"Damsels- All of us out there- Arise!": February 2020

Saturday, February 29, 2020

Anorexia Affects Your Whole Body

Caterpillars To Butterflies...

One of the Happiest Moments...

Examine

Let’s pick things apart, instead of picking ourselves apart.

How’s that for a concept?

If we live long enough with this thing called life, hopefully, inevitably, some wisdom and insight will start creeping in. We can choose to examine the mistaken thoughts and beliefs we may have absorbed, without question, earlier in our lives. Critical thinking offers us the challenge and the adventure to examine why we believe what we believe. And then, we are at a position to make changes. It’s not as daunting as it looks. Change can occur in any amount: small, medium or large. But taking one baby step of a change shifts us.

An old adage asserts that when we cannot change something in our lives, we can change how we look at it.

Hmmm. Let’s try that out!

Friday, February 28, 2020

Distort

Inevitably, in life, a warped image comes into our field of vision.

And, if we are spiritually, emotionally or mentally nearsighted, distortion can be our world view. It is the proverbial funhouse mirror, exaggerating the image reflected back at us. What we see looks grotesque and ugly. It looks wrong, and, if we’re not aware of the distortion, we can quickly jump to the conclusion WE are wrong as well.

And that colors our lives.

We are inherently beautiful and wonderful. That’s the reality, not the funhouse mirror.

Thursday, February 27, 2020

In Bad Spirits

“She’s in good spirits.”

How often have we heard that expression? It reminds me of the scene in “The Wizard of Oz” in which Glinda, floats in on her bubble, asking Dorothy a blunt question, “Are you a good witch or a bad witch?”

Those of us who are diagnosed are often met with the expectation we will be “in good spirits.”

We hear so much about a positive outlook, about how joy and laughter are healing for any recovery. We are shown countless stories of individuals who had such sunny perspectives, even though they were end stage this or that disease. We see heartwarming testimonies of how a person is determined to “beat the odds,” “to never give up,” and “to be an inspiration for the rest of us.”

Then, there’s usually some chronicling of this individual doing something impactful, to help others, to make people smile. Noble. Inspiring. Worthy of being labelled “in good spirits.” And, perhaps, making things ten times more difficult for the rest of us diagnosed, as the rest of us are struggling, feeling angry and depressed. We feel like we’re only draining people, not helping them, because of our circumstances. We, by comparison, are “in bad spirits.”

As part of my “Cancer Care,” I have regularly been in doctor’s offices and exam rooms. Part of my treatment and monitoring involves me filling out something called a distress test. It’s the add-on feature after answering a slew of questions about any new symptoms, like unusual pain and difficulty breathing. You know, fun things to think about. The distress test gets right to the anxiety and depression questions, probing about suicidal thoughts, feeling isolated, even getting into one’s own spirituality.

Indeed, like clockwork, I get flagged as I respond honestly to the question, “Are you experiencing anxiety or depression?”

“Yes, I’m scared; I’m depressed.”

And then I have to encounter a further interview from that nurse about my mental state.

“Do you feel like you are struggling with your spirituality?”

“Yes, I have faith and I pray about my situation, but I’m still scared and depressed.”

The nurse’s brow furrows a bit.

“Do you feel like people would be better off without you?”

And here’s where I’m expected to respond with something like…

“Oh, no, of course not. My loved ones are there for me and are supporting me. Everything’s great. I’m blessed!”

But most of the time, I just respond with, “No,” and leave it at that.

“What kind of support do you have in your life?”

Get ready for some cliché responses, everyone…

“Well, I have a wonderful, loving husband, some great friends and I am in therapy.”

The nurse nods, conveying a sigh of relief.

I guess I answered correctly. Maybe I even passed the distress test with flying colors.

But, make no mistake about it, I’m still distressed.

I’m not ragging on the medical community for sheer ragging sake. I know everyone is just trying to do their jobs. Saving lives. But there still seems to be this built-in discomfort surrounding my diagnosed reality. They get uncomfortable with my uncomfortable truth. They want me to be Pollyanna Optimism when it comes to how I view “my cancer,” my life and my attitudes about mortality. They want me to “beat the disease” and “be a warrior.” Here’s a Breast cancer pink ribbon for you to wear and get more life- affirming for wearing it.

