Bucket List

Hello Beloved Readers!

WARNING: I am on a major finance geek high from watching The Big Short. It was soooo much fun. I was the only person in the theater laughing at half the jokes (come on, people, that was HILLARIOUS!) but I don't care. For once the geeks had more fun than the sports fans. HA!

In other geeky news: Guess who is all signed up for a 200-hour yoga teacher training? YEP. That would be me. I am SO. Excited. And yeah kinda terrified, but hey. I'm used to looking like a goofball. It's all good.

Okay I'm going to go work on another post on the sugar detox I did in January. Warning - you thought I needed TMI warnings before. Hoo nelly!

Much love as always,
Suzi

Thanksgiving and Gratitude

Beloved readers,

I have 96 page views from Ukraine. Huh. I can't help but think that's a cybercrime phenomenon. Good luck, if so, since this is a not for profit hobby and I don't use this email address for anything else. Or maybe it's because there's "boob" in the title? Should I add "erection free money kitten" and see how much more traffic I can drum up? Nah.

Right, back to something timely. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I am so very grateful. I like to try to practice gratitude every day of my life, and it has saved my sanity on numerous occasions. But one day a year, I'm actually in with the crowd on this habit, which is an unusual feeling for me, so that's fun.

I have so much to be grateful for.

I was overwhelmed with all the hate and fear and chaos in the news a couple days ago and asked on my facebook feed "please make me laugh," and lots of people did. Thank you!

My children are healthy and safe and loved. This should be a "well duh, of course." It's not. For so, so, so many children, around the world and a short walk from my front door, these things are not "of course." I am so grateful, and at the same time, I am not satisfied. I will not be satisfied until every kid in the world can say they are safe and loved and as healthy as they can be. (So, yes, I will likely die unsatisfied, but still grateful.)

I have kind, sweet friends and family who check to make sure I have somewhere to be for the first Thanksgiving I will spend away from my children since I have had children. Thank you!

As mentioned previously, I am safe and warm and well fed (perhaps a bit overfed of late) and healthy and educated and employed and housed and so many things that many can not take for granted. I am grateful.

I could keep going. It would get dull for even the most patient reader. I should say, however, that gratitude is a beginning. Because I am grateful, and because I understand that scarcity has been imposed on so many, I must let my gratitude move me forward to help create justice.

Lastly, allow me to ask please that you hold in your hearts so many this day who are not safe, who are not home, who are not sure where they will be safe and at home again. Those fleeing the terrorism of pseudo-Muslims, our neighbors crying out for justice, the list is long. They are our sisters and brothers, we need them, and we owe it to them to help however we can.

I am grateful for you, dear readers. Thank you!

Much love,
Suzi

Being Public with my Mental Health (Some More)

Beloved Readers!

I miss you! I've been journaling, which is healthy for me, and not filtered (believe it or not I do actually filter my thoughts for this blog). So that is where a lot of my writing energy has been going. Also, due to various holiday alternations and some travel for my coparent, I am in the midst of a stretch of 11 weekends of which I have the kiddos with me for 9. Which is super duper awesome and I'm maybe just a weeeeee bit tired. By some miracle of sheer stubbornness I got my floor cleaned yesterday and yet still fed the children.

A few things going on. I'm making lovely progress in therapy, and according to my counselor am "rocking it." Which, you will likely NOT be surprised to hear, does not in fact FEEL like rocking it. But it's wonderful to feel some of the shackles falling off my heart. No that is not a dig at my exhusband or anyone else. They're bad mental habit shackles. One of which is to blame other people for my crap.

