Eco-Grief

 I have been allowing myself to hear stories of the ways in which people are protecting the world. A YouTuber named Sam Bently (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ApEr9M5P8d0) has been making a montage of the ways different countries are working to take care of Mother Nature. It feels inspiring to hear that there are plenty of people taking action.

I don't know about you, but I have felt pretty debilitated at times. The whole recycling debate that we're all tired of thinking about. In Brooklyn, NY it became mandatory to have a composting bin! My own bit of good news. Then when I moved to South Florida I found a drop off site to purchase a membership at. It felt good to reduce my garbage load.

Another effort I am making is to reengage with the WWOOFing program. Here's the US version: https://wwoofusa.org/en/, but it exists all over the world and it's a really interesting way to engage in it. I started when I was 19 years old and hadn't WWOOFed since until I recently stayed on a property in Homestead, FL for a week. After hiding from the heat in my family's air conditioned home for the past couple of months, it was liberating to spend most of my days outdoors, hands in the dirt, kittens chasing me around the garden.

I feel myself becoming unstuck. I don't know how long this feeling will last or what the future brings. I do know that today, I am working towards my own healing. That's all I've got, 'one day at a time'. My desire is to have a reciprocal relationship with the nature around me, caring for it and trusting and accepting her care in return.

The in-between spaces

 I realized recently that I am living in the in-between space and that it is a familiar place for me. These spaces in our lives that are in-between jobs, in-between relationships, in-between apartments. I just got married and I have found myself in my husband's recently late grandmother's house as it's preparing to change hands to a new lineage of humans. Generations of memories echoing through the halls.

In-between spaces carry a lot of joy, a lot of sorrow and a lot of uncertainty. What is to come? How do I define myself? In order to make sense of it all, I draw myself closer to the Higher Power of my understanding. At least, I am in good hands.

It's hard not to remember my last round of goodbyes as I say my most recent. Faces of those who became so familiar, destined to become strangers, trusted confidants, radiant faces who appear whilst travelling through their own in-betweens. Hard to know who's who sometimes. Not really something I have control over, I've slowly come to learn.

In these in-betweens I've noticed a slowing down, more time to feel appreciation for what I have accomplished rather than criticism for what I haven't, an energy of creativity to spend. How will I spend it today? Dipping my toes in the sand and the frothing shoreline or slowly boxing the lifetime of possessions belonging to this woman who recently became my ancestor? What form does a spirit take in the memory of her granddaughter-in-law, I muse.

I feel my memories of my own grandmothers colliding as I gather bits of stories of this new one over weekly dinners. As I lounge in bed, I watch a younger version of Myrna watching me. I asked my husband to take it down, most of the other framed pictures already stacked in the living room in preparation for departure, but I feel a shadow of her authority as he unhooks it and walks away.

I wonder if/how/when I'll want to be remembered when I'm gone. As if we have control over it anyways, the best moments are unplanned in my experience. How am I already remembered? My face frozen in time for other's to call on and learn from, representing a variety of things, not all of which I'd like to know about. I've heard some version of the line, 'we mustn't be defined by our worst moment', reverberating through social media recently. I'm still not sure how to fully make sense of it.

These are the ponderings in the spaces in-between. Knowing that one day soon, life will return to a new normal and there will be little time to contemplate the universe and our place in it. Until the next upheaval of existence and we are foisted into the time in-between once again for a short period.

Can I let myself be cared for?

 I care for others, truly deeply passionately. I realize that this might be a unique trait that does not necessarily apply to everyone. Though I do believe we all have a certain level of care, many don't try to care about everyone. I care about everyone. Truly. As I'm writing this, I'm thinking to myself, "is this really true?". It feels authentic to say, a warm fuzzy in my chest when I think about people. I mean I did choose psychology as an undergrad major without question. There was no doubt whatsoever in my mind that I wanted to understand people better because they are lovely and wonderful.

I got caught up, I thought I had to take care of everyone somehow.  Now I'm sitting here thinking, who are the most in need of my help? How do you gauge level of need? Suicide rates? Met basic needs? Consistency...of what? This question remains in my mind and I don't think it will every go away fully. Regardless, who wants help? Who is willing to accept help?