Medical community, your heart may be in a good place, but it’s still misguided.

You want me to respond a certain way because it makes you less uncomfortable. Yeah, sure, you want to save my life, but you’d rather not hear about my scary, two o’clock in the morning death thoughts as I lie awake in the dark. I have heard from you nurses just how inspiring my fight is, how courageous I am. But you’re not as inspired to know that, before my routine appointment with you, I cried for an hour, gauging exactly, when I should put on my makeup, so that I wouldn’t cry all of it off before I showed my face in public. How courageous am I now? How inspired are you by me now?

I am not “in good spirits.”

It feels like no one knows what to do with me, other than give me some more cliché responses like, “you’re a fighter,” “you’re a trooper,” “you are going to beat this!”

Are you sure? How can you be so sure?

You may be reading this and assert I’m choosing to think and feel negatively. I’m whining. I should make the choice to be positive about my plight. I should embrace life and focus less on death. I should count my blessings, be thankful for all of the good that surrounds me. I hear all of that, partly because its messages come from within, not just from other people’s suggestions. All of the “should’s”- yep they’re here for roll call.

But how, exactly, is all of this “shoulding” supposed to help me “beat cancer,” anyway?

How is not being honest with my real, true feelings, sublimating them under an inspirational script of stock answers, supposed to help me? Truth reveals itself, regardless.

Do you really want me to lie that much about my diagnosis, prognosis, life and death circumstances? And, if so, why? Is it because you feel better about the lies instead of the truth?

Most of us do, if we’re honest. Lies are comforting; truth is less so.

If I were Dorothy, responding to Glinda’s question, I guess, nine times out of ten, I’d have to honestly answer her with, “I’m a bad witch. Go ahead and drop a house on me.”

My diagnosis has taught me a lot about who I really am, cliché as it sounds. I know who I am not. I am not optimistic. Realistic, at best. I can go full-on pessimistic in the blink of an irritated eye. I have spent much of my life trying to override that, believing I was wrong, immoral, sinning, all because my feelings weren’t the stuff of “get well” cards. And, even though, as the medical community likes to say, “we don’t know why a person gets cancer,” what if, just what if, suppressing my less-than-inspirational emotions helped to create the disease? What if that suppression was carcinogenic? It’s possible, right?

So, couldn’t it, likewise, be possible that “getting real” about all of the fear and ugliness could help me feel better, even if it didn’t cure me? Healing is different than curing. Healing is deeper. And that’s what I’m about these days. I’m doing a deeper dive.

And, if it takes me being “in bad spirits” to do so, then, so be it.

Squint

Nearsightedness has many of us doing this maneuver. We have difficulty reading words and images from far away. Glasses and contact lenses can help, but we need to wear them for any difference to be made. Otherwise, as a feeble attempt to see, you and I can resort to squinting. We might be able to see something better, but it’s still inaccurate. It’s not 20/20 vision, by a longshot.

How are you squinting at yourself? Your body? Your weight? Your issues? Are you looking at them clearly?

Or, are you attempting to see, all through your own devices, devices that aren’t working for you anyway?

Wednesday, February 26, 2020

Narcissistic Abuse: The Playground Edition

“Narcissistic Abuse: The Playground Edition” explores the childhood origins of this personality disorder.

https://www.elephantjournal.com/2020/02/narcissistic-abuse-the-playground-edition-explores-the-childhood-origins-of-this-personality-disorder/

Witness

Here’s a little more of an in-depth approach.

“a person who sees an event, typically a crime or accident, take place.

"police are appealing for witnesses to the accident" ·

observer · onlooker · looker-on · eyewitness · spectator · viewer · watcher ·

evidence; proof”

What participation have we given concerning the witness concept?

Were we a person who saw something harmful?

Did we witness someone who, knowingly or unknowing, taught us mistaken messages about body image, food and weight?

What proof do we believe we possess to believe what we believe about image?

What proof do we believe we possess to believe what we believe ourselves and our value?

We don’t believe what we believe, in and of ourselves alone. We had assistance; someone TAUGHT us: family, peers, media, etc.

What IS our witnessing role?

Tuesday, February 25, 2020

View

When we hear this word, a landscape can often first come to mind, right?

Yet, reality, especially concerning disordered eating and image behavior is far less pretty. For us, here, there is judgment in the view. And it’s almost never a kind judgment, is it?

