On Silence

Red Rock Canyon Nevada 1_feistyharriet_March 2018

Most people who know me know that I love to chat, I love having long, in-depth conversations about [insert literally any subject here, except gaming and Star Wars] and will happily spend hours catching up with a friend, asking questions, throwing around ideas, looking up facts and supporting details and trying to understand other’s opinions while also solidifying my own.

My earliest journals (I started writing semi-regularly when I was 8) are lengthy letters to an invisible/imaginary friend named Fred. I found it easier to write TO someone than to just make a list of my feelings. Fred was a specific smiley-face with crazy hair and a sticky-outie tongue, and I’d draw him on journal pages for YEARS. I appreciate the practice of writing for myself, but what I really love and benefit from is working through my ideas and figuring out a solution, or an opinion, or whatever.

Honestly, blogging used to feel like writing to Fred. And then it didn’t. And now I’m so out of the habit that it took me 15 minutes to sign in and figure out how and where to upload some photos for this post. Sigh.

I need this space. I need the habit of writing, editing, and publishing my thoughts and feelings. I’ve been bottling up so much for SO long, I need my little corner of The Interwebs to feel like it’s mine again. I had set a goal for myself to post twice a month here in 2018, something I have definitely not been accomplishing.

So. Let me catch you up:

  • I still work in college access / education; I work for a non-profit and mostly really enjoy my job.
  • I’m still a stepmom, the kiddos are teenagers now and one will be DRIVING this fall. I know. It’s crazy to me too.
  • I am a reading machine, I think I’ve read over 60 books so far this year, and won’t be stopping anytime soon.
  • The last 18 months have been particularly difficult for Blue Eyes and I; we’ve had a lot of Life Upheaval kind of things, new jobs several times over, major changes on other fronts, and a lot of unnecessary shiz.
  • The #metoo movement and the subsequent role women have taken in fighting al the bullshit and leading the resistance, from local movements to the national legislature has generated So Many Feels for me. (I really need to work through this some more, I lurk on Twitter a lot, listening and learning, but as a platform I don’t see myself working out my own feelings there, it’s too easy to get thrown under the bus and the trolls are horrifying. I just…I am reminded, again, why this little spot is really the one for me.)
  • I have been watching and re-watching The Great British Baking Show, and in the last little while I’ve baked more than the previous 5 years combined.
  • Combine the Difficult And Ongoing Life Upheaval with a lot of butter and sugar and–BAM–I’ve also gained 30 pounds in the last 6 months. I’m not proud of it, I’m actually kind of horrified by it, I am just a few pounds shy of my heaviest weight. Again.
  • Add to the Life Upheaval and Weight Gain is a pretty solid case of major depression and increased anxiety. Until today completely untreated / self-treated with super crappy results.
  • Turns out being majorly depressed for months and months and months makes it really difficult to do a lot of simple things, like tying on gym shoes, let alone something REALLY DIFFICULT like, I don’t know, spending 3-5 hours per week wearing those shoes in an actual gym situation. Or signing into your blogging platform with a “hey ya’ll, long time, been scary-depressed and havin’ a struggle in daily function.”

Like any habit, it will take time and regular practice for me to remember how this whole writing thing works for me. My muscles have nearly atrophied, so this will take some doing before words are flying from my fingers again. To be clear, it is my writing muscles that have atrophied, I am definitely mobile and, if being chased by a dinosaur or something, I could (probably) run for at least a mile before submitting to the T. Rex and going back to Jesus.

Turns out, mental health is a sneaky little shit. Turns out months of unending stress contributes to negative mental health. Turns out….well, you get it.

Authenticity

I don’t like scary acrylic nails or plastic shoes, and I don’t like overly photoshopped images. I don’t like artificial cherry, grape, or banana flavoring and I don’t like disingenuous compliments. I do, however, have streaks of purple in my hair and several plastic IKEA plants greening up corners of my home. So, my authenticity requirements are a little bit fluid and loose around the edges, I’m not some kind of hard ass.

