Posts Tagged ‘judgement’

Sleeping In!

June 28, 2017

An extra fifteen minutes.

Woot.

It’s a party.

Heh.

My boss will be dropping off one of my charges at a summer camp and not back to the house until fifteen minutes after I would normally be starting, so she said, come in fifteen minutes late.

I’ll take it.

I will take any little squeak of time I can get.

I talked about time a lot with my therapist.

How it is a commodity.

How I have often felt that I don’t have enough of it.

(Love)

(Time)

(Money)

All the scarcity that I have dealt with in my life, how embracing abundance can be challenging and sometimes when I have it I want to spend it all, frivolous and mad, just to have it gone again so I can go back to a place of comfortable discomfort.

That didn’t come up so much, but I can see that pattern there in the background looming and lurking there.

I see you, I say to it, it’s ok, it’s going to be alright, you can buy those shoes.

You can book that trip.

You can have a nice cup of coffee.

You can do for you.

Heck.

You can do for others.

The gift of being able to give my friend baby gifts and food, that felt so wonderful, I love gifting things.

The gift of giving my writing, that can be so astounding for me to share.

So vulnerable.

What I was talking to my therapist about was this thing that happens with me in my group supervision and has happened for me on occasion, ok, more than on occasion, in school, is a distaste for people who waste time, who dilly dally, who are not clear, who can’t make discerning conclusions, who have to be led, who haven’t done the work, who are sloppy.

Messy.

Not put together, and not in the way that sounds, I mean, not concise with their language, thoughts, ideas.

Don’t waste my fucking time.

I don’t have enough of it and you’re not getting to the fucking point fast enough.

GET TO THE MOTHERFUCKING POINT.

BITCHES.

I mean.

Please.

My therapist points out, “sounds like judgement.”

Ugh.

Yes.

I know it’s judgement.

But what she then did was spin it so eloquently, so aptly, so delicate and with such a tactful manner that I got it, I got to work right through it and see that when I am in judgement I am defending some part of myself that I am not happy about.

I don’t want to be messy.

I don’t want to be disorganized.

I don’t want to be scattered.

And I never really am.

I am so super on top of shit it’s a little intense.

I do my work.

I do my work.

I do my work.

And then some.

And it can be a control thing, duh.

So much control, so much safety, comfort in the bound parts of me, comfort in the restricting.

I’ve never been messy about my trauma.

Or traumas.

Or the traumatic things in my life.

There’s a list, look them up elsewhere in my blog, this is not about the list, this is about the fact that it was never ok to be messy and upset about it.

Soldier the fuck on.

Chin up kid.

Clear your fucking plate.

Eat your food.

Don’t cry.

And God forbid don’t act like anything is anything but normal.

Normal.

What the fuck is that?

So.

I squashed it down.

I squashed all the messy and teary and hurt and angry and vengeful parts of me down.

I stuffed it down.

I ate too much food.

I escaped into fantasy.

I escaped into taking care of others.

So much easier to focus on another person’s problems rather than my own.

I smoked it down.

I snorted it down.

I drank it down.

And as I was expressing to my therapist, I realize I really just don’t let myself get messy, vulnerable, or dirty.

Except.

Well.

I do.

In one area.

And we talked about that and I cried a bit and I laughed a lot and I outlined the messy and then I outlined the happy and the love and the feelings and the experiences and it was really good to share.

And she reflected back to me and showed me how brave it was to not eat, drink, smoke, or do lines of cocaine to deal with all that hurt and that I have been doing the work and it really does show and that it’s obvious that things are changing in my life because I am being more vulnerable, less guarded, I’m letting things in.

I’m in my voice.

I haven’t lost it.

I am asking for what I want and saying what is in my heart and it’s glorious.

I am seen.

And it feels just fucking smashing.

So.

Um.

Yeah.

I had a good session today.

And then off to work, busy day, full day, lots of juggling baby and siblings and cooking and laundry and lots of sweet snuggles with the oldest boy who read a book with me about stars.

“Are we really made from stars?” He asked me.

“Yes,” I told him, and kissed the top of his head, “you are a multitude of stars, you shine.”

I am always beholden to those that shine.

I feel like I am shining now.

Bright and strong and fierce.

It’s a wonderful place to be.

In my strength.

And.

In my vulnerability.

From where all my strength stems.

When I let it.

When I am not judging.

When I am ok with being.

Well.

Um.

Messy.

 

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Up Past My Bed Time

July 16, 2016

But, oh, so don’t give a fuck.

The dancing.

It was so worth it.

Spectacular.

Although.

