Falling Shamelessly

I’ve been thinking a lot about falling. Not the kind you might immediately imagine, like skydiving or atop an unstable chair, but the kind that jolts you in the night. The heavy breathing, cold sweating kind, that promptly interrupts a dream and snatches the breathe right out of your chest. I guess you could say that I’ve been jolted, interrupted, and reawakened. So here I sit, pushing aside my writers block and responding to one of life’s most defeating lessons; Shame.

Recently I had an experience that literally brought me to my knees with emotion (I’m sure some of you can relate). I was feeling so much at once, I couldn’t find my breath, let alone the right words or thoughts to go along with it. Admittedly, I didn’t fully understand what was happening. I mean, I had felt hurt, pain, and discomfort before, but never quite at this temperature. Never at this level. The only thing I knew was that afterwards I wanted to disconnect completely. The angry critic in me screamed, saying I wasn’t worthy of being a step-mom, wife, or even a good person. Every morning, after what I call, “the emotional jolt”, I felt exhausted, struggling to stay above my internal messaging and too tired to try anymore. Thoughts within me quietly shifted, making me believe the only way to survive was to hide, pull back risk, and befriend seclusion.

“No one wants to hear what you have to say.”
“Your work is not good.”
“You are not important.”
“No one likes you.”
“You don’t belong.”

These are the uneasy thoughts that would run through my mind on a daily bases and are superbly documented in my journal (us writers love a good reason to spill our guts on paper right?). I started replacing what normally would have been affirmations and short-term goals with judgment, fear, and loss of interest. This attitude wasn’t normal for me, it was defeating and hurtful, but I couldn’t stop. Each passing day I believed more and more that I wasn’t courageous, worthy, or significant. The stories in my head were quickly conducting my attitude and eventually, my behavior.

My sense of self was almost completely replaced before I stumbled across a talk by Brene’ Brown online. I then quickly purchased a book from her titled, “Daring Greatly”. Brene’ helped me realize that the silent, calm, reassuring dream I had been living was interrupted by a violent emotion called “shame”. She explained that shame turns into hurt, bitterness, and anger. It only knows how to respond in uneasy situations in the form of a “fight or flight” response. Shame is an emotion that I know many of us have experienced but rarely recognize. It develops differently in men (ex. not making enough money, unable to provide, showing too much emotion, being seen as weak, divorce) and in women (ex. feeling judged about mothering, perfectionism, staying thin or considered beautiful, aging, divorce) but the results are always the same. PAIN.

I originally thought my behavior was due to guilt, but quickly came to the conclusion that I was wrong on many levels. Shame loves the disguise, but they are two very different emotions. For example, guilt comes in the form of thoughts like, “Oh man, I made a mistake”, and can be a positive motivator for great change in your life. Shame on the other hand, comes in the form of “I AM a mistake.” Shame only motivates self-doubt and is dangerous because it doesn’t permit creativity, love, or understanding.

After having my “ah-ha” moment, looking back at my journals and analyzing my behavior, it was hard to deny that instead of feeling guilty for an uncomfortable encounter, I was shaming myself. In fact, like many of us do, I had been doing this on a small level my whole life and my “emotional jolt” experience was the catalyst shame needed to finish the job. Coming to this realization was difficult, but I felt relief in knowing it was fixable through the antidotes empathy, courage and vulnerability.

If I am being completely honest, this very expression of writing is my way of being vulnerable again. Nothing is more important to me than regaining my self-confidence although, I am still working through the un-coupling process of shame and guilt. I’ve started by replacing judgments with empathy for others and myself. I’ve also found the phrase, “I am enough” helpful, and created a necklace from The Giving Keys that reads, “Courage”. It reminds me to keep taking risks, doing as Ms. Brown suggests by daring greatly. Today I feel as if I’m freely falling again and my dream has gone peacefully undisturbed for a while. But I feel comfort knowing that the next time I am jolted awake by one of life’s unforeseen experiences, I’ll replace the heavy breathing with a few deep breathes, the cold sweat for a cold beverage, and acknowledge the interruption as another lesson learned.

 

 

 

Brene’ Brown’s Ted Talk is titled: “Listening To Shame” – google it.

Her Book is Daring Greatly (can be found on Amazon.com or audio book on iTunes)

You can create your own necklace with your unique word on it at http://www.thegivingkeys.com

The.Porch.

When I was a kid, my summers meant the beginning of a new adventure beneath the Henry Mountains of Southern Utah. The town was called Hanksville and it was here that I hid from the outside world. There wasn’t really anything spectacular in this town. In fact, most people would drive through it and wonder, “why would anyone live here?” Indeed, it was in the middle of the red covered desert, only had one gas station, two small burger shacks, a bed and breakfast, and a grocery store that was the size of the local trailers. Not only this, but the place was known for it’s constant change in population due to the fact that no one stayed long. Most drifters were just looking for a little work before moving on to the next city, but as unlikely as it sounds, I found a sense of self, purpose, and home here.

Hanksville is where my Grandma Joy lived, along with a few other relatives. They were country folk, didn’t ask for much, and worked their tails off among the sage brush. My aunt owned the local eatery called “Blondies” where I earned a little extra cash making shakes for the weary travelers and motorcycle gangs reeving through. I also worked along my grandma’s side selling indian jewelry and making beds at her 3 bedroom bed and breakfast.

