I want to thank you for your generosity,
The love, and the honesty that you gave to me
And I never could have gone this far without you
For everything you’ve done
I want to thank you, show my gratitude,
My love and my respect for you
I want to thank you, thank you
After Saturday’s post, I have a whole new level of understanding around why it is hard to talk publicly about depression.
Not that I regret sharing. The comments on what people do to self-care were so enlightening. The number of “me, toos” that came in made me feel so much less alone and more normal. And, the check-ins from my friends by phone, text and e-mail filled me with gratitude for the love and support that I have.
So, not for a moment am I complaining. Quite the opposite.
But the thing about depression is that it thrives in the dark and in the isolation. When I took that away, and when I shone the light right into it’s scaly little eyes, wow was it uncomfortable!
In fact, the vulnerability was excruciating. Squirmy, skin crawling, bolt for the door, in the firing line excruciating. Every fibre in my being was saying Run! Hide! Don’t let them see you! Don’t talk to me or acknowledge me!
And as much as I hate it when people worry about me – who me? I’m fine – I think what I really fear is that people will pity me. Or that people will think I am pitying myself. After all, who am I to complain! Snap out of it!!!
Things are much better today.
The self-care helped. The writing helped. The sunshine helped. Talking helped. Friends helped. Hugs helped.
Growth happens at the edge of our comfort zone. Dammit.
How do I feel by the end of the day
(Are you sad because you’re on your own)
No, I get by with a little help from my friends,
Mmm, gonna to try with a little help from my friends
On December 27th I received an amazing gift from my friend at Witchy Rambles. She nominated me as her “Blog of the Year 2012”.
And here’s what she said –
“This blog is written by a friend and so I could be biased. However, I have been amazed at some of the posts she has written, some of the hard things she has shared and I love the fact that she actually started blogging. I know how hard it can be to open up to the world sometimes and so I admire her courage at starting a new project and sticking with it.
I’ve enjoyed watching her find her blog voice and I love seeing into her world. I admire all the new classes and new things she has picked up this year and think it is great that she is trying out new things. So with much love I say she is my “Blog of the year 2012″
So, yeah, that made me cry. Her blog has been an inspiration to me because I always thought blogging was something people did to make money. But her blog is so clearly for herself and to share herself. And she does it with both a fierce courage and a deep well of compassion. I like that kind of blogging. And, I like her a lot.
It’s been an amazing journey so far trying to figure out what my “blog voice” is. Tomorrow I start on Susannah Conway’s Blogging from the Heart course. So, my “blog voice” might be about to get a megaphone.
I’ll try not to squawk too much into it. Feedback welcome.
You can come in first, be the best!
Win the lotto, ace the test.
You can line all them awards all up in a row.
But who’s gonna miss ya when you’re gone?
When I am having a bad day, I am really not a nice person.
I am easily irritated, grumpy, controlling and, I’m sure, give off an energy of “touch me at your own risk”.
As I learn to not numb out using my addictive substance of choice (food), I am also slowly learning to recognize this about myself and try to “head it off at the pass”. With reaching out to friends, going for a walk, journalling. It certainly has given me some compassion for other grumpy people and for times when others might be just having a bad day.
If it gets really bad, I usually stay home and out of the world. It’s a hard line to balance against isolating myself vs. realizing that it’s okay to tell the world to f**k off. But, better the figurative third finger from home than that actual one, I suppose.
Yesterday was such a day. It was bad. I just wanted to curl up on the couch and repeat “I am enough” until my head somehow convinced my heart. To give up on trying to fake wind in my sails and just accept the becalmed, grey fog and trust that it would pass.
Thing is, this weekend is one of my favourite of the year. I have a group of wonderful women friends and we get together for the whole weekend and make chocolates for holiday gift-giving. A lot of chocolates. Usually about 3500 over the weekend.
This group of women in my life is a gift beyond compare. We range in age from our 30s to our 70s. We are married, divorced and single. Some are childless and some have grown kids, teenagers and toddlers. In less that a dozen women, we are the full range of life.
And, the opportunity to share our stories, to learn from the collective life experience of these women who walk their paths with such courage, to share the workload together, to look after each other (more tea, anyone?!) and to support and encourage each other makes me feel incredibly lucky.
So, off I went, hoping I could keep a curb on my irritability and “don’t touch” attitude, and saying a small prayer that my heart could be open to the love and hugs.
I’m not sure how I did. But, as we were wrapping the cherries with fondant to get them ready to be dipped in dark chocolate, we found this little guy. Still with his leaf attached even after a whole year of soaking in brandy.