Joshua Tree NP_feistyharriet_May 2016 (7)

I have struggled to fill this space lately, there have been the Big Life Things that only get a passing mention here, and Unbloggable Things that don’t get mentioned at all (let’s go to lunch, I’ll tell you ALL about it). I wonder what having this quasi-anonymous place is for, if not to be able to write about those things!? But, it’s hard to be completely authentic, even if doing so results in lower anxiety levels for me. Also, perhaps it isn’t always entirely healthy to share every thought and feeling and frustration every moment that I have it. (Besides, isn’t that what Twitter/Facebook is for?)

I feel like the last several years I’ve noticed a particular shift online AND in my real life away from the more genuine and towards something that feels more plastic-y, more artificial, more–dare I say it–“styled.” And I get it, I do. The Internet is not the same place it was 10 years ago, trolls are everywhere and you have to fiercely protect your own privacy and family. Hell, I don’t even write under my real name, I’m hardly one to complain about others who curate their outgoing messaging. But I also miss the days before the pretty filters, and the lightening-brightening tool, and the cropping out the unseemly, the messy, and the dark, in order to stay true to a “personal brand.” Whatever that means.

I know there are plenty of places where you still get the Real Deal, you see all the warts and the cracks and the scary bits of someone’s life. It’s a super vulnerable and scary thing to do, to open up and show your true self to the world. It’s probably easier to set up a nice little vignette, three paragraphs of words, or an image, and retouch it a bit to present a shined up version, the “better” version. And sometimes, we all do that. We have to, I think. We all filter ourselves as we interact with humans in our daily routine, and perhaps even more so as we put ourselves “out there” via Twitter or Instagram or blog posts or whatever. I think we’ve all found ourselves unsubscribing from a completely unfiltered feed, it’s too much, too extreme. But, do we also unsubscribe from the other end of that spectrum? Do we put so much value on the filters and the visual tricks that we lose sight of the beautiful and honest core?

The beginning of a new year–calendar or academic–is always a prime time for decluttering and simplifying my life. I unsubscribe from spammy email lists like crazy, weed out my closet, and get rid of the piles of unnecessary and unremembered stuff that tend to accumulate in the corners of my house. Simultaneously, I am also trying to clean up my own Expectations feed, to remind myself that my imperfect, feisty, sweary, nerdy, ranting, defend-the-underdog core is just fine. I need to remind myself that it is much easier to be myself, the sometimes petty, sometimes jealous, sometimes selfish, oftentimes kind (but also sometimes not, see: petty and jealous and selfish), usually nerdy, usually serious version of Harriet that has pulled me through to adulthood. I am not perfect, and that is okay. Sometimes (okay, most of the time), I’m not even trying to be perfect, and that is okay too. Year after year I get slightly better at being comfortable in my own skin, and therefore more honest and authentic about who I am and who/what is important to me; it’s a process.

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Not yet. But, soon.

For months I have been struggling, I’ve written about that struggle here a little, and I’ve internalized it a lot. I’ve suffocated panic attacks, and also let them destroy me in the dark hours in the middle of the night, leaving me exhausted but finally able to sleep. I’ve sobbed through books and songs that are not sad, I’ve been desperate for understanding. I managed to allow myself a little bit of hope. My struggles are not on a single track, it seems an entire web of hurt and pain and fear has been slowly closing in on me, slowly squashing the happy and sunny parts of my life, replacing it with dead shadows. I want to be clear that this is not entirely political, but the combination of politics, the hurts of humanity, my own relationships and my own demons. It is a very complicated web that I am tangled in, and it seems the struggle has only made the tangle messier.

For me, that web all came crashing down last Tuesday, watching in horror, sobbing in anger and fear, as state after state turned red. There are a lot of shitty things in the world, and also a lot of goodness. But on Tuesday night The Shit won. When you’re already walking on a tight rope, trying to balance and measure every step, it doesn’t take much to make you fall. I wore black the next day, in mourning. I have retreated some more, probably to a scary degree, actually. I am grieving the loss of so many things, and I cannot be comforted.

My entire life I’ve taught my heart to throw up walls, to grow spikes, to protect itself. For the majority of my adult life I’ve tried to remind myself not to build the wall and cultivate the spikes. I’m a warrior who is at war with herself. Years ago I received a piece of advice I think of often, but sometimes am incapable of the required follow through: Insulate yourself from the hurts of the world so that you may move forward shielded by your own, conscious strength. I’m still not 100% sure what that means, how do you insulate something without burying it in impenetrable layers? How do you move forward without turning into a prickly monster?

