride, who the hell am I?
And when you add a heaping helping of pandemic isolation to the mix, all of this turns into a toxic stew, indeed. It’s affecting my health in a whole host of ways. It’s impacting many of my relationships. It is definitely causing me to lose sleep. I’ve been crying a lot. I can’t seem to focus on anything. I’m even more forgetful than I was previously, and believe me, that’s saying something.
In a nutshell, I’m struggling. I’m at the end of my rope. I’m exhausted. I tried to take a couple of days off to at least catch up on my sleep, seek counseling (which turns out to be an enormous challenge during this pandemic), and surround myself with those who actually value me, but my supervisor questioned the legitimacy of this need, and denied the request. Apparently one has to be bleeding out the eyeballs to be taken seriously around here, unless you can come up with a doctor’s note.
So this leaves me sitting here at work, feeling resentful and not optimally competent, while trying to pick up the pieces of my stress-riddled body, even as I struggle to retain at least a few of my traumatized marbles. And now I somehow have to work up the energy to try to figure out what’s left of me. Pardon my dust as I reconstruct myself from scratch. Easy peasy. Not.
This is a devastating development for one who used to love going to work. This video, which was done based on a StoryCorps interview I did years ago about being a bridgetender, demonstrates the love I had for it. I want that back, but it feels completely beyond my control.
I need to find other sources of esteem. I am more than just a bridgetender, after all. I’m also a blogger, an author, a little free library steward, a wife, a dog mom, a sister, an aunt, a cousin, a friend, and a good person, dammit. Surely, amongst those things, I should be able to find the building blocks to repair my damaged psyche. And perhaps I need to spread my esteem more thinly, over a variety of things. With it currently being so densely focused on my job, I’ll have another identity crisis if and when I retire, and I’d much rather not go through this more than once. Once is already too much.
I can’t even seem to keep up with the blogging lately, and I don’t want to hit you with a steady stream of negativity. So, I’m at a bit of a loss, here. Don’t be surprised to see more fluff posts. I’m doing the best I can.
If Wikipedia is correct in stating that it’s going to take me a few years to get my groove back, I’m not sure how I’ll cope with that. Everything about this feels bad. Really bad. The thought of it makes me weep.
I’m luckier than a lot of people. I have a wonderful husband and fabulous dogs and a comfortable home and a lot of people who love me, even if they can only do so from a distance these days. I no longer struggle economically as much as I used to, and while sexism seems to press down more heavily now, I’ve never had to cope with racism, which must add a whole other level of awfulness to the mix. I’m terrified about climate change, but I’m better positioned to tolerate it than those who are on islands, or are plagued by floods, droughts, devastating storms and forest fires. Politically, I believe this country is circling the drain, and that’s painful to watch, but I’m learning to accept what has actually been the case all along: I have limited control in that arena.
Still, I feel like I’m lost in some otherworldly maze full of dead ends, and while I truly believe the door to positive selfhood is out there somewhere, I fear I won’t have the strength to reach it again. So, for the most part, I’m just trying to remember to breathe, trying to establish healthy boundaries, and trying to be gentle with myself. I cannot control how others treat me, but I can treat myself kindly, at least. I have to remind myself that it’s okay to leave those things that aren’t really necessary along the side of the road, because right now is a time to pare things down and focus on my mental health.
When I need a pep talk, I’ll listen to this song:
And when I am overwhelmed, I’ll listen to this one:
This is not my first visit to the land of depression. Experience tells me I’ll come out the other side eventually. I just need to be patient with myself. This, too, shall pass.
Encouragement is welcome. Telling me what I’m doing wrong, or should be doing instead, will only make me feel defeated. Rest assured that I’m making all the standard efforts (this ain’t my first rodeo) and I will get through this with time and help.
If you’re wandering this maze with me, here’s my hand, dear reader. Hold on tight, and pass the tissues.
Now is the perfect time to stay at home and read a good book. Try mine! http://amzn.to/2mlPVh5
I long for the days when I was operating under the illusion that most human beings were basically civilized and kind, and relatively intelligent. It is extremely disappointing to discover, over and over again, that that’s far from the truth. The evidence, it seems, is all around us.
My niece, who is an amazing, compassionate, and very competent teacher in Missouri, brought this article to my attention. It describes how John Wallis (who also sounds like he’s an excellent and compassionate teacher to me), was all but drummed out of Neosho Junior High School by some ignorant parents backed up by some even more ignorant school administrators.
