emotions

When it all feels wrong

Tessa

 My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. Psalm 73:26

Okay, when is it going to feel like God is ACTUALLY and ALWAYS my strength and my portion?  I’ve got the failing flesh and a broken heart down.  No issues THERE.  But Spiritual satisfaction, that ultimate inheritance and all that I need for eternity, my portion – where do I sign up FOR THAT?  Right now God doesn’t seem to be ‘more than enough’ for me to get by.  Is that sacrilege?  Maybe.  I’m complaining, lamenting really. I’ve been expressing my sorrow and asking for God to heal my heart – it’s a running prayer. It’s hope.  It’s faith. It SUCKS.

Let me tell you a little about what I’VE been up to.  It’s good to catch up, isn’t it?  Keep reading if you’re interested. Trigger warning: Melancholia ahead.  Have you seen that movie with Kirsten Dunst? It’s old now.  My daughter wanted to watch it a while back, and listen, it is SO slow, and the music and imagery makes you feel SO woozy and anxious and heavy-hearted, you have to admit that’s some damn GOOD acting.  Depression is well depicted.  But I don’t NEED that.

Anyway, I was feeling pretty OKAY, which is good for me until we learned that our long awaited camping trip to Samuel de Champlain Provincial Park was canceled.  It had been hit by a tornado.  Yup. Seems about right. It’s next to impossible to find a campsite for our enormous trailer a MONTH before going, let alone 5 months early.  We already played that game back in March.  So, NO camping.  No time in nature to unwind and BREATHE.

The day before our lease was up on the truck and we were in the midst of transferring to a ‘finance to own’ plan, just before it was scheduled to be safetied, and one day before the beginning of vacation, I BROKE the mother loving truck.  Twisted around a pole coming out of the hospital parking lot.  It was SO embarrassing.  I saw the guy in the lineup behind me roll his eyes, so I got out of the truck and walked over to his window.  He saw my clergy collar and screwed up his face.  I apologized for the delay and asked HIM what HE thought I needed to do to get untangled.  Always good to involve bystanders, get them to become invested in the effort rather than complaining at me.  I drove home like a bat out of hell.

So, for our spectacular VACAY, we went to my parents house. It’s tucked into the bush in the middle of nowhere with a lake within walking distance.  But I tell yuh, we SORELY missed the air conditioning and wi-fi in our trailer.  Not to mention the house has iffy toilets and a mouse infestation.  It was OKAY except it was so unbearably hot and humid. We were all miserable. 

I’d taken the Sunday off (I’m a pastor), so we went to my home church.  It was ALL WRONG.  The pastor was away.  My parents didn’t even sit with us and they left the building before we got through the greeting line.  I THOUGHT going would make THEM happy.  No such luck.  In fact, the whole time we were staying with them, as lovely as it was to have tennis or game shows always in the background (with the volume at 79) and be able to sit with my parents as they slept – I wanted to go HOME.  My mother’s dementia is difficult.  I think us being there confused her.  Oh, and, my old dog Tessa was unsettled by the mice.  She heard a noise and climbed the stairs in the middle of the night, only to slip and fall down the ENTIRE flight.  It was so awful.  I hugged her LOTS.

Being home was just another kind of hell.  One of my daughter’s gerbils, TED, got sick.  We took him to the vet for antibiotics.  He needed baby food to take the medicine so we stopped at the grocery store.  When I came out I ALMOST got hit by a car, got flustered, and got into the WRONG truck.  The driver was very nice.  He thought it was great that I’d picked a Chevy instead of a Ford.  The gerbil died two hours later. OOF.

So it took several attempts to get Andy (my husband) to bury Ted –  HALF a hole was ready for a few days.  The gerbil saga kept getting better.  I enjoyed an ‘oat vs spelt’ tasting at midnight while preparing gerbil food for the remaining gerbil- WHY no labels Bulk Barn? My daughter had me messaging breeders in search of a new companion for BEN (the bereaved) – before he gets depressed.  Enter AL.  Gerbil world is like a bad Soap Opera.  Now they have to bond. Fun times.

A couple days later my son gave Tessa her pills at the designated time and Andy, for a reason unknown, gave them to her a second time.  She got really disoriented.  We thought we RUINED her.  She had a yucky tummy for a few days.  I hugged her LOTS.

And then – here’s where my failing heart crashed and burned.  One ordinary morning I went upstairs to get dressed and ready to take my Tessa girl for her walk.  Shouting ensued.  By the time I got back down the stairs she had ALREADY suffered a stroke.  I can’t tell you how shocked we were.  My son and I scooped her up and got her to the vet – where we made the decision to help her die faster – it was ABSOLUTELY TERRIBLE.  My son picked up his dead dog and we took her home where I hugged her body LOTS.  She’s been gone almost 3 weeks and I am no longer able to behave in an emotionally acceptable way – even at home I’ve been told to knock it off.  I cannot.  I hug myself LOTS


 8We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; 9persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. 

2 Corinthians 4:8-9

Back to lamenting.  Hard pressed? Check.  Perplexed? Check.  Persecuted (for crying too much)? Check. Struck down? Check.  But contrary to scripture I ALSO feel crushed, despairing, abandoned, and destroyed.  St. Paul says some stuff about how our weakness reveals God’s power.  Sometimes I CAN’T hear this message.  I want the hurting to stop.  I don’t want to be shown death over and over again.  I guess God knows we are forgetful creatures.  We carry around the death and the resurrection of Jesus in our piddly human flesh so that WE KNOW what both mean and can truly live as if our own resurrection has already happened.  If it’s true and God IS love, then I know Tessa is waiting for me through the gate – because God knows she makes me so happy.  It wouldn’t be heaven without her.   

All caught up.

We good?

Barbapapa Blues

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear.  Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?” Matthew 6:25
“If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and night wraps itself around me,” even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day, for darkness is as light to you.  For it was you who formed my inward parts; you who knit me together in my mother's womb.  I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.  Wonderful are your works; that I know very well.” Psalm 139:11-14


“They don’t make dresses for sausages.”  That’s what a dear old lady in my Mom’s church choir used to say.  When I was a teenager, I thought she was a cute, little Finn lady with a great sense of humour.  She was short and looked ordinary enough to me – but I get it now.  She was right.  They DON’T make dresses for sausages.  I have entered my SAUSAGE ERA.  I’m a jumbo sausage.  More specifically, I am a HOT  Jumbo, Great Canadian Meat, Gluten Free, HIGH protein sausage. 

I should say I’ve been here before.  I had a brief reprieve from jumbo life when my health required a very restrictive diet.  For a few years, I was more of a CHIPOLATA sausage – small and skinny.  However, I have reentered the Jumbo arena, and let me tell you,  it sucks.