I have to say, the crowd, the kids, the young, entitled didn’t come for the music, but came for the see and be seen and don’t know who the dj is but I’m going to dance in front of him and make out with my friends even though he asked us to get off the stage, crowd, was not a crowd I’m much a fan of.

That being said.

I danced hard and long.

Three hours.

No.

Scratch that, three and a half hours.

Solid.

Didn’t really move, well, I moved, but I didn’t move much from the spot I was in most of the night.

I texted my people.

I said where I was at.

I stashed my purse and coat underneath the dj booth.

The benefit of getting to the show a little early is not just having a nice prime spot up front, but also, usually some decent access to a set of speakers or a turn table set up.

I hid my shit underneath the dj’s coffin and checked it once.

Sent back a couple of text messages, I’m up front, and left the phone in the purse and forget, well, I didn’t forget it, but I was pretty happy and at ease and with my friends and my school chums and also a sort of date, we both happened to be at the show and casually bumped into each other and he bought me a water and it was cute.

I haven’t been out in a while.

Some things change.

Some things stay the same.

My knees are older.

I can’t drop it like it’s hot.

Fuck.

I can’t drop it like it’s lukewarm anymore.

But I can still shake my hips and shimmy and have a great big happy smile on my face and get right with God.

God is music.

Didn’t you get the memo?

I got a right proper smile, a mouthed thank you, and the nod from the first dj after he finished his set.

The same one who was ignoring the trio of oddly self-fixated girls that were trying way too hard to be sexy and wound up looking too much like a promo ad for a cheap smelling sex lube.

I mean.

I’m sorry ladies.

Yes.

You have beautiful bodies, but there’s so much more to living than that, it’s fleeting, it’s never going to be what you want and then it’s gone and you haven’t grown your heart or your soul.

I actually felt sorry for them after I got over being in judgement.

I like who I am.

I love being sexy, don’t get me wrong, but I think I am sexy because I am comfortable with who I am and also, I have no actual grasp on what I look like.

I sort of get lost in my own head and forget who I am.

I am just this body, this heart, this amalgamation of parts walking around housing a soul that loves to be light and joyous.

I’m not always.

That’s not sustainable.

But, oh, when the music is good and I’m in it.

I’m really in it.

“I knew we would find you here!” One of my darling girlfriends said as they arrived to greet me with hugs and love and squeals of happy that we were all out on a Friday after an atrociously busy week.

All of us know exactly what a big deal it is at this point in our lives to carve out time to go and do what we did.

Dance at a club in San Francisco.

It’s no big deal.

And yet.

It’s a huge deal.

I’ve officially thrown my schedule way off whack just by getting home at 2 a.m.

I have things to do tomorrow, people to see, coffee to drink, doing the deal to get done.

And yoga?

I mean.

Not sure that I’ll be going to the 9 a.m. class which is usual Saturday morning deal.

But I do want to go.

Although not necessarily for the exercise, I got plenty of that, but to keep the momentum going and also because my work hours will switch back to 10a.m-6p.m. next week, meaning no more yoga before work.

I’ll probably get in one class in the evening and have to do classes again next weekend.

Tomorrow, should the coffee date not go great, and who knows, dude hasn’t confirmed that we’ll be meeting, I may just do an afternoon yoga class.

Then again.

My brain just might wake me up and say, get on with your day and don’t muck with your sleep schedule.

All in all.

Luxury problems.

Truly.

I am super grateful to have gotten through the week, ask for what I needed at work, spend some very sweet time with the boys, and thank God, make it through without getting any serious crazy.

Really, though it was a long week, it went by fast and I’m already looking toward next week and hey, lady, stay here.

Stay in this moment.

Feel your body.

My body, which could use a snack, I burned up some calories, I broke a good hard sweat.

A mind that needs to process the goop and the gack and the random thoughts of weirdness and throw them out here on the page so that I can retire with a clear head and sleep the sleep of the just.

And also.

Sleep the sleep of the person who has been told they can borrow a blow up mattress for the event, Burning Man, man, I’m always working that in somewhere, and also the nice rest of knowing that I do have a tent, and a good tent at that, lined up and a place to camp with friends.

The ride there is slowly working it’s way out.

We shall see what happens.

And my bicycle is being handled.

Really, it’s all coming together.

I just can’t quite see it yet, but as I told a friend earlier today in a message, once you make the decision to go and get the ticket, the rest just falls into place.

It always does.

It always has.

Good and dreamy and sweet.

Just like how I feel right now in my danced out skin.

Night all.

See you on the flip.

Love is the Master Principle

June 18, 2014

Well fuck.

So it is.

