FAULT LINES

I went to bed at 9:00 pm, but woke from a dream where I had a Christmas wreath stuck on my head and raccoons where trying to get into the house. That was at 10:30. I fell back to sleep and into a strange world where I was captured by evil aliens who tossed me into a mud pit. I emerged from the pit transformed into a small pig like animal and I woke to the sound of my own voice saying “This is all my fault.” You know how people tend to put the blame on anything but themselves? I am the opposite.

Climate change.

Cancer

Wars

Brain diseases

I don’t recycle enough or well. I don’t take enough action or push for hard discussions that might really need to happen. I haven’t cured cancer or even how to see it in the one I love. I haven’t stopped any bombs or put up much of a fight. I am supposed to be able to hold it all together. I should be able to hold it all together. Wonder Woman is on my wall. Not just because Jen painted it. Not just because it is an amazing piece of art. No; its because she’s fierce and strong and when I look at this painting, it becomes my mirror. As if I have the power to stop, change or fix any of the above. Yes, I know this is unrealistic. I know that I am not the reason for all the suffering of and on this planet.

Yet, there’s always that nagging little voice saying “you could have done more.”

After making sure I had all of the things done that I usually do on Sundays, I drove to my local CVS and got my COVID booster. I purposefully scheduled it for Saturday afternoon because that would leave me with Sunday and Monday to deal with the side effects. I spent Sunday mostly not moving from my bed. Monday was better. At least I showered, but the day was spent mostly not moving from the couch. Even as I sat there soaking in all of season one of The Empress, I shook my head at myself for being so dang lazy. Surely there was a closet to be cleaned out or something to be organized. I mean, I had the house all to myself. It was a holiday that felt like a sick day because Michael did not have the day off. I had ample opportunities and still I did nothing. I didn’t even walk the dog or get on my yoga mat.

Now I’m spending my week soaking in a tub of guilt.

Someday I will write about why am this way. I will place blame on something for the blame I place on myself. You probably won’t be surprise where I point my finger. I’ll point and then add in that I could have chosen to ignore the conditioning, thus turning it back around to it all being my own fault. The nun I was in a past life was pious and devout. Her scars were deep from self flagellation, so deep they transcended lives. I can feel them back there, tight itchy ropes of flesh. I can trace the ones on my shoulder blades. I slather the scars I can reach with coco butter and Arnica gel until I forget or fall out of habit of caring for myself, like forgetting to clip my toenails until I rip holes in my socks.

Someday I won’t need to write about why am this way.

I'M A BULLY

I'm going to eat this.

12 Likes, 0 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "I'm going to eat this."

I’m walking towards to the door to my building with a running commentary going in my head.

“I’m tired.”

“You’re taking the stairs.”

“But I’m tired and there’s a twinge in my low back.”

“You’re taking the stairs, all four flights of them.”

“I’m really not feeling it this morning.”

“You’re taking the stairs, you fat, lazy stupid bitch. You’re marching those feet up all of the stairs because you missed gym time yesterday and you are a fatty fatty worthless bitch.”

I walk up all four flights of stairs to my office. I do it because I’ve guilted myself into doing it. Even though I had to use ugly language to do so. It is two sides of a coin. On one side, I’ve guilted myself into doing something healthy. On the other side, I’m a mean bully who doesn’t think much of herself.

One of my coworkers started a conversation about guilt the other day. He started by asking “is guilt a wasted emotion?” Two men and two women were in on this conversation. Both men agreed that guilt was wasted, that it was an emotion that made them get worked up over things that did not matter. Both women (one of them me) said that guilt was a motivator and therefore not a wasted emotion. Now, I will be the first to admit that my data here is not statistically relevant, but I have a strong feeling that if I expanded this poll we would see that most women see guilt as a motivator. Because guilt has been a tool used to control or motivate women for centuries. Having sex. Not having sex. Having babies. Not having babies. Having a career. Not having a career. Eating that donut. Not eating that donut. Pulling off a piece of fruit from that knowledge tree and taking a big ole bite. Not taking advice from snakes.

