three years later . . .

Today marks three years since I started my blog. Three years! Who’d have ever thought I had so much to say? Well, actually, there are quite a few people who would definitely have thought I had three years worth of things to say. But, other than them, who would have thought!

I’ve been thinking today about the image I’ve unwittingly projected through the blog. I think most of you think I am a confident, cool, and poised woman who’s a little bit air-headed and wildly in love with her husband even after eleven years of marriage and two children.

I guess some of that’s true — to a certain extent. I am definitely air-headed. I won’t even try to disabuse you of that notion. I am very much in love with my husband and happy with him. I could tell you that it isn’t as easy as it seems and that we have all of the same stressors that plague other marriages, but what would be the point? I long ago decided that to air my marital woes to family or friends is generally a bad idea. Come to think of it, that may be the secret to our happiness.

But it really does make me feel like quite the con artist that anyone believes me to be confident and poised. Or maybe I feel like a sham because I realize that I am confident and poised . . . until I’m not. Therein lies my feeling that I have duped you all. But not on purpose. I promise.

When I’m not being confident and poised, I am being emotional and unreasonable. It would be nice to have a personality that falls somewhere in the middle of such a broad spectrum most of the time rather than careening wildly between two extremes. But I can’t help it. I’ve tried to be different and I just can’t.

When I feel betrayed or injured, I lash out. You know how they say Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? Trust me, Hell hath no fury like me when I’m scorned. It ain’t pretty. That much I can tell you for sure.

Fortunately for me (and unfortunately for them), the only people who are witness to the very worst of me are the people I love and trust the most. In a way, it requires a certain amount of security within a relationship to be able to let go and let loose with an honest, uninhibited display of emotion. It’s messed up, I know, but it would sort of be a compliment to bear witness to my rage — if only it weren’t so uncomfortable. And really, it is messed up because, why should I put the people I love and trust the most through the wringer with the least hesitation?

I never said I was proud of it. Just that it’s true. It’s the way I am. I hate it and I’d cut that part of my personality and character out if I could; but I can’t.

Luckily for me, the people who’ve seen me at my worst are the ones who love me the most, too. I could give you several names, right here and now, of people who know exactly what I am on about when I try to describe the withering rage and raw anguish that accompanies my pain or disappointment. You could ask them about it and, most likely, they would say, “Heather? Why, she’s a darling! Whatever are you talking about when you refer to her temper?”

That’s because they love me and they allow me the freedom to completely fall apart from time to time. They batten down the hatches and weather the storm and, if need be, slap me around a little bit when it gets to be a little too ridiculous . . . but they never hold it against me.

So forgive me if my image comes across much purer and tamer in text than it does in everyday, real life. Who in their right mind really wants to admit their flaws and foibles in their online journal, anyway?

Not me, necessarily, but I do want it known, once and for all, that I know there are times when I behave badly and I know it’s not right and it is not easy for anyone involved. I am so very sorry about that.

But I’m thankful for those few who still describe me in glowing terms, given the opportunity, even after they’ve felt the smothering force of my fury. Yes, I am thankful for the ones who know that I am confident, cool and poised . . . until I’m not.

emotional work

It’s been pointed out to me on rare occasions that I am prone to do serious emotional work over nearly every single thought that passes through my brain or feeling that passes through my heart. And when I say it’s been pointed out to me, I don’t mean that I was being complimented. More like accused of being tiresome by extremely exasperated friends.

I don’t blame them. I get it. I know it can be grueling to deal with me when I am trying to figure something out. I tend to fixate on feelings until I can figure out why I am having them. When I am hurt by an offhand remark, I can’t just chalk it up to me being extra sensitive or the person making the remark being grumpy and mean-spirited on any given day.

Nooooo, I have to ask myself:

1. Why did the remark hurt my feelings so?
2. Was there any truth to the comment?
3. Was it personal? Or did I just take it personally?
4. Was the remark meant to hurt me? Or was it meant to be constructive?

See? Tiresome. Grueling. Exasperating.

I know.

I am not sure how to defend myself when reprimanded for my exhaustive cerebral tendencies. All I can really chalk it up to is the year of therapy I had when I was nineteen.

I started therapy–or counseling or whatever you want to call it–because I was deeply depressed. I couldn’t get along with either of my parents and I cut off contact with most of my friends after high school. I lived alone in a tiny apartment which I kept immaculately clean and preciously decorated.