For what, you ask? For putting up a pride flag, accompanied by another flag that said “everyone is welcome”. All he wanted to do was let students know they could always come to him for help. Many students approached him and thanked him, because they hadn’t known where to go if they needed to talk.
But a parent complained about the flag and sign. Their fear was that he was going to teach their child to be gay. The Superintendent wanted Wallis to sign a letter that said that he would keep his personal agenda about sexuality out of the classroom, as if he were giving detailed descriptions of what he does between the sheets, for crying out loud.
As if that stupid Superintendent wasn’t acting upon an agenda all his own. There is never any complaint when straight teachers display photographs of their children or talk about their spouses. Why should it be any different for Wallis? As a matter of fact, they are holding him to a even higher standard because he wasn’t attempting to show pictures of his family or talk about his spouse. He was just displaying a flag and a sign. This is discrimination at its finest.
I’m going to say this loud and clear so even the people in the cheap seats will hear it.
Sexual orientation and gender identification can’t be taught. You are born with these traits as surely as you are born with your eye color or skin tone. It is a part of who you are and nothing to be ashamed of.Ever.
After all, why would anyone voluntarily proffer themselves up to be a source of your hate, misunderstanding, and cruelty? Why would anyone actively attempt to be part of a minority group to suffer from your discrimination? The very fact that you perpetuate the myth that orientation and identification are choices is why these children struggle so hard to feel like they fit in in the already cruel world of school. According to this article, “LGBTQ teenagers overall are three times as likely to attempt suicide as their heterosexual peers.”
These children need a safe place to go to help them with their confusion and their struggle to be who they are already. Any decent parent wants their child to be happy, healthy, and comfortable in their own skin. You don’t have to like it, you don’t have to agree with it, but as a parent you need to accept and preferably embrace the child that you have an obligation to love and care for. Anything less than that should bring shame down upon your head.
The fact is, we need more teachers who have the compassion to help children through those difficult growing up years, when we all struggle to understand who we are. We need all children who are in pain and/or are contemplating suicide to feel that they have a safe place to go to talk. We need professionals who can make these children feel seen and understood, because every human being has a right to feel seen and understood.
My niece had a good point. She would be a safe place to go. Could she hang a pride flag? As a straight woman, no one need fear that she would “teach their children to be gay.”
Probably not. Because, after all, she’s still teaching in freakin’ Missouri, where the ignorance is as high as an elephant’s eye. It’s tragic.
The bottom line is that schools are there to teach our children. Unfortunately, the lesson that Neosho Junior High School has chosen to teach their students by way of this whole debacle is that if you are different, it’s best to keep your mouth shut and feel ashamed rather than take pride in yourself, and that there’s no safe place for you to go. That’s a disgusting lesson to teach.
@MrJWallis, I want you to know that if I had any children of my own, I would want you to be their teacher. You are desperately needed. Don’t give up.
If you are part of the LGBTQ+ community (or anyone else, for that matter) and are contemplating suicide, please know that people care (including me). Contact the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org, or call them at 1-800-273-TALK (8255).
People gain satisfaction in a wide variety of ways.
The weather has improved, so I’m back to watering the plants in my garden. I’d forgotten how much I love to do this. I can just get quiet, shut off my brain, and commune with the plants. I feel like I’m doing something nice for them, and they show their appreciation by their growth. I love seeing things bloom or produce fruit or vegetables, or simply look beautiful in their own ways. I especially love seeing the bees enjoying them, and I delight at the worms in the soil and the snails and the ladybugs. It’s fun to watch the birds visit the birdbaths. It all just makes me happy, and makes me feel connected to the wider world.
It’s all very satisfying.
I’ve been using that phrase a lot of late. It’s a simple phrase, but it conveys a depth of emotion. Oddly, I never thought of the profound feeling that accompanies this phrase until I heard someone use it in response to a pimple popping video. I’m sure you’re saying ewwww right now, but that’s the whole point. People gain satisfaction in a wide variety of ways, and one person’s disgust is another person’s contentment over solving a physical problem quickly and efficiently.
I also find working on my little free library to be very satisfying. When I see someone taking books from it, I feel even more satisfied. I enjoy exercising at the YMCA, too, and when I’m done, I’m proud of myself, and find it very satisfying. This blog can be extremely satisfying, especially when I get a comment that shows it has touched someone.
Doing good deeds is becoming a bit of an addiction, now that I am in a position to do these things more frequently. Paying it forward is about as satisfying as it gets. Not that I’m keeping score. In fact, it’s much more satisfying when you don’t keep score.