Recently, I started wondering...how do I accept care from others? Here I am eager to give care, understanding, love and acceptance. But what if someone starts trying to give it to you? 

Someone recently is in what feels like a big way. It's making me think, "I'm sure I've been taken care of before!" and I can't understand what's different. It just seems that they can anticipate my needs in a way I've never experienced. Which is what I try to do with others. I try to anticipate people's needs. Sometimes tho they are just telling you to your face and you don't recognize it because you're in a fantasy world where you're saving the day. Too real. 

Back to someone anticipating my needs, they notice me. They are watching closely. I have spent a lifetime hiding my facial emotions from the world. Working to neutralize my face so I can react privately in any given circumstance. Most people aren't attentive enough to catch the millisecond of my expressions. Then someone did and keeps doing it and it's delightful. 

It's delightful, but when I need help, I'm probably not in the greatest of moods. I don't think I like needing help and I'm guessing this is pretty common. Don't want to be weak and all, but from experience I do believe that in some ways it takes more strength to ask for help than to suffer alone. I have come to realize that it gets tricky if I try to rely on one other person, but if I'm open to relying on my community of support instead then there is almost always someone available to show up for me.

Perspective on Firing

 Recently I was fired, my first time. I found out that it's a human experience. I'm part of a club. Several people told me their own stories of being fired. Some knew why and some suspected unfair treatment. At the end of the day it didn't carry the shame that I thought it was supposed to. In the movies being fired seemed to result from some egregious behaviour: a drunken blowout, theft... It seems that irl it's a bit more random: wrong place, wrong time, or perhaps not so wrong... I had an experience. 

It was a management job, which was a totally new experience for me, and it reinforced some of the stereotypes that I think I already had percolating in my brain. Middle management comes with a lot of bullshit. There are lots of power-hungry and unhappy folks in the corporate-type environment, regardless of the work they are doing. I hope not to be jaded, I wonder if there are opportunities to work collaboratively elsewhere. I wonder if there are workspaces where power is acknowledged and accounted for, I know this was my own goal as a manager and it seemed to be successful. I felt successful at the parts of the job that were important to me. 

It's a loss and it came with grief, but the grief is by no means complex. I had friends, lovers, and colleagues to soften the blow. I processed the grief with all the tools that I have learned in my therapeutic work without even realizing it. I shared the experience with others and I may have helped them to process some of their own fears and pain. For a week, I felt deeply cared for. Then I took off and went to another place where more folks could care for me. Gosh I'm smart.

Not just smart, but turning a corner in my life where I feel that I can allow others to care for me and really take it in. I trust that I am naturally a caring person at this point in my life. I don't need to try. I don't need to feel I'm extending myself. I am enough in my naturally caring state. I can just be. But receiving care is a whole nother enchilada and I am choosing to learn how to allow. 

Allowing others to care for me is vulnerable. Am I inconveniencing them? Will they expect something from me in return? Do I need to entertain them while they care for me to make it worth it? Do I need to seem better because they're making an effort and I want them to feel like it's working? 

Do I deserve it?

This last question is the foundation of not allowing. Have I earned enough credit doing my own caring of others and/or taking care of myself to now deserve to allow it to happen to me? Have I met the checks and balances of karma? Am I selfish? Am I a burden?

Again, this stuff is impossible to measure and a form of cognitive distortion. Reducing a complex thing like care and handing it to an accountant. The Accountant's Distortion. I choose to accept care if it's offered. I choose to offer it when I'm called. And I choose to trust that all will be well without this type of scorekeeping. And so it shall be, that and more. 

