All We Ever Knew

So I've got this cough. It's quite impressive, really: It feels like I'm going to swallow my own tongue when I get going on a coughing jag. Really unpleasant.

This morning I looked up what my pal Louise Hay says about having a cough. I knew it would be fifth chakra related, and lo and behold, it is: Coughs are associated with a deep need to make a point.

And that fits. Because I do, in fact, have a deep need to make a point.

As I wrote about in this post-election post, I am deeply troubled by so many American's willingness to sweep Donald Trump's sexual assaults under the rug and cast a vote for him anyway. I reckon this hit me so hard because of the nature of my own trauma and my family's desire to sweep it under the rug too. My whole life, including the part where I was conscious of the abuse and all the time that came before (which was thirty some years), I have been more concerned with my father's well-being than my own. Even when I confronted my parents the first time, I was really worried about that, and my actions afterward have vacillated between trying to live in my truth and trying to please or placate.

As a result, I've been stuck in this place with my parents where I feel no genuine emotion - just a sense of going through the motions. The only genuine emotion I feel for them is related to my kids. I love that my kids love their grandparents. I knew that was possible, and important, because my parents had strained relationships with three of their four (collective) parents, but I adored them, especially my Father's parents. It's this knowledge that propelled me to work through my trauma to the extent that I have.

I dropped out of my trauma recovery group partway through. I felt that there was too much emphasis on the misogynistic nature of our culture, too much attention given to the misdeeds of the perpetrator, too much wallowing in self-pity because we've all been through these big traumas.

And then, Trump was elected over Clinton. And I realized that my trauma recovery instructor was right. Is right. It's as bad as she says and then some.

I also continued reading a book I've been picking up and putting down for years: The Body Never Lies: The Lingering Effects of Hurtful Parenting. And one of the things it said was you will never do your parents any good by having a relationship with them based on shoulds. I should love them, because they are my mom and dad. I should appreciate what they have done for me. Nope. Maybe I will come around to that, to either of those, once I finally let it be known what their particular brand of parenting did: it left me with only a shadow of myself.

Now I'm reading another book, The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F#(k, whose author would say that their parenting may be their fault, but it's my responsibility to deal with its effects.

I completely agree. And that's what I'm finally doing. By letting my parents know exactly what those effects are, by letting them know that I no longer intend to abide or enable a culture of denial, by finally worrying more about how I feel about it all than how my father (or mother) feels.

It's not easy. I don't want to cause my parents pain. But that's the thing: I didn't cause it. It's there, in their twin lifelong struggles with depression. I'm just naming it. And in my experience, naming something can lead to relief.

But that's out of my control. All I can do is admit that all we ever knew, as a family, was fatally flawed. What passed as love was something much less spacious, and forgiving, and nurturing, and life-affirming.

It's super fitting that the song for today is by a band called The Head and the Heart:

When I wake up in the morning
I see nothing
For miles and miles and miles
When I sleep in the evening
Oh Lord
There she goes
Only in dreams, she's only in dreams

Well, well my love
We've been here before
Don't drag me through this again
We've tried everything under the sun
Now I'm trying to wake up from this
I'm trying to make up for it

All we ever do
Is all we ever knew

I know that in my Father's body, the head and the heart are separate. I believe the same is true of my Grandfather's. And I know that in my life, mine were separate for a long, long time, and still revert to that separation when frightened, because that's how I found safety as a child. By leaving my heart, and the rest of my body, and just existing in my head.

It's all we ever knew, Dad, until I learned so much more. And now I can genuinely say that I hope you too will experience the integration of your head and your heart in this lifetime, but whether you do or not, is up to you:

You don't see why your world has no love to give
Well, what goes around comes around
I know sometimes you get so caught in a dream
But now it's time to wake up from this
It's time to make up for it

It's time to wake up from this
Yes it's time to wake up from this
It's time to make up for it

All we ever do
Is all we ever knew

(La la la la la la...)

I'm feelin' low, feelin' high
Feelin' down, why isn't this enough?

I'm feelin' low, feelin' high
Feelin' down, why isn't this enough?

All we ever do
Is all we ever knew
All we ever do

I'm only in charge of me, and of my children. And I know, from the deepest regions of mind, heart, body and soul, that:

It's time to wake up from this

(La la la la la la...)

Lost in My Mind

Last night I had some dreams that involved the New Englander. We were somewhere unfamiliar -- it seemed like it might have been some sort of amusement park in Mexico. I kept worrying about him being lost, and feeling like the last time I had seen him might really be the last time I saw him. I guess that's not super far off of real life, since I don't think it is likely that I will see him again.

I heard this song today, and thought it apropos since the New Englander was indeed lost in my mind:

Put your dreams away for now
I won't see you for some time
I am lost in my mind
I get lost in my mind

Momma once told me
You're already home where you feel loved
I am lost in my mind
I get lost in my mind

Oh my brother
Your wisdom is older than me
Oh my brother
Don't you worry 'bout me

Don't you worry
Don't you worry, don't worry about me

How's that bricklayin' comin'?
How's your engine runnin'?
Is that bridge gettin' built?
Are your hands gettin' filled?
Won't you tell me, my brother?

'Cause there are stars
Up above

We can start
Moving forward

Lost in my mind
Lost in my mind
Oh I get lost in my mind
Lost, I get lost

I get lost in my mind
Lost in my mind
Yes I get lost in my mind,
Lost, I get lost
I get lost

Oh I get lost

It's true. Sometimes I do. But I am trying, as much as I can, to keep from letting my mind run off...

