There is No Script

The thing I’m realizing most about life these days is: There is no script. None.

We’d all like to think there is. It makes us feel good to think we know what it is. It makes us feel safe to know where we are on “the path” with its clear milestones. We can mark our trajectory and see we are making “progress.”

But then…when something goes awry and we are no longer on a clear place on the “path,” what do we do? We think we did something wrong, that’s we’ve gone backwards or regressed somehow. In the beginning, it’s effing scary and the first inclination is to figure out a last ditch effort to getting back to the path. Then, we realize the path fucked us. Fuck the path! Then, the struggle becomes more real when we realize what it will take to take an entirely different uncharted road. Eventually, we have faith that our way of being is no one else’s and our future is not predictable and that’s okay – even preferable (and freeing).

The most obvious way I did this was after divorcing, but my career has also gone that way. I lost my job – the stable 40-hour-a-week soul-sucking, but wallet-padding job. The stable job my parents always wanted for me. The first inclination was to run to find another full-time job. But then I leaped. I said “Wait a second. Breathe. You’re okay right now. And you have the best opportunity ever to try to actually step off this cliff and figure out a different way. The full-time job thing will always be there if you want it at some point. But please try a different path. It’ll be okay.”

It was one of the scariest things I’ve ever done. And there were many moments of looking for contract work that I wanted so badly to find a full-time job (I even did apply for a couple)….and then I made a promise to myself that I would see this through. I would step into the door fully and close it behind me and sit in the present and in the fear and ambiguity, not halfway in ready to run out the doorway for the next full-time stability I could find.

I did the very same in relationships. I diversified – feeling unsafe with trusting in one person, putting all my emotional eggs in one basket. I ran from the “path” because the path fucked me royally. And then…I began moving back towards wanting a deeper connection, something more solid and “predictable.” Even now, my current situation is very monogamish-looking from the outside. And many moments, I want to fall back into the illusion of safety, the illusion of the “path”: aka “real” monogamy. I want to put a label on it, define it, tie it with a bow. I want to stop *working* at this thing called a relationship (as though you do in whatever structure relationship you have) and my brain full of fears and insecurities of being replaced, abandoned, alone. I want to expand into the illusionary *knowing* of what this and the future looks like. And then there is this other part of me – the part that desperately wants (for him and I) freedom and love and to expand into *me* and the *present* with everything I’ve got. They are at odds and constantly wage war inside of me.

The war may wage forever. I believe there is something deeply engrained in all of us that wants a set path and also wants to forge our own. We want to know that when we forge our own, there is still a possibility for going back to the safety of what people have given us to believe – even if we no longer believe it. That is what is so interesting observing in me – the very specific lack of belief that there is such a thing as security at all and yet wanting security so very badly. In the today version of Nikki, if my current romantic partner asked me to marry him, I’d have multiple very polar reactions: Well, one would be confusion because both of us have stated never wanting to be married again and technically he’s not even divorced officially yet. Another would be “What the fuck is marriage? Why do we need a legal paper to bind us together?” I would feel stuck…and on the other hand comforted. While also believing the paper means nothing.

In fact, A and I have talked about marriage. Not actually about doing it. But that there was this feeling in both of us that we should be proposing to each other – to show how committed we are. Because we realized we have no language in our society besides a vow and rings and a ceremony to show that we care a fuck-ton about a human being and want to be around them for…as long as is healthy. Not till death do us part. Not as a ball and chain. Not as a promise for forever.

And oddly enough, even writing that puts a lump in my throat. Because there is still a part of me that wants the statement of “forever” even if nothing in me believes there is such a thing. A part of me that wants the manifestation of the script. A part of me that wants to talk about growing old and gray with someone without the other part of me screaming “I call BS!”

How does one reconcile the desire to feel safe in the future with knowing the truth that change is the only constant (and kind of liking that story too)?

Advertisements

Online Intimacy Discussion 2

To all of you who read this blog religiously, I want to invite you to an online discussion about intimacy, communication, and consent.
I’ve noticed that seeking intimacy is one of the largest sources of shame in humans and I’d like to help change that – even in a small way. I think the main way we can change is by discussing it together openly, honestly, and without judgment.
Please join me for this talk at 7PM MT on tomorrow Wed July 12, 2017 here ($5-15 suggested donation):

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/communication-consent-and-intimacy-talk-2-tickets-35482694695

Hope to see you there!

