It's My Children's Fault I'm the Way I Am

I can be too much for people. I know it; I get it; I've said it here before. And, I'm probably not going to change it. Why? Because changing it almost killed my soul.

I've been told about my too big personality quite a few times starting early in life. But what no one told me was how to temper it. What I never learned was when to dial it back (some will say I still haven't learned that!) And I didn't learn that it was okay for not everyone to like me and I didn't have to change who I was--

Towards the end of 7th grade, a friend took me aside and told me, "People are really not liking you anymore because you are conceited. We don't want to be friends with you anymore." An example she gave was when another friend was correcting my spelling/vocabulary test and I said, "It's okay if I get one wrong, I know I got the bonus." I didn't challenge the conversation. I assumed I indeed was a flawed person that didn't deserve to have friends. 

What no one knew then was while I might have come across as conceited, I was really a very scared insecure little girl (not unlike many 7th grade girls). A very scared insecure little girl that just lost almost all her friends. (I've also just got to say, I feel for that young girl too. I mean she definitely drew the short straw on being the one who had to have that conversation!)

Now whether this is true or not, I believed being popular was very important to my mother. So I didn't tell her about what happened. I didn't want her to know I was now sitting by myself in the cafeteria and was no longer invited to the big slumber parties. I wonder if I had if she would have helped me figure it out? I'll never know. Instead, I wound up in the hospital with an eating disorder which we also did not talk about--to a 7th-grade girl that was further proof there was something very wrong with me. I drew myself in, watched people more intently, and tried to figure out how to fit in.

We moved right before my 10th-grade year. After saying I wanted to go down early and try out for cheerleading, I changed my mind. My mother had worked hard to find someone to help me. I was not honest with my mother that I was terrified and sad and lonely. So I just said, "I don't want to and I'm not." She told me she was embarrassed and disappointed in me. 

Before we get all morose let's be honest. There are probably many many young teenage girls who felt the same way. Most of us really were faking it until we made it. We were all trying on identities and figuring out who we were. Some of us left that insecurity back in high school or college--for some of us it took a few more years....

{Let me also have a little aside her to say there were some people I was completely my goofy over the top self with right from the beginning--maybe not always in public--for the most part Chris knew who he was marrying! And he helped me over and over to be who I am called to be--and yes, sometimes it even gets to be too much for him. Progress not perfection, right?}

Here's where I'm going with this sad depressing story---I could draw out my life and easily mark key incidents where I just accepted others views of me as not good enough and there are also key incidents when I let go of some insecurity and really started living into the loud, over the top, has no filter, slightly inappropriate person God created. Maybe someday I will share that timeline...probably not. (See?!?!?! I do have a filter!!!)

I've been talking on video a lot about parenting. I've made a lot of mistakes. And I've had some wins. I hope the mommy that spent hours worrying about what they were going to wear and whether we belonged to the "right" things is not the mommy they most remember. I suspect they remember parts of that. I KNOW they remember and are still at times horrified and even irritated (okay flat out pissed off) at some of my antics. Sometimes I will dial it back at their request (and because it's the right thing to do), but sometimes I don't. What I hope is that even when they are madder than a wet hen on a hot summer day, they see a person who is true to her values and herself. A person who doesn't let others define her or tell her she's not good enough.  I hope they no longer see the woman who became a pretzel trying to twist and turn into being who she believed (or was told) others wanted her to be.

The truth is I learned that from them.

A public thank you--maybe it'll save me a dollar or two in therapy...

Let's Talk about It

If we can talk about cancer and diabetes and all other diseases, why can't we talk about addiction and eating disorders? I think we can and should, and so I do. I know, just like I know I'm not for everyone, this openness is not for everyone. And that is okay. It doesn't make either of us better or worse. It just makes us different. But we are all beloved children of God worthy of dignity and respect no matter what. We have that in common, so I'll respect how you live your scars and wounds and treat you with all the dignity you deserve, please do the same for me.

I do, however, want to say this, and please know I mean it with every fiber of my being. To anyone I may have offended by the seemingly nonchalant way I talk about and/or write about eating disorders and addiction, I wholeheartedly apologize. Really I do. The last thing in the world I want to do is cause anyone who lives in either of these worlds any pain. Those of us who have residency here have enough of that.

