New Year's Resolution...

Help My Unbelief

Our beliefs can either work for or against us.

Years ago, a life altering point in both my eating disorder recovery and my relationship with God involved the scripture, Mark 9:24:

“Lord, I believe. Help Thou my unbelief.”

It punctuated the state of my life. I didn’t think I could believe in who I was, in life and in God. My faith wasn’t “enough.”

Through my eating disorders, be it anorexia, bulimia or binge eating, I believed God hated me and was going to send me to hell. My perfectionistic thoughts had obliterated His grace. Increasing amounts of shame from my behaviors, which included theft and lying, made me reach a point of no return. I was “un-save-able.”

So, when I encountered Mark 9:24, it validated my struggles with doubt. That ninth chapter in Mark, uttered by a man, centuries earlier, sent the reassurance I needed. I was not the only person to ever think this way. And before Mark 9:24’s zinger, there was the set up scripture of the twenty-third verse:

“Jesus said unto him, ‘If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.’”       

Ordinarily, this would have caused me to despair. If Jesus was telling me it was solely up to me to “believe right,” then, let’s face it, I’m a goner.

But again, centuries ago, He responded to another doubting person.  Mark 9:24 was this man’s only comeback.

“Lord, I believe. Help Thou my unbelief.”

Perhaps, this was an early template of the Twelve Steps. After all, it’s about acknowledging something bigger than us, not us, in our own strength, to be our answer. And it’s about a lifelong commitment to focus on that belief.

The first seven steps, indeed, emphasis the power of that commitment…

1.      We admitted we were powerless over a substance or behavior - that our lives had become unmanageable.

2. We came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
3. We made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
4. We made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
5. We admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
6. We were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
7. We humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.

And steps eleven and twelve further challenge us to confront and correct our doubts…

      11. We sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.

      12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to addicts, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

No, this process is not perfect; it’s fraught with setbacks. But, long before we were aware of our weaknesses and failures, God was.

“For he knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust.”

Psalms 103:14

He’s not intimidated by exactly where our thinking has landed us. He knows. And He has it within His control. The key point, however, is to, by faith, embrace that principle. And yes, we need to yell a spiritual word:

“Help!”

It covers our life issues and what led up to them. It covers beliefs...and un-beliefs.

“Lord, I believe. Help Thou my unbelief.”

And, no matter what, we all need God’s help to believe Him.

Copyright © 2019 by Sheryle Cruse

Because No

A Certain Curiosity

“Beauty invites a certain curiosity. But beauty is just five minutes long if you don’t have anything else to sustain that curiosity.”

Monica Bellucci

“Pretty is as pretty does.”

Ever hear that?

With so much fixation on appearance, it probably has not been heeded with seriousness.

Let’s face it, in this society, looks matter.

And, unfortunately, we learn that lesson early. I certainly did.

As a little girl, my mother and I had a rating system for females, focusing on those exact words. It was not uncommon for the two of us to focus on a friend, a classmate, a teacher or a celebrity and decide where she fell under the “Cute, pretty, beautiful and small” system. Great mother/daughter bonding, huh?

And it wasn’t just a judge-y sport, it also underscored a dominant rule which eventually sparked my full-blown eating disorder behaviors: anorexia, bulimia, binge eating and, of course, constant self-loathing.

It sprang from the curiosity I had with beauty. It started with fairytale princesses and aesthetically pleasing dolls; they were aspirational focus points.

 But somewhere, things took a dark turn. Cute eating disorders.

“...They were now competition for me. If I could be thinner than these women, then I’d be better than they were as well… Competition grew between me and any thin girl or woman. Mirror, mirror: I had to be the thinnest one of them all. It was life or death importance, anything less than that was unacceptable. Gaining any weight, whatsoever, meant failure, simple as that...What I didn’t realize at the time was that my eyes and mind were incapable of seeing anything but a distorted image...”

(Excerpt from “Thin Enough: My Spiritual Journey Through the Living Death Of An Eating Disorder”)

Try as I might, no matter what I did, I could never perfectly attain that fuzzy four star rating. And so, what was I? Answer: an ugly failure.

Why aren’t we enough?