(On a side note, every time I get disgusted because I can no longer keep up with the housekeeping, I remember that spotless little apartment and thank my lucky stars that I keep my life in order now and to hell with the house rather than vice versa.)

I didn’t start therapy for any of the usual reasons. I didn’t have a painful childhood. I was not neglected or abused. My childhood was the opposite of all that. I had it good. Trust me.

The events leading to my depression were pretty normal. My high school boyfriend broke up with me and was blissfully happy dating my dear friend. I moved to another town to go to college where I didn’t know anyone and was too shy to meet anyone. I moved in with my dad only to move out within six months or so. It was just traumatic for me to go through so many changes. I didn’t deal with it well.

I sat tonight in the new jacuzzi, soaking and luxuriating in the warm, bubbly water made fragrant by adding a few drops of Neutrogena Body Oil — a product I’ve loved ever since it was gifted to me by my dear friend, Kirsten, the night before my wedding.

I laid back against the jets and sighed as some hidden stress unfurled while the water swirled under my arms. I washed with my sweet-smelling, exfoliating body soap. I shaved my legs. I washed my face with my expensive facial cleanser.

Afterward, I patted my skin dry and donned my new, floaty white Hawaiian print nightgown and my soft chenille robe.

All of that happened. But really, more than anything, I was thinking.

Thinking about people who have loved me and whom I have loved. Remembering a dear friend as he bent, whispering and grinning, over my newborn son’s bassinet at dawn the morning after he was born. Remembering how my friend shyly handed me a baby gift from him and his wife.

I was thinking how it is those whom we allow close to our hearts who are able to hurt us the most. How it can be so shocking to go from being adored to being reviled by someone who used to be a happy part of our lives.

Something went very wrong between my friend and me. Circumstances outside our control pitted us against each other and turned once doting friends into bitter enemies. It is one of the great sadnesses of my life, to be honest.

And though I am not completely sure and have no solid proof, I believe that one who was once loved dearly by me googled “epnurse” today and left a smattering of viciously hateful comments on a post I wrote for my friend whose seven-year old son is in the hospital.

Something about me writing a few happy and tender words brought out the worst in him. Something about friendship and happiness and fun and genuine concern made him hate me even more.

I could focus on the sinking feeling I felt when I read his well-aimed vitriol. But I think I will focus instead on the kindness I once found in him that’s still there — just not for me.

building

I mentioned earlier that we are remodeling our master bedroom and bathroom. Brad is doing almost all of the work himself and is having trouble finding anyone he can hire to help him.

So, I got the pleasure of helping him tear down the roof yesterday so we could frame the walls of our new closet/bathroom addition. I also learned how to use a jigsaw and some funky drill bit that cuts a big hole in a 2X4.

He had me do lots of little jobs that would have taken him a few seconds but took me quite a bit longer than that.

He asked me to screw down some plywood on the floor of the construction. I promptly put a screw threw the plywood and missed the 2X4 beneath it entirely. At which point I called out, “I don’t think I’m a very good screwer.” He raised his eyebrows and retorted, “I beg to differ.”

I fell right into that one, I guess.

All joking aside, as we tore down old wood and brick so we could build something even better, it got me to thinking — as usual.

There was an instance in one of my relationships a few months ago where it seemed that everything solid was torn down. It was a scary feeling. It seemed there was no protection from the elements for a while there. But the foundation was good and strong and there were two of us to work on the reconstruction. The end result was something stronger and more beautiful than what we started with — and that’s really saying something.

That’s all. I’m done now.

I must say that, the older I get, the less I am a fan of the Christmas season. Oh, I’m all for everything Christmas symbolizes. I am a Christian and thus the holiday has significance for me even outside of the spirit of giving and spending time with family.

It’s just that everything gets so hectic this time of year. I feel like I am taking my life in my own hands every time I venture out Christmas shopping. My fellow shoppers are cut-throat and surly. People run over one another in their haste to get in and out of the stores in a timely manner and it seems like eye contact is rarely made; like people are looking through each other. It makes me feel lonely.

As much as I dislike many aspects of Christmas shopping, I must admit that I love walking up and down aisles and letting my eyes randomly fall on various goods. I like to think of my friends and family and try to figure out what gift would be just right for them. I like to make the gifts personal. It seems to me that if the people I love have taken the risk of letting me get to know them, then I should give them a gift that was selected carefully and lovingly with them in mind.

