Sing – on shame, and dreams

Posted on January 7, 2014 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

When I was a child, my father played classical music records all the time. In fact he made a point of rushing into the house when Mom brought me home to put Beethoven on the stereo to make sure that was the first music I heard.

One day I was singing along to the music. I’d heard it all my life by that point, and I knew most of the works by heart. When he heard me sing, instead of being happy that his child shared an appreciation for his music, he shouted “Let the musicians play!”

I suspect he had no idea how damaging this was. It has been 40 years and I still remember how much shame I felt from hearing those words

The “musicians” weren’t live. He could pick up the needle on the record and play that piece again. He couldn’t replay the joy of hearing his child. I was live. They were recorded.

I think about his childhood, what would have made him do that.

I remember him telling me stories of how he would have to listen to his classical records in the closet. His parents thought that he was wasting his time. Perhaps they thought that he wasn’t being manly enough. I can remember he told me that he would secretly buy records.

Imagine being made to feel shame for buying and playing classical music, like it is the same as doing illegal drugs.

He wanted to be a conductor. He was taught that was not something to aim for. It wouldn’t support a family. It wasn’t practical.

He kept his love of classical music, but dropped his dream. He had a family and barely had enough money to support them.

I think we always hope that we aren’t going to be like our parents, but it is very hard. We try to remember all the things they did wrong and we resolve to not do them, but it is hard to undo our programming.

Especially when we don’t realize we’ve been programmed.

My father never did this work. He never dug down into himself, into his history. He never faced his fears and his brokenness. He was sad a lot. It was called depression, but that is just another name for sad.

He was sad because he wasn’t allowed to be himself. His parents were told the same story, and I suspect their parents were told the same.

The story was this – Don’t be yourself. Don’t be different. Fit in. Go for the safe route, the sure thing.

He didn’t remember them shaming him. So he shamed me for showing joy at something he loved. He was taught this. So then he did it to me.

To this day I cannot listen to classical music without crying.

The bread and milk diaries – or, a snow day in the South.

Posted on January 5, 2014 by betsybeadhead | 1 Comment

Northerners make fun of Southerners when we freak out about snow forecasts. When there is a forecast of one to three inches of snow, Southerners lose their minds. Everything except essential services stops. Schools close. People go to the grocery store for bread and milk, even if they don’t like bread and milk. It is a big deal.

One to three inches of snow is business as usual for people in the North. They think we are overreacting. Until they move here.

Snow in the South isn’t just snow. There is almost always a base layer of ice. I don’t care how good you are at driving on snow; nobody is good at driving on ice.

Even if there isn’t ice to start with, there soon will be. After people have driven on the snow it has gotten packed down. Then the sun shines on it and melts it, and then the temperature drops below freezing again and the whole thing is one big skating rink.

Southerners are of the mindset that it is just better to stay home. Who doesn’t like a random day off?

We have snowplows and de-icing trucks, but they aren’t really much good. There aren’t enough of them and the drivers don’t get enough practice using them to be of much use.

Now, there are certainly bosses who expect you to come in. However, they won’t pay for the damage to your car that will occur when you crash on aforementioned icy roads while trying to drive in.

Just like trying to decide if a prepared food is compatible with your allergies, best be safe and give it a miss.

About face – on social media addiction.

Posted on January 5, 2014 by betsybeadhead | 1 Comment

Facebook has been my addiction for several years. The more I use it, the less I actually do that is meaningful. I’m trying to resist the impulse to check it multiple times an hour.

I’m like my Mom, who lit up a cigarette every 20 minutes she was awake. Instead of flicking my Bic, I’m clicking a mouse. I probably won’t get cancer from checking Facebook this often, but I’m just as surely losing pieces of my life.

So, like with any other addiction, I need to study it and replace it. I need to study the power it has over me, and dig down to what “hole” I’m trying to fill with it.

Then I need to address that underlying issue and fix it or make peace with it.

Part of that is filling the “hole” with better things. For me, that means writing and drawing and beading. If it was warmer outside I’d probably add in walking. Maybe I’ll do more yoga.

But I feel it is critical to not substitute one addiction for another addiction. Even healthy things can be misused and abused. It isn’t about the thing but the reason behind the thing or the intent.

If we are not being mindful, we are being mindless.

Being mindful is what makes us different from animals.

Prayer makes me mindful. Being thankful makes me mindful. I’ll start there.