It’s because we don’t see what Elohim sees. We are curious about temporal, often distorted, inaccurate and harmful depictions of beauty rather than our Creator’s eternal, spiritual truths.

Therefore, we need The Most High’s beauty/value rating system.

Check out The Song of Solomon:

1:15: “Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes.”

2:14: “O my dove…let me see your form…for your form is lovely.” 

4:1: “Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes...”

4:7: “Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee.”

6:4: “Thou art beautiful, O my love...”

7:10: “I am my beloved's, and his desire is toward me.”

Beauty is part of who we are, but it’s only one aspect. There’s so much more to our inherent value.

Let’s get curious about the full package, not just appearance!!!!

 “...I am fearfully and wonderfully made…”

Psalm 139:14

Copyright © 2019 by Sheryle Cruse

Abracadabra

This magic phrase is actually Hebrew in origin, meaning, “I create what I speak.”

Wow.

Once again, the power of our words is in full force. Scripture backs this up…

“Death and life are in the power of the tongue: and they that love it shall eat the fruit thereof.”

Proverbs 18:21

And that’s no small thing. We so often underestimate the power of our words, what we say to and about ourselves.

“For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he...”

Proverbs 23:7

Yes, it all starts with our thoughts, our self-concept. And then, eventually, we speak out that estimation. We create something; we frame our worlds with our words.

Yikes.

So, it might do us all some good if we learn, absorb and speak The Most High’s Words and thoughts. They’re powerful, positive and helpful.

“For the word of Elohim is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.”

Hebrews 4:12

“‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways... For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways, and My thoughts than your thoughts.’”

Isaiah 55:8-9

Do we embrace that or reject that? It’s our decision what we do with those messages.

We’re saying abracadabra about our lives. What do we create when we speak?

Copyright © 2019 by Sheryle Cruse

Kindness...

Go Forward in Life...

The Power of Your Absence

Her Real Name...

You are a Story...

You didn't deserve it...

It's Called Gaslighting...

The Sock Drawer

Our cat, Glory has a habit of doing what is captured in this photograph right here.  For years, because of her high- strung nature (she’s a Calico; our vet refers to her as “spicy”), she regularly targets my husband’s dresser drawer, always the sock drawer, and then proceeds to pull out each one of his socks.

You see the pile here, don’t you?

Day or night, we have heard the “Pfh-Pfh-Pfh” sound as she obsessively empties that drawer. We think her point in doing so is to reach the longer bottom drawer, one which contains my husband’s soft, comfortable shirts, an appealing cushion too irresistible for Glory to pass up. We believe this to be the explanation, as we see the telltale white layer of cat hair resting on top of my husband’s shirts.

And, we have tried to refocus our cat by providing various cat beds and blankets, spread throughout our home. Look here! This is even more warm, more comfortable, and, by the way, all yours! Don’t you want to cuddle up here?

I think you know the answer to that question…

Opened drawer.

“Pfh-Pfh-Pfh…”

Pile of socks on the floor.

This behavior- and Glory’s overall demeanor- started me thinking about its similarities to some of our own human dysfunctions, challenges and addictive tendencies. You and I may not dump our sock drawer out, creating a pile of clothing on the floor, but we have other coping mechanisms, don’t we?

Substance abuse, eating disorders, hoarding, unhealthy relationship dynamics, obsessions and addictions to anyone or anything under the sun, inevitably, can show up in our lives, sooner or later.

Opened drawer.

“Pfh-Pfh-Pfh…”

Pile of socks on the floor.

Living with Glory for these past ten years, I’ve observed, perhaps, her motivation for making a b-line to that sock drawer. Humor me, please, while I expound a bit.

Eureka!

First, there must be the determination of the answer, the solution, the medicine for the individual. Glory decided the sock drawer was her Eureka, the all-encompassing “Ah, yes, this works. This helps me.”

You and I can do it with addiction: drugs, alcohol, shopping, status, sex, work, a relationship, people pleasing, a social media post, etc. In that designated answer, somehow, someway, we believe that all will be well, maybe even perfect, maybe even pain-free.

Glory, in her frenzied, sock-grabbing state, perhaps, thought, “If I can just get through this passageway, then I’ll be happy and comfortable. I can take a nap.”

