Kindergarten 9-25-13

Posted on September 26, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I was able to get to work with three children today, all of which I had before. It is amazing and delightful to see progress and disheartening to see them still stuck in some areas. Sometimes it isn’t school that is the problem. Sometimes there are home problems and school is the last thing on their minds.

V was much more focused today, which is encouraging. She likes to draw and make up stories. I’m totally for creativity, but when it is time to work we have to get cracking. She stayed working with me a lot longer this time and did great on her numbers. She still is a little wonky on her letters, but she is getting better.

At the end of my tutoring session today I found out from her teacher that yesterday was an entirely different story. Numbers were impossible. 5 fingers resulted in an answer as varied as 5, 2, and 8. But yesterday she also heard from V that her Mom was in the hospital. Mom is in the hospital because she is an alcoholic. This changes everything. Of course she is distracted. Of course she wants to make up stories. Who would want to focus when that is happening? When you are five your whole world revolves around your mom. If she isn’t well, then everything else falls apart. I will give her extra attention next week.

Sometimes what we give them isn’t learning, it is love. Sometimes the greatest thing is just to spend time with them, one on one, and let them shine. Sometimes the teacher will assign a new child to me just because something bad is going on at home. We work together on them, to help them get over the humps of life. Sometimes healing can come in the form of something as simple as reading a book together.

Today I also had S. He is a delightful Mexican boy, all smiles and sunshine. He worked hard and is doing well. I’m curious how long he will need me.

I only get the kids who are at the bottom. When they are doing better they go to the next tutor. I like the challenge of trying to figure out new ways to get the information into them. Fortunately the kids haven’t realized that there is a pattern to who I work with, so there isn’t a stigma. In fact, when I come on Wednesdays they all clamor to work with me. It is kind of cute. I try to make learning fun, so they just see it as a game. Sometimes when I “pick” a student (I don’t pick, the teacher provides a list for me) he or she will say “Yes!” and think this is great. This makes my job so much easier.

One of the students who gets excited when I “pick” him is J. I worked with him today as well. I think he might be dyslexic. I can tell learning is hard for him. I gave him easy things to work on to build up his confidence. We have a blue letter board that is really cool to work with. Letters are really hard for him, and he was mixing up h and n and u. I can understand that. They look at lot alike if they are flipped around.

Letters are hard. They are just symbols after all. We take for granted how easy it is to read, but really it hard because it isn’t a native intelligence. It is all symbols. This shape doesn’t “mean” this sound at all. There is nothing logical about it. It is rather arbitrary. Nothing drives this home more than teaching a five year old his letters.

At the end I wrote up my impressions. This helps the teacher know what are their strengths and weaknesses. Interestingly they will work differently with me than with her. She and I see different faces. When one is obstinate on one area with her, he will be perfect with me.

When I came in to return my impressions and pick up my keys, J hugged me. Hugs from kindergartners are so sweet. When I first got hugged three years ago I wasn’t sure what to do. I was caught off guard.

We have rules that we learn. Don’t touch strangers. Hold your emotions in.

Kindergartners don’t know these rules yet. Sure, they know me, a little. They know my name, and I work with them a little every Wednesday. But adults who know me better don’t hug me. It is just a social rule. We are a very hands-off kind of society.

But hugs from kindergartners are the best. They are so loving and open. I think the world would be a better place if we all had that kind of love and were able to show it. I think this may be the answer to everything.

Hug more. Cry when you are sad. Go play outside for an hour every day. Color. Take a nap with a teddy bear. Make up stories.

Maybe being a kindergartner is the secret to happiness.

Praying in color 9-23-13

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

I’m not able to do this every day. Or, to be more honest, I don’t make time to do this every day. But here’s what I got recently. It is kind of like a fishing trip. Sometimes I get something, and sometimes I don’t.

For those of you who don’t know, “Praying in Color” isn’t my idea. I got the idea from a book of the same name. The idea is that you take out your pens or colored pencils and you doodle. You pray beforehand, with a specific prayer intention. It can be a prayer for a friend who needs it, or something for the world, or a specific question that you have that you need help with. While doodling, answers or feelings come back.

As for me, I write down my intention at the bottom on the back, and the answers above that. I’ll get answers throughout the process. I use watercolor pencils, and I’ll “paint” the finished piece afterwards if I feel like it. This is a good medium for me because it is quick – I can get something in about ten minutes. It is simply a way of accessing a different part of your brain so that God can get in.