Spending time with friends, eating a good meal, reading a book, and taking a guilt-free nap? All satisfying, in my estimation. Life is good.
It’s all about properly identifying the feelings that you have. Once you know you’re satisfied, then you become grateful for that satisfaction, and it all turns into a sort of perpetual motion machine of goodness. Yay.
So, what satisfies you?
An attitude of gratitude is what you need to get along. Read my book! http://amzn.to/2mlPVh5
I wish I could tell you where I read this quote or who said it, because it’s really sage advice. It made quite an impression on me. I can’t get it out of my head. But the rest of the details seem not to have been filed away in the dusty attic of my mind. In fairness, I’m certain that this concept did not originate with me. I wish it had.
I also wish I had heard this earlier in my life, because I employ it only sporadically. There are some things that I’m extremely proud of, such as my marriage and the way that I take care of my dogs. I also think I’m a darned good bridgetender, I am quite proud of my little free library, and I’m very proud of this blog. But other things… not so much.
For example, even though my dogs are very well cared for, I’ve been a bit lax on the training. They behave well enough, most of the time, and that satisfies me, most of the time. I also have a “Life’s too short” attitude when it comes to organization. I’m not sure when I turned the corner on that. When I was younger I was very organized and on top of things.
I do often hear myself thinking, “Screw it. That’s good enough.” I tend to quit long before a perfectionist would. Because of that, I deprive myself of the opportunity to be proud. But then, perfectionists don’t ever seem to be satisfied, so I suspect they’re not in the proud zone very often, either.
None of us are perfect, but there’s a certain beauty in doing our best, seeing things through, and giving things our all. There’s dignity in it. It’s admirable. And it says, loud and clear, that we are here.
If no one ever needed help, societies wouldn’t have been invented.
Sometimes life can be overwhelming. Sometimes that shelf is too high for you to reach. Sometimes things require more strength than you can muster. Sometimes what is required is not something you know how to do. Sometimes you realize that acting on your own could make things worse. Sometimes you find yourself in a scary situation. When that’s the case for me, I ask for help. And that’s okay.
Asking for help does not mean that you’re weak. It does not mean that you’re a victim. It does not mean that you’re being manipulative. It simply means that you need help.
A true sign of weakness, in my opinion, is refusing to ask for or accept help when it’s obviously needed. If you’re going down for the third time, it’s foolish to drown because you’re simply too proud to ask for help. It’s so much more self-destructive to suffer in silence than it is to swallow your pride and reach out for assistance.
If no one ever needed help, then societies wouldn’t have been invented. Think of asking for help as the ultimate form of taking care of yourself. You should be proud of your ability to recognize that need and act upon it.
And helpers are amazing. There was a reason that Mr. Rogers said to look for them when you see something scary. Helpers are generous and kind and compassionate and caring. A true helper isn’t going to judge you for your need. They’re not going to think less of you. They are going to realize that someday they just might need help, too. And that, too, is okay.
The coolest thing about being a human is that your asking for help today does not preclude you from lending a helping hand tomorrow. So don’t let anyone make you feel like a victim. We all have good days and bad days. There’s no shame in that. The strength is in recognizing that fact.
It pays to put your reputation ahead of your pride.
Someone I know quite well recently screwed up to an epic degree. She erred to the point of angering many people and shocking me speechless. I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing.
I tried to talk to her about it, but she couldn’t or wouldn’t hear me. She had to know that she had made a massive mistake. She was painted into a corner and she couldn’t see how to get out of it.
The way out was simple. All she had to do was sincerely apologize, admit her foolish blunder, and say she’d do her best not to let it happen again. I mean, we’re all human, after all. Nobody’s perfect.
But no. She’d rather have her pride than our respect. She’d rather be the woman on the dragon, burning down the city full of innocent people, than take the high road and step back and treat people with decency and human kindness.
No, I’m not talking about Daenerys from Game of Thrones here. As of this most recent episode, it seems she’s too far gone. But the parallels with my former friend are distressing. Sometimes it just pays to put your reputation ahead of your pride. That’s a tale as old as time.
An attitude of gratitude is what you need to get along. Read my book! http://amzn.to/2mlPVh5
It’s weird to think that the job you do may someday disappear.
One of my sisters is 9 years older than me. When I was little, I watched her grow up and enter the working world. I think in her first full time job she earned a hundred dollars a week, and I thought she was rich beyond my wildest dreams. That should give you some indication of how old I am.