Unfortunately, that’s easier said than done. It’s the nature of our society that gifts tend to be measured by their material value rather than their sentimental value. Plus, there’s the fact that many of the gifts that I know will be well-loved by my loved ones cost more than I can afford to spend.

I’ve stressed a little bit over selecting the perfect gifts this season. But tonight I read this passage from The Color Purple. In it, Celie is contemplating making a pair of pants for a friend named Jack to thank him for a kindness.

“I sit looking out cross the yard trying to see in my mind what a pair of pants for Jack would look like. Jack is tall and kind and don’t hardly say anything. Love children. Respect his wife, Odessa, and all Odessa amazon sisters. Anything she want to take on, he right there. Never talking much, though. That’s the main thing. And then I remember one time he touch me. And it felt like his fingers had eyes. Felt like he knew me all over, but he just touch my arm up near the shoulder.

I start to make pants for Jack. They have to be camel. And soft and strong. And they have to have big pockets so he can keep lots of children’s things. Marbles and string and pennies and rocks. And they have to be washable and they have to fit closer round the leg than Shug’s so he can run if he need to snatch a child out the way of something. And they have to be something he can lay back in when he hold Odessa in front of the fire. And . . .”

I feel like maybe I was supposed to read that particular passage tonight. Like maybe Somebody is trying to tell me something. I think maybe what I was supposed to take away from the passage is that what matters, more than anything, is having someone (or several someones) whom you know and who know you, inside and out.

Such a phenomenon, commonly known as “friendship”, is the real gift.

Steel Magnolias

Steel Magnolias is one of my favorite movies. I can say pretty much every word of dialogue right along with the actors. I tend to dot my conversations with wise and humorous excerpts from the movie. When Laura told me that the Mexican senorita skirt that I wore to Sharon’s art show was “cha-cha,” I thought of Truvy telling Clairee that her shoes were “just too cha-cha for words.”

Yes, I know. I’m pathetic. Leave me alone.

One of the quotes I like best is, “Oh, wake up, Clairee! This is the eighties. If you can achieve puberty, you can achieve a past.”

Truer words were never spoken. Except, um, it’s not the eighties anymore.

I have a lot of friends. And by “friends,” I mean friends. As in, women with whom I have forged a strong bond. I don’t have casual friendships. I am just not capable of those.

The thing about forging close friendships is that I get a pretty good glimpse into the hearts and souls of my friends. I learn a lot about them. I know their quirks and flaws. I know their strengths and beauty.

I learn a lot about what makes them tick.

One thing I have learned is that we are programmed by the events of our lives. Our ability to communicate, to trust, and to make ourselves emotionally available is heavily dependent on past experiences.

Some of my friends have more to overcome than others in the areas of trust and communication for a variety of reasons. Some had challenging childhoods. Some came away from intimate relationships with deep emotional wounds. Some are just naturally cautious.

One thing that you may have guessed about me (if you have read my blog for any length of time) is that I place great value on honesty. I stop short of saying that I am “brutally” honest because I am not a brutal person in the least. If anything, I am too tender-hearted. I am intensely unwilling to cause another person pain. But I do possess a tendency to dispense a type of “tough love” honesty. I would never take pleasure from causing anyone pain but I do tend to err on the side of the greater good.

I try to weigh situations in the light of what would better serve the person I love in the long run. If I know that keeping quiet will avoid pain in the present but possibly grow into a situation that will cause even more pain in the future, I choose the lesser of two evils.

For instance, I believe that hurt feelings are resentments in their infancy. There are times when I have bit my tongue when my feelings are hurt only to realize later that what started as hurt feelings has turned into a monumental grudge. It’s a lot harder to deal with hurt feelings in retrospect. For one thing, the offense has grown greatly in my imagination. For another, the person who is confronted usually has no clue what they’ve done to upset me so.

I have found that honesty is sometimes harder in my relationships with friends who have been beat up by Life. It’s not fair that some have suffered so. I tend to think that those who have been scarred most deeply have already suffered enough and I should avoid upsetting them. It satisfies my desperate need for balance in all things to think that those who’ve suffered should be coddled and petted and treated with kid gloves.