I drew this piece on 9-23-13 after my second visit to the chiropractor. That is when I found out I have scoliosis, and a lot more visits (and a lot more expense) in my future. This is what I prayed about. How can I afford this? How do I deal with the pain? I feel like I never get ahead – that the moment I gain, something comes up and I go back again.

The answers –
We hold on to the shore because we are afraid.
Even if you have nothing, you still have something.
This teaches us that good (art) can come out of bad situations.
“How many reminders do you need to know that I am with you?”

Sometimes the answers are just feelings, and sometimes they are direct words. Sometimes I write more than this, but I always know when it is over and time to stop. Here are my reflections on the answers:

Change is frightening to us, but if we don’t let go of the shore we’ll never learn how to swim. We are funny creatures – we hate change, but we also get bored easily so really we want change. We are never happy.

There is always something to be thankful for. Find it. Celebrate it. Even if you are without a house, you still have your life and your mind. If you aren’t thankful for what you have, how will you be thankful for anything else? Be thankful, and everything opens up.

Good comes out of bad. Pain is a great teacher. It focuses us. It limits us and forces us to decide what is important. Bad childhoods can result in careers where we choose to serve others, because we understand their pain. If everything stayed even all the time, we’d never have to grow or stretch or get stronger.

The last one says it all. God is constantly with us, and we constantly forget. God will never forsake us.

These are for sale if you are interested. Please comment with your information if so. They are about 4.5 inches by 6 inches, on watercolor paper. The price is whatever you would like to offer.

What causes what? On pain – mental and physical.

Posted on September 24, 2013 by betsybeadhead | 1 Comment

Do we have physical pain because of psychological trauma, or do we feel psychological pain because of physical trauma? Are they really separate – and can we fix one with the other? Can we use physical manipulation to work out psychological issues? Can we use our minds and different ways of thinking to work out physical pain?

I get very angry after I eat chocolate. I know, weird, right? Most people feel really happy after they eat chocolate. But remember some medicines say that they may cause drowsiness or excitability. These are polar opposites. Chocolate is like that for me.

It took me years to figure out that there was a connection. Twenty minutes after eating more than like half a bar of chocolate I became the meanest person in the room. It was like PMS on steroids. Everything made me angry. Everything felt wrong. I was a huge pessimist, and everybody around me was stupid and worthless.

Somehow I managed to figure out the connection. I stopped eating chocolate – or if I had any it was just one piece.

Then one day I decided to do an experiment. Nobody was around for me to yell at. This seemed only fair.

I ate some chocolate, determined to feel whatever feeling it was going to present. I wanted to see it head on and not turn aside from it. This time it was different. I felt a physical pain in my shoulders. There was a tightness that had not been there before. I’m wondering if that was always there after eating chocolate, and because I was in pain, I got angry. Perhaps it has always caused that pain, and I didn’t notice it. Perhaps I felt bad because of that pain and it came out as irritable.

Pain makes people not themselves. Pain transforms people. Pain can also be a great teacher. It can let you know that something is wrong, or that you are resisting when you need to let go.

I’m trying to come to grips with my back pain. Sure, I’ve seen the x-ray. I have scoliosis. A disc slipped out of place because of it. But is this a symptom? Is there some emotional issue that is coming out? Mental pain tends to take the route of least resistance. I’m reading “You Can Heal Your Life” by Louise Hay, and some of it is quite intriguing. Some of it sounds like “blaming the victim” however, so I’m skeptical. She says that back problems are a sign of “repressed rage.”

And I thought I was doing well. I just recently got to the point that I could admit I was angry. There are a lot of things that I’m not happy about, things that I think should have gone differently in my past and things that I think should go differently now. I’ve dug down to the root and found grief. Somewhere on that journey the two cancelled each other out and I found some measure of calm. It all stems from not accepting what is. It stems from not accepting, period. Sometimes the biggest pain comes from fighting the situation.

Don’t we need to fight situations sometimes? Shouldn’t we get upset about certain things? Otherwise slavery would have continued. Otherwise women wouldn’t be allowed to vote. Otherwise all sorts of things that some people thought of as normal and other people thought of as wrong would have continued, unabated. Anger can be a force for change.

But there has to be more to this. “Repressed rage”? That sounds really harsh. Nobody wants to have rage. Rage is anger gone crazy. Rage is ugly. Rage is a sign of a lack of control. The Hulk has rage. All the super villains are filled to the brim with rage. It is their undoing.

How do you get rid of rage? No really, how? Sometimes I do things backwards, and what seems really simple to me is really hard for everybody else – and what seems really hard for me is really simple for everybody else. I got labeled “gifted” in second grade but that doesn’t mean that I know how to take care of a house or plan a week’s worth of meals. In many ways I’m very backwards. So I think I’m doing it right, and then my back flares up again. Maybe it just isn’t time for that part of the game yet. Maybe I am missing that puzzle piece.