Been reading some Pema Chodron. What a lovely gift she is to us. And books on ADHD. Because guess what? I have that too. Oy. Now, I gotta say, anyone who knows me well is just kinda like, "What, you didn't know that?" But of course they're too sweet to say so. When my beloved psychiatrist was asking me the questions on the two instruments she used for the diagnosis, I kept laughing. It was forehead-slappingly obvious. But I didn't want the diagnosis. I was mad at it. I was offended by it. And I was annoyed with myself for having that reaction. I knew perfectly well if I have this condition in my brain then it's there whether we label it or not. Not labeling it doesn't make it go away. Labeling it doesn't make it more true. And most importantly, here I am running around telling Robert to be the best Robert he can, trying to model body confidence for Jackie, and I'm gonna judge my own brain? Not consistent. So I spent a couple weeks pouting about it (which conveniently is how long there is between appointments with the aforementioned M.D.) and then was like, "okay, let's do this thing." Not like "woo look at me and my awesome brain!" (It is awesome. I don't own that frequently enough. I get buckets of external affirmation about how powerful my brain is and then I get mad at it for being all "SQUIRREL!" which for all we know is a necessary trait for all the cool things it can do.) So I'm just trying to be a good sport and all.

And then I see this. You may have too, it hit the book of faces. I'm totally captivated. She's incredible. She's so poised and positive. I mean I don't know what the young women who made the flick edited out, maybe she spends a lot of time being a grumpy pants. But to go through all that and be such a ray of sunshine, even for two minutes? What a warrior.

I want to adopt her. This is not a practical idea. One, I have two little kids and while I'm exceedingly blessed, for which I'm extremely grateful, I'm not made of money and I'm sort of barely getting enough sleep as it is. Two, she's got systems and friends and support and yanking her out of that is a bad idea. Three, she's Canadian, they probably frown on Americans stealing their citizens. Four, I'm not some parenting genius, I'm just a mama with a big heart and some crazy ideas. I could go on. Point being, probably I didn't see this film because the universe wants me to be Becca's mom. More likely, she is my role model. She is my candle in a dark moment. She's clearly a brilliant flame to very many. Look what she has transcended and how whole she is, not despite her challenges but because of them.

So next what happens is my Woman Warrior Writer friend posts something that BROKE my heart. One of her students (community college) is talking to her about the accommodations she requires for her (the student's) ADHD. And Laura says,

Somewhere in the conversation, I got the sense that she was feeling like ADHD made her less intellectually capable and it was affecting her self esteem. So, I got out her most recent bit of writing for me and pointed out how smart some of her observations were. She told me that no teacher had ever done that for her. Twelve years in the public school system, and not one compliment (and she's actually quite observant and insightful).

This is totally unacceptable to me. And I'm sure it happens every day. So being who I am, I am called to be public, like all up in your face public, with "here are my labels and here's what a badass I am and if anyone tells you that you are lesser because of these labels you may tell them I said to bite me, namaste, if you like."

So I'm outing myself, again. I have OCD. I have ADHD. I have struggled with depression, anxiety, post-partum mood disorder, some other crap I can't remember no doubt, and guess what. I have an amazing brain. And so do you.

No more freaking stigma. All it does is harm.

So much love for you all.

Suzi

Stuck

Good gravy it's been eight months since my last post. Whoops. Well, I've had A Year. But more on that later. Today I wrote another poem. Here it is.
Love,
Suzi


STUCK

My grief is stuck
   I can feel it, like heartburn
      caught behind a ball of anger
         refusing
            to let my broken heart heal

What will release this fury, to free my grief, so my heart can keen herself clear?

I need the balm of forgiveness
   the courage to give again as I did before

Fear stops me.

Fear says, "If you forgive, you will forget, and it will all happen again."
   Fear says Anger keeps me safe.
      Fear helps Anger to push the grief back down
         into my heart
            to grow cold
               and rigid
                  and start to die.


Love offers courage
   my love of my children
      offers me a reason to keep trying
         their love for me
            removes any excuse
               to let fear win.

Love offers a reason to let the anger out, past the fear, to burn up in the pure sunlight
   as inconsequential
      as a puff of smoke

Love opens her arms, takes me onto her warm, safe lap
   holds my head to her chest, strokes my hair, while I cry

Love warms me
   Love promises that forgiveness is not foolishness
      That my scars earned me wisdom
         That my scars are strong and alive

Love soothes me
   she reaches into my cold chest
      so I can breathe
         so I can cry
            so I can heal

I look into love's face
   and see myself
      smiling back
         strong
            beautiful
               whole
                  brave
                     alive
                        forgiven
                           forgiving
                              strong
                           
                                    free.