Let's Be Still

Today I attended my first ever hot yoga class. It was a 90 minute, Bikram sequence in a 105 degree room. I went at the suggestion of a friend -- and I'd been meaning to check out the studio (which is about a mile from my house) for a while. I'd heard a lot of negative things about hot yoga, but also know people who swear by it, and now seemed like a great time to try it.

It was crazy cold today -- below zero when I got up -- and the hundred degree differential was a little overwhelming at first. But I found that the heat (and perhaps the sequence, but definitely the heat) allowed me to let go in a way that I haven't in a long, long time.

On the way home, I heard this song. It seems fitting because there are a whole bunch of really short savasanas (or rests) during the sequence, and they seem to come right when they're needed:

If things don't slow down soon we might not last.
So just for the moment, let's be still.

You can get lost in the music for hours, honey,
You can get lost in a room.
We can play music for hours and hours
But the sun'll still be coming up soon.

The world's not forgiving
Of everyone's fears.

Here come my two favorite lines:

The days turn into months, the months turn into years.

It happens, you know? It happens with relationships, it happens with jobs, it happens with kids. All the important things in life. From where I sit right now, this piece of advice seems so critical:

So just for the moment, let's be still

There tearing down
So we can rebuild
And all this time
Is just circles in my mind
So just for a moment,
Just one moment,
Just for a moment let's be still
Just for a moment let's be still
Just for a moment let's be still
Just for a moment let's be still.

The world's just spinning
A little too fast
If things don't slow down soon we might not last.
The world's not forgiving
Of everyone's fears.
The days turn into months the months turn into years.
So just for a moment, let's be still

Yes. Let's. And let's listen to what our hearts say during stillness...

Another Story

I got up at 4:45am today so that I could join my friend for practice across town. I'm still tired from my trip and knew it wouldn't be easy to get up but I also knew I desperately needed the yoga and the friendship.

As I pulled up in front of the studio, this song was playing:

These are just flames
Burning in your fireplace
I hear your voice and it seems
As if it was all a dream
I wish it was all a dream

Yup, I can identify with that. I wish this whole saying goodbye to my love thing was all a dream. I'd never heard the song, but I liked it, so I stayed in the car and listened further:

I see a world
A world turning in on itself
Are we just like
Hungry wolves howling in the night
I don't want no music tonight

Can we go on like it once was

I sure do wish we could. But we couldn't get back there this week when we were together, so it's pretty difficult to see how we ever would.

Every time I hear another story
Oh the poor boy lost his head
Everybody feels a little crazy
But we go on living with it
Yeah they go on living with it

I'll tell you one thing
We ain't gonna change much
The sun still rises
Even with the pain

This is something I've confirmed since getting home. Even when it feels like it won't:

I'll tell you one thing
We ain't gonna change love
The sun still rises
Even through the rain

Can we go on like it once was
Can we go on like it once was

And when we can't go on like it once was, there's not much to do except keep showing up, even through the pain, even through the rain, even through feeling crazy:

Everybody feels a little crazy
Like it once was
Everybody feels a little crazy
Like it once was

And try to trust that eventually, it'll be ok. A friend of mine said to me this week when I called her in tears: "In the end it will be ok. If it's not ok, it's not the end."

Hmmm. I'm not sure exactly what that means, except that I'm going to get to the other side of all this darkness. And until I start to actually see the light and feel lighter, I'm going to have to do what we in Alanon call fake it 'til you make it...

Lost in My Mind

Seeing and talking with my Dad's stepbrother really got me thinking. I asked him about his parents' deaths, and he said they were really hard on him. Says he still misses them both. We talked about my Dad, and the fact that he seemed not to care when their Father died. I don't think he would have even gone to the funeral if it hadn't been for my Mom, and he definitely didn't shed any tears.

I remember wondering about that at the funeral. How could my Dad be so heartless? At the time I didn't understand it. Now I think the answer is that he went through trauma as a child and basically that part of him, the part that could feel love for his father, froze, and he didn't seem interested in thawing it out. My father once said that the reason he didn't go to therapy was that once he unraveled he didn't think there'd be any putting himself back together.

Now I find myself in a similar position -- with a part of me frozen -- the part that would feel tenderness toward my parents. There are some differences, mind you. I want my parents in my life because I want them in my kids lives, but that's different than wanting them in mine for my own sake - wanting to have a separate relationship with either of them. That I'm a lot less interested in, but unlike my Dad, I feel up for the challenge of thawing this part of me out. I'd like to feel more tenderness toward my parents, but it's not something I can should my way into feeling. I've already unraveled in therapy at least once, and I've knit myself back together (with a bunch of help), but still I feel cut off from a part of myself and I don't know how to get her back.

I thought of this song as I pondered this because my Dad's side of the family is always so lost in their minds:

Put your dreams away for now
I won't see you for some time
I am lost in my mind
I get lost in my mind

Momma once told me
You're already home where you feel loved
I am lost in my mind
I get lost in my mind

I'm the fourth generation PhD or MD (and the first generation not named Herb), and I think the men on my Dad's side of the family stayed in their minds because being in their bodies felt difficult or elusive -- and to the extent that they were in their bodies, they were often taking a substance to make them feel less -- booze for my Dad and drugs for my Grandfather.

I don't know what to do to make the situation better. I only know what's not going to help:

I get lost in my mind
Lost in my mind
Yes I get lost in my mind,
Lost, I get lost
I get lost

So back to my body I go, in the form of practicing yoga. Even though my body is tired from my 6 mile run today, I promised myself at least 4 hours of yoga every week and I've kept that promise since September 1. I made that promise largely because I have a feeling yoga is something that will help with the thawing -- and indeed, it already has...