What is your view right now? Of yourself? Of your life? Of the world?

Monday, February 24, 2020

Bring Peace

Dear Heart...

What Do You See? (2020 NEDA Week)

What Do You See?

The National Eating Disorder Awareness Week is February 24^th through March 1^st, 2020.

And, this year, the phrase, “Hindsight is 20/20” is uttered often.

So, let’s check out some words that deal with sight, hindsight or any other kind of sight.

Look

When you look at yourself, what do you see? “Look” is the first glance, the observation, perhaps, without too much consideration. We believe things at face value.

Disorder body image and eating issues are no different.

Quick, look! What do you see? How do you describe it?

Sunday, February 23, 2020

From Your Very Best Self

We Teach Them

Don't Promise...

Respect Yourself Enough...

Wednesday, February 19, 2020

Are We All at the Mirror?

“Are We All at the Mirror?” addresses our uneasy and unhealthy relationship with image.

https://www.elephantjournal.com/2020/02/are-we-all-at-the-mirror-addresses-our-uneasy-and-unhealthy-relationship-with-image/

Gaslighting’s Laughter

Gaslighting has become a trendy buzzword lately. It’s used to describe the crazymaking tactics often employed within an abusive dynamic.

Indeed, Wikipedia offers its own definition…

“Gaslighting is a form of psychological manipulation in which a person seeks to sow seeds of doubt in a targeted individual or in members of a targeted group, making them question their own memory, perception, and sanity. Using persistent denial, misdirection, contradiction, and lying, gaslighting involves attempts to destabilize the victim and delegitimize the victim's belief.”

It's about creating a nagging self-doubt, in which we question what we see, hear, believe and feel. Some common phrases?

“You’re crazy. You’ve lost your mind.”

“What’s wrong with you?

“Why are you so sensitive? This is no big deal.”

“You’re imagining things.”

In my personal experience, I encountered those uttered words. But I also ran into another tactic: laughter.

I’m not talking about jovial laughter, good- natured stuff.

Instead, often in tandem with these pointed phrases, I ran into dismissive, mocking laughter, utilized to deflect from real, serious issues and situations.

One family member, uncomfortable with their own angst concerning the abuse existing with our family structure, used laughter as deflection, to minimize how dangerous things were and how much behaviors needed to change.

Once, as an adolescent in pain, responding to the abuse, I bared my soul, sharing how I was experiencing suicidal thoughts. Within seconds of disclosing that revelation, this person started laughing at me, telling me I was silly. Chuckles bubbled up as I was labeled as being a” too-intense” teenager.

I felt betrayed. But even more of a betrayal?

Well, I’m sure you’ve heard how laughter can be contagious. If fact, there are actual laughing groups, sharing a human experience of contagious laughter as stress relief and bonding.

Think of that contagious reality and now visualize me, this upset teen, being laughed at over my suicidal thoughts. Soon, that contagious laughter spread to me.

I was laughing, and it betrayed my very truth. I had betrayed myself because I had succumbed to the dismissive laughter, offered by an individual whose sole agenda was to stop dealing with the seriousness of the discussed subject matter. As I laughed, as I betrayed myself, it was mission accomplished.

The message was further strengthened to both this family member and to me alike: the pain I was experiencing was silly and unimportant. I shouldn’t take my feelings seriously.

For years, I had numerous experiences with me being upset, and then, ultimately, joining in the betraying, contagious laughter.

But this suicidal discussion was the final straw.

I learned, at the tender age of thirteen, I was no longer safe discussing anything important with this person. Moreover, I learned another harmful lesson: people, in general, were unsafe. I could not risk vulnerability, for fear of being laughed at…or worse.

I also learned distrust of my feelings. Was my pain really that bad? That real? That important? After all, it was so easily “laughed off,” even by me?

What could- should- I believe about that?

Laughter, in and of itself, is not evil or wrong. We’ve all had those moments with loved ones, in which we burst out laughing, even at inopportune times, like a funeral. It’s spontaneous. The more you try to suppress the giggles, the more explosive it gets. We have a hard time controlling our laughter. We have all had that.

That, however, is a stark difference to the laughter of gaslighting.

Within that context, there is no spontaneity, no loving, “in the moment” experience of being collectively human, having a human, if not ridiculous and free, moment.

