My Journey to Self-Care

The fact is inevitable: bumps and bruises will come to us in this life and as we encounter them, we’ll develop coping strategies.  Over time, strategies may become patterns and in the long run, patterns may emerge that hurt us more than they help us.  But making this discovery; having an awareness of what a pattern is doing, can be an elusive thing when we are right in the middle of it. 

I was given the opportunity to take a fresh look at my life-patterns when, at the age of 53, I encountered a difficult situation and sought professional help.  My counselor was kind and listened attentively.  At the end of the first session, he said he would continue to meet with me one-on-one but additionally, would be referring me to a codependent therapy group. I was like, wait.. What?  I’m not co-dependent.  In my understanding, “codependency” happened when one person was enabling another person to abuse alcohol, drugs or gambling.  That definitely wasn’t me, and so I wondered, how is codependency a factor here?  But in spite of my skepticism, I went along with his little idea and attended my first meeting.  Well, it proved to be informative, and my eyes were opened to a world I hadn’t previously given much thought to – the world of codependency. 

Among the things I learned were that there were different types of codependents, one of which was “the caretaker;” those who feel an inordinate amount of responsibility for others.  The concepts I learned in the group got me really thinking about my life.  I continued to participate and kept thinking about a book I had heard about through the years, called Codependent No More, by Melody Beatty. I purchased the audio version and began listening to it while driving to and from work.  (For busy people, I highly recommend the audio book option!)  Halfway thru the first chapter, I could tell this book was going to hold great value for me.  Reading (or should I say, listening to) Codependent No More was a turning point in my life.  It helped me develop a new lens through which to view my life and my relationships.  Because I believe I am not alone and that that there are readers out there who are struggling with similar issues, I would like to share some of the things I have learned.

In its origins, the term codependent was tied mainly to situations where substance abuse was a factor.  Over time, it has expanded to cover a wider range of maladies that play out in different ways in people’s lives.  Here are a few examples:

  • You feel responsible for a situation involving others and as a result, the situation has taken up so much of your time and mental energy that your own well-being, peace and happiness are taking a serious hit.
  • You carry emotional burdens tied to things over which you have little to no control. 
  • You continue giving help, with no end in sight, to someone who could, but isn’t, helping themselves.
  • You spend a lot of time trying to get someone else to change – for their own good, and for yours. 
  • You need, struggle or worry about the validation of another person or people.

Do any of these descriptions strike a familiar chord?  Are you saying to yourself, yes, I know I am carrying this problem and I would just love to dump it off or get rid of it but before I can do that, I’ve got to find a solution and I have no idea what that solution would be?

When we feel like we’ve lost control of circumstances that are impacting us, there are two things over which we do still have control: our own selves, and our self-care.  And here, dear friend, is where the path back to sanity lies. 

But where do we even start? 

Self-care begins when we set boundaries to protect our hearts, our head, our well-being.  Boundaries may be in the form of things emotional (how much we will allow ourselves to suffer), things financial (how much we make ourselves financially responsible), or matters of our time and energy.

But if we already feel so stuck or so invested that we don’t know where to even begin, how do we find those boundaries? Beatty explains it in what she says is an underlying principle; something that must be practiced frequently as we strive to live happy lives: Detachment

In spite of how the word sounds, detachment is not an uncaring, hostile withdrawal.  Detachment simply means that we are done with the suffering, done with the work that still has not “fixed” the problem that we see.  Detachment is the act of letting go.  We acknowledge that we are not in control of others, and we allow them to be who they are. We allow them to develop and evolve on their own, just as we have done.  Detachment, ideally, is done in the spirit of love.  But, as Beatty explains, if it cannot be done “in love,” it is better to be done in anger than not at all.  We can then use our newfound space to work on ourselves and eventually, our anger may soften into love.

In spite of how we learn, grow and get better, life will happen and we still may occasionally lose our way.  Another inspirational book to the rescue!  This one, also written by Melody Beatty, is entitled, The Language of Letting Go and is a book of meditations on walking in the way of happiness, free from the torment of codependency.  When, at times, I get sucked into a place that only brings me down, I am reminded in this book’s pages that taking care of myself is always the way back – the shortest path to sane thinking and peace of mind.

It is inevitable that we will have pain.  It is inevitable that at times we will be stressed.  But when life feels more painful or more stressful than it needs to be, we can ask ourselves this:  Am I be behaving like a codependent? Am I taking care of the world but neglecting myself?  Learning, and taking, the proper steps to deal with that behavior, can help to set us free.