Sometimes I feel like when I reach an impasse in my life, it is like I’m stuck in an adventure game.

Yes, I like that metaphor. I use it a lot. It works. Perhaps adventure games are modeled on life, instead of the other way around. Whatever. Work with me here.

I’ve been all over the first level inside the mansion, and I can’t get out to the garden to continue on with the rest of the game. Sometimes I can find a hint, and it refers to something I should have noticed four screens and twenty minutes ago. It was right there – the green heart! I needed it to put in the statue so I could get the code for the box that has the key to the garden. The green heart was in plain sight on the bookshelf. I didn’t notice it because I was distracted by something else on that screen.

So life is like that for me. I miss things that should be obvious, while figuring other things out that should be hard. Meanwhile I get stuck, wondering how to get out of the situation and go on with things.

There are a lot of things I have started doing in the morning to reduce stress. I think of them as taking a multi-vitamin for the day. I eat a healthy breakfast, I read the Daily Office, I do some light yoga, I write, and if I can, I draw. That is a lot of stuff to try to do in the morning. Somehow I can never manage to get up when the alarm goes off so I miss 30 minutes of that time. Just trying to shoehorn all that in along with checking email and Facebook just seems to be stress-inducing itself. So I’m trying to reassess what I do.

Exercise is good for burning things out too. I go to the Y and I exercise at least three times a week. I walk at lunch for 20 minutes. I write while I walk, and while I eat lunch. Perhaps I’m trying to do too much. Perhaps I need to spend some more time doing “non-productive” things and start reading more fluff and less technical stuff. Perhaps I need to stop having so many rules about what is safe and healthy to eat. But then I worry about that too, and I don’t want to backslide.

I know moderation is the key. Balance is important in everything. Walking the middle path, and not going to extremes, and all that.

The funny part is, I’ve been here before, with other things. This is the same story, but just with different characters. And I know that God has already given me everything I need to get to the next step. I feel that it is right in front of me and I just can’t see it. Sometimes I feel that life is just one series of pop quizzes from God after another.

My spiritual advisor says to “invite Jesus into it.” I’ve done that. He’s not answering the phone. Or he is, and it is just such a simple answer that I can’t believe it so I’m ignoring it. Kind of like the story of Naaman and the prophet Elisha (2 Kings, chapter 5 if you want to look it up). It sounds too easy, so it can’t be true.

Or I just want the quick fix, when really it is going to take a while.

Last night I was feeling really anxious about something, and instead of trying to jump right past it and get to the not-feeling-anxious feeling, I decided to stop and just look at it, and just see it as a feeling. Just see it, as it was, and not label it as “bad” but just as it is. Poof. It disappeared.

Maybe it is time to not run away from my pain and what very well might be rage. Maybe it is time to see it and accept it. Maybe it is time to sit down with Jesus and say “Here is my rage. What are we going to do about it?”

And maybe Jesus will hold it, and me, tenderly, and cry with me about it.

Bonsai Betsy

Posted on September 23, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I found out today that I have scoliosis. This is why the disc in my back slipped out of place last week. The bend in my back isn’t so bad that I’d noticed anything wrong before now. Now that I know, I can see the signs. The wear pattern on my shoes is a pretty good clue.

My chiropractor says I need three adjustments every week for about a month, then it will taper off and I won’t have to go as often. Even with insurance this will cost me $45 a visit. This is a lot of money, especially after all the other expenses I’ve had recently.

I’m not happy about having to spend more money right now. We’ve got money in savings but I like having more of a cushion for emergencies. I’ve got plenty of sick time and there are extra people in my department right now so I can take time for appointments. It is doable, but I’m not happy about it.

But I need my back. If my car didn’t work I could figure something out. I could get a ride to work, or I could borrow my husband’s car and he could take the bus to work. There are ways. But there is no getting around needing a spine that works correctly.

It isn’t like having crooked teeth and getting braces. Well, kind of it is. That too takes a long time and isn’t cheap, and it hurts. I had braces. I remember. But surgery isn’t recommended for what I have now, just adjustments. That alone is something to be thankful for.

Essentially the doctor is doing body-shop work on me. Essentially my body was in a very slow collision with life and gravity and possibly genetics. I need a front-end alignment on my back end. I’m a bonsai tree that hasn’t been tended properly.

I never knew I could amuse myself so much talking about my deformity.