No, gaslighting’s laughter is all about agenda. What is it?

Some purposeful device to try to…

… Stop an uncomfortable conversation…

… Make someone question the validity of their pain and upset…

… Redirect focus to something or someone else…

… “Make” a problem go away.

The laughter of gaslighting is never about resolving an issue; it seeks to negate it, to manipulate it.

So, do you see your experiences here? Have you ever encountered laughter, that may have appeared innocent and jolly, but still, never felt quite right?

Have you felt the laughter was at your expense?

Have you felt it was a diversionary tactic to avoid dealing with an important issue?

Not all laughter is equal. Some of it is sinister.

And yes, some of it IS abuse.

If an episode of laughter makes you feel unheard, unseen, violated or manipulated, it’s probably because it is aimed at doing just that.

Trust your gut.

Laughter is supposed to make us feel better, not worse.

Describe Yourself

Batman!!!

Monday, February 17, 2020

Layers of Tablecloths

Hoarding can kill. A family member of mine created once life-threatening circumstances for herself. We conducted a welfare check of her home and encountered disturbing evidence. Yes, there were boxes and bags piled from floor to ceiling. There was disarray of newspapers and magazines, littering each room. There were narrow pathways to walk in, room by room.

But I was not prepared for the actual layers of hoarding. I was first hit with it as I encountered her small kitchen table. It was crowded with stale cookies, coffee cups and silk flowers in a vase. Nothing glaringly screamed “dangerous hoarding conditions.”

At least, not at first glance.

Let’s call my family member, “Hannah,” for privacy’s sake. Hannah withdrew from human contact after her husband’s death. Hence, the welfare check. She neglected her health and personal care needs. In fact, she stopped taking her blood pressure medication two weeks before her devastating health crisis. She was found lying on the floor for two days, unable to reach the phone.

As paramedics scrambled to maneuver the house’s hoard and attend to her, no one paid much attention to the kitchen table. Yet, that piece of furniture held much backstory about Hannah’s decision- making process and state of mind. Both were dangerously unhealthy.

As we cleared the table, the red tablecloth felt “padded.” Removing it, we came to discover “layers” of tablecloths, covering the surface.

Tablecloth Layer #1: Bills:

We lifted the first red tablecloth and discovered its secrets.

Strewn throughout were various bills, both current and not so current. Some weren’t even opened. They had Hannah’s scrawled handwriting, on the envelopes, informing her that this bill arrived in 2003; this bill arrived in 2009. There were overdue bills, second notices, all requiring a complicated, tedious unravelling process. It took weeks to accomplish.

And it showed my family that Hannah was letting things go. Was is merely absent-minded? Or was it deliberate? After all, she didn’t pay- or even open- these bills. She simply covered everything up with a tablecloth. That was her solution?

Unfortunately, for the hoarder, that often appears to be a viable remedy to unpleasant realities. And bills, if nothing else, are unpleasant. This “symptom” signifies, oftentimes, how the hoarder can no longer be viewed as financially responsible. Guardians and financial powers of attorneys, therefore, need to step in now.

Hoarders may not utilize the tablecloth technique when it comes to bills. Some hoarders simply lose track of the mounds of accumulating paper. But there is a common disconnect:

“I don’t want to deal with this, so I won’t.”

Tablecloth Layer #2: Depression Denial

We pulled off another layer, this one pink. Packed sheets of notebook paper covered the table. The content of these pages contained Hannah’s written prayers asking for help with losing weight and meeting her “goals.” Sprinkled amongst her wish list were repeated mentions, “I’m depressed.”

And I immediately flashed to remembrances of her defiantly declaring, “I don’t need therapy. That’s for other people.”

This was a woman who endured abuse, trauma and severe poverty. But, not surprisingly, because of shame, she could not admit she needed help from anyone else besides “The Lord.”

She denied she was sad.

She denied she was depressed.

She denied there was a problem.

And, I guess, looking at her notebook entries, which abruptly stopped a year before her health crisis, she eventually denied there was a problem to even “The Good Lord.” She decided, again, to cover the table.

Hannah was suffering. Yet she was adamant about refusing help. She self-medicated instead with food and shopping, which, of course, exacerbated the hoarding.

