Learning to Unlearn...

I'm not a big fan of "self-help" as it is traditionally defined. In the past, the books I've read, the counseling sessions I've attended, the workbooks, journals and seminars I've participated in have all been focused on my past...looking for a cause and effect as if finding the source of my depression or anxiety would miraculously make me less depressed or anxious. There might have been some positive thinking sprinkled in there for good measure but I often felt like my "problems" were my fault because I was too weak (minded or willed) to have dealt with them as they were emerging. So, I have been living in the past for a very, very long time.

Every time a relationship failed I thought about the past...the boys I 'let' mistreat me, the approval I constantly sought from my alcoholic father, the not-so-happy marriage my parents struggled through. And every time I sat on the side lines...a wallflower of sorts...never sticking my neck out for anything (be it a cause or promotion or recognition for work well done) I thought again about the past...the competition I created with my sister who was very outgoing, the girls in my class who were called pretty, the times I felt invisible or was picked last in games and being laughed at or ridiculed when I did fail. For every shortcoming I had I was directed to look at a specific event (or person) to place the blame...leaving me (and many others) sure that if only I could receive a sincere, heartfelt apology I could become whole again...why else would we search so hard for the source?

But by always focusing on past "mistakes" or past "reasons" I was basically inviting the same results in to my present.

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Every rejection and break-up solidified my self-worth. Every success was chalked up to sheer luck. The self-help books I was reading at the time felt like weights around my ankles keeping me aware of my short comings (and perhaps creating more) with no real direction to move forward other than writing letters to those who hurt me and thinking positive thoughts or looking at myself in the mirror and saying "you are beautiful" over and over. Those books also tried to make me feel better by saying I wasn't alone...constantly trying to equate my pain with others...or attempting to diminish it by saying some people have it worse.

And while I understand that there are people around the world who do have huge challenges, who are abused, or sold into slavery and starving I also know that these facts do not just take away the pain someone is feeling. We can't 'cure' ourselves by stepping on (or using) those who are also struggling. Comparison can be dangerous...being sad about a pet who died is okay, one doesn't have to "put it into perspective" and try to diminish those emotions because some else, somewhere in the world suffered a "worse" tragedy. All that it does is make us feel selfish and wrong for our feelings of sadness. And now we are back in the cycle of needing to be "fixed" because we've learned our emotions are inappropriate.

I think there is a better way...a way to reflect on our past (not live in it) and use it to change our now (and our future).

I cringe when I hear people say things like "well, nobody's perfect" and "everyone has issues". Not because it isn't true (most likely it is) but because phrases like those are often used as crutches to justify a  kind of giving up, the kind that comes from accepting our condition and allowing our minds to remain in the rut we've created.

What I mean is...when we are always accepting (and expecting) a certain outcome (or emotion) we might be creating a pathway for the same thing to keep happening "to us" over and over again. I used to get panic attacks which were often work related. It got so bad that by Sunday morning (I was off on the weekends) you could find me curled up in a dark room crying because Monday was looming over my shoulder like the Grim Reaper. It wasn't that I had some horrible task to take care of Monday morning that I was dreading...it was simply that the weekend was ending. Sure I hated my job...but not only was I unhappy at work but now I was unhappy at home because I was constantly thinking about work and evoking those horrible feelings even when things were "okay" in the present moment. Of course, by the time the work week started I would have a miserable time and the days would feel like weeks. Again, there wouldn't necessarily be any horrific 'thing' that happened but my mind created (and recreated every Sunday morning) a disaster of a week. And the week almost always lived up to my expectations.

My weekends were no longer a source of relaxation and fun...they became almost as unbearable as going to work. I would look forward to having two full days off only to then torture myself by counting down the hours until I had to go back to that hell hole. The same thing would happen on vacation. Imagine having a week off, splashing in the pool, drinking a cocktail with an umbrella in it only to break down in tears because you realized that every sunset wasn't beautiful anymore because it was really a dreadful reminder that it was now one day closer to the vacation ending. I became sullen, depressed and inconsolable. A real Debby Downer.

I've recently read The War of Art by Steven Pressfield and although it is geared toward the creative process I was moved by the chapter Resistance and Healing. In it, Pressfield writes about the subculture of healing being  the belief that one needs to 'complete' his healing before he is ready to live his dream. He goes on to say:

"Resistance knows that the more psychic energy we expend dredging and re-dredging the tired, boring injustices of our personal lives, the less juice we have to do our work."

