zen^2

Sometimes it is a curse. I feel broken-hearted. I feel out of place and scared. I feel like I don't belong in my own skin. These emotions are not at the forefront of my being - they are secondary, as if they are not my own. And I'm nearly certain that they are not. 

I want so badly to cure the world for my kids. They may not be mine through blood, but they are mine through heart. I want to take away their pain and afford them the opportunity to thrive and grow and feel like they belong somewhere. 

I had a difficult time as a teenager. I was an emotional wreck, an outcast, a free spirit and a tortured soul. Nothing particularly terrible happened to me outwardly - my family was stable, my parents were supportive, my house was a wonderful home, and people generally liked me (I think.) It was my mind that created most of my problems.

But I coped with my emotions by pouring them into poetry and art, which I still have and very rarely read. When I know that my teenage step-kids are going through a difficult time, part of me is suddenly transported into that world again.

I just spent some time immersing myself in my old poetry. My fifteen year old self did an incredible job of documenting her feelings in verse. She wrote about heartbreak and the excitement of new love. She wrote about losing friends and cutting to ease the pain. She wrote about extreme lows and flowery highs and the varying levels of experimentation that naturally happen as a teenager. 

Now I am feeling entirely encumbered by these emotions, and imagining my step-children feeling this way (or even worse) makes me feel like melting into a puddle of helplessness. I wish I could go to them and tell them, "I understand." I wish I could explain to them that while I may not have gone through the exact same situations, I know and very clearly remember the very many terrible emotions that plague them. 

"Protect yourself and your mind from too much negativity. Not turning away from suffering doesn't mean wallowing in the horror of it all." - Susan Moon, "Ten Practices to Change the World"

Wow, did I need this today. I spent the majority of the day yesterday trying to come up with the words to express a deep sadness that I was feeling for the women of my generation. I wanted to cry for them, and for teenage girls, and for the girls that have yet to be born. There is so much pressure to be better, prettier, thinner, smarter, cooler, funnier. There are women actually choosing to be anorexic and bulimic as a way to lose weight, and there are other women actually supporting them in this choice. There are women gushing over fictional characters that idealize abusive and controlling relationships, and thinking 'This is the type of man I should look for.' I was so full of sorrow for these girls. Women have enough to worry about. We are growing up in an age where image and fame are at the forefront of our minds. It results in a strange set of values, where you feel you need to be thinner than a 10 year old to be beautiful. Yesterday, this was almost all I could think about, and it was incredibly difficult to swallow.

I have always had a problem with giving too much of myself away to those that need a shoulder to lean on. As a result, many times over, I have been leaned on so hard that I crumbled. Then I retreated into myself in an effort to heal and mend my own broken pieces. I know now that I was being selfless when I wasn't entirely ready for it. And I am learning, slowly, that it doesn't need to be this way. I can acknowledge the suffering in this world, because how can one NOT notice it, but I don't have to be entrenched in it. I can strive to alleviate it, without causing more suffering to myself. Compassion should be joyful, not painful.

As I was driving to work this morning, I had a realization that hit me like a ton of bricks. Tomorrow marks one year since I had surgery to remove my failed pregnancy. Time moves so fast, I almost didn't even catch it.

I distinctly remember the doctor appointments leading up to the surgery. The fear and confusion that swept through me when I saw an empty gestational sac during my first ultrasound. I clearly remember being stoic and strong. A tiny voice in my head saying "This can't be happening... this wouldn't be happening." I vividly recall the horrible explosive feeling of my appendix, two days later, threatening to burst as I tried to remain calm in the emergency room. My ER doctor was shocked (and even a hint excited) that he had a pregnant patient with appendicitus. "I've read about this in the textbooks in med school, but never seen it," he said with a smile. I remember appreciating the upbeat attitude of my nurse, who consoled me with the fact that my hormone levels were perfect to sustain an early pregnancy. But, several ultrasounds later, two things were certain. My appendix was ready to burst, and there was no fetus to be found. Moments later, I was prepped for surgery and blind as a bat (I wear pretty strong corrective eye glasses), being asked if I want to have a D&C at the same time as my appendectomy. The decision had to be quick and fairly uninformed, but I said yes. If I'm going to miscarry, I want it to be over with so that I can move on and continue trying.

I've written extensively about it before, so I don't need to rehash everything that happened afterward. Looking back on it, and realizing that it has been an entire year since that day, I do not feel sad or scared. I feel immensely proud. I remained strong in that hospital room. I made the right decisions for my body. I overcame the depression that followed. I overcame the fear of trying again. I used the fear and sadness and overwhelming emotions to thrust myself forward into a new level of spiritual and emotional greatness. The past year has been extremely difficult, but I have learned more about myself and my relationships because of it.

Another one line drawing emerges as the product of my free drawing exercise today.

Trees have always inspired me. Their symbolism is never ending and nearly all-encompassing. Trees dwell in several realms - they are both Earth-bound and heaven-bound. Life, death, hope and love. Resurrection, regeneration and growth, masculine and feminine, power and immortality. Nearly every religion regards them as a spiritual symbol, and the symbolism transcends every belief system.

Feeling inspired today. I spent a few minutes enjoying the breath in my lungs during my work commute, and suddenly the world transformed into pure beauty and vibrance.

We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is waiting for us.

-Joseph Campbell

No, I'm not giving up. I am giving "it" up to the universe, to react and create in the way and time that it needs to.

I came to this mini-epiphany a couple of weeks ago. I realized that the constant worry and obsession over trying to conceive is not doing anything but making the journey unbearable. This wasn't the first time I thought this, but it was the first time I felt it. It's been 8 months since my miscarriage. My due date has come and gone, and while I expected to be completely crushed throughout the entire month of March, I instead felt a huge sense of relief and hope.

It doesn't make sense to actively allow myself to suffer, by convincing myself every month that 'this could be the month' or 'I would be mother by now, if that didn't happen.' I'm trying to find the line between positivity and surrender - but not surrender to defeat, surrender to the universe instead. Staying positive doesn't mean I need to say 'this could be the month' and give myself a hope that might be (and has been so many times) shattered a few weeks later. Staying positive, I think, means I need to say 'I'm going to enjoy this month' and not worry over when or if or how. It will happen as it is meant to happen.

For a while I thought maybe I needed to accomplish a few things before it was my time. I needed to go to the dentist, then it would happen. I needed to start eating better, then it would happen. I needed to exercise regularly, then it would happen. I needed to get a handle on my debt, then it would happen. I was so wrong, and pretty foolish to think that I knew what was in store for me. I couldn't possibly know.