What could have happened if she just received some professional counseling? What could have happened if she admitted she was miserable?

Tablecloth Layer #3: Dangerous Coping

The table still felt padded. We pulled off another layer (this one was floral).

The surface here was covered with various family members’ Social Security Numbers written on index cards and notes to herself about how to operate appliances and where she kept various “important things” that she was, I guess, afraid she’d lose track of.

Yet, with the event of her health crisis, the evidence was overwhelming. She had lost track of everything. A progression of mental fogginess was, perhaps explained by her massive stroke (or strokes)?

Hannah was disorganized and desperate, never wanting to admit to herself that her strategies to “get by” further jeopardized her life and safety. And her methods of staying on top of important pieces of information was, inevitably, only covered with another layer of tablecloth.

Hoarders often make notes to themselves, reminding them of important matters: people’s phone numbers, where the car keys are, how to operate the car, how to turn on a light or lock the front door. They believe these instructions will keep them safe. But these notes are often lost and buried somewhere. Their whereabouts, many times, is long forgotten.

Tablecloth Layer #4: The Sacred and the Meaningful

The padding on the table still existed. There was one more layer.

We removed the red and blue floral tablecloth to find scattered mementos: family photos and even the postcards my husband and I sent Hannah when we moved Westward…in 1999. It was shocking to see how these mementos were not in picture frames or even scrapbooks, for she insisted on keeping them. Hannah wouldn’t throw anything away.

Did these items mean anything to her? And, if they meant something, why did she bury them?

Perhaps, it was an all too common hoarding behavior: people bury their treasures, again, often forgetting where they buried them. The hoarder wants to keep not only his/her treasures safe, but himself/herself safe as well.

Hannah wanted to be safe. And she also wanted a clean house. Maybe she felt her tablecloth method achieved both. She could keep everything, yet still have things look pretty. Because, let’s not forget, on top of that first layer was a vase with silk flowers. She was trying for beauty.

Aesthetically pleasing, but at what price? Her health? Her safety? Her social life? Hannah didn’t let anyone “in.” She chose to shut out those people, representing those photographs and mementos. The biggest reasons? Probably shame and self-protection, which were both in overdrive. But what emotional damage did this do to not only her, but to others, as well? No man is an island.

Safekeeping. It appears to be a hallmark of a hoarder. Stay safe. Build a barrier. Build a cocoon. And somehow, over time, that morphs into a death trap. People have been found dead under the layers of cocooning, known as their homes. It’s private and quiet.

Usually, by the time the hoarding is discovered, it is at crisis level. It requires professional help of the “many hands” variety. It requires counseling. And that requires willingness from the hoarder. And if he/she is anything like Hannah, that will be a challenge, as they assert, “I don’t need help/therapy. I’m fine on my own.”

In fact, concerning the hoarding, the only way to effectively stop the madness was to remove her from that multi-room home and place her into a more contained care facility. Hannah is now limited to her bedroom. Facility staff frequently check on her, monitoring her hoarding tendencies so they do not flourish in this environment.

And sometimes, that is the best one can do. Hoarding is a compulsion, often born from trauma. You cannot reason with it. And it’s not as simple as “just get rid of the junk.” More will appear quickly in its absence.

Hoarding, from start to finish, is a layered issue. And we often must pick things apart, layer by layer, dealing with it.

It's about the Met Needs...

Alienator

Be the Awareness...

Friday, February 14, 2020

A V-Day Greeting...

Happy Anna Howard Shaw Day!

Make Someone Happy?

The lyrics from “Make Someone Happy?” challenge us concerning healthy self-esteem and relationships.

https://www.elephantjournal.com/2020/02/the-lyrics-from-make-someone-happy-challenge-us-concerning-healthy-self-esteem-and-relationships/

Wednesday, February 12, 2020

Embrace Yourself (It's Coming)

Tuesday, February 11, 2020

This Far

Enough

When I was a college theatre major, I performed a monologue from Christopher Durang’s “'Denity Crisis” in my acting class.