Body dysmorphia is a terrible LIAR.  When I was super thin, I was convinced I should be even thinner.  Whenever my pants size goes up,  I think I’m too heavy.  Either way, SHAME has me in its grip.  I wish I could take what Jesus says to heart and not give a crap about what my body looks like or, like King David, be grateful to be living in it for the gift that IT IS.

Sometimes, okay – NEVER I think about my body as a gift from God.  It’s hard to imagine why the DIVINE would find it a pleasing place to dwell, but God chooses it ANYWAY.  It doesn’t work as well as other bodies.  It IS worse for wear.  I’ve treated it poorly.  There are accumulated and genetic health issues I simply can not fix.  Most days, I am angry at my body, actually angry at MYSELF, and I’m a very long way from forgiveness and healing. 

A couple of months ago, while trying on my spring and summer clothes, I realized I had gained considerable weight over the preceding two years.  They were times filled with EXTRA STRESS that affected my self-worth, my family life, my social life, and my work.  I’d given up alcohol (long story) several years before, so I distracted myself with FOOD instead.  Apparently, eating a WHOLE chocolate bar every night adds up, and menopause weight is no JOKE, especially when it comes to stress eating. 

Depression is a reality in my little life. It ebbs and flows in currents that start as an ACHE in my heart that quickly takes hold of my brain. It turns me into an actress. I stop living and fall into the shadows of despair and self-loathing.  It’s  HARD to remember that the blanket of darkness that enshrouds me is NOT as it seems. The weight is a cosmic hug and a warmth emanating from heavenly light. This ISN’T just Bible Study stuff or things I HAVE to say because I’m in the God business.  God REALLY knows me and you  too.  God loves me and God loves YOU.  We don’t have to act, or change, or do ANYTHING at all.  Be yourself!  I am a living, breathing, hot, sweating, extra large creation OF GOD.

I’m good enough. I’m strong enough. And gosh darn it, people like me –  (SNL – anyone? Personal affirmations in the mirror? Nevermind)

I’m an agent of my Maker. Even if I’m a shape-shifter like the blobby Barbapapas, I used to watch on TV. ‘Clickety Click, Barba trick’- their bodies morph into whatever is needed – thin, thick, tall, short, big, small, narrow, or wide.  Who cares.  God doesn’t.

The world needs us so very much to be loving.  Love yourself so you can dig deep and find joy and peace in loving others with everything you are. No holds barred. 

PS. I’m still going on a diet and beginning a new exercise routine. It’s a way to love my body.  Chin up.

HER

My comfort:
Psalm 139:1, 7, 13-14, 23-24 NRSV

1 O Lord, you have searched me and known me.

7 Where can I go from your spirit?
    Or where can I flee from your presence?

13 For it was you who formed my inward parts;
    you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
    Wonderful are your works;
that I know very well.

23 Search me, O God, and know my heart;
    test me and know my thoughts.
24 See if there is any wicked way in me,
    and lead me in the way everlasting.

There’s a part of myself I’d like to befriend, I empathize with her, but I don’t like her. It’s too hard.  I haven’t forgiven her for the mayhem she causes, unaware, the relationships she destroys, the judgment she invites.  These are irreparable damages.

She isn’t all bad. I mean, there are some wonderful and happy memories- and I’ve done the hard work to remember her innocence, her goodness.  I get her.  I underwent the testing, I did the research, I have weighed and analyzed my mental health issues. I talk about her in therapy – I understand – but it’s hard to accept all the things she did and does that I did and do that hurt and continue to hurt. It’s hard to shoulder this responsibility. 

She feels so betrayed, used, and less than enough.  She is always a part of me. She is inside my mind, and my gut- she reminds me how I routinely dissociate.  She brings shame to the forefront. She is inconsolable. She takes me down to the depths, and part of me remains suffocated there. She tells me I did this to myself. She begs me to see her, to acknowledge her, to love her, to affirm and absorb her pain as it seeps through my mind at inopportune moments. 

She is me, and I just come short of embracing her. I am not whole – because she needs my help to heal.  That lonely, confused, misguided young woman who can’t find herself is still me.  She is the me who feels worthless, who begs for  attention. Who makes life altering choices in desperation.  When I fall into depression, she washes over me.  I succumb to regret. I believe the lies she takes for truth.  I believe I have failed, I’m insignificant, unlovable, and too selfish to be dignified and respected. Even with evidence that this can’t be true, I still spiral down like a kite who has suddenly lost its supporting wind.

My hope:
Isaiah 43:18-19

18 “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.
19 See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.

Be kind to yourself. You are never alone.

Benumbed

Casual pleasantries are NOT  my thing.  I’d rather hold my breath and pretend I’m invisible than fill the silence with EMPTY words.  I’ve been feeling super uncomfortable lately.  For many months, actually. It’s just my present state of being. My inner and outer selves are exchanging blows. It’s QUITE messy.  

When someone makes socially acceptable, lighthearted banter in my direction, perhaps cheerfully saying, “Hello. How are you?” I usually respond with an “I’M fine, how are YOU?”  That should suffice, but it feels like I’m lying.

I feel uncomfortable, spiritless.  I don’t know why.  I just do.  “Hello, how are you?”  “ME? I am NUMB.  How are you?” 

13th century English is FUN.  ‘Numbness’, is described by the word, ‘TOPOR’ (Latin: torpōr/verb torpēre) – to lack sensation. This word sounds UGLY and DIRTY, and just AWKWARD  enough to express my spiritual and intellectual inertia. Torpid, torpidus, torpitude, torpidity, torpify.  These word forms refer to  the idea of tending or serving to MAKE something or someone NUMB.   

“Hello, how are you?” 

“I am in topor.

I am torpid.

I have been torpified.

I am in the depths of torpidity.

I am overcome with torpidtude.”

Or my favorite, “I TORP”.

I feel like a torpid frog.  I am benumbed and stupefied.  How are YOU?  

We used to have a bearded dragon named Lightning.  He spent weeks in biological dormancy.  He stopped hunting, eating, and  bathing.  IN FACT, he stopped MOVING altogether and appeared NOT to breathe. In reptiles, this is called brumation.  In other animals, it is hibernation. In the wild, it happens to protect certain animals from weather and starvation.  

I feel like I AM  a wild beast who has been forced into domestic living.  I didn’t choose to torp, it’s just a part of how I SURVIVE. Numbness is often a part of mental disorders.  It can be a part of dissociation, depersonalization, and derealization, or in my case, emotional dysregulation.  It’s a COPING mechanism. It’s OKAY to feel  torpid sometimes.  Take some extra time for yourself.  Focus on rest and goodness and trust that ‘HEALING WILL COME ON THE WINGS OF THE SPIRIT AND WE SHALL GO OUT LEAPING LIKE CALVES FROM THE STALL’. (Malachi 4:2)  Too much?  It’s okay.  God holds you in times of joy and in torpidity. 