Convincing a Millenial

Recently I enjoyed dinner with my co-worker and friend, “TJ,” at an outdoor venue.  Both working from home now, it had been awhile since we’d seen each other and we were anxious to reconnect. TJ is a millennial, and our coming from different generations has made for some interesting dialog in the past.  This evening, the conversation soon took its familiar course and we found ourselves engaged in one of our favorite activities – discussing how our respective generations do things differently.  On that note, tonight’s topic was “getting from point A to point B,” and the various ways one might access the directions to do that. 

For TJ and her contemporaries, there really is no discussion.  Plug the address into your phone; done.  Of course, it was incumbent upon me to point out that there was a time before GPS existed, leaving my contemporaries and I to utilize other resources.  “Oh yeah!” TJ replied.  “Back then, people would have to look directions up in MapQuest, and then print them out.”

I tried hard not to laugh.

I began my reply, “That’s not exactly the first way…” but she caught herself and said, “Oh right.. they would use those paper things..um.. maps!”  Then with a curious look on her face she added, “Those are just… freakish.” 

Ok, now it was time to bring in some boomer perspective.  “Freakish?” I defended, “That’s all we used to have!  And they’re actually kind of cool..”  I paused, and then offered resolutely, “In fact, I sometimes still use them.” 

She lowered her fork and looked at me as though I were from Mars.  I had a plan, though.  Inside I thought, after dinner, I’ll help her see things a new way.  

As we were saying our good-byes and walking toward the parking area, I said, “Hey TJ, come over to my car for a second.  I want to show you something.”  “Ok,” she said unsuspectingly, and followed me over.  Once there, I opened my glove compartment and pulled out none other than a genuine California map.  “What!”  she practically shrieked.  “Why do you even have that?  What good can this possibly do you?”  Despite her protests, she seemed somewhat curious in this object.  And as for me, I was intent on convincing her that no one could live without at least one paper map in their life. 

I unfurled my giant map, revealing the entire state of California from Yreka to El Cajon.  I said enthusiastically, “See how big it is!  You get so much better visualization this way.”  She pulled out her phone and started scrolling her map around, saying, “But I can do the same thing right here on this.”  Hmm… she was being a tough sell.  “But this gives you context,” I countered.  “You can see not just where you are, but everything around you.”  “Same,” she replied, as she demonstrated on her phone.  But I was not ready to give up yet.  “Ok,” I said, “Let me explain it to you this way.  Suppose that you’re on a road trip, but you’re not sure where you want to go.  You’re just on a driving adventure and you look at your map and you’re like, ‘Oh look at all the possibilities!  I could go here!’ (I pointed to Sacramento).  ‘Or I could go there!’ (I pointed to Death Valley).  I could tell from her face that she wasn’t buying it. 

After considering my little presentation thoughtfully, she made a statement: “Our brains just process information differently.”  Yes, yes, I knew she was right.  In fact, I wrote about this very idea in an earlier column (see Us and Them – the technology gap). 

No doubt about it.  Because of the world I grew up in, my brain processes information and sees many things differently than that of TJ and others of her generation.  And something else about my brain.. there are memories from my world stored away, and sometimes long-forgotten, until they pop out unexpectedly.  This happened just the other day.

I was looking through a collection of record albums that had recently been gifted to me by my sister.  Flipping through them one by one, I spied Neil Young’s Harvest LP, and picked it up for closer examination.  Something told me to takethe record from its cover.  As I did, my eyes fell on a familiar orange Reprise label, with a tiny steamboat at the top.  I didn’t even realize until this moment that I remembered this record well.  Soon the memory came rushing in – back to the summer of 1972.  Back to the living room of my childhood and my sister who was home from college.  She’d brought this record with her and played it almost every day that summer.

The set of memories that reside in my brain are uniquely mine, but are representative of the generation I grew up in.  Surely you have your own, too.  Please join me next time when we’ll talk about our storehouse of memories that have made us who we are. 

On Mistakes and Regret

You’ve probably realized by now that Mid life is a topic I am passionate about.  Yes, I know, the physical aspects of aging are less than desirable.  I’ll give you that.  But isn’t this an exciting junction where we find ourselves?  Old enough to know our way around this life, yet young enough to still make an impact.  Wisdom and perspective, let’s hope, have become our companions by now.  But with added perspective comes something else that may not always sit easily: added understanding of mistakes we made along the way. 