We, likewise, may also think, “If I can just get a drink, binge on comfort food, see my lover, get that promotion, get that person to like me, buy that thing online, then I’ll be happy and comfortable. Maybe then, I can rest.”

Research has been done, linking Dopamine and Serotonin surges to lab rats who constantly seek the mechanism that delivers on the positive reward. It can be bottles dispensing cocaine; it can be the cheddar cheese promise at the end of the maze.

For us, check out the thrill of posting on Facebook or Instagram. We get high from the “likes,” don’t we? We get a drunk euphoria from our chosen “hit.”

Feeling pleasure and joy, in and of themselves, is not bad. But if we can only experience that pleasure or joy, via our addictions, a/k/a, an external source, well, that’s another story.

Just like Glory, we may not be able to concentrate on anything other than our object of obsession. We can do all kinds of compromising things, while chasing the dragon of our “beloved.”

Some of the chasing I’ve personally done goes back to my college roommate days, heavily in the grips of disordered eating, when, I got the Eureka idea that my roomies’ food was my answer. I was starving, food-obsessed, and completely captivated by their Dairy Queen Dilly bars, so much so, I chose to steal them on a semi-regular basis.

Yeah. Not my best moment.  

But, in that moment, these food items were my answer to avoiding painful emotions and reality, in general. These Dilly bars promised I would be okay.

Opened drawer.

 “Pfh-Pfh-Pfh…”

Pile of socks on the floor.

Danger! Run! Hide!

And that leads me to the next revelation from this sock drawer situation: the element of danger (perceived or otherwise).

Yes, going back to Glory, she is skittish. She came from a traumatic backstory, with a hellish foster family before we adopted her years ago. So, she doesn’t trust. She hides constantly. She perceives thunder, closed doors, complete silence and some music as danger.

“Get me out of here!”

The sock drawer, with the ultimate destination of the bottom comfortable shirt drawer, offers her the hidey hole, the escape, the “safe place.”

So, of course, she opens the drawer…

“Pfh-Pfh-Pfh…”

Pile of socks on the floor.

Likewise, you and I can regard our own chosen devices in much the same way: an escape, a safe zone in which we are freed from scrutiny, pressure, responsibilities and complicated issues. And again, the usual suspects present themselves: substances, food, acquisition of possessions, power, status, relationships, etcetera. An all-too-common drill.

And, again, as I battled with disordered eating and body image issues, I raced to food, to starvation, to extreme exercise, to conspicuous consumption to fill some big black chasm that never got filled. It was all an attempt to be, to stay, safe. And, it had many built-in rituals that were little more than desperate superstitions to keep real life at bay.

No harm could come to me, so long as I had these things as my protective armor. This is what I told myself.

I opened drawer.

 “Pfh-Pfh-Pfh…”

Pile of eating disorder socks on the floor.

And what I also told myself was the following…

This is Comfy.

Again, what was the destination goal for Glory, as she pondered my husband’s dresser? She wanted that drawer, lined with, warm, soft shirts. She wanted to be comfortable.

And, if she had to make a mess in the process, so be it.

She was convinced this drawer solution would soothe her fears, her discomfort, whatever perceived threats she felt were coming after her.

And so, opened drawer.

 “Pfh-Pfh-Pfh…”

Pile of socks on the floor.

Comfort food, again, held so much of that same faulty promise for me. Food represented that elusive comfort from the abuse, the insecurities, the pressures. It was seen as so powerful that, when I was at the most intense peak of my eating disorders, no matter where I was on the scale, I obsessed about it. In my most desperate frame of mind, I would have done anything for it. My morals and dignity quickly evaporated quickly, as I not only stole from my college roommates, but I also ate from dumpsters.

Opened dumpster.

“Pfh-Pfh-Pfh…”

Pile of mess in my life.

Again, I was convinced I had my answer and I wouldn’t stop until I got my next fix. My sleep experiences revealed, although I didn’t know it at the time, that yes, I was, indeed, having “drug dreams.” I literally dreamt about my binge foods. I was a junkie.

Can you relate? What kind of junkie are you, my friend?

What is your vice?

The chosen object of our passion isn’t nearly as important as the motives driving our pursuits to obtain and experience it.

What would we do, sell, steal, kill, destroy, cheat and lie about to get our drug of choice?