To me, the work can be anything from painting to writing to composing music...but most importantly it's living. Living in the here and now...not rehashing the hurtful thing some high school kid said to you 25 years ago. Not giving more power to a selfish or addicted parent who was too busy (or drunk) to have taught you about self-worth. And certainly not judging your work ethics by the actions of some asshole who thought it was impressive to fire you on the spot for asking to take a break after leading trail rides for the past 5 hours without stepping out of the saddle. Whew...I guess THAT one still stings a little.

The book I'm currently reading, Breaking the Habit of Being Yourself: How to Lose Your Mind and Create a New One by Joe Dispenza, takes things even further by explaining how we can become addicted to feelings we experience which means we continually seek out more experiences which produce those feelings. For instance, if at some point in our lives we've been called lazy or hot tempered or maybe even labeled as emotionally unstable (I was "diagnosed" as manic back in 1987 at an in-patient hospital but never since) we tend to start identifying with those things which causes us to "claim" those traits which then forms our personality. Over the course of 10 or 20 years we believe we are lazy or introverted or ugly or a binge eater or just not good at sports (regardless if these statements are even true!!) and this emotional state (our way of thinking and feeling) becomes engrained...it becomes who we are. We even begin to define ourselves as these things..."Oh, I'm just a lazy person, always have been, always will be"..."I have a hot temper and I just cannot control it".

You see, we resign ourselves to be whatever we were told (or told ourselves) in the past. And no amount of "positive thinking" (or medication) can change 20 years of proving them (or us) right. But there is a way to rewire our brain...and part of the process is through meditation.

Now that I am becoming aware I am even more convinced that we turn over far too much of our lives and well-being to other people. We get labeled by friends, school mates, parents, doctors, psychologists, psychiatrists, teachers, etc., and then allow those labels define who we are. We seek out experiences that "prove" those labels are correct. We let our minds wonder with thoughts of the past or even future events that haven't even happened to simulate the feelings that keep us trapped in our current state of being.

Looking back at my earlier story about the awful dread I felt on Sundays I can see now that I was using past experiences (perhaps a particularly bad day at work) and rehashing it in my mind until I felt as bad as I did the day it occurred. I was then projecting that I would continue to have this kind of bad day every day...building up the anxiety. Going to work with that amount of anxiety meant I often missed out on the good parts of work, I was tense and on edge...actually having a physical response to the chemicals my body was releasing due to my anxiety. I couldn't get out of my own way because I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, certain that anything positive was an illusion rather than the scenario I kept creating in my mind and body.

Although I am not quite finished with the book, I feel a weight has lifted off of my shoulders. I'm beginning to question some of the labels I've accepted and/or placed on myself...like being an introvert, an over-planner, "mousy-brown", invisible, prone to depression, ad nauseum. I feel like I've been given "permission" to step outside of that box I created and become who I am supposed to be...someone without paralyzing fear and self-doubt...someone who doesn't finish things...someone who is often sad for 'no reason'.

Until then, here's a little video that might peak your interest in this "new" research. I hope you enjoy it.

Lessons From My Mother Through the Eyes a Self-Righteous Daughter

My older sister, me and my mom circa 1972 in Tokyo, Japan.

I've always loved my mom...but I haven't always respected her. Those are hard words to type and actually bring tears to my eyes. I mean, I don't have to confess this to anyone. I am ashamed of myself. But I've learned so much about her, and myself, since my dad died that I want to scream from the roof tops how amazing she is...and it just wouldn't makes as much sense without telling you that it wasn't always this way.

I've always gotten along with my mom...she's fun, super nice, always in a good mood and seems to never tire until after her family's needs have been tended to. She talks to everyone and always offers a heartfelt compliment...cashiers, bus boys, toll takers, TSA agents...everyone. She's also a great listener and is the type of person who, instead of trying to turn the conversation around to talk about herself, will ask more questions of the speaker allowing them to remain in the spotlight. She's affectionate and thinks nothing of hugging me and kissing me whenever the urge hits her, even in public (and no matter if I am 6, 16 or 42).  If she feels like showing her love she just does it. And her laugh is infectious...you see it in her eyes and you feel it in the air...there's nothing fake about it.

Our family lived in a kind of vacuum. My dad was in the Air Force and consequently we moved frequently, about every 3 years. Growing up without an extended family around and changing friends regularly meant we pretty much relied on each other as company. The older I got and the more we moved, the less likely I was to try to maintain old friendships and make new ones. I am an introvert and the effort was too much.

Our little family...I have no idea why I'm the only one not smiling...