❤ N

Seeking Support to Spread the Love

If you’ve been reading along, you’ve likely been noticing my focus on intimacy lately – discussing cuddling sessions, bringing up intimacy discussions online (the second of which is happening on July 12 at 7PM MT), and stepping away a bit from my counseling career in certain ways (and towards it in others). This is because for the first time in my life, I want to plunge headlong into something that is by far not stable or a sure bet but what I’m passionate about. For the first time, I actually want to put effort into making the world better in as direct a way as I possibly can given my skills.

I’ve made a proposal for this that you can find below (or click here) and I’m starting on it as you read this. Some of these focuses/changes will impact this blog and some will be integrating other parts of my life into the blog and from my blog into other parts of my life.

Some changes you will find in the near future may include but may not be limited to:

  • Audio podcast links of written blog posts
  • New and improved layout
  • More frequent posts (yay!)
  • More discussion about intimacy, communication, and consent

If you like the sound of this and are enjoying and appreciate what you read here as well as value my overarching goal of making this world a more open, honest, loving place, please please please donate to my efforts below. Everything helps!

https://www.gofundme.com/cuddlesforhumanity

❤ Namaste

Why I Hated Krav Maga and Why I’ll Keep Doing It

I went to my first Krav Maga class today. I’d heard of it over and over again and hadn’t felt any interest. Recently, though, a new friend of mine expressed desire to go and I looked into it. I got a free class and went by myself (she couldn’t make it).

I think if I’d known what was coming, I would not have been able to make myself go. So I’m glad I didn’t know.

You see, ever since leaving D, any type of fighting (whether participating or not, whether play or not) has been super triggering for me. Even just watching people wrestling while they laugh makes me feel like my body is being ripped apart, my heart mushed into a puddle. I want to protect them. I want to scream. I want to curl up in a ball in a corner and cry and not come out until I know it’s “safe.”

D never actually hit me. He did a lot of things not the least which was threaten me multiple times with his raised hand or pin me against things when I did things he didn’t like. So I never really understood why fighting specifically was so negative for me. I think, now, that it was just the idea of violence itself (or potential violence). It got worse after I found out five months after leaving him that he he had taken up shooting at the shooting range and was going to get a gun and conceal carry. I didn’t think he’d specifically come after me, but thought he would threaten people I loved. Mostly, I just saw him as entirely unpredictable and his anger would come out at totally random times and I never knew if it would lead to sulking or a sinister darkness that looked very much homicidal from my perspective.

Throughout this post, I’m going to be flipping between past and present frequently. I will denote the change with the dashes below so it is not as confusing. This is what PTSD looks like. This is what abuse feels like after it’s happened. It doesn’t go away. It lingers, it mutates, it affects everything…

Coming back to the present. When I walked into Krav Maga, the first warm-up exercise we did was trying to hit each other’s shoulder and also trying to block being hit. I’d been part of this kind of exercise before and knew that it triggered me in big ways. Even in it’s semi-playfulness and people bantering, I wanted to run out the door and never come back. I even asked one of the students (who I also found out was a teacher), S, if this was mainly all we did. She laughed and said “No, we’re just warming up.” I sighed with relief.

Oh, but it got worse. We then began actually punching each other (with pads). S mentioned this is not the “feminine flower” class after I apologized for nearly hitting her face. It was surprisingly comforting to not have to live by societal norms of a female. As we continued with the attacking/punching exercise with pads, S told me “Imagine someone just grabbed your butt. It’s not their butt. It’s yours. Tell them it’s fucking yours.”

Immediately, I sank into the anger I felt unleashed after I left D. I remembered searching up and down for a gym with a punching bag. All I wanted to do was punch the living shit out of a D replica.

I was reminded of the times I told him I didn’t want him smacking my ass in public and his response was always “But it’s my ass. I can do with it what I want.”

“That’s fucking right, that is my butt. It is NOT YOURS, you fucker!” I wanted to scream. The pad was suddenly D’s throat as I punched my elbow into it. S seemed to notice the change with a slight smile and was more off balance each time I pounded on the pad in front of her chest.