The question, perhaps, illustrates that one powerful compulsion is, in fact, our need and want to feel comfortable.

Whereas Glory felt relief, hidden from the monster while resting on a bed of soft cotton shirts, you and I feel what feeling or answer when it comes to the concept/promise of “comfortable?”

 What will we be spared from? What will we escape? Enjoy?

Everything, ranging from complete, instant gratification to oblivion seems to be on that list.

The list is long. The list is endless.

And the list contains, in our vulnerable beings, the non-negotiable of “Comfort.” Being uncomfortable is forbidden.

So, again, opened drawer.

“Pfh-Pfh-Pfh…”

Pile of socks on the floor.

And how about this wonderful “reason?”

I don’t want to change.

That’s what it can come down to, huh? Resistance to change.

For ten years, my husband and I have tried to soothe Glory’s nature. We have used plug-ins, that supposedly radiate calming pheromones, reducing feline stress levels.

Nope.

We have bought Lavender-infused Catnip to induce a tranquil feline high.

Nope to that also.

We have spent hours luring her with wet food, treats and playtime.

She takes all of that, for what she can extract out it... and runs.

So, again, nope.

We cannot change who she is in this frightened, highly sensitive domain. And, while she has her loving side, while we may have made some inroads there, she still reverts to her drawer-empty, sock-tossing, let-me-hide-in-this-hidden-space behavior.

She doesn’t want to change.

Yes, indeed, good luck, getting this 10- year-old feline to embrace any other thought than that.

Opened drawer.

“Pfh-Pfh-Pfh…”

Pile of socks on the floor.

And you and I are not that far removed from this feline. Don’t we have our stubborn streaks?

After all, let’s do a little life review of our various attempts to “fix” ourselves.

Enthusiastic leaps into diet, fitness and self-care…

Personal Makeovers…

Leaving an old relationship, career, geographic location, etc., in exchange for a “new and improved” alternative…

Maybe even a few stints at rehab or some retreat?

And how many times have those endeavors worked? How many of them “stuck?”

Eh, that’s often a little shakier, isn’t it?

The reality, inevitably, seems to rear its head.

Opened drawer.

“Pfh-Pfh-Pfh…”

Pile of socks on the floor.

Why? Because often, we don’t want to change. Either we aren’t ready to make the commitment, or we aren’t willing to make that commitment.

And commitment is necessary to make any significant, lasting change.

That is SCARY!!!!

Therefore, that brings us to something you and I cannot escape…

We are finite beings.

It’s not an excuse or a license for bad behavior. It simply is reality.

Glory, in her cat ways, is a limited being. She doesn’t know everything there is to know in the world. She doesn’t understand principles of trauma bonding or therapy. She operates from instinct and from her limited worldview, which dictates certain things, like the sock drawer, mean something significant to her. She may realize, with my husband and I, that she is loved, safe and important…to a limited degree.

Nevertheless, she will always have that sock drawer as a default setting for herself.

And we, as human beings, are not that far removed from her.

We can make strides; we can enter recovery. We can learn new strategies, make advances and become healthier.

But you and I will always be finite.

Vulnerable.

A being with limits.

It’s not an excuse. It’s an unavoidable reality.

Accepting that, not pulverizing ourselves for that, can often get us healthier in our lives.

Will it get us perfectly cured?

Nope.

Will we fail?

Yes.  

There will be stubborn issues. Some may never get resolved. We may have sock drawers that beckon us. If we heed that call, we aren’t worthless failures.

We are beings.

“Pfh-Pfh-Pfh…”

Pile of socks on the floor.

But, make no mistake about it, we possess far greater value than that occurrence. It’s evidence of a most important struggle for a most significant being.

You.

Me.

Copyright © 2019 by Sheryle Cruse

Cover Squirrel

Translation: Codependency

Cancer has gotten my attention on many things.

But one thing I hadn’t quite counted on confronting was codependency. And, oddly enough, or appropriately enough, I faced mine as I was placed in a position in which I needed to be taken care of in an intense way. There’s nothing like a threat of death, major surgery and life-altering changes to one’s physical body to really get someone to face their own limitations and unflattering codependent nature.