Also, part of it is being observant. I’m noticing that I want to check Facebook, and just observing that feeling but not yielding to it. That alone is a big deal. I’m trying to make it harder to do as a way to remind me of my intention. Instead of having my phone right next to me, I’ll have it in another room, and turned off. Instead of having the Facebook icon on my Kindle, I’ve removed it from the carousel so I have to go into the Apps page to access it.

These things slow me down so that I remember. It has to be a conscious, intentional act to check it. That is my goal – to have everything I do be conscious and intentional.

In the privacy of your back yard.

Posted on January 4, 2014 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

There really is no privacy anymore. Forget everything about the NSA. Just hanging out in your back yard is a public event.

Notice how people put their houses so that the public area is in front and the private area is in back. Nobody puts a deck or a pool in front of their house, facing the road. That is unthinkable. It violates unspoken rules.

The front yard is what you show to the world. The back yard is where you live.

People driving by can’t see your back yard. All the good stuff is back there. They only get to see it if you invite them to your house.

It is part of the reason people don’t put their bedrooms in the front room. When you open the front door to a person’s home, there will most likely be some chairs and a couch. The dining room will be next, and then the bedroom will be last. The house progresses in levels of privacy. The outside of the house is the same. What you see first is public. What you see last is private.

Except none of that means anything anymore. Pull up any internet mapping service and you can see anybody’s back yard, sometimes from multiple views. Sure, it isn’t live. Some of the photos are from a couple of years ago. But there is still an invasion of privacy.

Having mapping services does make life easier, certainly. It is really helpful when I’m travelling somewhere to be able to see what the place looks like from the street and from the air. It eases my fear about travelling to a new place to know not only how to get there but also what to expect when I get there.

But the more I think about it, the less I like the idea that everybody can see everything. Mapping was great when it helped me. Mapping is weird when it involves my home. It is kind of like how I felt when I was in elementary school and I found a book of ethnic jokes. Boy, were they funny, until I got to the section on Irish jokes. Then it wasn’t so funny because I’m of Irish descent. The shoe was on the other foot, if you will.

What can we do? Not much. Be mindful, sure. That is what we are all learning from all of this recent news about personal information being made public, or at least not as private as we thought. Everything we do can and will be recorded in one way or another. Our lives are being lived in public, whether we want it or not.

I don’t think it is something to freak out about. After all, the very organizations we would appeal to for help are the very ones that are creating the issue.

Stop – on being still.

Posted on December 29, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I’m trying to reassess stopping. Taking time out is hard for me. I think some of it has to do with my upbringing. The more I read of the affirmations for my inner child, the more I think it was programmed into me. It isn’t part of who I am. It is part of what my parents taught me to be. Thus, it can be unlearned.

Stopping is good if you are in a car. If you don’t stop at a red light, you’ll get run over. If you don’t stop to get gas you’ll be stranded.

We stop when we leave jobs or boyfriends. We stop when we drop out of college. We admit that we just can’t take it anymore, so we walk away.

But I want to stop before I get to that point. I want to stop as a sign of strength, not of weakness. I want to stop so I can go.

I stop every day. I stop and make time to sleep. I have an uneasy relationship with sleep. That is a third of my day, thus a third of my life just gone. But I know from hard experience that if I don’t make time for sleep then nothing ever works right. Not getting enough sleep put me in the hospital. Sadly the medical answer was to give me sleeping pills and not to teach me good habits that will promote sleep, so I had to figure that trick out for myself.

So now I’m learning how to stop. I’ve signed up for silent retreats. I’m taking time off from work. I’m turning off the TV. I’m trying to get into the habit of sitting still. I’m trying to not cram “stuff” into my day the same way a hoarder crams “stuff” into her house. Sometimes I feel that every moment has to be filled with something to do. I’m starting to see that as a result of my childhood.

It isn’t healthy. Sure, there has to be a balance. I don’t want to lapse into not doing anything. I did that for years. But I don’t want to do so much that I stop being able to enjoy life.

I think the more I learn how to stop, the more clearly I’ll be able to think.

Rest period.

Posted on December 27, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

You know you need to take time off when you start to seriously contemplate calling in sick and then you realize that it is your day off. I’ve crammed so much stuff into my days off that they aren’t days off. I still do just as much work – I just don’t get paid for it.

Now, I’ve come to realize how important momentum is for me. If I laze about all day, then I tend to keep doing that. I’m a binge lazy person. Doing nothing is the same to me as eating sugar is to some people. Once I start, I can’t stop.

Well, I can, but I don’t want to.