I have a feeling that there is a punch line coming up. I have a feeling that there is a plan for all of this. I trust God. I know that everything has a reason, and everything happens because it is part of God’s plan.

I also know that sometimes we don’t get to see that reason, and sometimes we are the collateral damage.

People like resolutions. We like to know what the ending is. We like to know that the guy gets the girl and they both ride off into the sunset together. But God doesn’t work that way. God works in God’s time and in God’s ways and there is just no getting around that.

God isn’t in the storm. God is the still, small voice.

God never said this journey of life would be easy, but instead promised to always be with us.

This is really important to remember. Trusting God, loving God, serving God isn’t about everything being awesome all the time. In fact it can be pretty awful. But part of it means trusting that God is in charge, and God has a plan, and that everything will work out the way it needs to work out.

We often can’t see around the corner. We often live with uncertainty. We often don’t know what to do. So we pray, and God tells us, one instruction at a time.

Stay here. Move forward one step. Go this way. Stop. Wait. Move back one. Wait.

When Abraham started listening to that still, small voice, he did that in faith. When Noah built that ark and gathered up all the animals, he did that in faith. When Peter walked out on that water towards Jesus, he did that in faith.

This is what we do, when we walk with God. It isn’t easy. It is pretty scary sometimes. It is like walking on a tightrope, with our eyes closed, with no net.

Coming out as Christian in public.

Posted on September 22, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

This may sound strange, but I’ve noticed that I get emotional when I feel free to talk about God with people. And I mean with, not at. I mean I get a little weepy when I’m around people who are on the same page with me when it comes to how awesome God is.

I wonder if this is the same as coming out. I feel more like myself when I’m around other people who “get” God. I feel like I’ve had to hide who I am for a long time.

Now, this may sound strange because I live not only in America, but in the South. Christians are in the majority here. The South is sometimes jokingly referred to as “the buckle of the Bible Belt.” Yet there is a stigma. So many Christians don’t want to be associated with “those” people who say they are Christian but they act anything but. You know who I mean. Those people who hold up “God hates…” signs and burn the Koran. Those people who take pride in their cultural ignorance and in telling people who aren’t exactly like them that they are going to hell.

Out of self defense a lot of actual Christians are really subtle about their faith.

In a way it is like a Mason finding another Mason. The signs are there if you know what to look for. When they do find each other they connect and communicate on a different level.

I never want to make other people uncomfortable, especially when talking about God. This is why the blog helps. Don’t like it, don’t read it. It isn’t pushy like an in-person encounter would be. I’m comforted by the number of friends who are atheists or agnostic or pagan who read my blog. I’m unabashedly Christian, but they still like to read what I have to say.

In public it is different. I often wear a cross, because I want to let people know it is safe to talk about God with me. It is like speaking another language. Somehow we shift how we talk when we realize that each other is on the same wavelength.

I’ve learned other languages and about other cultures. I try to figure out where other people are coming from so I know how to communicate with them. When I was working at the Chattanooga Choo Choo, the most common non-English language was German. I could talk in German for quite a while. This is true about other cultures as well. Wherever you are from – culturally, religiously, socially, I’ve probably read something about your story. I think it is part of being a good neighbor and a global citizen.

It is something I like to be able to do – I want to make other people feel comfortable. I like being able to adjust how I talk so that we can communicate. I get to where they are, rather than expecting them to get where I am. But it takes a lot of work. After a while it is very tiring. It is far easier and more relaxing when I don’t have to do this.

It is kind of like how I feel when I go to a science fiction convention. I feel I’m finally around people who are like me. We can talk about the things we love and not feel like we are weirdos because of it.

I’m still angry that I didn’t find that kind of feeling and camaraderie at my old church. I’m still angry that my priest actually told me to stop talking about God talking to me. I’m starting to feel that she did me a favor because otherwise my spiritual growth would have remained stunted. I was starting to resemble a bonsai, with tiny roots and a stunted, artificial shape. God wants us to have deep roots, so we are strong. God wants us to grow to our full potential so that God is glorified. Some ministers feel threatened by their congregants getting strong and growing in their faith, but that is just a sign of their own shaky ground.

I’ve currently been piecing together my own version of a faith community. I have a friend who hosts a circle gathering quarterly where about a dozen people share their hearts. We listen together. Many people in this gathering are former members of an alternative church. They went there because they’d been ostracized from “normal” church. Even that wasn’t what they needed. I understand this feeling. I also go to a spiritual director monthly. I’ve learned more about how to drive this “bus of faith” from her than I ever have from any minister. I have another friend who is a spiritual director and she hosted the retreat I recently went on.