One can argue we all are codependent, to varying degrees. It’s not just about enabling a drug addict or an alcoholic, say, giving them money, a place to crash or bailing them out of jail. Codependency is often more subtle than that.

Again, trusty-dusty Wikipedia gives us its definition…

“Codependency is a behavioral condition in a relationship where one person enables another person's addiction, poor mental health, immaturity, irresponsibility, or under-achievement. Among the core characteristics of codependency is an excessive reliance on other people for approval and a sense of identity. Definitions of codependency vary, but it is generally defined as a subclinical, situational, and/or episodic behavioral condition similar to that of dependent personality disorder. The term is less individually diagnostic and more descriptive of a relationship dynamic...”

Uh-huh.

Human beings are nothing, if not codependent. After all, we’re social creatures, interdependent on working and living together. Each of us has strengths and weaknesses. The “many hands make light work” principle is often trotted out, encouraging unity and getting things done, etcetera…

On and on, creating nothing but codependent behavior for miles!

Yes, we need to be helpful, of service… within reason.

With BALANCE!

And here is where you and I can get tripped up, as our poor self-images, need for purpose and our extreme approval- seeking demand we overextend ourselves, again and again.

It would be ideal if we would and could recognize this, each time we fling ourselves into self-destructive, unrealistic “save the world” patterns.

But often, we are too much in the middle of our self-imposed tornadoes to witness them spinning us out of control. And then, like Dorothy, from “The Wizard of Oz,” we say to our crisis-stricken lives, “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore!”

Cancer has strongly nudged, if not, forced me to examine how I was showing up for others in a codependent fashion.

Maybe you’ll see some of yourself here.

Again, as human beings, it’s hard not to fall into at least a little codependency. Largely, I believe, that’s because it has a lot to do with unrealistic expectations, both others’ and our own. Boundaries can be blurry, if they even exist at all when we traipse into a relationship dynamic with another person.

Codependency can be sneaky and subtle. It is often revealed through what others say to us. Here are just a few of my greatest hits. Enjoy.

“You’re so thoughtful!”

I have heard these words uttered repeatedly throughout my life. It usually follows on the heels of me doing some gift-giving. I love to give gifts; it’s a big way I express love.

However, I’ve needed to adjust my gift-giving, post cancer. I soon discovered, although it was never voiced, certain people expected the gifts to keep rolling in after my diagnosis, while I was in the hospital, getting my surgery and as my energy levels were zapped.

Still, that notorious expectation… People wanted things “back to normal” from me. Yes, they paid lip service, acknowledging my health crisis, saying things like “You take care of yourself.”

Yet, actions do speak louder than words, don’t they?

Eventually, their patience wore thin. I was taking too long to recover. I wasn’t “back to normal.” I was different. And soon, there was the pressure for the gift pipeline to resume. Resentment, and sarcasm were executed as I tried to “explain” why I just was not getting with the program.

And soon, unrealistic expectation reared its ugly head within me. Guilt. Arguments like “I should give them money, flowers, gifts like I did before. It’s not that bad. I can do this. They’re counting on me. I can’t let them down.”

I was saying this stuff as doctors strongly cautioned I “take it easy.” That meant no gift-giving, no excessive thoughtfulness (obsession) with pleasing someone else.

I had to take care of myself. I had to rest. I had to receive gifts and help instead of worrying about dispersing them like Santa at Christmas.

Ho- Ho-Ho. Not as merry, as I battled with expectation.

Translation: Codependency

What should everyone expect in this situation? When does expectation become demand?

Gift-giving/receiving has to do the spirit in which it’s done (the intention from both giver and receiver), the expectation (from both parties) and the sense of self derived from doing so concerning both parties (“Am I loved or worthless, based on the transaction?”)

That last one, especially, just shines a big Klieg light onto the “all-or-nothing” way of thinking. Codependency thrives on that premise. We’re either Savior or Villain. There’s no room in between.

“You’re very conscientious!”

This statement has also been directed at me. It’s not in the realm of gift-giving. Rather, it mostly operates in the context of “acts of service.” I do something for someone. Fairly straightforward, right?

Nope.

Here was usually where I responded to an emergency. The only thing was, it wasn’t a one-time thing. No. I had to repeatedly rescue the individual. This was a pattern.