As a teen I was able to do far more in this small town than the big city. Here I could drive a four-wheeler, help passerby’s, ride horses, and even drive the car (shh I was 12) to the grocery store to get our favorite snack; 2 ‘Big Hunks’, and a Crème Soda. It literally took about 30 minutes to walk from one end of town to the other, 15 minutes by tractor, 5 minutes by horse. I remember sitting on my grandmother’s porch every night, counting the vast amount of stars in the sky and listening to the coyotes howl in the distance.

As a teen, I felt my busy life at school and in the city had me focusing more on what I wanted to “have” or “do” to prove myself. But here amongst the stairs, I could just be whatever I wanted, a cowgirl, an Indian, or just an awesome burger chief. It didn’t matter. In Hanksville, I was my truest self. I was Haley.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this place and what it meant to me since my grandma’s passing last October. I think about how those quiet moments on her porch shaped who I am and how I view the world.  Many times I thought about how Hanksville contradicted my normal day to day life and what I was being taught to value. Back at home, it seemed we focused more on two things:

1. Increasing your material wealth (what you have)

2. Improving your skills (what you do)

But on that porch and with my Grandmother rocking beside me, there was only one lesson that was emphasized:

3. Developing your “being” (who you are)

As an adult, I have witnessed many people live for the first two. Don’t get me wrong, these are great goals to have, but I believe the most fundamental goal is to develop a good sense of WHO you are during the process. For me, it took travelling to a deserted town every summer to discover who I was over and over again. It gave me an opportunity to accept myself without distraction or expectation. All the things that bothered me back home seemed to disappear, making it easy to live fully in the present. Since then I’ve had to learn how to do this without the stillness of grandma’s porch, but rather, with the added distractions of adulthood.

I feel grateful every day that I have those memories. They encouraged me to push the pressures of adulthood aside and live in the present, leading with the curiosity of my teenage heart. I would encourage anyone reading to take yourself to your quiet place; the ocean, atop a mountain, in a tree, or on the porch. Take yourself anywhere that you can Be Silent, Be Present, Be Conscious, and most importantly, Be You….

(Last year I was able to bring my step-children and husband to Hanksville and show them my country roots, telling them stories of my adventures along the way.)

Stepping.Up

It is a familiar scene for all of us, sitting back in an uncomfortable chair, mouth open wide, a bright light in your eyes and the powerful smell of fluoride. You squint to find relief from the seemingly relentless light, when your dental hygienist leans over your helpless expression and begins working. We’ve all been there (hopefully), and it would seem that this moment would be the least likely place to have a conversation, but it was here, mouth open, slobbering, and pink in the face when I realized I was exactly where I needed to be.

You see, I’ve always had “small talk” conversations with all of the professionals in my dentists office, but when Vikki (not her real name) started cleaning my teeth that day, it was apparent she had a message I needed to hear, one that was far from small. As she scrubbed the tarter off my pearly whites, she started telling me about the 10 years she had been married to her husband, how they were going on a trip for their anniversary this year, and how difficult marriage, and stepchildren can be. Vikki had married a man much older than her, similar to my situation, and became a stepmother to 3 sons. I nodded my head and made facial expressions I hoped she would understand as she explained how badly she wanted to be accepted in the first years of their marriage. She wanted to be needed by her stepson’s and she talked of how badly she felt when they said or did things that portrayed the opposite. Vikki recounted reunions, weekends, and trips where she felt depleted, out of control, and left out of her “new family”. She also mentioned how damaging it was when the boys crossed boundaries and she felt she had no parental power or influence. After a bit of venting on her part, she paused, smiled, and started talking about how her step-kids have grown and are living with their own families now. She talked valiantly of her struggle through the teenage years, and reassuringly about the rewards that came shortly after. She no longer begs for acceptance, or tries to control the situation; instead, she backed off until they became adults, until they could fully understand her. “All it took was a lot of patience, during a difficult period of time”, she explained.

I gazed up into her eyes, blinked, and felt the tickle of a single tear roll down my face.

It was almost as if she had been a fly on the wall of my house, listening to my prayers, my cries for help, and my confusion.

Vikki immediately looked shocked by my reaction and removed the tools from my mouth so I could speak. I wiped my eyes and said, “thank you… I needed to hear that.”

I’ve been a step-parent for 2 years now, and a major part of my step-kids’ lives for almost 4. Finding boundaries, letting go of “trying to be accepted”, and balancing two homes with an ex-wife has been the hardest challenge of my life. I grew up reading books and watching movies with the term “evil step-mom” embedded into my head, so I constantly live in fear and anxiety about whether I am doing a good job or how I can improve. Sometimes it feels overwhelming, and I question whether any of my sacrifices are worth it or if I am adding any value to their lives. As a stepparent, you must walk into a family without any guarantee’s or life long loyalties. Instead, you must fight for your place and hope for the best.  Simply put, it is difficult.

Vikki and I shared our similar stories and hugged a little more. She gave me encouragement by acknowledging my internal struggle and reassured me that marriage is worth it, children are worth it, and someday, I will celebrate my 10-year anniversary with a powerful story to tell.

Today I sit at my computer after a week of having my step-kids and my heart is filled with gratitude for the ups and downs that we’ve learned from. I am grateful for the experiences life is handing me, and the tests I am given. Now I can say to anyone who needs to hear it, you are not alone. Step parenting is hard, but you are not alone. Hell, parenting is hard, but you are not alone. I am grateful to Vikki for sharing her story, being honest, and showing me that sometimes all that matters is that we are all in this crazy journey together. We are not alone.