THANKFUL FRIDAY

I started working on a writing project in October of last year. It has become one of my UFPs (unfinished projects) sitting in my Google docs, but I tend to visit this one more often than any of the others. It is a writing project that will not be able to see the light of day for (hopefully) a few years and maybe this is why it has become so easy for me to sporadically add to the story. I’ve tried writing a story centered around Chris and being a widow and I probably have five different UFP versions of this story blinking at me whenever I open Google docs. I just get to a spot where there’s nothing to write. I don’t know how to end it or it just feels emotionally better to leave it as it is. Sort of like vague plans or booking the hotel reservation but not doing any research on what you should see and do in that area. This thing I’ve been working on off and on since October feels like something I’ll eventually finish, like I know how to end it when the time comes.

That being said, my writing style is very undisciplined. It seems that I can commit to coming up with content for this space at least twice a week, but any thing with multiple pages and chapters is a really big commitment. I am an ebb and flow kind of artist. When I’m really inspired to be out and about with my camera and working on photography projects, I have little inspiration for writing. The writing flows in when I’m in a photography lull. I thought maybe the practice of combining the two things would lead to more finished projects, but that hasn’t happened. Right now, I am writing. That’s where I am in this ebb and flow. I wrote about a particular time and some events and as I wrote it all down, I found myself crying at my desk. I was surprised because I thought I had worked through my feelings about those events. I thought I had already done the work to release that pain and that there would be nothing to bring up in the writing of this story. But apparently I still had some feelings tucked away that needed to be addressed.

There was a brief section of time when I was seeing a therapist. I didn’t do too much to seek out this therapist, no interview process. I just went with someone my insurance would accept and walked in not really knowing what to expect. Once a week I’d sit in a cushy chair in an office with my therapist and I would just talk. I needed very little prompting and received no more prompting than “how are we feeling today?”, but this was all I needed to spill the bean can of complaints I had filled up since my last visit. At the end of each session, my therapist would say something along the lines of ‘thank you for sharing’ and that would be it until the next week. After about year of this I felt like I had talked all of my complaints out of my system and didn’t feel like I had anything else to contribute to my therapist. And that was it. I never received homework or any kind of “what if you tried…” My therapist was just a listener. I stopped going to therapy and never made an effort to find a new therapist.

The truth is, my writing practice has been the most helpful tool for sorting and dealing with my emotions.

I am by no means discounting therapy. My one time therapist expedition is not a remotely fair measure of the benefits of therapy. I benefited from time with my therapist. I had overachieved in the no complaining department, not speaking up when things annoyed or bothered me. Even on the blog, I avoided complaints. So for a year, I spilled them all out in a safe space to someone who was basically a stranger. I learned to find ways to communicate about the things that annoyed me without whining. I’ve just had a better experience moving through the really hard deeper emotions by writing about them. This makes me very grateful for my writing practice even when there are times I’m not doing much of it. My creative endeavors are part of my therapy and while I have invested money and time into one creative endeavor like new a new camera and a new lens, I realized that I haven’t invested in my writing. So this week I purchased a gratitude gift for myself, a book on writing titled 1,000 Words: A Writer’s Guide to Staying Creative, Focused, and Productive All Year Round.

I don’t know if this means I will be writing a thousand words every day. Maybe this is one way to replace my Fortune Cookie Journal. Who knows? But also, maybe instead of asking the question “will I ever write a book?” I can start asking the question “will my book get published?”

THANKFUL FRIDAY

I often forget that this is the month for gratitude because I practice gratitude every day and share it here every week. So, November is just a month that happens to contain a holiday. There are those who use November for more than a gratitude month. November is also National Novel Writing Month or NaNoWriMo for short. I have a handful of friends who have honored the month with working diligently on a novel and I have on occasion officially thrown my hat into the writing ring, signing up for NaNoWriMo. The challenge of committing to writing daily on a thing you might send off to be published as a book is enticing and intimidating. I have always failed miserably to finish anything.

This is true for any month.