“Torpify.” Merriam-Webster.com Dictionary, Merriam-Webster, https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/torpify. Accessed 30 Jan. 2025.

Theme Song

2 Corinthians 4:8-9

“We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed.”

These could be the words to my theme song.  I don’t have one, of course, but, if I did, it would be sung to tune 878787 PRAISE, MY SOUL, THE KING OF HEAVEN.  Google it to hear the melody!  It’s also Hymn #864 in the Evangelical Lutheran Worship book, if you have it.

MY EVER-PLAYING THEME SONG:

“Praise, my soul, the God of Heav-en; when af-flict-ed, struck down, scared.  My soul shines since I am liv-ing,      even when my heart despairs.  Per-se-cut-ed, not for-sak-en, fazed I rise a-gain to praise.“

Catchy, ain’t it?  Doesn’t it scream REALITY to you?  I’ve done some family history, and I think I truly identify with the MANY women in my heritage who were lumped into the category of “LONG SUFFERING.”

Somehow they LIVED. They ran the race.  They overcame, they carried on.  When I feel the bone weariness of another depression washing over me, maybe I could sing a few lines and snap out of it. I CAN’T ACTUALLY SNAP OUT OF IT.  Depression is UNSTOPPABLE even when you are managing it with lifestyle and medication.  I have to sing this while I’m feeling OKAY to lay the BEDROCK for when I AM NOT.

BREATHE.  Remind yourself that so far in your life, and so far today, you have NOT been CRUSHED into oblivion.  Your worry and anxiety has not utterly DEFEATED your spirit.  Despair is tempered because, LOOK, here you are – NOT forsaken and NOT destroyed.  It’s good news EVEN if you feel like a truck has just hit you and there’s an elephant sitting on your chest. That sadness that separates you from strength and holds apart from relationships and community – it WILL eventually lessen and WHEN it does, you can sing my theme song with me.  It will be the shield we wield on this earthly walk TOGETHER.

God shines glorious light into OUR hearts so we can see the divine TREASURE that is planted there, so we can know that even though death is always at work in us, we are also AFLAME with the extraordinary life of Christ.  

I’ve been DOWN on myself through these many weeks of Christmastide.  But a good friend reminded me that the judgement of others DOESN’T MATTER. It’s LOVE that matters.  GOD is LOVE. Sharing love is good for what ails ya. Onward and Upward, friends.

Unraveling

Pontiac Sunfire 1999

I’ve been spending a lot of time in the passenger seat as my son learns to drive.  I am NOT fond of driving.  I don’t feel like I’m in control behind the wheel.  It’s complicated.  Although I trust my son, implicitly, riding in cars augments my ALREADY heightened feeling of vulnerability.  I’m not an ideal driving teacher, so I sit quietly and try not to freak out unless, of course, we are about to die.

I was 17 when I was learning to drive. My FATHER thought I was doing well enough to give highway 401, the then BUSIEST and WIDEST freeway in North America, a go.  Thankfully, G1/learner permit drivers are no longer permitted to take this RISK.  We began navigating through the city of Peterborough, where we lived. I drove us down Highway 7, which had 2 lanes.  Then I continued driving on Highway 115, which had 4 lanes.  Then, I turned off onto Highway 401, which had 8 lanes.  With each highway, my fear increased with the SPEED limit.

Once on the 401, I panicked. I desperately wanted to pull over.  There is NO ‘safe’ place to sit on the shoulder of the 401.  I started crying and screaming, and swerving. My Mom and my sister (it’s unfortunate they’d come along on THIS adventure) also began to shout.  Somehow, my Dad talked me through it. (I’ve blocked out the memory). My panic, dissociation and almost total shutdown could have killed ALL of us.  I avoid highway 401 as much as  possible.

It’s little wonder that I took up pastoring in RURAL settings.  I do okay in the country on the back roads, as long as they’re paved. Once, while driving a parishioner home, I crashed my car into a tree while TRYING to power through freshly laid gravel with my sports car. (Sunfire) Fun times. Night time driving in the country presents the constant danger of deer crossing.  I hit actually HIT one and have avoided driving after sundown ever since. And then there is snow. Snow is ALWAYS scary.

Once, early in my ministry, BEFORE becoming a mother (I think this matters to my state of mind), I was driving through a rural, winter storm and slid off the road.  That’s not accurate.  I BARRELLED off the road,  jumping the ditch and landing in a farmer’s field, just inches from a large tree. I’d been making pastoral calls and was not dressed appropriately for winter.  Since this was a time BEFORE I had a cell phone, I got out and trudged through the deep snow to the nearest farmhouse. 

There were little kids outside. The mother was wary of ME – wearing frozen blacks and a clergy collar.  I steeled myself to IMPOSE until help arrived.  I used her phone.  I didn’t call the police but a nearby parishioner who pulled my car out with his tractor. My car thawed for HOURS in his heated barn. It was terribly humiliating.

This accident could EASILY have been avoided. I COULD have stopped pressing the gas. I could have TRIED to steer into the skid.  But I JUST gave up. What possessed me? How could I NOT care? In a single second, I made a decision that ran contrary to anything I dreamed I would do in similar circumstances.  I didn’t think about it for many years because, well,  accidents happen. Only AFTER being diagnosed with depression and mental health deficits after years of ministry, after having children, after MY child was diagnosed with mental health disorders – then the UNRAVELING began.

Do we know what is in our hearts, hidden in our minds? What weighs on our subconscious? When I was a child I used to think SO hard about what ‘FOREVER’means that it made my head hurt. Still does. The idea of forever and, by extension, the idea of ‘NEVER ’, torment me.  Forever and never are impossible to quantify.  If I’m honest, the idea of eternity is FRIGHTENING.  Will my racing thoughts EVER end?  Ending permanently is just as terrifying.  How can my thoughts STOP? How can I just disappear, just stop BEING? 

Somehow, something in me knows it IS eternal.  This sense grew exponentially when my brother died 13 years ago (today, actually).  I can feel eternity IN myself, and it brings both comfort and fear. It’s hard enough to open ourselves to trust in the goodness of creaturely living, let alone the eternal life of our souls! WHEN will it be well with our souls?  Do we, as we are, have to END to embrace it?

Science says that electricity, energy NEVER burns out.  I imagine that means THIS aspect of our little lives remains viable in the universe. THAT part is recycled. Stardust. Our bodies decay and contribute to NEW life on EARTH. But what of our soul?  What happens to our individuality, our thoughts, our loves – are they simply LET GO? As a Christian, I look to Jesus, but he doesn’t give ANY satisfying answers, just more puzzlement.  He says things like: there will be NO marriage, we will be like angels and belong ONLY to LOVE(God).  After bodily death, being with family won’t be the primary activity. Worshipping Love ITSELF will fill our time, and ALL will be ONE family. We’ll even meet NEW family. (Matthew 22-30) St. Paul says that we will be closer to one another than we are NOW, but not in the same way. (1 Corinthians 2:9) So – we won’t be alone, but all of this still scares me. Also, the relief of letting go, giving my brain a rest, equally entices me.