I think the trick is to set limits. I have to allow myself time to do nothing. From this time to this – say from 12 until 3, I’ll do nothing on my day off. Nothing at all. Lay on the couch and read, or make jewelry. Something for me. Something fun. That sounds like a good plan. Maybe I’ll do it someday.

Right now, I’m playing a bit of catch up. I decided to skip going to my yoga class. The teacher is more challenging than the first one, but she needs to change things up to keep it interesting. I really get bored if nothing changes. I need to be challenged. I need to try different moves. If nothing else, I need to hear different music. I’d like to think that a yoga class with a real live person is different than watching a videorecorded one.

However, even though it is dull sometimes, I need the discipline of getting up and going. I need to be out of the house early on a Friday, otherwise I’ll stay in my pajamas all afternoon long and not get any of my chores done. And then I start to think – is that so bad? Is it bad to rest? Is it bad to actually take a day off?

It is for me. I feel guilty if I rest.

I have a bad relationship with rest. I really am starting to like the idea of the Jewish Sabbath. One whole day where you are commanded to do as much nothing as possible. You can’t feel guilty about doing nothing – you are supposed to do nothing. You are supposed to feel guilty if you do something. You are to rest and recharge and refuel.

We just don’t have that in Christian culture. Sure, we sometimes refer to the day we go to church as the Sabbath, but we don’t treat it with anywhere near the preparation and seriousness the Jews approach their Sabbath. And I think we suffer because of it. Imagine how cool it would be to have a holiday once a week. Once a week you take a vacation from the world, and enter into a special time where there is nothing you have to do except rest. Sounds just like heaven to me.

I have a bit of the “get things done” feeling in part because my parents died young. I feel like it is important to not waste time. I see how quickly time slips by and then you are either too old to do something with your life, or too feeble. Some things take time to get going. Better start now.

But then I am starting to understand that I need to rest too. There are rest periods build into yoga. It isn’t go go go. The human body just can’t handle that. The space between the notes is what makes the music, so says Claude Debussy.

This is why I’ve signed up for another retreat. It is a time of silence and rest. All my physical needs are taken care of. There is a place to sleep, and food is prepared for me. All I have to do is show up and be present. The only electronic device I use is my Kindle – and I use it to write. I don’t check email. I don’t check Facebook. The only input is from God.

I think that I need to do this more than just four times a year. I need to set aside a chunk of time to just listen, and by that I don’t mean little snatches of time. The more I pack into my day, the more God can’t get a word in edgewise. I pray throughout the day, but it all seems to be in five minute pieces.

Sure, bills have to be paid. Sure, the housework needs to be done. But if I don’t take time off, time to just be, then I’ve become something other than a human. I’ve become an automaton, a robot, a thing. I’ve become a human doing, and not a human being.

So I still wrestle with this. I feel like I’m in overeaters anonymous. Having a bad relationship with food isn’t like having a drug addiction – you have to eat food. You can give up heroin. You can’t give up food. So how to you create a healthy relationship with something you have to have in your life? I think boundaries are part of it. I can allow this, but not this. I can allow this time to be work and this time to be free. I think it is important to self-police too. I think it is important to not allow my free time to become work time.

I’ll report back on whether this works or not. As of right now, I’m still in my jammies and it is 1:30. I think I have to wrench myself free and go out for a bit, just so I can say I’ve done something. My head gets a little fuzzy with too much nothing.

“Home for the Holidays”?

Posted on December 25, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I woke this morning to the sounds of “There’s No Place Like Home for the Holidays” playing on the radio. That has been my dilemma for a while now. What is home? Where is it? Is it a place, or a feeling?

For many people, “home” means where their family is. My parents died almost twenty years ago, and the rest of my family isn’t kind. I tried spending Christmas with my aunt for a while and that just didn’t work out. I was always the “Tennessee cousin” – always in the way, always left out. I felt like I was crashing a party. There were a few members of the family who made space for me and seemed to understand who I am, and for them I am grateful. But it wasn’t enough to make it worth the drive, and the constant travelling to visit every other member of that extended family on that day was overwhelming to me.

Now that I’m married, “home” could mean my parent’s in law. I’ve faked it for years, but it just isn’t what I need. They mean well, but it isn’t quite the gathering that makes me feel the peace that I associate with the birth of Christ.

This past month it has been extra awkward, and if you’ve been following along you’ll know what I’m talking about. Just thinking about going over there is bringing back that old feeling that I’d almost forgotten – dread. I thought that my hernia was acting up – but no, that’s the feeling I get in my stomach when I am very anxious about something. It is a sharp, scary pain. It is the kind of pain that curls me over into a fetal position. It is the kind of pain that stops me in my tracks. The last time I had it was in my first year of college. I was away from home, in a dorm room, no friends, no car, no idea what I was doing.