All of these experiences are healing to me. It is so refreshing to be around other people who are comfortable talking about how much they love God and what God is saying to them.

But then these are expected circumstances. I expect to find people who are comfortable talking about God at a circle gathering or a retreat. It is when I find like-minded souls out in “the real world” that I get emotional.

I needed to find a chiropractor recently. My coworker had recommended hers months ago but I’d forgotten his name. Rather than call her, I pulled up the doctor directory for my insurance and prayed. I asked God to show me who to pick. One name shone out. I called. They were taking new patients. I could see him in an hour. His office was nearby, and in fact close to another doctor I go to. I felt a lot better that I didn’t have to find a new place. That eased my anxiety. This is a new thing for me to pray before something as mundane as picking out a doctor. So these positive signs helped confirm that I’d heard correctly.

Then there was a sign on his office building with a quote from Paul – “All things work together for good…” – this helped. It was something I needed to see. I’m having a hard time trusting this whole experience as being part of God’s plan because it hurts and it is expensive. So that helped. He had numerous signs that I could “read” as being Christian, but they weren’t obnoxiously so. Hopefully you know what I mean.

I felt comforted, and affirmed. I felt like I’d heard God’s call correctly. I felt at home, which is a good thing to feel when you are in pain and in an unfamiliar environment. And I felt like I could relax and be myself. That alone was healing.

It is exhausting having to hide who I am. I’m grateful to be able to blog about what being a Jesus-follower means to me. I’m grateful to find people who are fellow pilgrims on this journey – it is like finding an oasis. I look forward to finding a new faith community, so I can drink of this living water more often.

Praying in the storm.

Posted on September 20, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I’m trying to be calm. I’m trying to be accepting. I’m trying to not fight what is happening.

I know that all things work for good, for those that believe in God. This doesn’t mean that it is awesome all the time. Sometimes it is pretty awful. Jesus didn’t have it that great – beaten, flogged, crucified, abandoned by his friends- not a day in the park, there. But it had to happen. It had to happen that way.

I know that the more we fight what is, the harder things get. I know that the more we have to define things as “good” or “bad”, the harder it gets. I’ve learned that anger and grief are both just symptoms of not accepting the situation as it is.

It is easy to think such calm thoughts when you aren’t in the middle of the storm.

I’ve had a pretty stormy time the past week. I just had to spend $1700 on my car on unscheduled repairs. Yes, I’m grateful to have a car that works. I’m grateful that I have that amount in savings. I’m grateful that they were able to take 20% off, saving me $350. I’m grateful that they were able to provide me with a loaner car while it was being fixed. But I was trying to save up some money. I don’t like running things close to the edge financially. My parents did that. They were great teachers for what not to do.

Then I got stung by a yellow jacket. They’ve built a nest near my front steps, and spraying them has seemingly created even more of them. There is no easy way around them, so they have to be dealt with. I’ve called the professionals. This will cost $200.

Then my back went out. I exercise daily, so I thought I was basically guarding against such problems. Maybe I was just delaying the inevitable. Turns out I have a slipped disc. Turns out this is even more money for the doctor and for the x-ray. The money I saved on the discount for the car is going to be quickly used up.

I’m trying to be like Jonah. I’m trying to praise God in the belly of the whale. It is really hard. But I want to, and that has to count for something.

I think when Jesus was here, he came to understand how hard it is to be human. He came to understand that we are distracted a lot by pain and loss. It is hard to be grateful when you are miserable. But I think that is the secret. I think that we have to look around and see what we do have, instead of what we don’t have.

It is really hard.

Sometimes it is easier to be thankful for what isn’t – I’m not incapacitated. I’m not out even more money.

But this isn’t really a healthy path.

So I try again. I’ve got a husband who loves me and looks out for me. I’ve got a house that is cozy and comforting. I’ve found a new doctor who is kind and was able to help. I’ve got a doctor’s note so I can take the weekend off to heal some more.

And pain, strangely enough, is a reminder to pray, and that is always good.

Mother Mary

Posted on September 17, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

There was a massive stature of Mary sitting in a throne holding baby Jesus at the convent I was at this weekend on retreat. When I say massive, I mean life-size. Their eyes were human-looking. Perhaps they were prosthetic. They looked real. Both Mary and Jesus looked a little sad though. They were right in the front, facing the door as you enter. You had to pass by them to get to the chapel or the dining room. There was a triangle tile area in front of them too, which set off that area even more. The rest of the area was carpet.