The decision I made in that snowstorm was probably LESS a decision than it was a product of my Borderline Personality- emotional dysregulation. I can be overwhelmed, impulsive, and reckless when I feel threatened. That was a recipe for disaster BEFORE starting medication to curb these symptoms.  I take better care of myself now. Our personal self care has benefits for EVERYONE we love.

Our brains are wired to survive, even in trauma. There is an INNATE awareness that life now IS important. It is important to LIVE IT. FEEL  IT. SAVOUR IT. The richness and depth of ALL human emotion come from opening our hearts to love a little bit each day. Because of our capacity for love, I trust that WHATEVER is next is GOOD- because LOVE is good.  I believe that Love will embrace the best of us UNTO eternity.  All this confusion, learning, joy, and shit, ALL of it – is somehow WORTH the effort. 

I work hard to remember to weigh my thoughts before acting. Every day, I give thanks for the GRACE to live THIS life. Life leads all of us into a deeper knowing of our souls that will somehow transform us into ONE and give us the PEACE that surpasses all of our current understanding.

Safe

My grown kids scoff whenever I remind them that I could fly. Not airplanes.  I am NOT a pilot.  What I am is accident prone, CLUMSY.  My kids often tease me that ‘it’s too bad I’ve forgotten how to fly, maybe then I’d save myself some bumps and bruises’. Funny. Laugh as they might, it IS true, I COULD fly … I really BELIEVED it was true, once. 

I clearly remember having to run to work up some speed and then DIVING forward into a flying hover, just a few feet above the ground.  I’d fly like that ALL the way to school, eating cherry tomatoes from a sandwich bag while my head and chest kept me on a steady course.  No one around me seemed to care, or maybe they didn’t notice.  It was GLORIOUS. I could reach down and touch the dirt. I could put my arms out and feel the rush of the wind on my skin and through my hair.  It was a fantastic feeling.  FREEDOM. I also remember failing the take off, hitting the ground and feeling the road burn – so what does that tell you?

I doubt I’m the only person who thought they could do it. Flying memories must be pretty common because the experience so often turns up in literature and media. Flying is a wonderful escape to another world for Peter Pan and the Darling children.  In the magical world of Harry Potter, flying was a given in the game of Quidditch.  Flying is COOL and EXCITING. Kids’ imaginations are limitless and so vivid that the veil between memory and fanciful tales can be hard to discern.

BEFORE I knew about Narnia or even what a ‘wardrobe’ was, my closet was a special place. Actually, it wasn’t a closet at all.  It opened into a vast, ever-changing  space that belonged ONLY to me.  Sometimes it looked like one of those sunken living rooms, an entertainment area from the 70s (it WAS the 70s after all) – but bigger – expansive.  It kept going and going, like a vista of memories mixed with hope and glimpses of freedom beyond my wildest dreams.   It had EVERYTHING I could ever need or want.  It was delightfully different each time I visited – something new, something exciting, something GOOD.   Having a secret place or an imaginary world – provides a safe place to practice being grown up, to try out new skills, and to build self esteem.  Make believe is an important piece of childhood learning.  It’s an escape, a respite from being too little, too weak, too quiet, too undereducated, or too inexperienced to do mysterious grown up stuff like being in charge.

In my closet I had a variety of my ACTUAL special dresses on hangers – I would carefully choose which one to wear whenever I took a ride in my flying machine.  OH YES! My flying machine! It was docked SOMEWHERE in that secret place, ready to take me wherever my heart desired.  It was rectangular and stood upright.  It was  made of dark wood, and had carved spindles binding each corner. It had a tiered, rounded roof with a ball and spire on top.  It was open to the air, and there were two little benches facing one another.  My flying machine wasn’t much larger than a telephone booth.  I SWEAR that this was BEFORE I knew about Dr. Who or the Great Glass Elevator in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory!  

MY flying machine would take me over parades, over people I knew from school who would look up in admiration and wave, and CHEER, “There goes NADINE!  She looks like a PRINCESS in that dress!”  I could EVEN bring someone aboard if I wanted to. I could welcome kids who usually paid me NO mind and gain their friendship because of my secret room.  I could come and go whenever I wanted.  I could do whatever I wanted.  I got to make ALL the decisions.  People really, really LIKED ME. I felt FREE as a bird.  It was sensationally FUN.  

I never invited my family to see it, though.  It was ONLY for me, myself.  It felt safe and affirming, a place where I wasn’t ever teased, humiliated, or alone.  Where I wasn’t ever angry, or afraid.  

Often, when I left the closet, I could hear voices out in the kitchen.  I’d get excited, thinking my family was having a hoot of a good time and I didn’t want to MISS it.  But, then I’d wonder – WHY didn’t anyone tell ME?  Didn’t they notice I wasn’t there? I’d run out to look. ‘Here I am!’ But EVERYONE was tucked into bed and asleep.  It was the middle of the night.  It confused me terribly. How LONG had I been in the closet? What DID I miss? WAS I missed? Did they forget about me and go to bed?  Did they hear me coming and DISAPPEAR on purpose? I still wonder about those voices.

This is where everything gets a BIT uncomfortable.  Even the wonder of my imaginary world, full of freedom, acceptance, and friends would not console the feeling that I had been somehow ABANDONED.  It was clear that NO ONE really cared about me. These persistent feelings, no doubt, sprouted from something unpleasant and unfair that happened to me and have haunted me my entire life.  

If you’ve read any of my stuff, you know I’m the queen of OVERSHARING.  Here it comes. Beginning at a very young age, my self-worth has always been based on the APPROVAL and ACCEPTANCE of others.  I’m prone to intense DEPENDENCE on my select favourite people.  I have terrible, sometimes debilitating ANXIETY.  I am petulant, some might say I’m a little self-destructive.  It’s true, I am easily frustrated, I CAN be convinced that the world might be more cruel than it is kind, I often ooze with self-LOATHING.  My moods and emotions are unpredictable.  I struggle with feelings of EMPTINESS, SHAME, PARANOIA, and ABANDONMENT. I am impulsive, I need acceptance and attention. Can you guess my DIAGNOSIS?  I don’t think any LABEL is a perfect fit, but in mental health language, I have Borderline Personality Disorder. No two cases are ever the same, so this unique MANIFESTATION is mine alone – even so, I’m sure there are points that will resonate with others for whom emotional or mood dysregulation are everyday concerns.