Recently, though, I realized that I am not doing anyone any favors with that sort of attitude. Having the opinion that some of my friends aren’t equipped to deal with my particular brand of honesty is really quite arrogant of me. Truthfully, to even think such a thing would be to severely underestimate my friends. Anyone strong enough to survive a normal adolescence, much less an adolescence with any complications, deserves complete and loving honesty.

Even those who have the most trouble communicating and actively avoid bumps in the road of relationships deserve honesty. They deserve to be stretched by those who love them. Who can grow without being fed? Who can learn without being challenged?

The older I get, the more I realize that the really good relationships are the ones that challenge and stretch the individuals who participate in them. They are the ones where I learn all about another person and, in so doing, understand myself a little better. They are the ones where honesty is communicated lovingly and without threat. The good relationships acknowledge that love is no guarantee against pain but also knows without a doubt that there will always be a shoulder to cry on — even if it’s the shoulder of the person who caused the pain in the first place.

But most importantly, I’ve learned that the really good relationships are precious and priceless and deserve to be nurtured and cherished. Good friends are blessings from above and, as far as I am concerned, my friends are some of the best proof I have that God loves me.

respectful exploration

Earlier this week, I read Talk Before Sleep by Elizabeth Berg. I read the book years ago and have thought of it often. I couldn’t remember the title or the author of the book. What I remembered was the feeling I had from reading the book. I love it when a book affects me that way. I think writers have such an enviable power in that they can so easily manipulate emotions. I almost always prefer books to movies because seeing an actor portray a scene on screen has never been as powerful as the same scene portrayed in my mind as I read. The reason is, when the story plays out in my mind, the characters and situations are always familiar to me because, naturally, I draw on my own experiences and emotions when weaving together a mental image. It’s comforting, somehow.

Talk Before Sleep is a story of two women who are best friends. Ann and Ruth share an enviable and solid bond. They understand each other. They love each other. They are completely and unabashedly devoted to one another. They tenderly care for one another, especially when Ruth is diagnosed with terminal cancer. The book’s focus is, what would you say if you knew you didn’t have time on your side?

One lesson I took away from the book, whether or not the author meant it, is that I can soften myself and be unapologetically affectionate with the people I love and it doesn’t make me any the weaker. In fact, it makes me stronger.

Some believe emotional armor involves building walls around the heart and holding those who try to get close to us at arm’s length. I have come to understand that, for me, emotional armor involves pulling those I love close to me and disclosing my feelings. After all, the point of wearing armor is to stay safe, is it not? What could possibly be any safer than honesty and communication in a loving and respectful friendship? Trusting others has a curious effect; they tend to value it so much that they would take a bullet rather than betray the trust you have willingly placed in their hands.

This quote seemed especially powerful to me:

. . . it wasn’t something that diminished me, but rather made me fuller, and richer. I saw that every person is a multifaceted and complex being, worthy of respectful exploration and discovery; that this longing we can’t name and try to cure with relationships might only be us, wanting to know all of our own selves.

I felt that a great truth had been illuminated for me. I felt like I could finally realize and understand the value of the many friends who’ve come through my life. I have a tendency to form very close friendships rather than casual acquaintances. I have childhood friends and friends who were teachers when I was in junior high and high school. I have friends from Nursing school and friends from work. I have friends who are seventy years old and friends who are twenty years old and countless friends whose ages fall somewhere in the middle. I have friends that I see every day and friends that I see once a year. Friends made in “real-life” and friends met via the Internet. All of them are dear to me and all of them have taught me more about myself.

I like the term “respectful exploration”. I like it because it takes into account that we all have our handicaps, our scars, and our boundaries that dictate how emotionally involved we are willing to become in any relationship. But I have learned that being respectful of those same boundaries can eventually result in the the deepest form of trust. Respect breeds respect. Gentle, respectful exploration in a relationship can yield such beautiful results.

Myself, I am thankful for the friends I’ve made in my life and so glad that, although they were respectful of my personal boundaries, they were also wise enough to gently push some of those boundaries until they were more like lines in the sand than concrete walls. In retrospect, I realize that every time I have held a friend at arm’s length or built a wall to keep myself safe, I have denied myself the opportunity to know myself better.

And that’s a shame. I happen to like me.

Deep Thoughts

Conversation between Brad and me this evening:

Me: Ouch! I am bleeding!
Him: What happened?
Me: I cut myself on a thorn while deadheading the roses and pruning out the dead branches.
Him: I think you should stay away from those rosebushes. They are always hurting you.
Me: Oh, but look how beautifully they are blooming because I have been caring for them!