That was about as un- “home” as possible.

If “home is where the heart is” then if there is no heart, no love, no peace, then that feeling crops up.

I’ve been meditating on this day for a month, after the whole Thanksgiving fracas. I talked to my spiritual director about this, and her take on it is that maybe God put me into this family to bring healing. Maybe I’m the Christ-bearer – that I need to bring Jesus into the situation. This doesn’t mean to preach to them. It means to be like Jesus. Calming. Peaceful. Compassionate. Loving.

The line from the 23rd Psalm has started coming to mind in the past few days. “You prepare a table for me in the midst of my enemies.”

This is not a vision of “home” that is particularly appealing. “Home” and “enemy” should not be in the same sentence. For many of us, it is. For many of us, “home” isn’t a place to run to, it is a place to run from. For many of us, at the holidays we remember why we left home in the first place.

So what is “home”? Home to me is where I can be myself. Home is where my husband is. It is where I can spend all day in my jammies, making jewelry or reading, stretched out on the couch in the sunlight. Maybe a nap will be involved. Maybe a walk around the block. Home is peaceful, and quiet, and calm. Home isn’t full of sound and noise and people. It certainly isn’t full of drama.

I’ve been doing the math on Christmas this year and trying to figure out what I can handle if I go over to my in-law’s house. Go, but leave early? How early is too early? Don’t talk about certain topics? Put on a brave face? Don’t talk to a certain family member who always likes to argue, especially about faith?

I really can’t handle being around someone who speaks ill of my faith on my holiday.

I can handle it any other time. I understand. I have a lot of the same issues with Christianity. I dislike the hypocrisy. I dislike the fact that the church has become something other, something where I can’t see Jesus for all the administration and bureaucracy. Sometimes “church” is more “crazy” than Christ-like. But on Christian holidays I really can’t take the criticism.

It is like I’ve invited someone over to my house, shared my special toys with them, and then they throw them down and stomp on them. It is rude. It is childish. It is thoughtless.

So, “Home for the Holidays”? I’d rather stay at home. But I’m expected to be at the in-laws. I don’t want to. I don’t want to play the dutiful wife. It was easier, way back when, when I got stoned for the holidays. Everything blurred into a nice warm glowy blob. Now that I’m sober it is all spiky and strange.

Why have a happy childhood?

Posted on December 16, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

What is the purpose of ensuring a happy childhood?

It is like Hollywood films. They always have happy endings. Then when you get to your own real life, you get miserable.

It is like women reading romance novels. They read about this amazing man who sweeps her off her feet, and then in reality, every man she meets doesn’t match up. He isn’t ruggedly handsome, he is rather plain. He isn’t a Duke, his hound dog is named Duke. He doesn’t have a six-pack belly, he drinks a six pack nightly.

So to try to create this false happy childhood isn’t fair. It sets children up to become miserable adults. They will learn the world does not revolve around them. They will learn that nobody thinks that everything they do is cute. They will find there are no special accommodations for them.

Anti-Christmas Guide 2

Posted on December 13, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I used to think I was alone in thinking that Christmas was terrible. It felt like there was a conspiracy of silence. Don’t talk about it, and it won’t be so bad. Don’t admit that you aren’t having a great time. Christmas was the elephant in the room.

It was like the Emperor’s New Clothes, but instead of clothes it was Christmas. Nobody wanted to admit that what they were experiencing wasn’t matching up to what everybody else said they were experiencing.

People are just now starting to talk about how hard the Christmas season can be. It has grown from a beautiful time where God has show how much we are loved by coming down to be with us, into a huge monstrosity where we spend all our money and energy and are worn out. It has grown into the exact opposite of what it was supposed to be.

Here are three things that let me know that I’m not the only one who is getting mixed signals about this time of year.

Barenaked Ladies Christmas album – “Barenaked for the Holidays” – It has Hanukkah and Christmas music done their way, and some manic bits about snow and murder.

Denis Leary’s “Merry F#%$kin Christmas” – 2005 TV special. Think Donny and Marie Osmond variety show, but done by a bitter New Yorker.

Augusten Burroughs’ “You Better Not Cry” – book. It makes your Christmas look like “It’s a Wonderful Life.” It is a collection of tales of horrible Christmases he’s had over the years. I find it cathartic and redemptive.