“Get your ego out-of-the-way and let people help you,” he said to me over the phone today.

“Listen,” he continued, “figure out a number and let me help you.”

I have a person in my community who has offered to help me throw a fundraiser to get me through the month plus some days of not working.

“You have to think too,” he added, “about that first week back, you’ll be working, but you won’t have income coming in.”

True.

True to all of it.

What I am afraid of, I asked myself as I sat in meditation.

“Do what you have to do, sit on it, pray, meditate, makes some calls, but text me a number, tonight or tomorrow morning, let me get things rolling,” he finished, “let people help you.”

Ok.

I let the words sink in.

“What will people think of me,” I thought.

Oh.

Well, if that isn’t ego,  don’t know what the fuck is.  What people think of me is none of my business and if I am not doing something or taking an action when directed to because I am in fear of others judgements, then, well, right there, I knew.

I knew he was right.

And I could be right or I could be happy.

I meditated some more.

I asked for guidance.

I prayed, yes, the purple haired, tattooed, Hello Kitty sporting lady, does do that.

You don’t have to believe in anything, prayer works, the act works and I have known that for a long time.

I also have a God in my life and if that makes you feel funny, that too, is not my business.

I had two thoughts come, I am not going to be given a vast amount of wealth for sitting on my ass, I will get what I am supposed to be given.

The other, that I knew exactly how much I needed.

I had done a spending plan for the month of June, I know to the penny what I spend, I know what’s in my bank account, I know what I am going to get from the families for the disability claim they are matching (55% of what I make with them, which is not my weekly take, not half of it either, as I work independent one day a week with another family and am not asking them for anything–although they offered to pre-pay me for an overnight), I know what I spend on groceries and rent, utilities, phone, the whole she-bang.

Plus, I will have to pay in more to my Healthy San Francisco next month too.

So, I pulled out my notebook with my numbers in their tidy little columns and took a photograph of it.

I sent the photograph and a text saying, $1500 will cover it.

And I let it go.

It’s out of my hands.

If nothing happens I still took a contrary action and yes, I felt some ego deflation.

Let the man help you, Martines, let him be of service.

Another day of resting with peas on my ankle and another day of being taken care of.

I also practiced taking another action.

I picked up my manuscript off the floor and placed it in my needs to be read pile, along with a library book that I realized I would need to finish reading before I head back to Wisconsin.

I kicked through about 100 pages of the book, having finished my 650 page novel last night before I fell asleep.

Then, I did something I haven’t done in a while.

I submitted a piece I wrote to a blog.

To the Burning Man blog specifically.

Which I have thought about doing on and off for quite sometime.

I have no idea if it’s a good fit, but the act of sending something out felt really good.

So to the editing of the piece.

I wrote it as a blog four years ago.

It’s not a bad piece, but it was rough and I saw how superfluous my writing was back then, and realized how much cleaner a writer I have become.

The unnecessary words that I was using, the adjectives that needn’t be there, the over usage of imagery where dialogue would work better.

In the past seeing these blogs overwhelmed me, the writing overwhelmed me, it seemed too daunting to clean it up, and for what ever reason, today, it wasn’t.

It was easy.

I went into my archives found the blog with the material I wanted, sifted through a few other pieces I had written around the same time, cut and pasted the blog into a Word doc and went to town.

The amazing thing?

I was there.

I was right in the action, I could see what was happening, it was as though the event was unfolding before my eyes and I could taste the dust and hear the noise and the revelry and the manic energy, I could smell the high feral smell of sweat and testosterone and tobacco smoke, whiskey, and the heat of the lights, the feel of being tugged into a suspension harness.

And I was once again in the Thunder Dome.

It awed me.

I don’t often get that kind of visceral right there in the moment feeling when I have edited a piece in the past.

I do when I am writing or describing, even now, in a weird mirror image sort of way, writing about the editing leaves me feeling a little like how I was earlier today, and the being there is again, well there.

I am back out on the playa in the dust.

I cut the piece from 2500 words to 2,000.

I cleaned it and read it out loud, tweaked a few things, got rid of some personal inflection that didn’t sit well with the narrative flow and I sent that bad boy out to the world.

I can’t describe how that felt.

But it was a kind of love.

Love for myself for taking a step forward with my creative side.

Love for giving back to the Universe.

Love for accepting that I am an artist and I am allowed to create, re-shape, and revise.

I sat and meditated twice today and the second time, after I had sent the essay away to the interwebs, I had some really compelling ideas about other creative projects.

Things just seem to drop into place in my head, or in reality, from my head down to my heart, where the best creation takes place.