Before you get excited for me, let me say that this year is not any different from any other time. I did not officially sign up for NaNoWriMo. I did not quietly make any commitments to write daily for NaNoWriMo, but I have been writing. I have been writing on a project that I know I have time to write because I don’t have plans to share it in public. At least not now. I am waiting for an appropriate time. The thing I started writing is based on an idea for a book title that just randomly floated into my brain. Since then, I have been fleshing out a story to fit under that title. This is, I just realized, the same way I write my little fortune cookie stories. I use the title of the page, in this case a fortune, to inspire the story. I never really finish a story for this, but I don’t think that I am incapable of it. I always run out of room to write before I am given the chance to finish. Turns out the Fortune Cookie Diary has not just been a practice in creativity but a lesson on getting a writing project off the ground.

This project may end up like all the others and I would not be disappointed with myself if it did. There’s plenty of UFOs on my computer and about half of those make me feel a number of negative feelings most of which revolve around my lack of discipline (I blame Chris). I can finish this or not finish this current project without any of those feelings because in the process of writing, I have let go of some stuff that has not been serving me. Each written memory gives me greater insight and understanding and unlike many of those other projects, I have yet to reach a wall that I can’t seem to write my way around. Maybe this one will keep going because it feels really good to free some of these thoughts that I have been holding onto. They are thoughts that do not serve me well and the foundation for many of my feelings of inadequacy. Those thoughts are where the not enoughs come from. After each writing session I have felt stronger in not just saying, but believing that I am enough.

So for the month that celebrates writing and gratitude, I am thankful for my writing practice.

We are traveling to Iowa next week for a friendsgiving in Heather’s new house. I’ve never been to Des Moines and from what I’ve been told, it’s really great or really boring. It depends on who you’re talking to. I’m leaning into Des Moines being really great because we missed friendsgiving with Heather last year. Up until then, our Thanksgiving gathering were beginning to feel traditional. I am a creature devoted to routine and habits. So to have our gatherings back feel comforting. I don’t know what next week will look like for this space. If I end up not posting anything, may your holiday be filled with light and comfort.

Peace.

SPACE

My friend Sarah and I were having a text conversation recently about tub soaking and I confessed to her that I felt that soaking in a bathtub was torture. I find no pleasure in the act, no peace, no nothing. I know women who love it so much they have their meals in the bathtub or read whole books while their fingers and toes get all pruny. I cannot, but as we chatted about it, I said “maybe I should give it another try.” I bought some bath salts, filled up the tub and set a timer for twenty minutes. I did not hate it. I didn’t love it, but it was not the torturous experience that I remembered it to be. I might even do it again some time. This time last year, you couldn’t have paid me to soak in the tub, but pandemics change you. What I can say about this year is that it has given me some time for mental space. It might have been forced on me and I might not have always been open and accepting of that time. In fact there were moments of actual tantrums over this forced time, but I mastered the art of doing the things I don’t want to do ages ago. This year is easy compared to some others in my timeline. Maybe that’s why soaking in a salt bath wasn’t so bad. I’ve learned there are worse forms of torture.

The culture of “everything’s fine” that is inbred in most of us women is a dead culture. I have spent the year shedding myself of this culture, accepting the moments when everything is most definitely not fine and embracing the moments when everything is fine. At the end of our time together last Monday, I decided to not schedule another appointment with Dr. Mary. I realize this sounds like a bad idea. This is not the best time of year for me with or without a pandemic. My anxiety is pretty high right now with all the things work/life related, but I had already dropped our weekly session down to once a month. So I don’t think it was a big surprise. Also, I am handling myself well enough. I gave Dr. Mary a print from what was supposed to be my first showing and she immediately set it up on her bookshelves. Her reaction to the photo filled me with joy and pride. We ended on a happy note and I have her number. She said that I could always call and schedule an appointment. Our sessions over time became less about fixing me and more about general conversation. I ran out of things to say that was not just blatant whining and complaining.

But I also came to a realization that I don’t need to be fixed.