This is a puzzle I continually solve and then forget the answer. So I have to start at the beginning, again and again. It is exhausting. My unexpected, very emotional spiral immediately following the 2016 election is another setback for me, I’ve taken some time to be angry, and sad, and depressed. I’m not quite to the acceptance stage yet, I’m resolved to never refer to him as “President” but I’m also not (seriously) planning to move to New Zealand or Sweden or The Bahamas. But I am closer to moving forward. There is work to do, and I will sign up for all of it.

I’m not ready yet to sound my battle cry, I’m still picking up the pieces. But, soon.

Soon.

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In which I realize, despite my best intentions, I am a complete and total stress case.

Point Bonita California_feistyharriet_July 2015 (10)

Of late I have had a lot of stuffs going on in my physical and emotional life. This year (and last year) have been ones of complete upheaval and constant change; my anxiety levels are up, my stress levels are up, and I can feel myself starting to unravel.

Out of curiosity, I decided to take one of those online tests to measure the amount of stress in your life; not like, a Cosmo quiz, but a more legit one, from the American Institute of Stress. I’m sure there are questions about the scientific validity of such a thing, but I decided to do it anyway to at least give myself a good idea of where my stress levels were relative to that of a healthy, normal human.

So, you go through the list, count up all the points for things that apply to you for the last 12 months, and then figure out where your score falls.

  • 150 points or less: you are totally chill and there is very little chance that stress is affecting you in any serious way.
  • 150 – 300 points: you have some significant stress in your life, and, if you don’t take steps to chill the hell out, within the next 2 years it’s likely that you will suffer some kind of major health breakdown as a result.
  • Over 300 points: Uh, you have Issues, and also an 80% chance of having that major breakdown sometime in the coming months. Time to step back and reevaluate. Now. Reevaluate now!

My score: 642.

Basically, I’m a walking time-bomb of anxiety. Part of this I knew already, but I was legitimately shocked to see how high my stress levels were, and how long I’ve assumed it’s just normal to have that kind of anxiety and upheaval on a daily basis.

I wish I could tell you that since taking this quiz I’ve completely changed how I run my life to reduce my overall stress and anxiety…but that’s not true either. Being aware of my number is helpful, but truly, it’s only helpful if I use that awareness to do something about the ticking anxiety bomb in my chest.

I can’t do anything about the major life upheaval stuff except wait it out. I can’t un-move, un-take a new job, change some of the big pieces that have added stress and frustration and anxiety into my life. It is what it is, and I just got the unlucky set of cards to get all that stuff all at once.

But I’ve been doing little things that I hope make a difference:

  • I have been puttering around with my plants in the garden, I count 9 tiny baby cucumbers, I’ve already harvested kale for some salads, and the lettuce patch is growing nicely. I often think those little boxes of veggies are the only thing I love about being outside here (for the record, it’s still in the 90s everyday, which is 10-15 degrees too hot for my outside comfort. WHERE ARE YOU, WINTER!?).
  • I have been quite careful about what I put into my body for the last 6 months. I eat very little sugar or white starchy food, I don’t skip meals, and I drink lots of water. I also have treats every so often, I’m not living a diet of austerity, but I have tried to keep my blood sugars more even, and I hope that helps me keep balanced overall.
  • I have stayed far, far away from Facebook for weeks. I honestly don’t know if I’ll sign back on until after the election. I consume my other social media feeds carefully and try really hard to stay away from rhetorical tornadoes because I just cannot deal with so much blatant stupidity and ignorance. I’m sure I’ve missed a lot of lovely things as well, but until I have the bandwidth to clean up some of my feeds (block, unfriend, hide, block, block, block), I’m just going to steer clear.
  • I still go to the gym a few times a week, usually for about 90 minutes. I can’t actually tell a big positive difference when I go, but if I miss too many days in a row I get jumpy and antsy and the hamsters in my brain start reeling out of control. So, I gym.
  • I’ve been listening to audiobooks like it’s my damn job; 2 hours (or more) every day during my commute, plus at the gym, plus usually when I run errands as well. I listen to most books at double speed and am churning through them like crazy, three or four a week is pretty normal, plus the paper books I’m reading. It’s easy to escape into those pages and stories and characters and facts, and it helps keep my brain calm and focused instead of wandering and spinning without something to grab on to (or, whipping itself into a ragey frenzy while sitting in endless rush hour traffic. Audiobooks all the way!).
  • I try to make plans in advance and keep meticulous check lists. I have a constant grocery list on the fridge, right next to the menu list which is a complete meal plan for the week, including notes about what I need to take out of the freezer for the next day, or other prep. I keep a list for work tasks, one for household chores, one for blog post ideas, another for budget and savings requirements, and another for fun things I’d like to do or try, so if I have an hour I simply check the list and pick one instead of spending 20 or 30 minutes trying to figure out how to effectively use my time. Plans often change, and I’m not a super stickler on sticking to The List, but having that plan in place to start with greatly reduces the anxiety of figuring out where to start.