And then we got to the fake guns. Seriously. S pushed a fake gun into my spine and we were taught how to redirect it’s fire, break some fingers, and remove it from the person (and ya know, hit them with it a few times) until we had control of the gun and the situation.

As I pressed the fake gun into S’s back, I asked her what got her started in this. She got quiet and said she had an abusive ex husband among other things in her life that made her want to do something to defend herself. She said all this while in the middle of an elbow to my throat and removing a gun from my hand. She became a teacher of krav maga. I admitted I also had an abusive ex husband – though not physically abusive as much as physically threatening and emotionally abusive. She nodded. “You can bring someone to court with evidence of physical abuse, but it’s hard to prove PTSD. Emotional scars are just as damaging with less understanding or support.”

I wanted to hug her. But unlike the professional cuddler in front of her, she pointed out during our “attacks” that I shouldn’t “hug” her; I need to want to kill her (or the imaginary attacker).

By the end, my legs and arms were jell-o and my heart was entirely unsettled…and yet…I saw a light at the end of a very long tunnel. Every time something is especially hard for me, I know it’s something to look into and examine. And this gets right at the part of me that believes I am not capable – specifically not capable of defending myself against someone stronger or bigger or angrier than me (aka pretty much everyone).

I’m going to keep trying and facing my demons head on just like I did with climbing. Plus…I made a friend who “gets it.” Even if nothing else, totally worth it.

 

What are you doing to face your demons? What is your limitation from facing them? What motivates you to keep at it?

 

Online Intimacy Discussion

To all of you who read this blog religiously, I want to invite you to an online discussion about intimacy, communication, and consent.

I’ve noticed that seeking intimacy is one of the largest sources of shame in humans and I’d like to help change that – even in a small way. I think the main way we can change is by discussing it together openly, honestly, and without judgment.

Please join me for this talk at 7PM MT on June 6, 2017 here ($5-15 suggested donation):

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/communication-consent-and-intimacy-talk-tickets-34995263776

Hope to see you there!

❤ N

Memory of the Light

I’ve never been especially close to my extended family – partly because I’ve always felt like the black sheep. When we went to visit on the holidays, everyone wanted to go shopping on Black Friday, spend money, eat out, give each other expensive gifts. All I wanted was to talk about life, the universe, and everything at length for hours with someone who would engage with me. I have one couple in my family (extended cousins- S and J) who I always loved talking to. J even gave me a hardback copy of Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead to keep. I cherished that book – mostly because it was from him. I admired him.

I went to visit them about a year ago in Arizona and while there with my van, he took a video of the conversion to send to another cousin of mine – T – because T was converting a school bus and looking forward to trips in it. I started writing to T for the first time in my life. We shared videos of our vehicle conversions, discussed trips we could take together, and he told me about his young son Z and his recent divorce. He loved his son like the dickens. He seemed optimistic for the future.

It was amazing to me – to finally get excited about someone in my family who had similar values as me, someone I could relate to. Not to mention that we were the only two people in my extended family who had ever been divorced. It was a tough road no one else could relate to. His emails slowed and I thought he’d just become busy. It was fine. I was looking forward to meeting up with him at some point in the future and meeting him and Z at Route 66.

And then my dad called me a few weeks later. “T was shot.” He said. I didn’t understand. “What do you mean, he was shot? With a gun? Who shot him? Is he okay?” “With a gun. He’s in the hospital. He probably won’t make it.” I was stunned. I paused for a while. I was just confused, wanting answers. “Who the hell shot him? And why?” I heard some silence at the other end. I heard my dad take in a breath and said “…Well…T shot himself actually.”

Oh.

Suicide.

Apparently people can’t just use that word.

He wanted to die. He meant to die. He couldn’t take life anymore.

I got off the phone quickly and started bawling. I couldn’t stop for at least ten minutes and thought about him constantly for weeks afterwards. All the feelings were going through my brain – compassion for him, sadness for him, sadness and compassion for his son and the rest of his family, understanding…and jealousy. He went through with something I’ve thought about countless times. I was in some ways jealous that he finally got some peace. And sad and angry at myself because I wish I had done so much more for him – I wish I could have shown him that no matter how hopeless everything feels, we are in control of our lives and we can make it better. I know deep down I could have shown him that had I known how dark his world was, had he shared it with me. Because I know that world way too well. I’m still in it occasionally. But it’s like being in a prison cell with a picture of the mountains hung up – you have to believe the thing you can’t see still exists somewhere, that darkness is where you are now and that light will come again even if depression tries to convince you this is the path forevermore.