I have feelings. Sometimes, understandably, those feelings are feelings of deep sadness. I used to be really uncomfortable with allowing myself to feel anything but joy and happiness. There had to be something wrong with me for having those darker feelings. There was something wrong with me for shedding tears in public or even in private. Expressing any feeling other than happiness meant that I was broken and then I would begin an Olympic training regime of some sort in order to fix this brokenness inside of me. Those broken parts do not define me as a whole, but they do make up a part of who I am. We can not truly live through this life without ending up with some broken parts of ourselves. I told Dr. Mary that I am allowing myself to feel the things I am feeling in the moment I am feeling them.

Without guilt.

2020: The year I learned to have feelings and find an ounce of pleasure in soaking in the bathtub.

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.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Resting

7 Likes, 3 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "Resting"

This week, I walked into my therapist's office and immediately flopped down onto her chase lounge just like you see people do in the movies. She looked down at me and asked "are we laying down today?". I nodded my head yes and she went to her chair and sat down with an "okay!". I usually sit. Sometimes I kick my shoes off and tuck my feet into a lotus position, but I never lay down. Usually because I'm pretty sure I'm going to fall asleep. For some reason though, I decided that maybe the possibility of accidentally falling asleep through a session wasn't on the top of my list of some of the worst things I could do. I laid there for a few minutes, not saying anything, just being still. Finally, I took a deep breath and said "sometimes, it is nice to just be still." and my therapist agreed with me and then we sat in stillness for a few minutes before beginning our session. 

I struggle with stillness. While we were on our camping trip a couple of weekends ago, I was constantly up and fiddling about, straightening this, cleaning up that. Michael and Ted had gone to the store, leaving me and Jennifer alone at camp with the girls. They had been gone long enough for Jennifer and I to realize that we had made a terrible mistake in letting the two of them go to the store by themselves. I sat down in my camp chair and said "Okay...I'm going to not move from this chair for fifteen minutes." A second later I was up and doing something around the camp site. This is normal behavior. When Talaura was visiting, I kept us busy running us around the city all day. We would get home and I would still be up and about, messing with laundry or cleaning the kitchen. At one point Talaura even said "Cindy...why don't you sit down and rest?" She knew that I had to be running on fumes and she knew that I probably needed permission from someone else that it was okay to relax.

I know it must sound kind of surprising to hear that someone who practices yoga and writes about mindfulness has a hard time being still. Savasana, or final relaxation pose, still remains the most challenging, yet most important pose in my practice. Some days are better than others of course. This is true of anything, but there are times when I surrender easily into savasana. I get up from my mat after those easy savasanas feeling slightly loopy and then take forever getting my mat folded up and my shoes back on. I know it is possible for me to be still. I just have to work at it. This week, I have been practicing moments of stillness. I've been looking into going back to temple to get my meditation practice under control. I've sat with the dog draped across my lap while reading a book. I have surrendered completely to savasanas.

I am thankful for this practice in stillness.  

IDEAS AND STORIES AND GRATITUDE

Instagram post by Cindy Maddera * Sep 7, 2017 at 4:11pm UTC

6 Likes, 0 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram

I read something recently that inspired me to start writing a story about a girl and a horse. It is a story about things that I don't know. Write what you know. Except I'm writing about the opposite. I mean, I know what it is like to be a girl who wants a horse, but I don't really know anything about horses or horse farms or history. But I am writing it. I am writing this story just like I have started writing all of the others. I will wright until I reach a spot where I stop and then it will get set aside and never finished, but the intention to go back and work on it is there. This story, like all of the others, is a story that I want to finish. Of course, I want to finish them all, but right now, in this moment, I want to finish this story about a girl and a horse. 

I find myself in a spot where I want to do a lot of things. Cleaning out all the garbage in the house. Making a yoga video series. Writing writing writing. Taking some pictures. Making some money for Christmas presents by selling those pictures. Setting up a shop or something. Something. Take a nap and hang out in the hammock. Harvest more purple hulled peas. There is a lot on my list. I want to move forward with all of it, yet there's something keeping me rooted in one spot. I have become Chris. In so many ways. I have lists. I have unfinished bits of writing. I threw a fit about the trailer for the New Justice League movie and how the industry has just ruined so many of the comics I read as a kid. I am this close to putting unopened mail into manilla envelopes and labelling them with the days of the week. 