I spent a lot of years in a medieval reenactment group, so seeing this human-looking statue that looks like royalty kind of messed with my head. She’s in a throne. She’s wearing a crown. She looks real. Do I bow? Do I at least pause? How close can I walk to her? She was kind of in the way. There was no easy way to get around her. To just walk by like she wasn’t there felt a little rude. So I at least paused.

Here’s what you see when you come in, showing the statue and the tile area.

Here’s a little closer.

Here’s her sad face.

I was fascinated by her, and a little creeped out. Mid-way through the retreat I had run out of things to write and I was getting a little bored. I’d thought earlier about drawing her. But drawing her meant getting in the way. The best way for me to draw her was to sit in front of her, at the tip of the tile triangle. And that meant that I’d be sitting in the middle of everything.

I’d be obvious. I’d be in the way. People would have to go around me. They would know what I was doing.

Would this annoy the nuns? Would they be upset with me? They might get annoyed that I was in the way. They might get annoyed that I was drawing their statue of Mary and Jesus.

I thought about it some more. It was the middle of the day. Most of them spent their time in their rooms. It wasn’t supper time or chapel time, so there was a good chance that I’d have the hall to myself. And if they didn’t like me doing it they could tell me to move.

I’m working on this part of my internal dialogue. I’m trying to be mindful of other’s feelings, but also mindful of my needs. I’m trying to not let imagined censorship make me stop doing something. All too often I make up what people say before I even start something, and I assume they are going to say no so I never start. I’m pushing past that and finding out that they rarely say no.

Turns out, while I was drawing, the nuns smiled at me. A fellow retreat member admired my work. Sure, I was in the middle of the hall, but I wasn’t completely in the way, and I wasn’t there long. So I kept drawing.

Here’s the picture of what I drew. My paper isn’t big – maybe 4 inches by 6. I didn’t have space for faces.

I used watercolor pencils, but I’ve not added the water yet. This looks like regular colored pencil this way.

After I drew it, I sat there for a bit, and I talked quietly to Mary. “Should I draw your face? You look so sad.” And she answered. She told me to draw her the way a child would draw her Mom, if her Mom wasn’t around. She told me to not look at the stature of her, but see the image of her face in my heart. Imagine if you are in school and the teacher tells you to draw your Mom. You have to draw her from memory. But in this case, I’m drawing not my Mom, but Jesus’ Mom, but by extension, sort of my adopted Mom. It is hard to explain. Sometimes I realize that I didn’t get comforted by my Mom in the way I needed, and I’m realizing that Mary is there to comfort me. It is very soothing.

So I drew. I drew her the way I see her looking at me. She doesn’t look like any images of Mary I’ve ever seen before, but she does look beautiful and kind. And that is what I needed to see.

She said “My child, I am giving birth to you too.” She is nurturing me like my mother couldn’t. I sat there, in tears, drawing her, washed by her love and compassion. Her arms are wide enough for me too.

Grieving the parents that never were. On death, and healing when your experience doesn’t match up with the self-help books.

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

So many self-help books tell you how to deal with your parent’s death if it was a good relationship. What if it wasn’t good? What if it was terrible?

If your parents were less than ideal, you aren’t alone. Parents are people, and people aren’t perfect. But when a self-help book assumes you are sad and distraught because your “pillar of the family” of “chief cheerleader” dies, you may be feeling even more lost. Your feelings don’t match up with what it says in the book.

Sometimes your grief comes from the fact that you are now doubly missing a parent. The person who gave birth to you is now no longer physically present, while they never were emotionally present. When an emotionally distant or abusive parent dies there is no longer any hope of having a healthy relationship with her or him. All bets are off, all chances are over.

Some books say that you can create a healthy relationship with the person even after the person has died, but this honestly makes no sense. It takes two to have a conversation and work on a relationship. The only thing left to fix is yourself and your understanding of the relationship. Do you let this bad start stop you from going any further? Or do you learn from it and go on?

There are a lot of conflicting emotions when your parents die, and it is made even worse when the self-help books make it worse by making you feel like something is wrong. Worse, it is not only that something is wrong, but something is wrong with you in particular. It is like opening up an instruction manual on how to put together a piece of furniture and the box is missing the bag of nuts and bolts. You don’t have everything necessary to make it work. The instruction booklet assumes you do. The booklet plunges right in, assuming you have all the parts. You read along, trying to make it work, trying to learn how to heal this rift, this grief, all the meantime you didn’t start out on the same ground that it assumes you did. When you get to the end, the picture of the finished product looks nothing like your result.

It can’t. You are missing some important parts that hold things together.