I’ve insinuated my past depression here before, but I may not have disclosed how it still impedes on my life. I still have bouts of suicidal ideation. But I have tools now – tools to remind me that this is temporary, that I need to reach out for support even when I don’t want to, that I need to take care of myself, that I need to keep breathing and living one more hour and one more day because it will get better. Even though it feels like it never fucking will. Even though I know that even when it gets better, I will someday soon go back to this feeling and this place and have to talk myself out of it again.


I’m writing this here because I’ve been on both sides of this – talking to someone who is suicidal and being suicidal myself. I’m also writing this because I want people who read this to know how to help someone who is suicidal because if you’ve never been there yourself, you likely are dealing with your own emotional shit regarding this person committing suicide in addition to feeling totally helpless to their actions.

I can tell you from experience that these are things that DO NOT help someone who is suicidal:

Telling them about all the things they have to live for.

Believe it or not, most people who are depressed and suicidal can list off exactly what things/people/etc they could live for. They would love to want to live for them! And yet, the sadness is overwhelming, painful, and typically ongoing. They don’t see a way out of the cycle except to end it entirely. This isn’t about those things that hold them to staying on this earth. They want to leave because it’s just too painful for *them* to be here any further. And most likely, this is not an impulsive decision as much as it is a well thought out and long planned out rationale.

Telling them suicide is a selfish act.

Does suicide leave people who are here on this earth hurting? Yes. Is suicide acted on for the person experiencing the pain? Yes. However, when the person who is experiencing suicidal thoughts is thinking about suicide, they envision how much of a negative force they are on the people around them. They think it will be of benefit to those around them that they are not here any longer to burden others with their pain, their feelings, etc. They see how their pain has hurt others and see leaving the earth as a kind act – a martyr act almost. Thus, hearing that what they want to do is “selfish” is not only not helpful but also makes no sense to someone in the throes of suicidal thoughts.

Sharing your negative feelings about them committing suicide.

Similar to the above, focusing on why you feel negatively about them committing suicide will just cause the person who is suicidal to put up roadblocks mentally. They aren’t really thinking about *you* and *your feelings* even though they have called you. What they want and need to hear is why you want them in this world, not why you don’t want them missing from the world. Subtle delineation, but very important.

Not listening to, dismissing, or trying to change their feelings.

Oftentimes, people are suicidal in part because they have felt misunderstood and not truly heard by anyone in their life. If you aren’t listening, dismissing, or trying to change their feelings about their pain, this could go down an even worse path of reconfirming to them that no one “gets it” and they are really honestly truly alone. They have called you. Clearly, you are important to them. Really be there. Really hear them. Even if it makes no sense to you. Can’t you at least see they are hurting in front of you? Haven’t you also been hurting in your life? Relate to that.

Here are things that may help:

Telling them you can’t understand where they are at, but you hear their pain and hurt and would like to support them in these feelings.

Telling someone you don’t understand where they are at is *not* a problem. Because honestly…you probably don’t! If you admit you don’t understand, it actually gives you more credibility and will likely lead to the person feeling safe in sharing more with you.

Sharing how much you care about them.

It’s hard to keep telling yourself the negative self talk of “No one loves me and I am alone in this world” when someone on the phone or in front of you is saying “I fucking love you. A lot. And I want you here. Not for me, but because you are a lovely human being who adds to this world in countless ways – in my life and in others’ I know.” Don’t say anything you don’t mean, of course, but most likely if this person is reaching out to you, you have a bond – Use it. Promote it. Spill your guts. Show them you care too.

Listening to their pain. Trying to understand where they are coming from. 

Think of a time when you felt all was lost. Even if you weren’t suicidal. Maybe it was when you broke up with a partner or maybe you got news of someone close to you dying or you got bad news that you thought would be the end of something huge (emotional, financial, otherwise). Can you put yourself there? Now triple that pain in your mind. Imagine feeling that person’s pain. Imagine being in a position where the world just seemed totally unbearable to live in and the only viable option seemed to be ending it. Even if you don’t fully “get it,” can you imagine it at all? Listen to their pain, put yourself in their shoes. Try to see.