Reaching

Dear Readers,

Merry Christmas, and other wishes of peace and joy as you would apply them. I am relieved to have pulled off the holiday with a minimum of carnage. Holidays have never felt natural to me and the first once after leaving my partner of 20 years was no exception. So today after handing my beloved progeny to their adoring father at the appointed time and after taking a MUCH needed nap, I took myself to dinner (at a VERY busy and delicious Indian restaurant) and a movie.

I went to see MockingJay (part 1), which I very much enjoyed - I loved the books. (Suzi you make no sense. You want to beat up anyone who so much as speaks rudely to children and you loved a trilogy which starts with gladiator children? The hell?) Watching Philip Seymour Hoffman was rather poignant. As the reader will likely recall, we lost Mr. Hoffman to a drug overdose early this year. The pain and anguish of addiction, to the addict and those that love the addict, is beyond measure to those of us blessed to have avoided the affliction. As a member of the loved ones category (no not Mr. Hoffman, I merely admired him from afar), I will liken it to repeatedly sticking myself in the heart with a hot poker.

We poorly understand our brains. Moving along in 2014 to lose Robin Williams to suicide underscores this point most painfully. Suicide is dreadfully understood, and widely misinterpreted. But for someone who spread such joy and laughter to die so sadly, so desperately, is inexcusable for us as the wealthiest nation in the world. We can heal amazing things. We can reattach limbs, faces even. We can cure cancers we couldn't even find 50 years ago. And we do a really shitty job healing the human spirit. From veterans earning subsistence wages and suffering from post traumatic stress to men so rich they could buy any cure we could provide, we are doing a really shitty job of healing minds.

When I suffered from post partum anxiety with Robert, I was afraid to ask for help. I thought if I admitted to anyone the horrible images that wouldn't leave my brain in peace, that Robert would be taken from me, destroying the tenuous breastfeeding relationship for which I had fought so hard, and breaking my heart. I thought if I asked for pharmaceutical relief, I would hurt him. I thought I was bad and wrong for having these thoughts in the first place, involuntary though they obviously were, and that admitting to them would be shameful. So I suffered, needlessly, and largely alone.

Thank heavens when I had Jackie, I had a midwifery team that I trusted. I knew they valued my bond to my child almost as much as I did. I knew they knew I am a good and loving mother. And on this go, suffering from both post partum depression AND anxiety (two for the price of one!!! But wait - order now, and the insomnia package is ABSOLUTELY FREE!!!) I was desperate enough to reach out to them at a horrible moment when I had been crying for hours and couldn't figure out why.

A long, difficult path followed. I tortured myself with various attempts to avoid pharmaceuticals for a few more months, until I decided that Jackie was better off with a little bit of SSRI in her gut than with no mother. Because lost to the world literally or otherwise, that's where we were headed. And I am so thankful I did. And I also know, I am so very lucky. Lucky to have that team of caring professionals with the right training. Lucky to have the resources to afford them. And lucky to have a caring community of friends and acquaintances who either are enlightened about mental illness or are polite enough to shut the hell up. Either way I am so very grateful.

My college classmates and I lost a bright and beautiful light a while back, to, ostensibly, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. She had suffered terribly for years, ineffectively treated and at times really just abused by a health system that did not understand at all what was going on with her. Shortly before she died, she posted a note indicating that CFS sufferers died mostly from three things, one of which was suicide. At the time I didn't realize her post might have been a cry for help. Shortly afterwards she was gone. The cause of her death has not been officially disclosed, but I know in my heart that I missed an opportunity to be of use. To demand that she call me or I would call 911. To tell her she was not alone. To tell her I would miss her. I wasn't very close to her, but her artistic spirit and sweet smile are memories I will carry with me always.