Yet I was not being conscientious for conscientious’ sake. I was simply envisioning the worst- case scenario… and it was solely up to me to prevent it.

How’s that for ego? How’s that for completely unrealistic, unhealthy and unsafe expectation?

Translation: Codependency

Here’s where I was a participant. In these circumstances, whether they be rife with abuse, manipulation or dysfunction, I was choosing. I think that’s what gets lost in the shuffle for so many of us, even within these circumstances. We are constantly choosing, making thousands of decisions each day about how we will respond to, well, life.

Iyanla Vanzant, a well-known life coach, has a great quote: “You can always make another choice.”

Not surprisingly, we, codependents are not thrilled about that statement. We’d rather believe “there is no other choice” and “I have to do this.”

No, we don’t.

It’s not about shaming anyone who has been through abuse and treacherous situations. When you’re in it, you are in survival. There may not be much luxury to analyze the complexities of the environment as, say, you and I are simply trying to stay alive and sane.

However, if we can grasp onto any notion of power and control that we do have access to, we can tap into that power of “making another choice.” It’s not easy; it’s not instant. It’s ongoing and imperfect.

And it is possible, however, whenever, wherever you and I can accept it. We can make different- and better- choices.

 “You have a servant’s heart.”

This one still makes me cringe. I have heard it spoken to me within a volunteer context, where being pleasing and accommodating were held in high regard. And, usually, that means there is some form of worthy cause, implying self-sacrifice and “the greater good.”

In my personal experience, this applies to church. I want to state, church is just one of the many possibilities out there when it comes to being codependent in group settings. I’m not “picking on the church.”

However, yes, indeed, codependency is often encouraged within a church setting. For me, personally, whether I was doing something for a pastor, “the team” or “for the Lord,” it still called into question what was appropriate… and what was not.

It is a sticky question to entertain. Just how DO you and I deal with things when it appears The Almighty is counting on us?

But notice my words; I say “appears,” meaning, is that really what’s going on here? Or is it something else?

Volunteering is a noble, loving, human endeavor. But, if/when you and I add matters of faith to the equation, there can be added pressure and blurred boundaries to the mix.

I received a lot of great insights, camaraderie, and personal discoveries of myself within my church volunteering experiences.

But, undeniably, I also received some toxic messages, encouraging harmful codependent behavior, for “the greater good.”

For me, that meant staying long hours, being sleep deprived, stressing myself out because of unrealistic expectations (from both myself and from church staff), neglecting my husband and my writing, because, after all, “this” (whatever the current task or project of the day was) APPEARED to be that much more important.

“THIS,” after all, included…

Saving lives…

Saving souls…

Feeding the hungry…

And so, I heard the statement, part approval, part warning…

“You have a servant’s heart.”

As long as the pastors were pleased with my performance, as long as I made things flow easier, generated more money, removed burdens, was compliant and cheerful, while being self-sacrificing, I was, indeed, that stellar person with the servant’s heart.

Deviate from those mentioned examples, however, and I risk being the exact opposite? A selfish, unloving, uncaring person?

Can you see the agonizing, double-bind trap to it all?

Translation: Codependency:

We all need to do our part. Yes.

However, spoiler alert, misuses of power and codependency can thrive. And, as we’ve heard of many scandals over the years, church is not immune from those exploitative behaviors.

But, again, this goes beyond the church. Think of any “well-meaning cause.”

“The greater good.”

Think of organizations and groups that have set such high bars of curing humanity’s ills. To make any and all of that happen, even the most well-intentioned group can fall prey to encouraging codependency. There can, without anyone realizing it, emerge the message…

“You need to keep giving and doing at this high level, for the cause, so we can experience the results of it.”

Yet, there is less realization and appreciation to OTHER results which can occur if we try to keep up this impossible pace…

An emotional and mental breakdown…

Depression…

Anxiety…

Addictive behaviors…

Broken marriages and relationships…

Deterioration of one’s physical health…

And, while I was impacted by much of the above listed, what, again, got my attention the most was that last one, via my cancer diagnosis.

Now, to employ church terminology, my “temple,” my “vessel,” was at risk.

Translating Codependency:

I wish I could say that my epiphany was one distinct moment. It wasn’t, even with my diagnosis. Rather, it was a subtle awakening, like slowly coming out of anesthesia.