I made an appointment to meet with a therapist and immediately regretted it. She used the words 'psycho analysis' and that's what caused me to pause. I don't need to be psycho analyzed. I'm not crazy crazy. I just feel a little bit numb on the insides. Insignificant. Hollow. Full of doubt. Maybe even lonely? Lacking in vocal communication skills. I am not a danger to myself or others (not intentionally). The words 'psycho analysis' suggests to me that there is something seriously wrong with me. Like my brain is really truly cracked. I don't need to be analyzed. I just need to talk to someone who's feelings are not going to hurt by what I have to say. I just need to talk to a person who will listen without interruptions and who will listen with some empathy. Then maybe that person could give me some advice on how to communicate effectively with words.

I wanted to cancel the appointment or maybe just not show up; though just not showing up is not my style. I told Dr. M. all of this when I sat down in her office. She told me that I was the boss here and that this could be my first and last session if that is what I wanted. I told her some of my story and how I feel like I have lost the ability to verbally communicate effectively. There were tears, something that hasn't happened in a while and an act that usually makes me feel shameful or pathetic. I let them come easily this time and I didn't get mad at myself for it. She had me read a passage from The Year of Magical Thinking, by Joan Didion. The passage discussed a section of one of Dr. Freud's papers on grief in which he says that grief is an illness. It when on to mention another prominent psychologist who felt that grief required treatment just like any other mental illness. My pride has not allowed me to think of myself as being sick. The idea that grief is an illness was not an easy concept for me to accept. It did give me some things to think about. I scheduled another appointment with her for next week. 

Lately, I find myself waking up periodically in the middle of the night. I sleep pretty well from about 9:30 to 11:30. Then I wake up because the dog has made a noise or the cat. I have to get up and use the bathroom. On average, I'd say I get up out of bed at least two times a night. Last night I slept straight through until my alarm went off. For the first time in a long time, I pulled myself out of bed this morning without the urge to flop right back down into it. I remember how I had such a hard time navigating in Portland because of their two norths, a true North and a magnetic North. During my second visit to the city, I got it all figured out. I just had to learn a new way to navigate. That is what I am doing now. My north has shifted and I am just starting to learn how to navigate it all after realizing that I can't do it in the same way as before. 

So...this week, I am thankful for moments of vulnerability. I am thankful to be learning new ways to navigate. I am thankful for a good nights sleep. I am super for grateful for that moment at work when ABBA's Dancing Queen started playing in my playlist. 

I am thankful for you. 

VALUABLE LESSONS

Instagram post by Cindy Maddera * May 24, 2017 at 1:36pm UTC

2 Likes, 0 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram

This week I have learned valuable lessons from trying to speak rationally to a person who doesn't want to be spoken to rationally. They've come for a fight and expect nothing else. They want to sling arrows. So I have let them sling their arrows. I've let them call me a cunt and a condescending bitch. I've let them tell me that I am 'loathed'. I am sure they feel justified in their anger and their feelings are valid feelings. Whether you are mad, sad or happy, feelings are valid. It is how you react to those feelings that truly matters. I choose to react differently than some. That's my choice. I don't have room in my life for hatefulness. My reaction is to step away and remove it from my life. 

I recognize also, that I have made mistakes. Butting in to get others to stop butting in is like two wrongs that do not make a right. If I hadn't done that, I wouldn't have unleashed this person's true feelings about me. I don't know if that's better or worse, but I do recognize my part in all of it. That's a hard lesson. Like sticking your hand in the beehive for a honey comb and expecting to not get stung. It is hard to admit that I should have never reached out in the first place. I didn't pause to consider the consequences or that it would inspire and incite so much vileness. I just don't think of those things. I just don't expect people to behave so hatefully. That is another fault, expecting others to behave the way you would behave. That's not fair to the other person particularly when they are reacting in a way they chose for themselves. My choice is not better than their's. Just different. I apologize for inciting.

All of this sounds vague and cryptic, I know. It's just that writing all of it down is therapeutic and helps me. I know only to share the bare minimum out of respect. Writing it all down takes it out of the space in my head where can clog things up. It helps me remove the things that do not serve me out the way so that I can replace it with things that do.