Without the influence of other relationships and without the ability to observe other family dynamics the foundation for what I would perceive as normal was laid for me by my parents. Don't get me wrong, this isn't the old blame game...just an observation. My parents did everything they could for my sister and me...including getting us horses. We always had food, new clothes every school year, pets to play with and we always sat down to dinner together. We played games like Yatzee or watched sitcoms in the evening. We took family vacations...normally to visit family in Pennsylvania meaning a major road trip at least once a year, but we also went camping, visited Disney World and saw pretty much all of the tourist attractions in whatever area we happened to be living in at the time.

So, how is it I lost respect for my mom? Well, my dad was an alcoholic...a functional alcoholic, but an alcoholic none-the-less. I don't know when that happened because in my lifetime, he was always an alcoholic. He grew up on a farm and it was hard work, he dropped out of school in the 8th grade, he was the one who found his father dead of a massive heart attack, he went to Vietnam and saw things no human being should see, early in his career he struggled to provide for his family and he also went undiagnosed as bi-polar for almost his entire life. These aren't excuses but realities. He was the only man I knew and the only man for a very long time who would have any influence on my life and experiences. And he took his suffering out on my mom by belittling her in front of his children.

My mom visiting us in Santa Cruz.

I doubt he understood the harm he was causing from his behavior (god, I hope not) but his disappointment with my mom for various, sometimes petty things seemed never ending. In time I learned that his disappointment was really about himself , something my mom and I talked about during our last visit.

My mom rarely stood her ground, at least not that we could see. The more it happened (which equated to the 'worse' of a drunk he became and the longer he went without treatment for his mental health disorder) the weaker my mom appeared in my eyes. Us kids would test the grounds ourselves, offering a few disrespectful comments here and there, speaking down to her and ultimately feeling superior or maybe smarter than her and we felt no repercussions from our behavior. I don't believe we were ever cruel nor was this an intentional act but more like a learned behavior. Also, it is not abnormal for there to be a sort of  'power struggle' between teen girls and their mother as part of the growing process.

But what gets me is that somewhere down inside I knew my dad had a problem. Yet, I chose his relationship style over my mom's. I saw my mom more and more as a push-over and people pleaser rather than a parental figure and a loving, sensitive person (who also needed to be loved back). I guess I thought that in  order for me to be a success I needed to be more like my dad. After all, he was a middle school drop out who had managed to earn his master's degree while working his full-time job in the military (and still earning promotions) and raising a family. He was smart, driven, sarcastic, condescending, judgmental (yet afraid of confrontation) and moody. He was my hero...and he was kind of an asshole to my mom.

My parent's wedding day...August 26, 1967.

 I know he loved her, provided for her and even she will tell you that if she wanted for something he would be sure she got it. But apparently, his need...the need to feel feel superior and less like a failure due to his own insecurities...required him to belittle her. And she took it. And I wondered why she didn't leave him even though there was no where for her to go. She had sacrificed her own dreams and career to follow him around the world as an Air Force wife. They were married in 1967...things were different then and women just didn't up an leave, especially since my dad's alcoholism was our family's secret due to his military career. The longer she stayed with him, as he spiraled further into the abyss that is alcoholism, the more I wanted her to leave.

But she did stay...for 42 years. And one day they were in a car accident and my dad died. And my mom became this amazingly strong person right before my eyes. Perhaps that strong person was always there but the shadow my dad made snuffed out the light she needed to blossom or for us to even notice.

Doesn't my mom just glow?

I spent 6 weeks with her this past spring and I finally talked to her about all of these thoughts I've had. I confessed to her the misguided judgements I had passed even though my own life was far from perfect and some of my own past relationships were perhaps worse in comparison. It's so easy to tell someone else how to improve their life rather than work on your own.

She spoke to me of the lack of emotion from him early on in their relationship which she led her to shower us with the love that not only she had but also what he felt for us, but could not show. She didn't let his fear of people and crowds (he was painfully introverted) diminish her love for them and she always had friends. She didn't let his moodiness be cast on her like a wet blanket but instead let her joy show not only in her smile but in her entire being. She didn't let his irrational and spontaneous ideas (he once bought a show car with money he had pulled out of an investment with steep penalties for early withdrawal...without telling her) take away from the needs of her children, always finding ways to make ends meet even though it was she who often got blamed for over-spending.

You see, I found that my mom, in a way, has learned something a lot of us struggle with daily. We have the ability (and the right) to choose how happy we want to be...even if we are surrounded by unhappiness. Although she chose to 'stick it out' with my dad, she did so under her own power and with her own principles in mind. Surely she wasn't always happy...and perhaps she wondered about the 'what-if's'...don't we all? But she took a bad situation and not only lived through it but thrived...as a strong woman who is still so full of joy and goodness.

My mom made the bouquet for my wedding in Tahoe.