Asking them if they can envision anything they could be excited about in their future or even in their present.

Most of the time, someone who is suicidal will be thinking about the negative things in their past or the negative things that could or will be happening in their future. Remind them they have a body now and in their very momentary present, there are still promising things ahead. Even if that is just looking across the room and describing the beauty of the light through the window. Maybe it is a friend lunch they were planning on having tomorrow. Or something positive that happened in the past that could easily be scheduled or planned for the future. Suicidal thoughts usually come and go. If you can convince them to stay around even one day longer, you may have saved their life.

If and when you feel that you are too overwhelmed to continue talking, let them know you are not equipped (or do not feel equipped) to handle this situation and encourage conferencing in a suicide hotline or therapist.

Many people might say encouraging calling up a suicide hotline should be procedure #1, but from a personal perspective, if I was suicidal and someone told me that immediately, I would probably start going down the wrong way quickly. This is because the person called you because they wanted to speak with *you,* not a stranger, not someone trained in the psych field (It’s also likely that they’ve already reached out to or have been talking to them for a while anyway.). Give them you. Once it makes sense and you feel the person is receptive to it, conferencing in (so you don’t disappear) a person who can help further is definitely wise.

Continue showing your presence and support even after they’re off the metaphorical cliff.

Even if you help this person off this cliff this time does not mean their feelings on the subject are gone. Don’t pretend they are. Ask if you can check up on them more frequently over the next days and when you see them, ask how they are feeling about suicide these days and how or if you can help.


This may sound crazy, but connecting someone who is suicidal with other people who *have been* suicidal and survived may be helpful as well. I say this because it may help with not feeling so alone, feeling understood, and also beneficial in terms of pooling resources and tools and reasons to keep going. Chances are though, you don’t know many people who are openly suicidal. So I think the least I can do is write them a letter myself from someone who has been there countless times and is still here and glad about it (most days)- Me. Feel free to share:

“Dear New Friend,

You’ve probably either found this blog through a search or had this blog post shared with you by someone who cares about you and you are considering suicide. I’ve been there (and continue to be there regularly). I have been dealing with depression since I was in high school and there have been ups and downs since then, but currently at 30 years old, things are mostly up. I’ve never attempted suicide, but written suicide notes, thought about it as a feasible option countless times, and definitely had desires to act on it strongly at least a few times in my life.

I want to tell you that what you’re feeling right now is valid. In this moment, you might feel like there is a hole that you are stuck in and you can’t possibly get out. You may feel like life is meaningless, that you are a speck in the world and can do nothing right and make no difference in anyone’s life (especially your own). I know everyone is probably telling you stuff like “Oh, your life does have meaning. For your kids, for your wife/husband, etc etc.” Or maybe: “You create the meaning.” Or whatever. And while all of that may or may not be true, it doesn’t really help you where you are right now, does it?

I’m here to tell you that it’s okay to feel like life has no meaning – maybe you’re right, maybe you’re not. And maybe this hole can’t be gotten out of. Either way, if we go by this assumption, there are two ways to look at it. One is the doom and gloom your brain has given you : It’s saying that meaning is the only reason for living and if there is none of it, why bother continuing? But there is a different perspective. If there is no meaning, this life doesn’t matter. Why bother wasting the little life you have killing yourself now when you can spend the rest of your days living it up and if you die doing it….well, it’s still more life than you would have had if you kill yourself today…right? You are in a uniquely qualified position right now to (in your mind) have nothing left to lose. I have a secret to tell you: It can only go up from here!

I know it’s ridiculously morose, but really seriously think about this. Imagine you have cancer right now and were just told you have 6 months to live. What do people do with that? Generally, they go try to accomplish a bunch of things on their bucket list. Are you imagining? What would you do with that 6 months? Make a list. Even if everything on the list is just “Eat ice cream for every fucking meal.” Or “Quit my job, use all my money, and travel around the world with it.” If there is *anything* on this list…well, why not do it? What is stopping you from it if you’re willing to die right this very minute?