I also don't want or need anyone's pity. Cause, see here's the thing, all your pity does is make you feel better about yourself. It makes you feel safe. Your pity builds walls up around you that give you a sense of security--security that you will never face what I and many others have faced. You desperately want those walls to hold strong. Most days I want that for you too, some days I don't. 

So keep your pity to yourself. I don't want it. I don't need it. Empathy, compassion, grace--I'll take an extra heaping of those. 

Here's my truth...

I started struggling with an eating disorder when I was in junior high school. There are days and weeks, occasionally a few months when I don't even think about it, and then something happens and it rears its ugly head. I have people to turn to, people who love me, people who understand, and people who hold me accountable. It's a war I continue to fight. I win lots of battles, and some I don't. The biggest battle I have won and the one I refuse to refight is the one that is about secrecy and shame, and so I write and talk about it. 

We have addiction in our family. Again, there are days I don't think about it and there are days I can't stop thinking about it. There are times I feel light and free and there are times I am consumed with fear and what-ifs. There are still roads I can't drive down, songs I can't listen to, and smells I can't stomach. Those are the wounds scabbing over--some turn to scars, others bleed again. Talking and writing about it helps soothe the ache and bandaids the festering wounds so they can join the others that have already become scars. 

The other thing that helps--remembering that I am not alone, remembering that all those who struggle or love someone who struggles are not alone. We are not alone and we as people are created in the image of God just like everyone else. These addictions (I do believe eating disorders are types of addictions) try to tell us we're not. They try to tell us we're not worthy, we're not enough, we're flawed beyond redemption. And they try to tell us those we love who struggle are not worthy and we are weak and naive to continue to engage and to believe it will ever be different. So I talk and I write because I will challenge every day for the rest of my life these untruths. We are not weak and naive; we are warriors--strong and brave.

I have cried and will cry again. I know that. But I will also laugh, and if laughing sometimes helps me get through the hard times, then it's what I'll do. And while I know not everyone appreciates my approach, it is how I choose to live. The years of secrecy and shame tried to kill my soul. This is the way I make sure it survives. This is the way I let it sing.

Godparents and Politics

We weren't perfect parents. We made lots of mistakes. We still make mistakes I don't have time to list them all...refer to my children if you have hours of time. But I will say one thing we did perfectly was choosing our children's Godparents. (and thankfully they said yes!)

The process, I'll admit, wasn't perfect. I have another close friend who was hurt she was never asked (we have since moved on with explanation and ultimately understanding). There were other people we could have chosen, but we chose the ones we chose, and I have never, not once, regretted any of the choices.

We had simple criteria.

• We had to agree with one another 100%
• They could not be family (of course they became family or were already family, but they couldn't be "traditional" family)
• They had to be people of faith
• They had to be a person we would want our children to turn to if they ever felt like they couldn't come to us, so we needed to trust them completely. We needed to trust their view of the world and their moral compass. 
• They had to say yes.

Not only have all these people stepped up over and over and over throughout the years, but they have also brought their families into our family. We have continued to love each other, laugh with one another. They have prayed for us and for our children. They have witnessed their Godchildren soar, and they have seen them struggle, and they have NEVER stopped loving and praying for them. They have never given up on them or us. I am a better person because of all of them. Our children are better people. I would not change a single choice. I will love these people for the rest of my life. I trust them, and I know they are all people who care not only about our family but about all people. They are people I am proud to know, and I will NEVER say a false word against any of them for any reason. Now, wait for it.....

WE DID NOT ALL VOTE THE SAME IN THIS ELECTION! Please note, we did not consider political affiliation at all. (Refer back to simple criteria) And it's not because we didn't know...

This election did not change ONE ANSWER to any of the criteria we used to choose Godparents. This election and our choice of Godparents is a reminder to me that God is bigger than politics. God is in people and people are in politics, but the goodness of people--the divine image in each of us--that's where we connect and it is that connection we need to move forward. 

*Let me also note--not a one is misogynistic, homophobic, or racist. In fact, all strive to be a voice for the marginalized.