I think I hit upon a metaphor:

The care and feeding of relationships can be painful. Pruning away the deadwood — resentment, envy, hurt feelings, old grudges — can cause some scars. It is tempting to run away when painful wounds are inflicted. But when the relationship flowers into full bloom under careful nourishment and perseverance, there are few things in this world that are so beautiful.

labor of love

“For one human being to love another: that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation.”
Rainer Maria Rilke

I’ve always loved that quote. I admit I didn’t know who originally said it until I read it in a book given to me by a friend recently. But I really have always loved it. I love it because it is so very true and it makes me think about how extraordinary it is that we humans form the bonds we do with other humans.Because, for one human being to love another, they have to resign themselves to the fact that they will never again go through life without considering the impact their decisions will make on the people they love. They have to acknowledge that loving another human being will inevitably lead to a sense of sadness or loss when that person is far away or sick or going through rough times. Loving another human means there will be stress and bickering at times because we are often pushy when trying to “help” those we love. It means hours spent hovering over hospital beds in an agony of uncertainty during times of illness or injury. It means we will give selflessly of ourselves when our loved one is in need even though we really wish we could be the one doing the taking. Face it: loving another human being inevitably leads to pain and sadness. Because, if you really love another person, you feel their pain with them. You even wish you could feel pain for them. Loving another human means giving up part of ourselves.

But loving another human being also means we will walk around with the knowledge that we are never alone. It means we will see things as we go about our day to day life that remind us of someone we love and cause us to smile. It means we will experience the elation of giving selflessly and seeing that we’ve made a difference in someone’s day, someone’s week, even in someone’s life. It means we will experience emotions so powerful that they take our breath away. Loving another human being means that we will always have a reason to keep living, to keep pushing, to keep trying. Loving another human means gaining so much more than we give away.

Loving another human is work. It is pain. It is uncertainty. But it is a worthwhile labor. It is also tenderness. It is patience. It is every beautiful and wonderful thing. It is the work for which all other work is but preparation.

You are altogether beautiful

A friend of mine (who likes to remain unmentioned on my blog) recently gave me a mirror which has this verse written on it:

You are altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in you.

–Song of Solomon 4:7

When I opened the gift and gushed over how beautiful it was, my friend told me that she had chosen that particular verse so that I would look in the mirror and see myself the way she sees me. I was moved beyond words. I think I may have said, “Aw, Shucks.” Seriously. Did you think I am eloquent in real life? Well, I am not.My friend knows me well. She knows that I am very self-critical. She knows that I see a thousand flaws when I look in the mirror. But she sees me through the veil of friendship and it must cast a flattering glow because she always has such nice things to say to me.

Part of the reason my friend is on a personal quest to make me see myself the way she sees me is because she is so much like me that it is sometimes eery. There’s very little we can hide from one another because we can read each other’s minds effortlessly. I’ve told her before that it is futile to try to fool me because I know her too well. Every subject change, every unanswered question, every hesitation in her speech is documented in my brain. I may not always push her to explain, but she she is usually well aware that I am on to her.

And I guess all I am trying to say is that it is nice to have such a friend. It is nice to know someone who loves me is always at the ready to cheer me when I feel blue or sympathize when I feel scattered and pulled in many directions. In turn, it is also nice to be needed. It’s nice to get a call from my friend when she’s down because she obviously thinks I might be able to cheer her up. It’s nice to hear someone else say that her kids are driving her to drink. It’s nice to have a friend who calls me every day to say hello and wish me a happy day even if she has no news to share.

I gave my friend a gift today. It was an Easter tablecloth that was so cute! She showed it to her husband and said, “Heather gave it to me.” Her child said, “Heather, Heather, Heather! You are always doing things for Heather; always talking to Heather.” We were highly amused. Especially since my children have made the exact same statement to me about her.

My hope is that our children will grow to have friends as trustworthy and well-loved as we love each other. I hope that our friendship will serve as a positive model for some of their future relationships. For, if they have just one friend in their life who is as special as my friend is to me, they will be blessed indeed.

I look in the mirror and remind myself as to why my friend chose such a beautiful verse. I remind myself that someone who cares about me believes me to be beautiful. But, honestly? I am most reminded of the flawless beauty, inside and out, of the woman who gave it to me.