I think about the first time I wanted to commit suicide (in a more than fantasy kind of way). I realize how much has happened in my life since then that I never would have been alive to experience. So many good things! Yes, I mean there were of course really shitty things too. But those good things (and even the pain of the bad ones that pushed me forward) were invaluable. I would never want to give those up. I’m not even just talking about big huge amazing things like traveling to amazing places or falling in love. I’m talking about things as small as the first minute I met a lovely soul and feeling I was not alone in this world over and over again, going on a hike by myself and realizing I hadn’t talked to “me” in a long long time, learning and failing and learning some more, living in a van, having some long giggle fests with a close friend, eating some amazing homemade ice cream, having parties, dancing…

If you’re willing to give it all up, why not go and do the things you’ve always wanted to do? It’s not too late. Every moment from here on out is one more than you would have had anyway. Guess what? You probably even have more than 6 months to live. And if you go do those things on your list, it might just change you so much that you know no matter how much your brain tells you to get out of this world, it’s worth staying here until you’re forced out. But hey, even if you just go do those things and still think it’s worth ending your life, at least you spent those days between now and then living the way you wanted to.

Less is more in the here and now. You can’t take anything with you when you leave this earth. And you’re not guaranteed an afterlife. Assume this is all you have. Might as well use it. And hey, if you don’t believe me, is it really going to do any more damage to just try for 30 or 60 or 90 days to live a life you wouldn’t have been alive for anyway? The only black and white decision is not being here to make any more decisions. Live in the gray for a little bit. I promise the option of leaving this earth will always be there if that’s really what you want.

…But I don’t believe it’s what you want.

Sincerely,

N”

“Problem-Free”

I have a problem. I realized recently that the thing that motivates me in life beyond seeking beauty in magical places and amazing connections with awesome people is…struggle. So,  ironically, I think maybe my problem with my life is that I don’t have enough problems for my brain these days.

When I see something easy, free, and relatively stable, I bring strife and overthinking and overanalyzing to it until something about it hurts, until I’ve created a chink that I need to solve. Solving it makes me feel like I’ve earned the good times. But then eventually, if the good times stay around too long, the problem of no problems comes up again.

I know, you’re probably laughing or rolling your eyes right now. But if you think about it, this is how the immune system works, right? If we don’t give it enough to focus on (like minor bacteria and viruses), it will instead start hurting you with your own shit (aka autoimmune disorders). We’re seeing a rise in this in the US – what with all the antibacterial soap meant to ward off all the things our immune system loves being exposed to and violently killing to feel good about itself.

So why doesn’t the same go for us? Our brains our high-powered machines that want something to solve. Isn’t this like the stereotypical critique of “male brains” – that they want to fix the problem and not just listen to the issue? I’ve been accused of having many “male qualities” in my brain, by the way.

But anyway, back to my point. My point is that when I’m feeling generally happy, after a short while, my first instinct is to ask “Wait, what’s going on? Where is the boogyman hiding?” and immediately begin looking into all the corners and recesses of my life and brain to try to find the thing(s) putting me at risk of losing the happiness (the happiness I spent very little time actually enjoying). But the searching itself causes me to “lose” the contentment immediately.

Likewise, when I’m feeling an emotion, my first instinct is to try to make sense of it, connect it with things that create a logical narrative, put it in a box, wrap it with a bow, and send it on its merry way. I thought for a long time that I was really sending the boxes away to some distant land in Nantucket (or maybe to Sarah Palin in Alaska). In reality, I seem to have built a metaphorical wall in my brain and the boxes were all just thrown over this wall by the carrier. The wall says “PLEASE KEEP OUT. DANGER AHEAD.” and I guess for the longest time, I just didn’t know about the wall or wanted to be mindful of the sign (which doesn’t sound like me to actually do what authority wants me to) or maybe had just not figured out a way to get behind the wall. The last couple of months, a number of people seem to keep showing me how to remove some bricks in the wall and see the boxes – that they still exist, that they haven’t been dealt with, that *nothing has changed* in them. A couple of times, I’ve managed to climb the wall and jump to the other side and realized that all the boxes had opened in the process of being thrown over and all the stuff is a mess. The bows did nothing to keep the stuff in one box from the stuff in another.

Today, I am standing at the other side of the wall – realizing that all these “problems” I tried to put in boxes and thought I was done dealing with actually have no narrative, no box, no bow. They don’t make sense together or apart.

They just…are.