It's Time to Break the Rules

I'm a rule follower to a fault. How can that be you ask? (and I'm sure it's because you're wondering how being a rule follower can be anything but perfect and NOT because you doubt my self-proclamation). For a slightly inappropriate to share example, watch this video. 

But seriously, even my Bishop told me I sometimes should stop and maybe question. (I'm wondering if a) he remembers telling me that and b) he regrets telling me!) 

Anyway, I grew up in the deep south where there was an unwritten rule--unwritten but not unspoken and definitely taught to us from the time we were knee-high to a grasshopper. You do NOT under any circumstances talk about money, religion, or politics outside of the family. In fact, sometimes you don't talk about it inside the family or with certain family members. (In our family you also didn't talk about sex, but that is a waaaaay different blog post and one I may need some time before I can tackle...time or bourbon or both.)

Yesterday I saw on a high school friend's FaceBook post. "I have never known the political affiliation of as many friends as I do now." That made me take a pause--it's exactly right. And I'd be lying if I didn't say some people's politics have surprised me. I'll be totally honest (and trust me some of this over the years has also been judgemental) I have also over the years been surprised at what some of my long time friends have posted about religion. 

Sometimes, too often I'm sad to say, some of these comments about politics and/or religion have led to, let's put on my southern lady mouth and say fiesty back and forth. (Bless their hearts) Other times, they have led to fruitful conversations--conversations grounded in love for one another, in relationship with one another. Conversations that don't end with everyone holding hands and singing kum bah ya, but conversations that end with more understanding. 

I wonder, no I don't wonder, I believe it's time to throw those "polite" rules out and let's be real with one another. Why has it taken this horrible divisive name-calling (on both sides) election for me to know what really matters to people I love dearly? There are things I cannot and will not EVER understand and that is anything that goes against respecting the dignity of every human being, but what I'm learning is that what separates me from those I love who vote differently than me is not our common core belief that all are equal and all are beloved children of God. 

I firmly believe marriage equality not only passed in the Supreme Court but also at The Episcopal Church General Convention because we TALKED to one another about eegads sexuality and faith. We talked about what it means to be created in the Image of God. We had hard conversations. Many people changed their minds, and I believe it is because we were brave and broke the "rules" and because we were in relationship with one another. 

I have been distraught over the politics in this nation. I have been angry. I have cried. I have wanted to run away. The results of this election--the almost 50/50 split, however, do not tell me we are so far apart, so divided that we are in danger of breaking, but it does tell me while both sides have "believed" (and for the record maybe we need a better way to distinguish each other than the other "side") they are the majority, we now know there is no decided majority.  Knowing people who have voted on both sides confirms that for me. I think what we can best learn from this election is its time to really talk to each other, to find common ground, to agree on core values, to challenge one another, but above all to love. This election has shown me I can't swing a cat in a room full of family and friends and not hit people who are on "the other side." (that dumb word again). And I think we need both sides. I don't think either side has all the answers or can fix all the problems. I think for us to be united we have to bring ALL of us together with all our differences. 

I think it's time to break the rules...let's talk.

*Let me be VERY clear. This does not mean I will accept racist, homophobic, misogynist, white supremacist behavior. But I do believe there are more of us on both sides who agree on that than we know. Our polite voices are being drowned out. Let's unite our voices from both sides and make a difference.

Toddlers to Teens to Young Adults to Elections

If you had told me 10 years ago I would enjoy--don't pass out when you read this---even love empty nest, I would have laughed in your face. (Thank you for not now laughing in mine...)

I loved being Mama to four children. I loved being able to stay home with them. I loved the years of color-coded, chaotic, crazy calendars. (and clearly, I love alliteration) I really did. And I remember thinking at times, I never want this stage to end. But then the next stage was also fun and the next and the next. That doesn't keep me from missing certain stages and getting teary-eyed when I look back at pictures. 

There are definitely some stages I would be okay with not repeating...

As I've been sitting here for coming up on three days watching election results, I've been thinking a lot about the stages of the children growing up and what I've learned. 

This is an aside which comes into play--I am also glad we moved a lot. (well for this reason I'm glad, but moving is not for the faint of heart--read on!)