ABUNDANCE EXISTS

On Alcohol

 I used to blackout a lot. I mean what is a lot? I'd rather never do it again. I feel torn, is it worth drinking anything ever if it might lead me towards that behaviour again? Is it inevitable that it will result? I stopped drinking for 3 years and I remember moments where I felt so safe because I knew that I had so much more control over what was happening to me when I was sober and took awhile for it to sink in. It was quite profound. I feel a heaviness in being strict with myself. A sense of wary, not trusting. Alcoholism in the family. It's hereditary. It's genetic. My mother's drinking scared the shit out of me. My own almost killed me. Such evil possibilities seem to result. Accidents. Falling off the roof and breaking your back. It's soothing, alcohol. Suddenly you feel like everyone around you is a friend and it doesn't feel like work. Suddenly you're not sad anymore or having a bad day. It's a magic elixir that makes things easier, makes life easier. Maybe it even makes sex easier. Makes death easier. Last thing I want is to die from an alcohol related incident, including it being caused by another person and me being sober. One of my worst fears really. At the end of the day the only control I have is over myself. Safely drinking. Is it possible? 

Step 4: Anger at Men

 I feel furious at men. I feel a never-ending anger that seems to arise most days for the past few weeks. There's a feeling that in order to be in relationship with a man, that I have to put more emotional effort into one conversation than they do in a whole month (probably longer). That when conflict arises, if I don't address it, then it will pile up and continue to build. That if I didn't make plans with him, then we would never hang out. That I'm expected to receive rejection and then have no feelings in response. Then, I'm expected to then 'fix' everything so that he doesn't have to feel uncomfortable that I'm feeling rejected by the way he interacted with me. So there is no room for me to have an experience, my experience. I have to cater to his experience and his reality and his way. It's his way that's the correct way...right? The Way. Tired of this bullshit. Actually physically tired.   

My part: I've accepted this expectation. I've catered to all the men in my life, allowing their reality to be bigger than mine, more dominant. I've twisted and bent to make myself fit in to their lives, to learn their needs and their wants and to become those things. It's such a habit that I can barely notice that I'm doing it until I'm exhausted and then I feel too exhausted to do anything about it. Then, I feel like a victim to this world that doesn't really have a lot of space for me in it. I'm 'too much', 'too needy', 'too sensitive'. 

I'm sorry to myself for all the times I've made myself smaller and all the ways that I will continue to do so. Unsocializing myself is a process that may take longer than my lifetime. I will continue to initiate hard conversations, do the majority of resolving a conflict or negotiating both my own and my male friend's boundaries, do thoughtful things for him behind the scenes in ways that will never be reciprocated, and do the majority of coordinating spending quality time together. At least I'm aware now and I can potentially feel like it's a choice rather than a trap that I have to consistently fall into.

I'm sorry to all the men who have played this familiar pattern out with me as it benefits neither of us in our efforts to create sustainable and meaningful connections. I have loved and continue to love many of these men, but have had to reduce my connection to them because I'm just...tired. I'm feel exhausted, depleted, afraid.

Trevor

My baby making factory is on fire. I cannot even handle my libido recently. It feels ragingly ravenous. My belly is full of heat that rolls down into the back of my knees, lighting everything up along the way. Down into my feet, into the core of the earth connecting me to the miracle that is life. Nothing more erotic that the ability to create life. The idea that you could be connected to another person so intimately. Terrifying and exhilarating. It's hard to even write about, my brain glitches lol. The fantasy can be hot. The hormones screaming at you to do the thing, your vulva pulses and thick wet strands falling out of your cunt from it quivering with excitement, anticipation, pure need.

His smell is delicious. I don't even know how to describe the timbre of it because my mind is melty when it lingers in my nose or when I'm rolling around in his bed full of scent and drunk on it. Literally drunk, it's so...delicious. That's all I can really say.

Kissing him is like being in a boat that is rocking gentle on a clear blue day in the sea. Waters are warm and turquoise and the rocking feels like you're being lulled into a nice dream. A wave crests occasionally. Hands roam and explore, the desert of the skin, hills and brushing softly past peaks. Oh...so...softly. 

Making you watch my face while I cum most intimate and terrifying thing that I can think of. Commanding that you don't take your eyes off the way that your body being close to mine can bring about such an intense pleasure. Consuming pleasure. 

How can I fight with that? I'm not even gonna waste my energy. I'm just gonna ride along the bliss.