Raise your hand if you have lost track of the number of times you were guilted into doing something you didn’t really want to do.

If you love me, you’ll….

I see my coworker’s point. I also allow guilt to work me up into a tight stress ball over something I have no control over. I mean, I can try really hard to tell you that I no longer feel guilty about Chris’s death, but honestly I’m not sure that will ever happen. At least that guilt no longer keeps me up at nights (sort of, mostly) and that is why I totally get the wasted emotion argument. But I will say that a good portion of my daily life is centered around the guilt as a motivator idea. The guilt motivator, even though it is getting me to do something good for me, is at times very ugly. The things I tell myself out of guilt are so awful and uses language I would never tolerate coming out of anyone’s mouth. It is the kind of language that if I heard it being spoken to another person, I would interject and tell that person to shut it. I’m going to eat that donut but then I’m going to spend an extra thirty minutes on the treadmill. If I even for a moment think about not doing the extra time, that awful language picks up inside my head and the next thing I know I’m doing extra extra time on the treadmill.

Some days, guilt is the only reason I get out of bed in the mornings.

I know it doesn’t have to be this way. I know there are better methods of motivation. It’s just that this form of motivation has been with me for a really long time. It’s what I know. It’s habit. It is all that is hard to break. If I wouldn’t let a person talk to someone else that way, why on earth do I talk to myself that way. Do you put question marks at the end of rhetorical questions? Yes, I know I could google that but I don’t really care.

If I love me, I’ll…

What if I just ate the fucking donut; no strings attached?

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Oh, don't mind me.

7 Likes, 0 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "Oh, don't mind me."

One night this week, I dreamed that I was being attacked by a swarm of mosquitoes. I was walking on a beach that was dirty and littered with drift wood. There was a man walking a few paces behind me and we both started running when the swarm hit us. I ran while hitting my arms and legs and waving my hands around my head. The mosquitoes were thick and everywhere. I could hear them inside my ears. I heard the man behind my yell out “here! take my towel!” and he draped the towel over my shoulders as we both ran. I could see my car up ahead and knew that I just had to make it to the car. I woke up suddenly, gasping and scratching at imaginary mosquito bites. I talked about this dream with Dr. Mary. We discussed the meaning of it all, how the mosquitos represented little annoyances I had had and the comfort of the towel and knowing that I was close to safety. Then I told Dr. Mary that I didn’t think I needed her every week.

I was surprised to hear myself say it. I hadn’t planned it. I had been thinking about it recently, but I didn’t realize that I was ready to do more than just think about it. Dr. Mary was not bothered by this, but did ask what prompted this decision. I told her that for the first time in a really long time, I was entering this holiday season without feeling the need to constantly breathe into a paper bag. I told her that I feel like I’ve taken bags and bags of guilt to the garbage dump. I’ve been holding onto guilt about Chris. I say out loud all the time how Chris would be okay with how I’m living my life, but I never really truly believed the words I was saying. Instead I felt guilty about this life I’ve forged without Chris, but my guilt wasn’t all Chris related. There was guilt about Dad. There was guilt over not being all the things I could be for all people. There was guilt for my grief, for being sad, for missing Chris even though I’m with Micheal. At times my guilt over everything was crippling.

I don’t feel that guilt any more.

I have discovered that it’s one thing to treat others the way you wish to be treated and quite another to treat yourself the way you wish to be treated. Actually, it seems to be more difficult to treat myself with patience, kindness and respect. It’s work, but I’m doing it. A year ago, there was no way I would have allowed myself to book a holiday trip that did not include my family. A year ago, I would not consider making a trip to Oklahoma at Christmas time that did not include driving all over the state in attempt to see every single person. I would already be berating myself over not being or doing enough. I’m not saying I’m cured or that I still don’t need to spill my guts to Dr. Mary. I just don’t need to spill them every week. It has been almost two years since I thought about jumping out of a moving car into busy traffic. Progress.

I am thankful for progress.