When the children were very little and just getting borned as they used to call it, their best friends were the children of our best friends. We had and have the most amazing group of friends we did EVERYTHING with in Athens. My sister told me at the time it was not normal. The wives were besties, the husbands didn't call each other besties--was besties even a term then? I guess you'd say they were bros, and our children interacted like a litter of puppies. Sometimes I wonder if they got confused about who birthed who? And then we all moved away--well almost all of us.

We've stayed friends, but the all getting back together at the same time? That doesn't happen often if at all and definitely not with the whole families. Social media keeps the children "connected" but they don't really know each other. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if we had all stayed and egads our children decided they didn't want to be best friends? (I know I know people deal with this all the time.)

Lucky for me we got to move 4 more times so I got to repeat, and I also got to see up close and personal the change from me choosing their friends to them having the audacity to choose their own.

Moving to Louisville was our hardest move for many reasons. A big one was they no longer needed or wanted me to go on playdates with them. For the record, they also don't like me saying playdates anymore either.

Y'all are wondering how this all comes together aren't you? Well, hold on here it goes. The other day after a dinner with some of the children and a few (boy/girl) friends, I thought about how much I am enjoying this time. I am enjoying the conversations we are having--even the heated ones. I am enjoying listening to and sometimes agreeing with their perspectives. I am enjoying being challenged and affirmed. And I am enjoying the people they have brought into our lives that they chose and that have different backgrounds, different life stories, different perspectives, and different ideas. (I still think we'd make great in-laws with the Balls. Can I get an amen Gillian?)

One of the things I like about FaceBook (besides the ability to be an over-poster) is to look back at memories. Recently I've been looking at the many people who have come into and some stayed and some passed through our lives. Over the years the children's "groups" have both stayed the same and changed. People have come into our lives that immediately fit like a glove and others whom we have grown to love as we have spent time together. '

Watching the polls come in has been surprising. I'm not sure anyone (well I'm sure there's someone) realized how almost exactly split down the middle our country is. That means, there are people in the world and in our lives, many people in fact, who think differently than we do, who hold different priorities. Is now the time to cut those people out of our lives? (Yes, sometimes that is necessary--but all 50% of the other side?) Or, is now the time to stop choosing to be only with people we can easily be besties and bros with? 

Now here's the deep dark truth. There have been times I have seriously questioned the choice of friends some of my children have made. There I said it. I'll also confess, and they will agree, I wasn't always subtle about my opinion. Sometimes I was right, many times I was wrong. Here's the other not so fun to admit truth. I'll bet there are parents out there who seriously questioned their children being friends with mine. Don't tell my children, but I think I'm a better person because I let go (read my fingers were pried one by one from a death grip) of choosing their people. My world expanded, my tolerance and inclusivity grew exponentially. 

So maybe that's what we need to do in our country. Stop acting like the parents of toddlers who try to keep our worlds very safe and confined and instead trust that we have something to learn from others. Maybe now is the time to listen to one another and try to understand. Maybe now is the time to stop thinking about the "good ole' days" when we loved everything and knew we were right about everything. We didn't; we weren't; and really, we have no choice. If we are going to move forward in this country we are going to have to move into this next stage of our country. Or we can all keep playing tug of war and refuse to give up any of our grip. It's 50/50 y'all; if we don't try with each other, no one will "win",  we'll just get tired and our arms will hurt. 

Granted my arms need some toning, but I'd rather expand my heart. My children taught me I could do that.

 

The Danger of Saying "I'm Sorry"

My Ob/Gyn started talking about my need for a hysterectomy back in 2005. And let's be clear,

it's not the same one who operated on me last week--two countries, two states, and two cities later, I'd seen several...but really it goes even further back.

I had 4 c-sections. The doctor, let me change that, the amazing doctor (okay she might also be a friend) who delivered 3 of them told me at the time, "I'm using the same incision site for less scarring on the outside but it could down the road cause scar tissues issues if you need other abdominal surgery." Y'all I was 31--down the road? I couldn't think past down the hall where I had four children four and under sleeping...I'm sure in my best Scarlett O'Hara voice I thought, "I'll think about that tomorrow." 