The world is full of people who want to tell you how to make boxes, how to tie them with bows, how to release them from your sight – in other words, how to actively *fix* the things. But time and time again, the people I see happiest are those who tell me that there is no such thing as fixing – unless you stop wanting to fix them at all. And then, paradoxically, there is no need for boxes, bows, walls, or narratives. No, they won’t disappear. But suddenly, all at once, you won’t look at the mess of stuff and see them as needing to “make sense” or “be fixed.” You will just see the things as….oh, ya know, the stuff, no biggie. You may clear a path to walk through it. You may organize it into some beautiful origami crane. You won’t mind wandering through it, occasionally examining the broken bits of things here and there. You may just see it as internal decoration for your brain, but nothing that drags up any negative thoughts or feelings. It’s just…you. And you are it.


I so want to be here while looking at my “stuff” today. But admittedly, I am not. I am still trying to fix, still attempting to wrestle things and people and memories in my life into a cohesive narrative that doesn’t change and mutate constantly, still wanting to cling to something that I know is entirely false (aka stability or making boxes, tying them with bows, throwing behind the wall believing they are being sent elsewhere).

When I am happy more or less, my brain still wants something to “work” on. Oftentimes, that spurns depression and an entire lack of motivation to start new things – hobbies, etc. And then it’s just this cycle. In this time, I believe that I am really seriously “working on my shit!” I talk through deep stuff with people, I write profound-sounding things, and I read philosophical books. I stop doing all the things I know my body wants me to do – like exercise, get in the sunlight, eat well. I stop doing all the things that would actually propel me in life – like working for some money, like planning time with people I love, learning new hobbies, etc etc. “But, seriously, I’m working on my shit and this is productive,” I convince myself, after spending an entire night weaving a bunch of thoughts together, making me feel like I am making boxes and shipping them away. “I’m letting go of things!” I think. Only to find the same “box” arrive at my door 6 months or a year down the line in *exactly the same condition.* What the fuck!!! I think. I dealt with this shit already! I’m happy! I’m working on my shit! Go away. And I ship it back again…back to the wall.


Today, my therapist told me to retrieve a difficult memory and tell her about it. I told her about it – from my head. She said, “Okay. Now feel it…and then sit in those feelings.” I said “Yeah, everyone says that. I sit in my feelings all the time.” She asked me when I do this. “Well, ya know…when I hike, when I take a bath, when I climb, when I’m driving, when I cry about feelings that come up with someone else, …” “In all of those moments, you’re doing something,” she said. “Don’t you ever just sit and stop distracting yourself and stop trying to make stories about the stuff going through your brain?” I recalled when I went to meditate at a number of different centers – how I generally used meditation to make more connections and do more “fixing” in my brain. “No, maybe I don’t,” I admitted.

As I told her about the memory, I felt hard feelings come up – ones that were sort of attached to things we were talking about and some were not at all. She asked me what I was feeling in my body  and I couldn’t really do that well – the feelings were so overwhelming. I started shutting down. Then, she asked what I was feeling in my body when the memory actually happened and I couldn’t recall or felt I couldn’t accurately. Our time was up. She said she still sees me running, packing my feelings into a narrative, putting it away, and calling that “letting go.”


I am reminded of a good friend of mine who realized that the seizures he was experiencing were all being triggered by stress and strong emotions. He decided he did not want to be on anymore medications (since they caused more harm than good) and that he would rid his life of stress. Without the trigger, he believed, he would not have seizures. And he did. And he was right. But it was only recently that I discovered how he did it.

He made a wall – likely not at all unlike mine in my head – and very actively threw everything salient behind it. He didn’t need a carrier nor even a box. He just wanted a quarantine for feelings. No feelings = no stress. Right? After he told me this, he adamantly expressed that I not do what he did on a conscious level (or subconscious) – “Please. I don’t recommend it.” he said. He told me that he has to remind himself so often why he remains on this earth because without feelings, everything in life feels the same. Turns out that no feelings does = no stress and also = no motivation = no joy = no pain = no love = no loss = no human purpose.


So if struggle is human, if joy and pain and stuff is human, it seems the best thing we can do is listen to Paul McCartney and “let it be.” And stop trying.And shrug it off, saying “No biggie.”

But fuck if I know how to do it.