I don't look at my mom as a weak person anymore. She is strong beyond belief. While I was full of self-righteousness and thought she should be better or different than what she was, she was accepting of all of us just as we were. Trust me, there is a lesson in that. She deserves my respect and then some.

These days, while I still long for the approval from a dead father who was never one to show emotion anyway, I find myself ever thankful that my mother has shown me that it doesn't really matter and to just be happy with what it is I am doing. My hope now is to one day be as strong and loving as my mom.

Releasing your crappy run...

As I mentioned in a previous post, there are times when I feel that running is just not my calling. Or perhaps the truth is I want to run but it's hard and I am just not good at it...and therefore should pick up a more suitable hobby like watching the sun move across the sky or reviewing the new flavors Pringles has come out with. Both of these sound like awesome endeavors which would require so much less physical and emotional exertion than running 13 miles on a ninety degree day.

Working from home and setting my own hours has given me the freedom to stay up late (thanks to the hubby's schedule) and in turn, wake up late. I'm not complaining...it just means I am now too lazy to wake up at the crack of dawn to go running before the heat sets in. In admitting this I get to question my intention and commitment to running. I'm an over-analyzer...what can I say.

There was no escaping the heat this day.

Yesterday I drove to Benecia (about 30 miles west) in an attempt to escape the 100 degrees we were experiencing at home. I had two options...try to run my scheduled 14ish miles on a treadmill at the gym without losing my mind or sacrifice some gas money to drive to a more suitable (read: cooler) location. So, off to Benecia I went where the temperature at the start of my run was a pleasant 90 degrees. Just a little tip: when checking the Internet for current temperatures be sure to check more than one site, especially if it promises you that it will be a comfortable 20 degrees cooler with fabulous scenic vistas to make your long run the most fantastic run of your life.

Benecia State Recreation Area

Fortunately, the scenic vistas were pretty fabulous but it was hard to appreciate them through the sweat and later, the calf cramps. I tried to be careful and of course I listened to my body (watching for signs of heat exhaustion and also taking it easy) but at some point my desire for cold water over took all rational thinking and I found my lips almost permanently attached to the water fountain drinking more than I should at one time.

The Benecia Bridge, blackberries ripening and Mt. Diablo in the distance.

 I struggled through the last 5 miles...physically my calves were locking up, I was chafing in places I didn't know chafed (my belly-button?? that's new) and my feet were hurting (I had tried to run on the trail/gravel as much as possible which kinda tore up my tender nubbins) but emotionally I was suffering even more. First was the ridiculousness of having driven so far to run only to still be in the heat, then was the nagging Runkeeper voice that kept repeating my snail-like pace and saying things like 'obviously you must have meant to hit walk not run on the settings, you slow-ass idiot' and then I started wondering what had possessed me to sign up for another full marathon (the Half Moon Bay International Marathon on Sep 23). At mile eight I was wondering if I should drop down to the half...at mile nine I really thought the 10K would be a better choice...at mile ten I contemplated 'retiring' from running starting that instant.

So here I am, a little sore with a bruised ego and yet still kinda proud I got my run in, even if it was slow and miserable. I realize I need more compassion in my life and that includes compassion for myself which is something that I read about last night.

"If we are willing to stand fully in our own shoes and never give up on ourselves, then we will be able to put ourselves in the shoes of others and never give up on them." ~Pema Chodron Start Where You Are: A Guide to Compassionate Living

I know this is deeper than running...but it still flipped a switch for me...that it is okay for me to have a bad run, feel a little sorry for myself, show myself some compassion but also to not give up. It's about being okay {a little bit} with the self-doubt, acknowledging that it is just a thought, the same as thinking the a flower is pretty or that a particular perfume smells bad. It doesn't identify me nor does it mean it's true so I can just let the thought go...just like the passing thoughts that cross your mind during meditation or yoga.

"Affirmations are like screaming that you're okay in order to overcome this whisper that you're not." ~Pema Chodron Start Where You Are: A Guide to Compassionate Living

This also rang true to me. After all, I've done the affirmation thing, I've spoken about my goals in the present tense and then I blogged about how we are always telling ourselves that we aren't good enough...and thanks to the whole self-help industry, apparently we never will be. But what if we take a softer approach, allow a moment to acknowledge the shitty feeling and then let it float away (like a fart in the wind). Then maybe we can get back to what we were doing...finishing that run, editing that blog post, submitting that article, applying for that job, etc.

As I sit here and nurse my sore legs (with a foam roller and stretching) I know that come September 23rd I'll be running my second full marathon having trained through the good runs and bad and that I will be proud of my accomplishment no matter what happens. This doesn't mean that I don't have a goal for this race but simply that this is a race a choose to run, a challenge I set for myself and that there is no pressure to define myself as a success or failure because of this event.