My head holds up the artistic side too much, stopping myself from trying to even do anything bad, because why do it unless it’s perfect?

Put out there what you love and it will come back to you 1,000 times stronger.

Let the love out to accept the love coming in.

Give and receive.

I am lovable and worthy of love.

Love is the master principle.

 

 

It Was Good

January 15, 2014

It was hard.

But in the end, it was good.

Now, it’s good to be home again.

Home in San Francisco.

“Next time, I will come to you,” my mom said, “are there any hotels around you that are reasonable?”

There are.

And I am happy to have her.

It will be some time, she’s older and aging and that was hard to see, my mom, moving so slowly, her hips and knees kaput.

She informed me that she has to have a double hip and double knee replacement.

Jesus, lord.

That is a lot of surgery.

But when it’s done and she has had some time to be convalescent, then yes, a visit.  I would love to have my mom for a visit.

There was a time, and not too long ago that the thought would have had me running for the hills.

But people change.

I changed.

And now I want to continue having a relationship with my mom.

I would even like to travel with her.

There are things, in Paris, I would love to show her–her favorite artist is Monet–like the Musee Monet de Montmarttan in the 16th.  Or the Orangerie with all the Monet Water Lillies and scenes from Giverney.

That is off in the future and hazy as all get out, but there and I feel a nice there, like yeah, this could happen.

And the gift of perspective is huge, she and I have both changed.

My sister has changed too.

And I did not let myself acknowledge it or pay tribute to the emotions, but they did come out a bit when I was chatting with my housemate about the trip.

It was hard.

Hard to see where she and I separated, went our own ways, had our own challenges.  I felt like I was just sort of a witness, a bystander to a drive by hit and family run, that I got a little bowled over by it all.

It was a lot to pack into the two and a half short days I was there, down in Florida, down in golf cart land, senior citizen play land, with all the pastel ladies and white-haired gents, socks and sandals and little dogs running about, and yes, the pink flamingos on the lawns.

It was good.

Good to hug my sister, see her growth, hell, see my growth, and just be a witness.

It felt tender and sweet and fragile.

But I feel just like my roots grasped new soil, so too are hers, and that is a wonderful thing to witness.

Even, if after a while, I was done with it and ready to go back to where I belong.

I was so excited to be home, the sun shining, my friend picking me up at the airport, a cold apple on the dashboard waiting for me, which was eaten immediately!

“Help yourself to as much as you want,” the stewardess said as she walked along the aisle with a box full of foil packages of salted, sweet, crunchy, crap for snacking.

“Thank you, I am fine,” I said and went back to my Naked smoothie and apple I had procured in the airport.

Then I nodded off, my computer battery had died, midway through the movie I was watching and I was done with reading my magazine.  I snuggled into my head pillow and dozed off.

Only to be awakened by the screaming child throwing things at his mother a little while later.

Ah, yes, that was a fun time.

I stayed out of it, but if I had heard the woman threaten to take the child into the bathroom and spank him one more time I was going to get up and spank her.

“Do you want a spanking?” She demanded, “sit down!”

The child sniffled, whined, and then screamed some more.

Oh dear lord.

Not my place, not my place, not my place.

I just did my best to ignore it and spent a lot of time drifting in and out of nap land, periodically waking up from a holler, a shoe kick, a thrown cup ( and a batman doll, robin figurine, Woody the Cowboy toy, phone, and shoes), thank god you’re not mine, kid, I thought.

Then, well, she’s just doing the best she can.

Not a fan of people who use spanking as a tactic to punish their children, but well, it’s not my business, now is it?

Actually I am really opposed to people who hit their kids, but what was I going to do?

Give her a lecture on the plane.

Explain that her lack of boundary setting was the reason for the child’s outlandish behavior?

Nope.

But as I watched the dynamics between my mom, my sister, my mom’s partner, and myself, I see how those dramas play out over time and where they can change and perhaps develop into something less than a drama and move toward healthy, loving, relationships.

Today’s principle?

Patience.

Patience with the kiosk at the airport that wanted to charge me for checking in.

Patience with the lines at security.

Patience for the tired mom and weary child.

Patience for the tired mom and the weary child, me.

Love for them all.

Sister, mother, self.

Hard work.

Yup.

Worth the effort?

Abso-fucking-lutely.

Will I be headed down to Florida any time soon for another repeat?

Probably not, I won’t rule it out, but I feel like this trip was worth it, the suiting up and the showing up.

And as I sat watching the family eat dinner, the niece sitting too shy on the couch to join us at the table, my sister and her husband, my mother and her partner, I saw that, yeah, life is messy, and hard, and difficult.