I’m not sure how to tell you how to find those nuts and bolts. I’m just trying to honor where you are coming from, because it is where I am coming from. I think a lot of us had less than ideal relationships with our parents.

I think it is totally normal to be sad that your parents died because now you will never have them as the kind of parents you need. That relationship has ended. They weren’t there for you, and now they never will be.

I also think it is totally normal to be relieved that your parents have died if the household was abusive. I know that there is a sense of guilt for feeling this. I think that is because society assumes you should be sad, when really you can’t be sad. I think to be sad that you are free of an unhealthy relationship is insane.

I think it is healthy to feel however you feel you need to feel, without regard to what people think you should feel. It think it is very healthy to get these feelings out – don’t bottle them in, and don’t deny them. If you stuff them down they will come out in ugly ways later. Trust me on this.

There are a few ways I’ve learned to deal with these feelings. Pick a couple. Try them out. If it doesn’t work, try something else. This is by no means an all-encompassing list.

Talk to a therapist or a counselor or a faith leader or a compassionate friend. Go for a walk or a run. Punch a pillow. Cry, sing, wail. Jump up and down. Dance. Journal – write it out. It doesn’t matter if you are good writer or not – you don’t even have to use sentences. Create – use non-word activities to get it out. Sometimes words fail us. Draw, paint, garden, make jewelry – anything where you can get your feelings out.

Most importantly, have patience with yourself. This work of grief, especially grief concerning a broken relationship, is hard, and it takes a long time. Know that what you are going through is normal. You aren’t alone. It is hard work, and it is important work.

What the books don’t tell you is that this isn’t the end. Just because your biological parent wasn’t up to snuff doesn’t mean you can’t find new role models. You can have second third and fourth parents. You get to pick your parents this way.

You can have one friend teach you how to cook. Another can teach you how to sew. Another can teach you everything you want to know about fly fishing. You can take a class too, or read a book, or watch a video. You aren’t stuck with just one set of parents. There are hundreds of people who are able and happy to teach you whatever skills you need to know.

Surgery – cut out the old ways of doing things

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

One time I was in the recovery area after surgery. I didn’t have cancer, I had cancer’s next door neighbor. I was recovering after my surgery to remove the abnormal cells. The area was open so the nurses could keep an eye on everybody.

I had not had any mind altering drugs before my surgery. I didn’t want any Valium or anything like it. I didn’t want Versed either. That is an amnesia drug. My theory was that I have enough problems as is with reality because of my bipolar condition. I don’t need drugs messing with it too.

It is rare to refuse these medicines. If you have a surgery you’ll be asked what you are allergic to, and other than that it is free and clear for them to give you whatever they want. They want you calm and compliant. They don’t want you freaking out. So they commonly give these kinds of drugs.

Because I’d refused them, I was awake and alert while there. I didn’t hurt, and I was a little bored. There were others there in various states of recovering from anesthesia. There were cloth curtains separating the patients but no walls.

I overheard something two beds over. A doctor came up to the patient and told him that it was a lot worse than they thought. His cancer was a lot more invasive. They couldn’t get it all. He was going to have to have chemotherapy, and even that might not work.

This was heavy stuff. This was private. This was serious. This wasn’t something that should be said to someone in an open place, and by himself, and drugged up.

He had nobody with him. In the recovery area you are alone. He was most likely still not alert because of the standard drugs that are given. Thus he wasn’t really in a state to properly process this information. It is doubtful that he would remember it. Sure, they would soften the blow, but they might soften it so much that the words wouldn’t even be solid enough to stick. The words might slip right through and fall on the floor.

I felt for him. I didn’t know what to do, so I did what I always do these days when I don’t know what to do. I prayed. I prayed for peace and healing. I prayed that he had strength to hear these words. I prayed that the peace of God would descend on him and envelope him.

And I was angry. I was angry at the insensitivity of the doctor. I was wondering why he had to tell the patient then, there, in that way. He could have waited. He should have waited. That is some heavy stuff to tell to someone. What a way to punch somebody when he is down.

So I prayed some more. I couldn’t get up – I was attached to IVs. I was also naked under that flimsy hospital gown. I needed to lay still because I was being checked for bleeding. My surgery couldn’t have stitches. So I was stuck there.

But even if I could get up, what would I do? This is a stranger. What would I say? I can’t make it go away. I couldn’t heal him. Maybe I could let him know he wasn’t alone. Maybe I could tell the doctor that he needs to try being human for a change, try to see things from the patient’s perspective.