Somehow, the hope and optimism in that cherry and leaf partnership lifted my spirits. We shared a laugh and marveled at the leaf, keen to see if survives the dipping process.
Hope is such a precious thing. I am grateful for these women in my life, who give me hope that things will be okay. Who help me refill my sails, even when I’m a grumpy chocolatier.
A few weeks ago I fell at work and hurt myself a bit. Actually, I fell twice in the same spot. More proof I am slow learner but probably also a result of some combination of the awesome shoes I was wearing and the 70-year-old flooring at work.
Which to me clearly says that someone needs to replace the flooring in that spot because I shouldn’t have to go to work in anything less than awesome shoes. Just sayin’.
I am happy to report that I did not fracture my kneecap. Actually, I am very happy to report that I did not fracture my kneecap! Although I did have the realization that I probably need more sleep when I actually dozed off for a moment lying on the x-ray slab waiting to see if the radiologist was happy with the pictures. I couldn’t help it; it was so quiet and peaceful and cell-phone free at the clinic. I wonder if you can rent space there. But, I digress.
My knees are almost back to 100% after a week of avoiding stairs and another few weeks of going slowly and using the handrails. No biggie. Except maybe for the fact that the weekend after I fell I had to go to two sporting events at BC Place, Vancouver’s stadium. Which has more stairs than one of those M.C. Escher prints.
Which is ironic since there is an amazing statue of Terry Fox at the Stadium, a guy for whom a ramp was clearly okay. It’s like they’re saying, “Listen, Terry Fox ran halfway across Canada (a marathon a day), on one leg with cancer. Now, get your ass from gate B to gate E without so much bitching.”
My knees have bounced back nicely for which I am grateful. What is taking longer is my back, my lower back. I think my back muscles were all like WTF?! It’s healing but it’s still sore, especially if I sit for too long or try to lift something heavy from ground level.
In my new spirit of awareness that “asking for help does not mean sacrificing your independence on the altar of weakness”, I have had to ask for help with the lifting and carting that comes with daily life.
Which has left me feeling kind of like a Princess because I don’t really look like I need help, and I can lift things above my head and carry stuff. I just can’t really get it from ground level to mid-level. At least with my knee limp I looked like I really should be taking the elevator. Or, creeping along by the railing at a snail’s pace at BC Place. Again, my thanks to that annoying charming streak of stubbornness that I have.
And then there’s that part of me that says “wow, you can ask for help and people are nice enough to help!” Which has been lovely but maybe dangerous because I’m a bit worried that I’ve awakened my inner Princess and that things could easily get pretty ugly pretty fast. I can see how really rich people can just get used to having people do things for them. Cook, shop, drive, tweet. Whatever.
I’d be more worried except that while I’m lucky enough to have friends who will help lift things, these are also the same friends who will say, “yeah, you can totally do that on your own and I’ll be right here on the sideline cheering you on”.
I just hope they’re there the next time I have to get from gate B to gate E.
Last week I faced the ultimate test of the single girl. IKEA furniture.
Round One – IKEA 1, Single Girl 0
Now, I am not the most handy girl. I do some stuff around my home but somehow everything that other people say is “so easy” turns into “wow, I’ve never seen/heard of that before” when I attempt it. Trying to change my beige plugs to white resulted in 5 days of no electricity in my kitchen. The one weekend reno of my fireplace surround resulted in a 5 month hole in my wall, (im)patient waiting for free help from a friend and finally paying someone else to finish the job.
But, thousands of people put together IKEA furniture every day. I am determined to be a competent, independent single woman and put together two small bedside tables.
Table #1 – got the piece almost all together but the top drawer won’t close. One screw is sticking out just enough to catch on the roller bit. Feeling proud of myself for figuring out the problem, I promptly strip the screw trying to fix it. And then I chipped a nail. My fingernail not a hardware nail. And then I walked away before I threw the bedside table out the window.
Sidebar here to explain why chipping a nail is more than just a shallow first world complaint for me. I was a nail-biter all my life. I tried countless times to quit. It’s a disgusting habit and I felt ashamed that I couldn’t stop. I spent thousands of dollars and countless hours of my time getting fake nails done. But two years ago when I was seeing a therapist to help deal with my anxiety I realized that my nail-biting was a response to anxiety.It’s always great to pay your therapist when they help you realize the blindingly obvious.
So, on my 42nd birthday I decided that every time I caught myself biting my nails I would stop and ask myself “what do you feel anxious about right now” and deal with that. That was 18 months ago and I haven’t bitten my nails since. So, having nails is a bit of a new thing for me.