Cattails and Sunshine

It's like a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders releasing myself from some of the expectations I placed there...that every  run should be fast and magnificent and that it all gets easier and fun over time (sorry but going for a two and a half hour long run at 90 degree by yourself may offer some nice alone time...or may drive you to delirium...either way you end up with a nausea hang-over while simultaneously feeling like you haven't eaten in 4 days). They are just long runs after all...running one mile and then another after that until you're done. But you can be certain that this will be my last full marathon. =)

Where "Self-Help" fails...

For a while now I've been kinda beating myself up for not having a big group of friends from which I could pick and choose to accompany me to the gym or coffee or a crazy shopping spree a la Sex and the City to buy all of the latest trends. I've always thought it was a flaw (being shy) or that maybe people just don't like me {insert pity-party here}. 

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Actually, this is not a new place to be for me. As an Air Force Brat I sometimes looked at our moves as an opportunity to reinvent myself...yea, even before Madonna was doing it...and I would tell myself that when we arrived at our next duty assignment I was going to answer only to my middle name, Susanne. I felt Lynn was boring...and obviously my name was holding me back. In my mind if I changed my name then I could change who I was completely. But I always chickened out and when introduced to new people I would blurt out "Hi, I'm Lynn", afraid they would somehow figure out I was an imposter if I said otherwise.

Sue Heck from The Middle, when she changed her name to Suki.

Over time I read numerous books that promised to change me into who I was really meant to be, which I am sure was a table-top dancing socialite who also happened to be BFF's with Jen Aniston, with total disregard to who I already was. Always trying to fix myself whether or not I was even 'broken'...that is the conundrum created by self-help-itis.


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It's as if we don't have enough pressure in this life...pressure to wear the right kind of jeans (Gloria Vanderbilt, of course) and shoes (Reebok's...without socks) in Junior High, pressure to pick the right career path (I'm 41 and still don't know what I want to do with my life let alone figure out what my calling is...I've been listening but have not received a reply yet), pressure to marry the right person and have babies (I remember my dad telling me when I was a little girl that I could be anything I wanted and then doing a complete 180 and saying there was nothing wrong with me being a housewife)...so we add in the pressure of always striving to be different or somehow better then who we are.

And we are convinced that it is a never ending quest...It can be exhausting...

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It's a fast track to disappointment because, if you're anything like me you didn't wear the trendy clothes in Junior High (nor do you wear them now) and maybe you didn't marry the right person the first {or second} time around...so you perpetuate this inadequacy by reading books or watching TV shows that make you feel like you should be...well, like any one else except you.

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So I may not have that many girl-friends or a standing lunch date every week but I do know (after my car broke down 2 weeks ago when it was 100 degrees out and I had a trunk full of groceries) that I do have friends who are there for me when I need them. I also know that I really enjoy an abundance of alone time (call me selfish) preferring to do many activities on my own without the pressure of accommodating someone else's expectations or happiness (none of that "what do you want to do? I don't care...whatever you want to do?" so you pick something only to be told "well, certainly not that...anything but that...").
I'm an introvert and no amount of self-help books or subliminal CD's will change that (I know, I've tried about 100 ways to create a New and Improved Me) and I'm pretty sure that even if there was that one magic self-help book that could change me I wouldn't buy it or even download it to my Kindle. Nope, not gonna do it.

Certainly there are a lot of areas in my life where I can improve. I'd like to work on my cooking repertoire (which I think my husband would appreciate since right now his dinners consist of grilled chicken, rice, veggie followed by grilled steak, rice, veggie with an occasional grilled fish, rice, veggie) and of course I want to work on my writing, photography, editing, running, and spiritual life (I might have mentioned once, or maybe 5 times, that I wanted to make meditation a priority in my life once again).

There's a fine line between pursuing goals or finding ways to grow as a person and falling in to the self-help trap that makes you wish you were some one else (okay, so maybe being a rich heiress wouldn't be all that bad). Our quest to be a better person shouldn't make us feel inadequate or flawed because of specific personality traits. Not everything should be viewed as something we need to 'fix' but rather something we can use to enhance our other experiences.



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These past few days I've been researching the first leg of our Grand RV Adventure. In roughly 4 months we will be pulling up stakes and hitting the road permanently in our RV loving named The Mutiny. Planning long stays in State and National Parks with no electricity and only my husband as company I realize the benefits of being introverted when it comes to seclution. As the weight lifts off my shoulders and the self-blame disappaites like sweat in a tech-tee I find I am comfortable being me.