This was three years ago. I don’t know the resolution. I don’t know if the patient is still alive. I don’t know if the doctor has changed his ways. But I write this anyway, hoping that my words reach out across time and space to speak to some other doctor. Consider your words, and when, and how.

There may be no good way to tell someone that they are far more sick than you thought. You may be uncomfortable with your own mortality, so it may be hard for you to tell someone else about theirs. Breathe into it. Pray into it. Feel it out. Get counseling. Get training. You’ll be doing everybody a favor – including yourself.

Body mind and spirit aren’t separate.

Some doctors get into medicine because they like to know how the human body works. They want to fix things. But bodies aren’t like cars. You can make all the systems work, but the person is part of it too. She has to be a part of the healing. She has to change her ways, otherwise she will end up sick again. She has to want to get well, and work towards it. The doctor is part of this process and can help inspire the patient or can crush her spirit. What is said, and how, and when, is critical. Yes, doctors are human too, and make mistakes. That is normal. We make mistakes and we learn from them.

Consider the idea of making the patient have to come back to your office to find out bad news from test results. Sure, you don’t want to tell him over the phone. But making him take time off from work, drive downtown to your office in bad traffic, have to find a parking space – and then have to drive back in bad traffic, back to work, after hearing that he is very sick – isn’t that great. It is very hard on the patient. It makes a bad situation worse.

Perhaps you could come to him, and meet him? Whatever happened to house calls? Whatever happened to the doctor having time to talk with the patient, and having time to listen?

We need to rethink the whole thing. We need to focus on prevention and not treatment of symptoms. We need to focus on keeping people healthy rather than dealing with them being sick. We need to teach healthy living as a lifestyle instead of a quirk.

Stuck – cars and bodies.

Posted on September 11, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

My car won’t start. I’m waiting at home for AAA to take me to the dealership to get this figured out. It has happened off and on for several years. It will get fixed, then stop again. It is a little annoying. I’m trying to use everything I’ve learned to adapt to this. Be calm. Accept it. Don’t fight it. See it as a lesson.

Maybe there is a good reason I’m being kept at home right now. Maybe something bad would have happened if I’d gone on my errands today. I’m trying to trust God. I’m trying to be thankful f

Meanwhile I’m thinking about other things. There is a possibility that I might be stuck for a long time. I’m not talking about my car right now. There is a possibility that I have multiple sclerosis. I have several of the symptoms. When I went to the eye doctor two years ago she noticed that my eyes twirl in an odd way. It is called rotary nystagmus. It isn’t a disease. It is a symptom. The ophthalmologist, in standard Western doctor way, told me not to look up anything about it. She didn’t want me to be scared. She doesn’t understand that not knowing is far more frightening than knowing. At least with knowing, you can name what you are up against. You have a plan of action once you have a name.

It could be a brain tumor. It could be multiple sclerosis. It could be a side effect of my bipolar medicine. It could be nothing. It could be either something really horrible, or it could just be the way things are and this just has never been noticed by any of my previous eye doctors, ever. That part is unlikely. I go to eye doctors at least every two years.

I was sent to a neuro-ophthalmologist. Then I was sent to get an MRI. Nothing bad showed up. I’ve had a thyroid test too – fine. There are now other symptoms. My fingers have a slight tremor. I have a pins and needles feeling in my arms occasionally. I have vertigo every now and then. Nothing stays long enough to be of real interest, until something else pops up for me to wonder about.

There is no cure for it, so early detection won’t do me any good. And, standard Western medicine being what it is, it treats the symptoms rather than the cause. That treatment alone is painful and has unpleasant side effects. So I pulled open “Prescription for Nutritional Healing” – one of my favorite how-to books. It is like an owner’s manual for the machine that is the human body.

Fortunately I’m already doing some of what I’m supposed to be doing. I’m doing water aerobics and yoga. I’m eating seaweed. I’m headed towards being vegetarian.

But the most important thing I think I can do is accept it. Whatever it is. Learn from it. Maybe there is something just over the horizon that I would miss otherwise. I’m mindful of the Chinese story of the old man, the boy, and the horse. I’m mindful of Rumi’s “The Guest House”. (I have copies of these in my Resources folder.) Everything speaks to the idea of not judging, of accepting, of trusting. Everything also speaks about being with and in the moment, the now.

Perhaps I will eventually get to the point where I can’t walk. My body will be like my car – unresponsive. I’m trying to be OK with that. I’m trying to be thankful for that. I’m trying to be open to the lessons that God needs me to receive like that.

I’m breathing into it, just like with a deep yoga stretch. Just like with pigeon pose, I’m breathing into it, breathing into all the tight places.