These memories remind me not to let it happen again. To always reach out. Obviously I can't save all the babies. I can't really save anyone - mostly people have to save themselves. But we can't do it alone. We have to know that we are loved. We need a reason to keep trying. I am so grateful that I did when it was my turn to suffer, to feel that my brain had betrayed me, to wonder if I would ever feel like myself again.

Please always reach out. Don't give up. Someone loves you. Someone will miss you. Someone will be so heartbroken to think they could have helped you and didn't take the right chance.

I pray (in my odd nondenominational pagan yogini faith way) that I always reach for my loved ones when they need me, or just want me. That they always ask and that I always answer. What if we each just let someone cry on us? What if we each just said, "I love you, I want you around me, I would miss you so much if you weren't here with me"? Would it help? Would it give someone the one more breath they needed to gather the strength to keep trying? I think it would.

Please keep trying. I love you. I would miss you if you weren't here with me.

Much love always,
Suzi

PS - this is very much inspired by a particular someone in my life right now, and I would like to hasten to reassure all of you that it is NOT me, I am NOT in danger, and I'm really just fine. Promise.

What is Privilege?

Hello Beloved Readers,

We tree hugging lefty yuppies are mostly making noises of outrage tonight, about the fact that a "Peace Officer" shot a young black man and got off without a single charge (at the state level anyway). And then we, or let me just speak for myself since it's not like I was elected Representative of Liberal White Yuppies, *I* get to go quietly about my business, reasonably confident that no one is going to shoot my son when he does something that frightens them (like, say, buying Skittles and iced tea for his younger sibling). This is a privilege that should be a right. I have it. My darker skinned neighbors and fellow citizens do not.

This is not okay.

Can I give up my white privilege right now to make it fair? Not really. Would I if I could? Probably not. I'm too scared. I don't want to know what it's like to be watched like a hawk if I go into a store in sweatpants. I don't want to have to wonder if my mortgage application was turned down because of something about my appearance. I sure as hell don't want to have to wonder if my kids are going to get shot by someone that's supposed to be protecting them. I'd like to say I'm courageous and noble and I'd give it up in a heartbeat. But that's easy noise to make since I can't really do it.

What can I do? I can vote. I can hold an open heart and mind and not assume that I have totally expunged all ignorance or assumptions of privilege from my world view. I can educate other people who look like me, who maybe don't realize that they have privileges they didn't earn. I can lend out my white privilege, sort of - maybe offer to go with a friend when she applies for a mortgage or something. Shouldn't be necessary but hey if it helps, I'll do it.

I think the most effective thing I can do though is try to raise awareness amongst those who are as privileged as me and more so. I say most effective because I'm in a position to do it, I'm reasonably good at having these conversations, and I haven't been worn thin by decades of aggression and hostility that passes as normal zeitgeist pointed at me when I do something really unreasonable like go to school or try to get a job.

I spent a long time whining that people who have been swimming up this stream were cross with me when I did something totally ignorant. (I'd like to assert that it was never hateful but the effect can be essentially the same - I'm not sure this is really a useful point.) A lot of folks were really sweet and patient and brave with me and took the time to explain what was going on for the people who were cross with me. I'm grateful, now that I get it a teeny bit. So maybe that's what I can do, too - if someone wants to borrow me to go explain to another Europeanish person why what they just did was really a bit horrid, please do so. I'll do it if I can.

What can each of us do? What do our particular talents and situations lend themselves to? How can we make a world where my kids' classmates all have a really equal shot at a good life? Not a handout, just a fair chance.

Thank you for listening.

Love,
Suzi

Some News

Dearest readers,

So, I have some news. (Not injury or illness, so exhale, and thanks.) And I don’t quite know how to share it. So I’ll just blurt it out.

On May 1^st, I told my husband of 16 years, partner of 20, that I am divorcing him. It was the hardest thing I have ever done, including birthing a 9lb+ baby and holding my father’s hand while he died. The ensuing period has been the most intense I can recount. I would have liked to share this information with you sooner, but I wasn’t ready to do so in a calm and dignified manner.