Some mistakes have been harmless enough; a whimsical smile may come to our face as we recall them.  Perhaps we’re even glad they happened because of ways they helped us grow.  Other mistakes may not be remembered with such ease; perhaps we recall them with sadness, or even regret.  (Have you ever known someone who says they have no regrets… Seriously?  Do people really feel this way?)  Missed opportunities.  People we loved, but hurt.  Endless are the possibilities of things we did when we were younger, stronger, but not so wise.  Now here’s a tough one: a mistake which produced a consequence we are still living with.  While this is hard, we make it harder if we beat up on ourselves for it.  Looking back, we may think that others figured out life quicker and better than we did, and then we ask ourselves, “Why didn’t I know better?  What was wrong with me?”

While we may feel alone in our history of royal mess-ups, I think a more accurate view is that everyone around us experiences these same thoughts.  Knowing this does bring comfort.  But I recently discovered another avenue of thought that has made even more of a difference for me.  I found it in a poem written by a friend, which I am happy to share here, with her permission:

A New Beginning

Every day’s a new beginning

of a story yet untold

as we gaze upon the pages

of our lives as they unfold.

Have we learned much from the chapters

that we’ve already read?

Do they tend to hold us back

or help us move straight ahead?

I’ve heard it said that life is like a school

and we’ll succeed if we follow every rule

but some doors will only open

with the errors that we make,

and sometimes the greatest lessons

come with making great mistakes!

…and everything that we’ve been thru

has created who we are,

we can see ourselves a failure

or be a shining star…

But no matter what we choose to be

it’s never etched in stone,

‘cuz every day’s a new beginning

with a story of its own!

-Janis Tara

janistara7@gmail.com

To know that I’ve grown from my mistakes helps me find acceptance.  But to think that doors actually opened because of them?  That they served a real purpose in positive outcomes in my life?  Now that’s empowering!  Now I see that they helped make me who I am.

The point of life is not to be blameless.  The point is to keep evolving into something better.  If we learn from our mistakes then apply what we learn going forward, what more can be asked of us?  Perhaps, to try and share what we’ve learned with the younger ones behind us…  Save them some trouble.  Spare them some pain.  But of course, we realize, this will not always work.  Some things they will be determined to learn for themselves – just like we did.

Conversations We Wish We’d Had

August 18th marked the 100th anniversary of the ratification of the 19th Amendment, which granted women the right to vote (but, for most women of color, the right to vote would not be realized until the passing of the Voting Rights Act of 1965).  At the time the Amendment went into effect, my two grandmothers were living in separate states, each one a young wife and mother who was managing the difficult responsibilities of home and family, yet til then had not been entrusted with the right to vote.  On the day of the anniversary, I received a text from my sister saying that the occasion had caused her to think about our two grandmothers.  She reflected, “All the sudden I thought of them, and wished that I had talked with them about this, when they were still living.. to ask for their perspective on finally getting their voting rights.”  Her final lament: “It hit me that I should have thought about this long ago.” 

Many are the times I’ve thought myself about rich and enlightening conversations I could have had with family elders in days gone by, when I was younger and they were still around.  Like my sister, I am left to ponder: why didn’t I think of these things sooner? 

There are many kinds of conversations to be had with people in our lives.  Sometimes, as in the example given of my grandmothers, it is a conversation about life in another place and time. 

Sometimes, it is a conversation that helps us gain understanding of our own past.  Here’s a for-instance: from time to time I’ve thought of particular events which occurred in my childhood, that my mother could have shed light on.  Although I think of myself as a fairly open and inquisitive person, it never dawned on me while in my younger adulthood, that I could have simply asked her about those events.  By the time I even thought of that as an option, mom was too old to have those conversations.  Now, I can only look back and wish we’d had them.

It’s true, in some cases the windows of opportunity are closed, but let’s keep in mind that some windows are open right now, or will be open in the future.  This is where conversations “we wish we’d had,” can become conversations that actually happen; conversations with the potential of making a real impact on our life, because they tell us something that we didn’t know.  Maybe we will find that someone has a need, for which we have tools to help.  On a completely different note, maybe the conversation will give us an eye-opening view into another individual’s perspective. 

The trick is to be ready and willing when the moment presents itself.  Opportunities can be missed if we do not recognize them for what they are.  But even if we do see an opportunity in the moment, it doesn’t mean it will always be easy.  Some conversations may require a little courage on our part, but I have found through personal experience that often, the payout is well worth our bravery and effort. 

When I think about conversations with this kind of transformative power, some of the following situations come to mind:

Someone in your life is struggling with the same, or similar, situation as you, but neither of you realizes it.  Until you have a conversation.

Someone with whom you share a common experience, came away with a completely different perspective than yours.  You always took for granted that they saw it the way you did – until you had a conversation.

You have information, tools or connections that could help someone in your life who is struggling.  You don’t know that person is struggling, and that person doesn’t know you have something that can help.  Until you have a conversation.