My memory tells me I had a wonderful childhood.  On most counts, I REALLY did.  My parents, my whole family, were the BEST.  No family is perfect and we aren’t, by a long shot.  But, I thought we really set the standard for how families SHOULD function.  That’s the narrative, to this day. We love each other.  We set the bar. I was loved, I was cared for. I still needed a safe place to be alone.  I longed for understanding, freedom and acceptance.  I had MASSIVE tantrums, I felt injustice wielded  against me. I worried about death and, I worried about going to HELL – A LOT.  I was angry, sad, and fearful about being left alone. My imagination was a soft place to land.

I recently took a course about trauma informed care in which the instructor suggested that Borderline Personality Disorder as well as several other mood and emotional dysregulation disorders might fall under a NEW umbrella called Complicated Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. CPTSD.  As you know, PTSD can develop from an ACUTE trauma, something that happens to you or something you witness, maybe a car accident or a shooting – a SINGULAR event beyond your control.  CPTSD can develop from ONGOING trauma, something that repeatedly happened to you over a long period, or something that CONTINUES to happen to you or something you witness over and over again, including physical and emotional abuse, and ESPECIALLY in early development and adolescent years.  I find this new blanket term less negative.  It carries HOPE. Maybe it ISN’T my fault. Maybe I can accept who I AM a little bit more, maybe confusion can be relieved, and inner conflict resolved. Maybe I DON’T HAVE TO FEEL so alone, ashamed, and consumed by my disorder. 

Trauma responses vary greatly between people, even between those who share the SAME experiences. Why do some of us develop disorderly symptoms?  It’s a good question! CPTSD is caused through a combination of genetic, neurobiological, psychological and psychosocial factors.  I learned this in “The Neurobiology of Everyday Life” course I found online.  It taught me so much about the way our brains work. Our brains are uniquely influenced by these categories and each category in a disordered condition can factor in at different levels of responsibility.  In a trauma workbook, I discovered that my disorderly mind is a result of roughly 30% neurobiological/genetic and 70% psychosocial.  I don’t know if the numbers really mean anything – but it takes some of the onus off me, personally.

Does mental illness run in your family?  Maybe you have a genetic predisposition. Did you know that depressive disorders, eating, and substance abuse disorders often coexist?  This is true for people with CPTSD symptoms.  How does your brain manage emotion? Behaviour? Long Term memory? Motivation? Learning?  How does your brain deal with the effect of substance use?  Brains that display mental health stress develop symptoms in the limbic system (which processes and regulates our emotions and memory) . Did you have adverse childhood experiences that you may have been unable to process in a healthy way?

When I was seven years old my family moved to a new town.  My closet didn’t come with me and I NEVER felt it’s magic again.  I had memories of my time in my sanctuary, but had nowhere new to turn for comfort.  My life became more and more difficult for me, until, ‘KABLOOIE’ – I was a young adult, loose in the world with all the same old shame weighing me down.  I was impulsive. I felt empty and angry. I did things that could have caused me great harm.  My closest relationships were terribly unstable. (I hate you, don’t leave me!) My sense of self was largely distorted toward the negative.  My emotions were so intense I would dissociate, completely detaching myself from them. Girding this all up was my fear of  abandonment.

Too HEAVY?  Yup, sure. There’s an upside.  My children helped me to REIGNITE that sense of wonder and trust in myself that I used to find in my bedroom closet.  Creativity is an outlet for taking what’s locked up inside and letting it out by expressing it.  It’s a safe way to rehearse and address difficult thoughts and emotions.  Try something new sometimes. Take some small risks.  LEARN your heart. SPEAK with your soul.  

Psalm 139 is one of my very favorites.   Did you forget that I’m CHURCHY?  Here’s a small sermon for you.  Although I CAN’T escape who I THINK I am or think I HAVE to be, I also cannot escape from God’s LOVE.  God’s love is inescapable both on my best days and on my very worst days.  I tell myself to BREATHE about it – for me breath is the same as prayer.  Maybe these words will be helpful to you, too.  Note that the word ‘Sheol’ means something like ‘darkness- as found in what, for some, is the presumed abode of the dead’. Okay, From Psalm 139:

1 O Lord, you have searched me and known me. 3 You…are acquainted with all my ways. 7 Where can I go from your spirit?
    Or where can I flee from your presence? 8 If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.  9 If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, 10 even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast.11 If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,
    and night wraps itself around me,” 12 even the darkness is not dark to you;  the night is as bright as the day,
    13 For it was you who formed my inward parts;
    you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
    Wonderful are your works; that I know very well.
16 Your eyes beheld my unformed substance.
17 How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God!
    How vast is the sum of them!
18 I try to count them—they are more than the sand;
    I come to the end—I am still with you.

Whoever you ARE,  whoever you THINK you are, God, LOVE, the Ground of ALL BEING, the Creator, knows YOU and loves YOU.  You were made in LOVE’S own eternal image.  God knew you before any chaos, trauma, disorder, or illness entered your life.  LOVE knows your whole Self – the physical and the spiritual.  And, God is with you NOW, dwelling in your heart, and will remain with you ALWAYS.  You are NEVER alone.  God will NOT abandon or shame you.  You are worth EVERYTHING.  Our task is to walk in this truth, this hope, and this meaning that compels us to KEEP ON trucking on, and bring light into the lives of all who suffer likewise – because everyone is touched by human pain.  The good news is that everyone is also touched by eternal JOY.  

As an adult, I realize that all the make believe and imagination in my young life was a gift.  Today, when I’m not daydreaming, I have found comfort within myself, the self I know best in solitude and in nature.  My BEST self whom God already knows.  Self-care is soul-care.  Be well my friends, and walk in peace.

Withering Grass

For “All flesh is like grass and all its glory like the flower of grass.  The grass withers, and the flower falls,but the word of the Lord remains forever.”    (1 Peter 1:24-25)

It was unsettling.  I stood beside my father as he bantered lightheartedly  with the monument salesman in the outdoor display yard.  We surveyed a variety of tombstones as we walked around this ‘PRETEND’ cemetery. Dad wanted something simple so as not to UPSTAGE the family marker of his ill-fated parents, brother and sister, next to which my mother’s and his shared stone would be erected within THE YEAR (whether they are dead or NOT).  

Dad made up something PITHY to be inscribed, and was pleased with himself.  I had no idea how much these things cost and was flabbergasted that my Dad just paid for it OUTRIGHT, that is, after he asked for a seniors discount.  Always a clown. My Dad instinctively began to put the monument man’s pen in his OWN pocket.  The guy had a sense of humour.  He said, “Well THERE’S your discount.”  My Dad, a retired pastor, pulled two more pens from his pocket to show them off.  BOTH were from funeral homes.  It drew out a good laugh.  When the salesman said, “IT’S YOURS!  The stone on the lot is the VERY stone that will be placed on your grave!”, it took the breath right out of me. I shuddered. Dad said, “Now your mom and I can die in peace.” “AWESOME”, I said.  “…and Nadine, since we are being cremated this lot can accomodate 4 MORE urns.” “Yup, Dad, that’s TERRIFIC news.”