I always admired her so much. She was beautiful, and cool. I tried to dress like her. And she had a cool job.
The first job I remember her having that I had any understanding of whatsoever was for our local newspaper. She was a Paste-Up Artist. She went on to do that job for a variety of newspapers in three different states.
The job no longer exists. That makes it even more exotic in my memories. It’s so exotic, in fact, that it actually merits its own Wikipedia page.
Basically, she would design the layout of the paper from day to day. Sometimes she just created the ads, choosing the borders, and making the art the proper size to fit the column. Other times she designed the whole page, choosing the font, getting the set type and pasting the type in, breaking the columns in appropriate places.
I got to go see where she worked at the Orlando Sentinel a couple of times. She had her own workspace. She knew her way around. People knew her name. It was exciting. I wanted to be her.
I thought it was cool that she got to earn money from being creative. She would often bring the paper home and show me what she had done. I was very proud of her. I remember that she took pride in making all her borders meet at perfect 90 degree angles. She even let me choose the border once. It made me think of a newspaper as a thing of beauty, and my very own sister was the one to create that beauty. People looked at her work every day. She did that.
Now, of course, all that work is done on a computer, almost as an afterthought. In fact, here I sit, laying out my blog post every day. Everything is automatically at 90 degree angles. I hope she’s proud.
Most people today probably don’t even realize that once upon a time, someone sat at a drafting table and used an exacto knife, sometimes drawing blood, and glued things together to create what they read. It’s weird to think that the job you do, the job that allows you to live and eat, the job that causes you stress and/or makes you feel glamorous for having a talent that others don’t have, might someday disappear like the dinosaurs.
I absolutely love buffets, so I try to avoid them. I am frugal by nature, so when I’m charged a fixed price in an all you can eat situation, I tend to try to get my money’s worth. In other words, I gorge myself. I don’t think I’ve ever left a buffet without feeling slightly sick to my stomach and at least moderately ashamed.
Abundance is not something I’ve experienced very often in my life, so it’s not surprising that I tend to overdo. It brings out the worst in me. I can’t imagine who I’d be if I lived in a constant state of abundance. I suspect that this is why the super rich are, for the most part, despicable human beings. If they exhibit even a shred of decency, they’ve no doubt had to work extremely hard to maintain it.
When you have to work for what you need, you appreciate it much more. When you aren’t completely sure you’ll get what you want, it inspires you to strive toward your goals. Achievements are so much sweeter when you’ve actually had to achieve them.
It’s the struggle that defines us. I don’t think pride is such a bad thing when you’ve seen a hurdle and have managed to clamber over it. Yay, you! Victories are all the more delicious for having been hard-won.
I have much more respect for those who try and don’t always succeed than I do for those who have had everything in their lives handed to them on a platinum patter. For most of us, life is not a buffet. But there’s a certain dignity to being figuratively lean and hungry, all while maintaining your integrity.
Whenever I’ve had the opportunity to make a wish, my stock response has been to ask for peace on earth. With world peace, I thought, everything else would have a much better chance of falling into place. If we could direct our energies elsewhere, surely we’d focus on the greater good, right?
Well, it was a nice idea. Unfortunately, wishing has yet to make it so. And the older I get, the more cynical I become. I no longer think most of us prioritize the greater good. Most of us just want good for me and mine.
So I decided to reverse-engineer my thought process. Why don’t we already have peace on earth? What causes war?
That’s easy. Greed. Desire for cheap oil so we can maintain our destructive lifestyles. Desire for land that never belonged to us in the first place. Desire for riches that someone else has accumulated. The view that women are chattel and men make good field hands. Desire to make a profit from the military industrial complex. As long as this greed exists, war will exist.
I’d even go so far as to say that Greed is what causes the six other deadly sins. Think about it.
Pride is feeling good about what you have, or the ways you are superior. Greed is what caused you to strive for those things.
Lust stems from the greedy need to have the best mate all to yourself.
Envy is greed unfulfilled.
Gluttony is greed that is so fulfilled that you can’t seem to stop yourself from feasting upon it.
Wrath is the feeling you get when your greed is unsatisfied.
Sloth sets in when you either become so exhausted by your greed, or you are reveling in the fact that you’ve gotten what you’ve greedily taken from others.
In this age of corruption, especially in the halls of power, greed should be viewed as our greatest enemy. So from now on, when I make a wish, it will be for the death of greed. Surely then we could know peace.
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The View from a Drawbridge 