Your parents had challenges or experiences in their past that you had no idea of.  Understanding them could shed new light on your childhood.  A conversation is the beginning of that understanding.

You are considering decisions that will impact someone else’s life.  While you are responsible for their well-being, such as a child or an elder, you realize that you haven’t actually asked for their voice in the matter. 

A family has been coping with a difficult situation for awhile, yet everyone has been dealing with it as individuals.  Someone realizes that the strength of many is greater than the strength of one, and begins encouraging family talks.

Of the conversations mentioned above, some will happen with advance planning, but others are often the result of providence, or lucky timing.  Those unplanned moments, when taken advantage of, have the potential to produce a conversation that is truly a game-changer.  When this happens, we are often left feeling extremely grateful that it did. 

Whether it’s the richness of a family story we are blessed to hear, or a new understanding that can change our life, I hope that missed opportunities we are left to ponder, will be replaced with moments where we find ourselves saying, “I’m so glad we talked.”

Mom’s Box of Memories

At times we may have a person in our life that we love and appreciate, yet a clear perspective on the full impact they make on our life, may elude us.  Sometimes this person is our own mom.  Without our even asking, moms are there from our first earthly breath.  They are with us throughout our life and are so much a part of us that it may be hard to distinguish where they end, and we begin.  

My mom lived a long life, a life that reflected family as her priority.  We lost dad too young – at the age of 64 – but mom came from a family where longevity was the norm.  She passed away on a still, summer night, a few weeks short of her 96th birthday.  A debilitating illness had beset her the last three years of her life, making her days increasingly difficult to endure.  Eventually she began to say that, in spite of how much she loved us and wanted to stay with us, she needed to go.      

I knew mom all the years of my life, yet there were things about her I didn’t know or understand.  Or did I just not see them?  Two years after her passing, I was starting to get some perspective on the important role she had played in my life.  It was around this time that I set about the task of going through a box which contained many things that she had saved.  There were hundreds of cards and notes received from family and close friends the last couple of decades of her life, but there were other items too, like drawings from the grandkids, recipes and other things she deemed as special.

One afternoon I sat down on my living room floor with the box.  Looking through it, I felt as though I were walking through the latter part of mom’s life, visiting with cherished old friends and family members along my way.  More than just a friendly journey, it soon became my own personal journey, where many understandings were unfolded.

My first realization, given every little thing she made a point to save, was just how sentimental mom had been.  Being myself a fierce saver of sentimental items, it dawned on me that day that perhaps I had gotten that from my mom.  This had never before occurred to me.

Continuing through my journey, I came across the sales receipt from a set of living room furniture that mom had purchased.  Upon closer examination of the date, the memory slowly came back to me of why she had bought that furniture.  Later in my mom’s life and many years after she’d become a widow, she lived for a time with two of my daughters and I.  Ours was a harmonious, all-female, three-generation household, which lasted until I somehow determined it was time to strike out in a different direction.  Our arrangement having ended, mom moved to an apartment back in her home county and the living room set was purchased to furnish it.  Reliving it all now in retrospect, seventeen years older and wiser, I suddenly found myself cast into the role of “adult child.”  I closed my eyes and cringed, realizing that at the time, I had never even thought about how my decision had affected mom. 

Memories of other things that had occurred through the years began popping into my mind:

A Christmas morning spent with her, my dad, my husband and our young toddler.  Mom had envisioned how the morning would go.  We would wake up and it would all be magical, but for some reason the reality had fallen short.  When she tried to tell me why it felt disappointing, I had no understanding of what she was talking about.

A time, well into my adulthood, when my sister and I were supposed to meet two of her old girl friends from way back in her high school days.  Sis and I got our wires crossed, arrived late and missed meeting the friends.  Mom was incredibly disappointed, but I just didn’t realize at the time how much it meant to her.

When mom was older and us kids had grown, married and were living our own lives, mom would still worry about us.  I would say in my confident, thirty-something tone, “Mom, don’t worry about us!  Weren’t you young once and didn’t you figure out your life and your problems?  Well, we will too.  So just don’t think about it!”  I thought there was a switch that mom could just turn off. 

Several realizations were born that day on my living room floor, one of them being how very much like my mom, I was. 

I felt a new compassion for her as an individual.  And the coolest realization of all was that two years after her death, I was being taught by something she had left behind.  It helped me learn about her, about myself, and about life in general. 

Next time I ask myself if, or why, I should hang onto things I think are special, or if it’s hard to decide what to keep and what to toss – remembering the day I spent with mom’s box of memories will help me consider my answer.