I’m sure this kind of shopping trip happens in other families.  The weird bit for me is that AS WE WERE sampling textures, colours, and wording, my Mom was undergoing ANGIOPLASTY in a hospital more than two hours away.  We weren’t allowed to accompany her, so this is how we were KILLING (HA HA) time. Granted, this UNDERTAKING (Heh heh) was a PLANNED part of their trip to the area: Visit my sister at her cottage, duck into town to visit some family,  purchase their cemetery plot, and buy their tombstone.  A wholly PRODUCTIVE itinerary.

Things were going well.  They visited my sister.  CHECK.  They visited some aging family members.  CHECK.  They bought the cemetery plot.  CHECK.  This is where it all went to hell.  OF COURSE they NEEDED to go check out their new real estate!  It was a very hot day and a very steep hill.  Their grave site was down near the bottom.  Down, down they went, only Mom didn’t get back up – at least not without help.  My Mom had suddenly crumpled to the ground, practically ON TOP of her future resting place.  When her dementia allows it, and, she remembers bits of what happened, she says with a smile – “I just wanted to lie down for a while and try it out.” VERY FUNNY.  I don’t know what’s wrong with my parents.

When I got the news of her heart attack, I took a TERRIBLE 8 and a half hour train ride. My brother picked me up after midnight.  He lives 2 hours away from where my mother was in hospital, so by noon the next day we were by her side.  AND SO IT WENT.  My sister, my brother, and I, my nieces,  my aunt and uncle took turns reminding my Mom where she was and why she was there.  It got OLD really FAST. Dementia is incredibly difficult.

After days of waiting (it was a weekend), she was FINALLY transferred, alone, to the Ottawa Cardiovascular Centre where she underwent an angiogram and had two stents put in.  She was returned to Pembroke hospital at night. In the morning it was CLEAR she had been in MUCH distress and was VERY disoriented.  She embraced my Dad like a rescued child clings to their saviour.  I’d never seen either of them like this.

Recently, when I’ve had my parents on the phone,  before saying goodbye, I began telling them that I love them.  My kids, my husband, and I, tell each other ALL the time, but within my family of origin, admitting love just wasn’t necessary.  Love was always expressed in action rather than in words.  It took a few goes, but my parents had both reciprocated my profession a few times before these unfortunate happenings.  I think they welcomed it at the hospital.  In fact, they seemed a little surprised and delighted to hear those words.  It did wonders to my personal journey of healing from, well, LIFE.  

After her very hard night in the hospital, an unusual thing happened.  My parents began to recount the early days of their courtship.  I heard their love stories like I’ve never heard before.  Thankfully, my mother has retained some good long term remembering.  It was heartening to listen to them.

I had the privilege of accompanying them home to their rather isolated house, tucked into the woods near Burleigh Falls.  Things got a lot better for my mother.  Although she couldn’t recall all that had happened she eventually recognized that she was, in fact, HOME.  After a couple of days she was humming to herself and skipping around the house like she always did, feeding the birds, sitting on the deck, talking about good reads, and looking at photo albums.  This time was PRECIOUS.  I feel so blessed to have glimpsed my Mother as herself – these fleeting moments were beautiful.  All is well with the world when she is in her own home with her beloved and a sense that everyone and everything that she holds dear are all okay.  God I MISS her. (that’s a prayer, by the way)

The glory of the flesh is like the flowering of the grass.  Although a part of it withers away, God’s good purposes remain.  The Holy Spirit within continues to burn with the heat of love, and whistles out the rhythms of sweet memories that comfort us.

“While the earth remains, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night, shall not cease.” (Genesis 8:22)

I wish my parents didn’t have to change.  I know that we learn about God through the ebb and flow of nature.  The seasons illustrate the balance between change and changelessness.  At first, the idea of things simultaneously transforming and staying the same, seems impossible.  Change is impermanent and permanence is unchanging.  God is hidden in mystery AND is being revealed through it. It’s mind boggling.

My mother’s heart attack sent me down a path of reflection.  How do the joys of our lives BALANCE with the suffering?  How do we accept the change and all the work that IMPRESSED upon us?  I am relieved that nature ALWAYS finds a way to return to balance.  The difficulties we experience DO NOT last forever.  God is AWAYS taking all that hard stuff, holding it, reworking it, re-creating our lives and the world around and enables us to adapt and grow with the changes.  God is always working to make ALL things new.  My Mom is already in God’s loving care, being gently enveloped in God’s creative force.  She is not in the process of ending, but in becoming.  She dwells in love just as she always has and always will.

I am easily distracted with all the things I THINK I still have to do with my parents and my family. Sometimes I forget to appreciate everything we’ve ALREADY done; the experiences we’ve had, the memories we’ve made, and the things we’ve accomplished.   I don’t readily notice that these are the very elements that are steadily pushing us all FORWARD to new life.   

I hope that the changes in YOUR life compel YOU to REFLECT, to find all those little bits of gratitude that get LOST in the hussle.  I hope you find moments to cultivate whatever is in you that tells you that you are a part of something GREATER than yourself.  That all stages of life are sacred puzzle pieces that lead to some kind of cosmic WHOLENESS.  For me that is the ground of all being whom I know as God, and the Holy Spirit of Christ dwelling in MY heart.  Somehow this mysterious unity gives meaning and purpose to all that we experience.  Savour the earthly moments.  Delight in transformation.  Don’t be afraid.

An aside:  Being prepared for one’s funeral is beneficial to those who continue to walk the earthly walk.  I don’t, however, recommend you physically try out your purchases before the big day.

Toilet Trauma

It didn’t go according to plan. ‘IT’, being, reducing my meds.  The decision was made by me, MYSELF, in the presence of my psychiatrist.  He wasn’t convinced but went along with it – maybe to spare my feelings or to let me really SEE. Maybe he thought it would be funny. Let me just say, I was monumentally wrong. 

Allow me to share a recent, fairly harmless example.

Here’s what would have happened IF I had been on a proper dose of meds:

I walk into the bathroom expecting everything to be in order but the toilet is plugged. AGAIN.  How annoying. Puzzlingly, the plunger is MISSING. How inconvenient. Being lazy and thinking I can just handle it using the toilet brush, albeit less effective, it will probably pump enough water to dislodge whatever is stuck. (EEW)

I quickly grab the handle of the brush and pull it from its holding container.  I say, ‘OH SHIT’ (literally) as the container is right FULL of nasty, dirty toilet water which propels forth across the entire half bath and makes an ugly puddle on the floor.   