But when one person starts showing up, others do too.

I can join in the mess.

I don’t have to sit in it, but I can partake for a little while.

Then, get up, dust myself off, hop a plane, and remember that I did it for them.

Not for me.

This was not about me and that was a good thing to recognize.

Hard.

But yes.

Good.

Time to Go

January 14, 2014

Just when you get settled in.

Time to turn around and go.

Truth be told, I am happy to be leaving for home.

Ready.

It’s been a great visit, really, better than any expectations, but I miss my space, my schedule, my friends.

Today was special and I am beyond grateful that I was able to be here for this day.

I realized that the last two times I have turned an anniversary in my recovery I have been away from my home and missed my fellows.

I picked up a little something to carry with me, aside from another day without doing anything to kill myself, given to me by mom, sitting next to my sister, in a room full of people under over bright flourescent lights, standing up and letting someone else talk.

Feels like my thunder was stolen.

It wasn’t about me.

Then I remembered, “your first year is yours, all our years thereafter are ours,” Silas Payne.

Oh.

Yes.

That’s why I stood up, let people know it works.

That’s why I let someone else tell my story, slightly uncomfortable and not at all my perspective, but also good for me to hear the other side of the coin.

There are two sides, sometimes, gasp, even more.

I have choices and today I choose to not do it my way and to step up and be an example.

It’s not really about me.

It’s about those who helped me, you know who you are, and man did you help me.

Thank you.

And now about the others I can help.

I can also help more where I live, in my home, in my realm, and my, am I glad that where ever I go I have what I need, but I like it the most in San Francisco.

“How do they do it where you’re from?” He shouted across the room.

Jesus.

I don’t know, but they don’t fucking cross talk me.

I smiled.

Said thank you.

And that’s what it is.

Smile and say thank you.

I can only do that for so long, though, I need to refresh, replenish, and rejuvenate myself and sleep in my own bed, eat my own food, and move on my own time line.

Sometimes, you do, however, have to let it all go and do it someone else’s way.

Most of my life is like that.

I did, immensely, enjoy the love that was extended to me, the well wishes and messages, the friends, whom I have that I would never have had, without doing what I have been up to for the last nine years, nope, not at all.

I don’t know where my next nine years are going, I don’t, I don’t also really want to.

Oh, sometimes, yeah, I do.

But I don’t really want to.

I know I want to continue expanding my ideas of willingness.

Willing to fail.

Willing to be a nanny.

Willing to be hurt.

Willing to open up and get messy.

I am willing to not isolate by being too busy, over booking myself, working too many hours, and not charging enough when I do.

I am willing to continue to seek.

Sometimes you have to do the exact opposite of what you want to do.

And often time that work is what pays off the most.

It was a much more difficult visit the last time I came down to Florida.

Much harder.

This was not.

There are still things to work out, to move around, to continue practising my principles, to not judge.

Oh, dear God, help me to not judge.

I do want to so much.

I do, however, want the things that work for me to continue working, and to explore those areas where it has been suggested that I let go of my separation and desire for safety and control to give it over, to let go of trying to look perfect.

To say, thank you, and accept the gift.

I could learn these things all the days of the rest of my life.

I am writing with some distraction and I am not certain that this is going to read coherent and I feel that I am editing myself a little.

I don’t want to rant.

I don’t want to preach.

I don’t want to judge.

Those things are all there.

But I am no better, nor less than anyone else.

This, then is about humility and recognizing that acceptance and approval are not the same thing.

I accept things exactly as they are.

This is not my home, not my place, not my bailiwick.

Nope.

I am however a guest that has been loved and fed and hugged and kissed and that’s pretty damn nice.

I have no complaints.

I am just out of my milieu and I miss my city by the bay and all my fellows there.

I am ready to see the ocean and the hills and be in San Francisco.

Although, excuse me, while I go hug some people for a few more minutes.

“You look exactly the same,” she said to me, “except little and tattooed.”

I am not the same though.

I have been inwardly re-arranged.

The woman I was would not have come down here.

Nope, I was too busy doing my own thing, being selfish in the only way I knew how and disdainful of how every one else was doing it.

I did not have any solutions then outside of myself and relying on a fallible human being is a way to make sure that you fail.

I relied on myself.

And look where it led.

I relied on others, this magical community of “we” and look where it has led.

I have no recourse except to continue the acceptance and the growth and to continue to let down the walls and let people in.

To be willing to be hurt and let others have their own experiences and opinions.

This is an amazing journey.

I am so lucky to have this experience.

Brave, courageous, full of faith.

Graced.

Again, that is how I have it.

Grace.

 


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