In as short of a statement as this incredibly wordy person can make, let me just say this. Over the years, every doctor I talked to repeated the same information. I was not a candidate for a vaginal hysterectomy and the possibility of having to be completely opened was very real AND there was a lot of scar tissue that would make the surgery more complicated. I knew all that along with the length of time recovery would take because of the above which is a big part of the reason it took 15 years for me to say yes. Truthfully, I said yes now because the consequences of not saying yes were far worse--low iron, exhaustion, yadda yadda yadda. And let me say this, my doctor now and the nurse practitioner spent LOTS of time talking to me prior to the surgery--in the office, on the phone, and even at our local favorite "cheers." I guess the shorter way to say it was I went into this surgery with eyes wide open--obviously, they were closed during the actual surgery.

Surgery happened--it was laparoscopic and difficult, but it was over. Or so I thought. The first few hours after surgery was relatively pain-free--thank you for pain meds and the catheter--and then they took it out.

I don't need to nor do I want to re-live the next 24 hours. Let me just say within 3 or 4 hours I knew something wasn't right no matter how many times the nursing staff told me pain was normal after surgery. (I've been asked several times exactly what I said around 1 am for which I felt the need to apologize with flowers and homebaked goods--I said (read shrieked), "Jesus Christ, you've got to do something and do it right now. Stop standing there and move.")

Mid-day Thursday my doctor came in, sat down next to me, listened to me, and took action. She knows me. She knows my high level of pain. She knows I try not to complain. She made calls and put in orders and we quickly knew most likely my bladder had been damaged. (*If you're interested in the details, they are at the end.) Back into surgery I went, and this time my abdomen had to be opened completely.

The next day my doctor returned to my room, again sat down next to me, and said, "I am so sorry.  I really didn't want you to have to be opened completely. I am so sorry this has increased your recovery time and your pain. I am so sorry you have to go through this." She meant it, I knew she meant it--there may have been some shiny tear-filled eyes. At that moment there was the recognition that things didn't go the way either of us wanted and there was compassion, empathy, and humanity. She knows me; she knows I have young adult children at home; she knows I love my vocation and don't want to take time off; she knows I'm not good at asking for help. She connected with who I am, and it was a beautiful moment. I shared it with some others--I'm struggling with that decision now....

I'm not going to be dramatic (now there's a change) and say I have been inundated with calls, emails, and texts suggesting I should consider a lawsuit, but there have been enough--let me be clear there have been too many.** I knew at the time, and I know now. My doctor was not apologizing because she made a mistake. She was apologizing because another human being was suffering and she wished it wasn't so. In that moment we were both fully human in our vocations and as middle-aged women.

It is not uncommon to hear people say, "Doctors think they are gods and they would never admit to making mistakes or say they're sorry." Maybe that's true in some cases or even many cases, but after this experience, I have to say I don't blame them. I really wonder why any of us risk saying we're sorry about anything. I've been thinking about this for the past 48 hours and thinking about instances where my own apologies or apologies made by others have been used against them. It has become dangerous to express compassion using some words and that danger diminishes our ability to connect as human beings. 

And for that, I am deeply sorry.

*My bladder was attached to my uterus. During c-sections, the bladder is removed from the abdominal cavity (Chris and I both remember Ruth telling us it was sitting on the table next to me), and when it is returned, it often adheres to the uterus. During surgery to remove the uterus it is possible to nick the bladder. My doctor checked thoroughly for that and didn't see anything. There could have been a nick in the back she couldn't see OR it could be the wall of the bladder was so thin that once the uterus had been removed and the bladder filled up the wall was too thin to hold it and tore. Either way, the abdominal cavity then filled which caused the excruciating pain (a liter was siphoned off). I knew this was a risk, and it was a risk I was willing to take. The definition of "risk" is "a situation involving exposure to danger." I just didn't know the greater risk came because someone dared to express compassion.

** I do not deny there are times there is medical malpractice that needs to be addressed. I am not saying lawsuits are not at times necessary. I do not deny there are times doctors unintentionally make life-altering mistakes and there must be compensation. But I do not believe a doctor's words of compassion should be used against them. If we want to say doctors need to stop acting like gods and show their humanity, we have to give them the room to do so.