What do you do to keep yourself balanced? Do you think you have too much stress in your life? What are things that you feel you can legitimately drop? Must keep? How do you keep on adulting with too many things in your court and not enough time or energy to deal with them?

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Bad things always happen to good people

Point Bonita California_feistyharriet_July 2015 (6)

I have never in my life wondered “Why do bad things happen to good people?” Soul crushing grief eventually comes to us all. I think I somehow instinctively knew this, or my very early years were truly so horrible that I couldn’t ever imagine a world in any other way. I am never shocked or surprised at truly horrifying news. Sad? Always. Gutted? Often. Unable to get out of bed? Sometimes. Surprised? Never. The world is full of shitty people who do shitty things; the world is full of shitty things that affect people indiscriminately. All. The. Time.

A friend lost her parent far too soon.
Another lost her unborn babe, there was no more heartbeat.
Another lost his children, both of them.
Another lost his faith and footing.
Another discovered she’d lost her husband months ago to someone else, but he conveniently forgot to mention it.
Cancer, more cancer, young moms with cancer, teenagers with cancer, babies with cancer, beloved pets with cancer.
Being unable to protect the people who make up a million little pieces of your heart.

None of the above stories are my stories, they are all the heartbreak of friends and loved ones, people I would give up a kidney for if it could save them from a broken heart; for some I’d fight a full-grown grizzly bear. Their heartbreak absolutely affects me, deeply, but the circumstances don’t ever shock me. I guess that means I’m a pessimist–I expect the worst to happen to everyone at some point. Hell, The Worst will probably show up more than once.

I’m not a total pessimist, the hopeful part of me truly believes that, sooner or later, most of us will struggle back to our feet and keep shuffling along, even after The Worst has smashed us to pieces. We won’t be the same, we will never be the same, but we keep going. Honestly, I don’t know anyone who has the luxury of clutching her pearls and taking to her fainting couch for the rest of forever; eventually have to keep going. After a while it doesn’t hurt to breathe anymore, then we can go whole minutes at a time without falling to pieces. Eventually, we get up every day (or, most days) and we struggle to our feet and we keep going. We rely on friends, family, and strangers to help us along, but we don’t FullStop forever because our life is torn to pieces.

We all experience indescribable loss, hurts that should actually stop your heart and prevent you from feeling anything ever again. But we keep going. We may not want to, we may hibernate for days or weeks or even years, but most of us keep going. We help each other get up and keep going. We give a metaphorical kidney (or, you know, an actual kidney), or we send text messages that require no response, just to let them know they are loved.

In my time I’ve fought some battles, many for myself, some on behalf of someone else. I’ve got my scars and my war stories, and with a tricky combination of therapy, medicine, and sheer will power I’ve found a way to keep going. For now. But I 100% expect to be hit with another freight train full of bullshit, I 100% believe my life will be turned completely upside down again, torn to pieces, and then stomped on. It will happen. It happens to everybody. And all we can do is a) try to remember how to breathe, and then b) take the rest of it one step at a time.

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PS. For those who are struggling with demons too big, too torturous, and too overwhelming…even after they stop fighting, even after they are gone, there will always be a space in my heart where they will are safe and happy. Mike. Stacy. Daniel. Micah. Ryan.