Okay, back to Round One. I wisely walked away from the bedside table before I also had a broken window. I texted a friend about my frustration. Her response? “yeah, my husband had trouble putting together the IKEA furniture I bought last weekend”. I walked away from my phone, too.
Round Two – IKEA 1, Single Girl 1
I’ve evened the score. Table #2 resulted in success. It was a close call, though. If this was a real fight, I would have lost a few teeth in this round. I spent 10 minutes looking for a screw that had mysteriously ended under the couch (did I mention I’m cat-sitting?). I spent a few moments cursing IKEA for not aligning the holes better as I struggled to fit the top on. And, when I finally got the whole piece together, carefully NOT stripping any screws, I discovered I had put one piece on backwards and now the screws showed on the front. Which lead to me having to TAKE THE PIECE APART AND PUT IT TOGETHER AGAIN!
For all those times when I have cursed my stubborn personality – beat a dead horse? Why, thanks, don’t mind if I do! – at that moment I gave thanks and gratitude for my stubborn streak that is as wide as an IKEA parking lot.
I debated giving myself extra points for being able to deconstruct the piece without breaking anything but I figured I also probably lost a point for putting the piece on backward in the first place.
Round Three – IKEA 1, Single girl 1.5, XY friend 0.5
Ladies – you can strip on a pole, strip your leg hair off with wax, strip off your gaunch to go skinny-dipping but do not, under any circumstances, strip a screw!! Men apparently already know this since all my male friends just nodded with the obviousness of the whole thing when I explained my situation.
One of the things that I hate about being single is doing my own home repairs. In these moments, especially in Round One, I just wanted to hand the whole mess over to a husband with the knowledge that in the cosmic order of gender assigned tasks, this one is his. Gay friends – I have no idea how you sort this out.
I know this is a fallacy. When my girlfriends talk about their husbands, I AM listening. I know that not all men are good at home repair and that not all women are, well, me. And that the reason the grass is greener on the other side is that it’s fertilized with bullshit. But, if you can find a husband/partner who loves to do home repairs, baby put a hex ring on it!
It’s hard for me. Probably more accurately, I am hard on me. I think I should be able to do everything for myself and by myself. I hate asking for help. Single women should be strong. Right? Cause otherwise we’re weak. Bad enough to be pitied for the stigma of singlehood without being unable to do home repairs. Or, car repairs (yeah, I suck at those, too). I feel like I should stand by with smelling salts when I admit to my male friends that I take my car to the dealership for servicing.
I think we are taught that independence is supposed to equal freedom. But I am learning that being unable to ask for help when you need it is a particular kind of prison. A cage of isolation made of pride and ego and maybe some fear thrown in there for good measure.
When I moved into my place, lots of friends came over and helped me renovate. When I look around, I don’t think “I am so weak for needing help with this”. I think how lucky I am to have people in my life who love me enough to spend 5 hours stripping wallpaper for me. (remember – stripping wallpaper? Okay. Stripping screws” NOT okay). That love and generosity is imbued into my walls and fills the air.
So, I asked for help. And, a very wonderful XY friend (with freakishly strong wrists) unscrewed the stripped screw and screwed in back in properly. I think it took him all of 15 seconds. Problem solved. So, I gladly give him a half point for that and I am giving myself a half point for asking for help.
When I look at my bedside tables, I have the perfect balance. One table put together all by myself – feeling proud of that one and for my stubbornness perseverance. One table put together with some help from a friend – feeling blessed to be able to ask for, and receive, help.
Perhaps IKEA is really Swedish for “learn about yourself while putting together inexpensive home furnishings”.
Only one problem … there is a really nice dresser that matches the bedside tables …
My good friend Melanie from Mad Passions asked me to do a guest post on her blog while she’s travelling. Head on over to Mad Passions to see what I have learned about myself so far from my ventures in glass art.
This fall I am going to Los Angeles for work and I have one free night to explore. Saturday night. I was trying to think of what to do and facing the fact that I am extremely unlikely to do something “wild single girl” like and dress up and go clubbing on my own. But, I don’t really want to sit in my hotel room alone, either.
My brilliant friend S suggested I see what music or shows are playing on my one free Saturday night in L.A. So, I hopped on Ticketmaster, typed in the date and guess what popped up!! (well, the photo kind of gives it away).
The touring production of the Book of Mormon is in town that night!!! I’ve been wanting to see this show for the last 18 months. We were in New York for Easter Weekend and couldn’t get tickets (although we did see Avenue Q, which I highly recommend). I checked – there was a SINGLE TICKET left for the show. In the front row of the Mezzanine!!
This single girl now has that single ticket in her hot little hand. Squeee!!!!
A Fish and a Bicycle 