This decision was not made quickly, rashly, or lightly. It was not selfish, bad for the kids, or based on an extramarital relationship. We have had a long standing struggle which over the years we have worked on with varying degrees of intensity and via various methods (mostly therapy). Tons of therapy, tons of help from family and friends. We tried until it was killing me. And then, even then, it took me another six months to finally admit to myself that it was over and I needed to end it.

He is not a Bad Person. He is a good person. I am not a bad person, I am a good person. We are not suited to each other, in fundamental and irrevocable ways. Nothing “happened,” in that there wasn’t one precipitating event that ended an otherwise functional marriage. We both did shitty things. Probably my side of the shitty behavior scale is heavier over the past two years. I’m not sure there’s much point in speculating whose side of the shitty behavior scale is heavier over the whole 20 year relationship. The point is, if we’re with the right person, we won’t behave that way.  I’m not naïve enough to think I couldn’t make the same mistakes again. Everyone has the capacity to be an asshole, and I need to be very careful to continue healing, growing, and learning about and loving myself, so that I don’t find myself right back in the same situation with someone who on the surface looked different enough to be not the same guy.

In anticipation of some frequently asked questions, I offer the following. Kids: our children are on a 50/50 schedule with us, always both kids. They are adjusting well, certainly with some normal stress and accordingly difficult behavior. They are already showing signs of being accustomed to the housing switches and I think they seem happier although of course it could be that everything seems happier now that I am happier. We know that a two house schedule might not work for them forever, and we will continue to act in the best interest of the entire, now binuclear, family.

I am very proud of how well we have handled our divorce. We are a team to co-parent these children. We are a team to help Robert navigate the world from the perspective of a quirky little genius. We are not asking anyone to take sides. My mother, five minutes into our phone conversation when I told her this news, asked if she could call Matt and say she still wanted to be his mother in law. She has since repeatedly declared her pride in how “gentlemanly” we have both been during the whole thing. We are hurt. We are angry. We are scared. We feel a lot of unpleasant things. I for one am scrambling to furnish a house (NOT my comparative advantage) and establish new normal routines, while continuing to keep up with my full time career and solo parent my adorable, challenging children, all while processing the huge emotional upheaval of ending a 20 year partnership. But I am happy to report, with perhaps a couple of ugly moments during negotiations in the counselor’s office, we are not trying to tear chunks out of each other and we are absolutely not asking anyone to get divorced but us. We are not fighting in front of the children or asking them to take sides. We are both determined to do the absolute best by these kids we can.

I hope I get back the friend whom I called my best friend for almost 20 years. I don’t know if I will. We both hurt too much right now to try. But we have moments of connection about our beautiful children which give me a glimmer of hope. Perhaps. Either way, I wish him all the best. He is a wonderful father and a beautiful person, and I hope he will be happy again, soon.

I never knew what friends I had until this. People came out of the woodwork to support me when my father died. Northeast Indianapolis brought deli trays when Matt’s parents died. Many things have surprised me in how blessed we are. But nothing like this. I have received extensive housing before I bought my new  house. I have cried in my colleagues’ offices. I have texted and messaged with people at all hours. I have only received three hurtful comments, and all of them I understood (they were sort of blatantly obvious) to be about that person’s personal experience or level of understanding of human relationships. Almost no one has written Matt off – even people who clearly were “on my side” checked on him to make sure he’s okay. I have the absolute best sister and brother (in law) on the planet. Friends I assumed would drop me like a hot potato have hugged me and told me they are here if I need them.  Friends have helped me move and fix up my place, watched my kids so I can pack, offered to take me drinking (custody and work schedule doesn’t leave a lot of room for partying but the offers were appreciated). The good and loving and supportive have outweighed the petty and the disappointing and the hurtful by orders of magnitude, and I am so very grateful.

Please feel free to ask questions. I’m not the fastest correspondent in normal times and right now, whoo nelly, I sort of fall behind on email for two weeks and then have a huge burst of communicativeness. But if you can be patient, I can be honest, unless they are not my answers to give.

I will always be okay again eventually, until I’m dead. It’s what I do.

As always, I am grateful for your notice and support.

Much love,

Suzi