I still need to use the bathroom.  I squeeze my legs together, submerge the brush in the almost overflowing toilet to swish it around and rinse off the offensive crap (HA HA).  I complete the rigorous pumping action and am rewarded by the glorious flush of the tank. “Oh good, the toilet isn’t broken.”

Now, I pick up the toilet brush container, dump (Heh heh) its contents in the toilet. FLUSH.  Put the container in the FRESH toilet water and use the brush to ‘CLEAN’ it. While Container and brush chill in the toilet, I spray and wipe down the floor, the walls, the mirror, the pedestal sink, the windowsill, the window, the blinds, the picture frames, and the cat’s litter box.  “Gee, I hope I got it all.” I finish by giving the toilet a quick clean and putting the container and brush back on the floor beside the toilet.  THEN, I use the bathroom and carry on. 

How it really went down – me on reduced meds: 

I walk into the bathroom expecting everything to be in order but the toilet is plugged. AGAIN. I scream, ‘BLOODY HELL! WHO PLUGGED THE TOILET AND WALKED AWAY? WHO PLUGGED THE TOILET AND FAILED TO REPORT IT IS OUT OF ORDER?  WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?” Puzzlingly, the plunger is MISSING. “O MY GOD! WHERE IN THE HOLY HELL IS THE PLUNGER?  WHO TOOK THE PLUNGER? WHY WOULD ANYONE TAKE IT? AND DIDN’T WHY DIDN’T THEY RETURN IT?  WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?”  

In a frenzied rage, I grab the handle of the brush and pull it from its holding container.  “OH SHIT!” The container is right full of nasty, dirty toilet water which propels forth across the entire half bath and makes an ugly puddle on the floor. “UUUUUGH!!! YOU BASTARDS!”  I still need to use the bathroom.  I squeeze my legs together, and hastily submerge the brush in the almost overflowing toilet. I VIOLENTLY pump it against the drain with superhuman force until it flushes. 

Now, I pick up the toilet brush container, causing spillage and swearing under my breath. I dump its contents in the toilet. FLUSH.  I angrily force the container into the FRESH toilet water and use the brush to ‘CLEAN’ it. Leaving the container and brush in the toilet, I yell, “I GUESS I HAVE TO CLEAN THE WHOLE BATHROOM TOO! WHY IS THIS ALWAYS MY JOB?  CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?  I’M NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN! NEXT TIME SOMEONE PLUGS THE TOILET, IT IS STAYING EFF-ING PLUGGED UNTIL THEY FIX IT THEMSELVES!” I spray and wipe down the floor, the walls, the mirror, the pedestal sink, the windowsill, the window, the blinds, the picture frames, and the cat’s litter box.  “F***. I probably missed some. We just have to live in FILTH.”  I finish by giving the toilet a quick clean and putting the container and brush back on the floor beside the toilet.  THEN, I use the bathroom and carry on. Everytime I meet someone in the house, I stop them and list ALL the UNPLEASANT things I HAVE TO DO EVERYDAY and how I’m not the ONLY ADULT in the HOUSE who is capable of cleaning.  I continue to passive aggressively return to this subject FOREVER. 

STOP.

I often question whether taking medication is stifling or ACTUALLY helpful.  The process of weaning off, changing my mind, and then slowly increasing the meds again until I reached a state of lessened anxiety, was a SIGNIFICANT struggle.  It was worth it just to discover that my spirit stays intact.  My essence remains with or without medication.

I officially take medications to curb the symptoms of borderline personality disorder.  Personally, I think ‘Borderline Personality Disorder’ is a misnomer.  It’s more of an EMOTIONAL disorder.  Without meds, I am unable to regulate my emotions and trend toward intense, catastrophic anxiety, inflexibility, negativity, and depression.  It is really hard WORK to check myself, especially as a pastor who is, by nature,  expected to be humble, accepting, and loving.  IF a trigger IS hit, it’s a challenge to reel it in.  I’m a bit of a walking emotional time bomb. IF I feel ignored, abandoned, or disliked, I react emotionally to quell the overwhelm of anxiety.  My behaviour CHANGES to protect, numb, or distract myself from the discomfort of extreme stress.  Shielding my fragile self-image sometimes spells personal sabotage and destruction. It can be AWKWARD.

Without the meds, my whole bathroom saga felt like a personal attack on my ability to parent and keep house. As if the clogged toilet was a CALCULATED demonstration of what I have FAILED to teach my children and how terrible I am for letting the ‘yuck factor’ in cleaning get OUT OF HAND.  It triggered a subconscious cascade of unwanted thoughts and memories about EVERY failure I have perceived in my motherhood and marriage. My self-judgment spurred the loud cursing that was designed to rouse the attention of my family, name myself as the victim and BLAME everyone else to take the pressure off of my isolated position in the story.

I don’t think this is unique to BPD, but I experience splitting, which is a marked division between my ‘NORMAL SELF’ and my ‘UNHEALED SELF.’  As a result, my mood swings are unpredictable.  I have issues with identity confusion and internal conflict. Insert [Imposter Syndrome]. Depression overtakes me with a deep sense of ongoing emptiness.  It is in THESE moments that I need MORE than medication.  I need to look inward, embrace mystery, and trust GOODNESS to prevail.

Once, when I was feeling pathetically helpless, I prayed for something very specific to cheer me up.  “God,” I said, “I never REALLY ask you for anything tangible.  It would help me enormously to know you ARE listening.” Then, as if God works like some kind of magical Santa Claus, I asked, “Please, please, please let the clothing I ordered arrive TODAY.”  I’m not usually so desperate about clothes, but these were clergy garments that would refresh my wardrobe after many years of body dysmorphia and clothes that just didn’t fit right and detracted from my professionalism.  When I finished I scolded myself for being SO petty.  I went on with my day.  When I got home THE BOX was on the table.  I began to do the math – “what day did I place the order?  Has it been 6-8, or maybe 12 weeks?  Was this MY intuition or did GOD really just DO that for ME?” The crust around my soul began to crumble. (sounds Grinchy)  “What IF God just did that?”….. “Um, God, okay, thank you for showing me that you ARE real and you HEAR me.  I’m so sorry that I put you to the test…  So…hey…you’ll deliver my package when I ask – what then will you do with my REAL problems?”  

This is an experience I often return to when I’m in distress.  God cares about ME. God loves ME.  God looks out for ME, myself.  The missing toilet plunger doesn’t matter.  The mess has no enduring consequence. My family is not to blame, no one is plotting against me or abandoning me.  The toilet is JUST clogged and there IS NO plunger. It’s an inconvenience. Nothing more. The goal of treatment for emotional/personality disorders is differentiation of self – having the ability to maintain one’s true self in anxiety and in emotional situations.  My healing work is focused on changing my relationship between how I THINK and how I EXPRESS my EMOTIONS. It leads me through the storms of life to find my center calm, my connection to the ground of all being, my Christ-heart, my godspark, my soul.