“...You remember how, in the second act, Tinkerbell drinks some poison that Peter's about to drink, in order to save him? And then Peter turns to the audience and he says that Tinkerbell's going to die because not enough people believe in fairies, but that if everybody in the audience claps real hard to show that they do believe in fairies, then maybe Tinkerbell won't die…. and so then all the children started to clap…. we clapped very hard and very long…. my palms hurt and even started to bleed I clapped so hard…. then suddenly the actress playing Peter Pan turned to the audience and she said, ‘that wasn't enough. You didn't clap hard enough. Tinkerbell's dead.’ Uh…well, and… and then everyone started to cry. The actress stalked offstage and refused to continue with the play, and they finally had to bring down the curtain. No one could see anything through all the tears, and the ushers had to come help the children up the aisles and out into the street. I don't think I was ever the same after that.”

One word: enough.

This business of earning grace, love and worth can wreak havoc. It drives many of us, in some attempt to self-soothe. We reason no matter what we do or do not do in life, it’s not “enough.” We can find ourselves in a state of paralysis.

We come from a survival place of just getting through this thing called life. We believe the best we can hope for is, while paralyzed, is to numb and comfort ourselves with our beloved addiction.

We can call it multi-tasking, being goal- oriented or doing some trouble shooting. Still, we are bombarded by the demanding assessment…

“‘that wasn't enough. You didn't clap hard enough. Tinkerbell's dead.’”

There’s a popular self-esteem exercise which challenges us to rethink what it means to be on the adequacy/inadequacy spectrum. For those of us who are prone to black and white, all or nothing thinking, this confronts how, when we think the absolute worst of ourselves, we tend to see ourselves as being complete failures, as being inherently worthless, talentless, stupid and incompetent.

The other end of this oppressive spectrum, in our minds, is complete and total perfection and competence. It means we have reached an “enough” status. We are smart enough, pretty enough, rich enough, talented enough, lovable enough, on and on… You get the picture.

Until we are that, we are nothing, again, according to our harsh and mistaken minds.

But really, the more accurate, more human, perspective is our placement on the continuum of skills and capabilities. We are somewhere in the middle.

Our harsh inner critic often doesn’t take kindly to that assertion. Perfection is a demanding taskmaster, promising fulfilled dreams and a pain-less existence. We set ourselves up for devastation when we expect that promise to be thoroughly realized in our lives.

But it’s not hopeless. For, along with the realistic approach to the adequacy spectrum exists one important antidote word: Nevertheless.

Here’s a few statements to shout down that inner critic’s inaccurate and harmful self-assessment:

Harsh Inner Critic Assessment: “I can’t do anything right.”

Nevertheless Antidote: “I have failed at something. Something has not worked out. Nevertheless, I am still here, still breathing, still a person of value, even though I cannot quite experience it in this moment.”

Harsh Inner Critic Assessment: “I keep screwing up.”

Nevertheless Antidote: “I have had successes in my life. I have done a number of things well. I may have failed here, nevertheless, things are not over for me. I will succeed again.”

Harsh Inner Critic Assessment: “It’s over.”

Nevertheless Antidote: “It feels over. Nevertheless, it is not. My perception in this moment is not the end-all, be-all of reality.”

Yes, life, inevitably, deals us some trauma, pain or negative experiences which reinforce how, indeed, we did not clap hard enough.

Perhaps our marriage failed...

Perhaps someone died...

Perhaps we lost our career, our financial stability or our reputation...

Maybe we’re given a particular diagnosis or health challenge…

So now, our personal Tinkerbell, because of imperfect life and self, can feel dead.

All the more reason, within these moments, to embrace and execute a countering assertion in the face of the notorious demand…

Enough is enough.

We need to challenge our definition of what “enough” means.

Is it perfection?

Is it pain-free?

Is it consequence-less?

Just what are we expecting when we place “enough” as a demand, upon ourselves?

Human beings are flawed and fragile. We need to recognize and honor that. To demand superhuman of our human condition is abusive.

And it doesn’t work.

Even if/when we achieve some measure of an elusive “enough” status, inevitably, something will break down. “Enough,” especially within the realm of perfection, and “all- needs- completely- met” expectation, is not sustainable. Being human will trump that. Just wait.

I love a quote uttered from the late, great tennis phenomenon, Arthur Ashe:

“Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.”

Notice, there was no utterance of perfection or unrealistic promise. Instead, his statement exudes…

“Enough is enough.”

That always applies to you and I. Tinkerbell may live; she may die. But our inherent “enough” status exists and remains.

Nothing can ever kill that.