I’m a work in progress.  Aren’t we ALL? Dr. Richard Schwartz’ theory of ‘Internal Family Systems,’ takes Dr. Bowen’s ‘Family Systems Theory’ which is concerned with the different interdependent roles assumed within healthy AND dysfunctional families, and APPLIES IT to an individual person and their many ‘parts’.  This resonates.  I don’t feel that I have a bunch of different personalities inside of me that fight for leadership.  But, I do feel like I have distinct PARTS. 

In IFS the ‘parts’ include EXILES, the parts of yourself that your ‘system’ works to keep hidden and out of trouble.  They carry your burdens like shame, fear, grief, anger, dependency, and loneliness. They also long to be healed and freed. MANAGERS are your parts that protect ‘the whole system’ from feelings of hurt and rejection. They maintain control by creating an illusion of safety by being super competent, and utilizing your self-critic to prevent humiliation and abandonment.  FIREFIGHTERS serve and protect ‘the system’ when triggers hit too close to home.  They react, attack, and create diversions (like addictions, eating and sleep disorders, extra work, self-harm, and dissociation), all to keep your exiles from seeing the light of day.

My favorite part is the CORE SELF.  When you can uncover this part and maintain it, it becomes the active and compassionate LEADER of all the other parts. It takes away their ‘jobs’ and replaces them with pleasant, and positive, productive roles.  It is your natural essence, that has been sheltered from damage by all the other parts. Your Core Self acts with spontaneity, and creativity. It emerges when you feel centered and truly safe and calm. Your confident core self is Playful, Curious, Adventurous, and Stable. It is your BEST SELF.  When it is uncovered, it needs NO improvement, because it’s already perfect the way it is…..the way God made you.

As a Christian, the core self, my best self, fits the concept of my soul – which I believe is beyond the limits of the physical body or the human psyche.  The soul is the essence, energy, electricity, everlasting part of you that IS accessible during this earthly walk and contains ALL the wisdom and strength you need to find peace and healing WITHIN  yourself.  I’m not talking about a cure-all.  I am talking about a state of being that is calm, knowing, and in fact, a little piece of God’s all encompassing love that has settled in you no matter what else is happening in your life.  

People are complicated.  When you are faced with dirty toilet brushes and stuff that’s stuck, BREATHE. Center yourself.  Ask all your managers and firefighters to give you some room, to step aside.  Hug your exiles and draw on your CORE – the being that God meant for you to be – be filled with THAT light.  Bathroom drama, I think most dramas, CAN be navigated with improved self-awareness and the courage to be vulnerable. We can live as we die and die as we live within our personal ‘system’ and in interconnection with and care for the ‘systems’ of OTHERS, even if they expect you to clean the toilet.

“SHOULD” is a dirty word.

My psychiatrist thinks Thursday is my day OFF, but it’s not.  I like how happy it makes HIM to think I follow such a healthy routine, so I don’t correct him. Truthfully, I don’t have a consistent day set ASIDE to rest.  There is NO time to rest, even if I’m NOT working.  

Keeping up with all my mindfulness tasks is a JOB in and of itself – yoga, meditation, listening to music and podcasts, reading, dog walking, fresh air, sunshine, volunteering with ponies, seeing friends and extended family, or even just calling them, writing, crocheting, playing guitar, drawing, EVEN praying – crammed all together in a day or two ARE work.  Add housekeeping and family management to that and I’m DONE.  Actual work at my JOB can be a welcome distraction from my self-improvement schedule and home life.

Sometimes I fall prey to the jaws of my own anxiety and feelings of guilt.  The SHOULDS begin to PROD at me even when I’m trying so hard to ignore them.  You should be working, they nag. You SHOULD be at the office, there’s so much to organize, so much to prepare, so many calls you COULD make.  It’s a nice day, you SHOULD walk around the village and visit ALL your parishioners.  They’d appreciate it.  You should go NOW. Isn’t so and so due for surgery?  Didn’t somebody just have a bad fall?  What about checking in with so and so’s recent widow? Isn’t there a get together, an event, a cause you SHOULD be supporting?  You should be MORE involved in the community.  There’s still half a day left – GO to the coffee shop, the community center, the park.  Be visible.  Be AVAILABLE.  It’s good for you.  People need YOU, Nadine! They are hard pressed for SOMEONE to minister to them.  Get off your self-absorbed butt and get to work!

No?  Well then, at LEAST mow the lawn, weed the flowerbeds, sweep the deck, do the dishes, do the laundry, prepare the recycling, take out the garbage, get the mail, scrub the floor, clean out the fridge.  I never dust.  My conscience has NOTHING to say about dust.

I’m dialing back on one of my antidepressant medications.  It’s going great. Gosh I’m edgy.  EVERY feeling is augmented.  Shame is ugly.  I COULD blame my meds.  That’s what I’ll tell my therapist.  Oh- those meds!  They wreak havoc on everything ‘MINE’.  

Rosie KNOWS the truth.  She’s the pony who listened to ALL my bull yesterday.  She could tell I was uncomfortable in my own skin – getting too close to touching my OWN rawness.  Deep in a pit of self-judgement and loathing.  Her eyes held me.  I got lost in her gaze.  She trained me up ‘real good’.  It wasn’t a calm day at the farm and the horses were startling easily.  

But Rosie overcame that.  I can’t take ANY credit because I was a mess.  First, as per usual, she gave me a hassle on our promenade to the arena.  She didn’t WANT to stand where I asked. She KNOWS that she can easily OUT LEAD me. But something shifted.  After rubbing her itchy bum on the support beam, she urged ME to groom her.  She let ME lean in, scratch her ears and murmur at her. She was STILL.  She was PATIENT (she’s usually sassy).  When I turned away SHE stepped toward me, put HER nose on my shoulder, she coaxed me to ENJOY her contact, she nuzzled and listened to me breathe out. She was so EMPATHETIC and KIND. Thank God for her.

Today the SHOULDS are still bugging me.  I’m mostly ready for Sunday.  I’m procrastinating though.  This is PRIME sermon writing time.  The scripture readings are about taking time for rest, for Sabbath restoration and healing.  Jesus says the commandment about keeping the Sabbath is a gift for US.  GOD DOESN’T NEED REST.  But God knows that WE DO.  

In a few days my edginess will dissipate.  I’ll settle down.  The shoulds won’t be so LOUD.  Let the Spirit fill your troubled heart with the same empathy and kindness I found in my pony friend.  Medication or not, it WILL see you through the rough patches and bolster your tender heart for every tomorrow.