I think that’s what it can be like for most of us codependents. We often don’t know what we’ve experienced until, perhaps, years- even decades- after the fact.

Hindsight, 20/20 stuff.

But, sooner or later, we come to recognize the dysfunction, the pattern. And, sooner or later, we recognize it’s not working. Our way of dealing with life must change.

People pleasing and being viewed as “nice” can bombard us with guilt and obligation. But we need to look closer at what those connotations are all about.

And, within the framework of codependency, it’s about others’ needs being more important than our own. Each of us needs to recognize our needs, wants and desires are JUST as valid as someone else’s. And sometimes, they take priority over that other person’s situation.

It’s the cliché example of the Oxygen mask on an airline flight. You need to put your own mask on FIRST before you can help anyone else.

And, even if there is no one else around to help, you are worthy enough to pay attention to.

That is the translating we codependents need to be doing.

All by ourselves, without anyone else’s needs or demands, we are worth it.
Copyright © 2019 by Sheryle Cruse

Perspective

In high school art class, I was taught the definition of perspective:

“Two seemingly parallel lines meet at a vanishing point on the horizon.”

And, to get a more tactile lesson in that definition, my art teacher had us students draw our high school hallway, capturing that perspective.

So, there we were, a bunch of ninth and tenth graders, perched at various points of the hallway, our 18 X 24- inch sheets of paper taped to gigantic drawing boards that could be used to bludgeon someone.

And, from there, with our pencils and rulers, we endeavored to capture that illusive perspective line. No easy feat. I learned an art class lesson very early; draw LIGHTLY. It was hard to thoroughly obliterate a mistake of a dark line, even with the thickest of pink gum erasers.

Furthermore, the challenge of capturing perspective’s line, on the first attempt, was usually incorrect, meaning, what was supposed to resemble the flow of a long hallway, quickly became the row of lockers colliding into the opposite wall.

Two seemingly parallels lines meeting at a vanishing point on the horizon?

Hardly.

It was more like you’re never going to be able to open your locker again.

For the few weeks we students were doing our artsy sit-in, probably, while being fire/safety hazards. And, I have found myself learning a few lessons, beyond the drawing of a hallway, ever since.

The Seemingly Never-ending Row of Lockers:

They seemed to stretch for miles.

With my trusty-dusty ruler, I had to carve out several of these sliced buggers while, again, making sure that they, somehow, met at a vanishing point on the infernal horizon. These drawn slivers of locker had to be spaced accurately. You couldn’t just have a three-inch block of locker next to a two- millimeter slice. They had to TAPER!

TAPER!

As I was lightly drawing with my ruler and pencil, I kept thinking about the school lockers. How many instances of bullying, getting shoved into them and getting sexually harassed near them have occurred, since the dawn of high school time? I know I experienced a little of my own hashtag Me Too back in the day.

As I was sitting in the exact same spot on the hallway floor, day after day, I started realizing how much lockers were a metaphor for life.

Each locker was a contained space. Each locker held something: unique, personal expressions of its master. An athletic calendar of upcoming events, a photo of a boyfriend or girlfriend tacked on the inside of the door, books, lettermen’s jackets, gym clothes, maybe an unwieldly instrument like a trombone for band practice. Each locker was a representation of a life, positioned next to another locker, representing another life.

And so on, and so on…

But, as I was vexed with the task of drawing locker slice, after locker slice, it also occurred to me how much lockers represent something more universal and philosophical.

Uncertainty? Monotony? Tediousness?

Life going on, regardless? Yay.

Who, in their adolescent mind, really thinks about boredom, the disappointment, the loss, beyond that of high school experiences? It can be further challenging as the “adults” force feed teenagers glimmering promises of pristine futures, limitless achievements, happily ever after, perhaps?

I know, I know, I know. You can’t break it to ‘em just what life actually is. Each person needs to find out for himself/herself.

These lockers just captivated my attention, way back when. If you focus on something for long periods of time, other thoughts show up.

And, no matter what age or stage we find ourselves in, past high school, there is still that row of clustered sliver blocks, lockers, representing us, veering toward some point, which, one can argue, is our mortality.

Decorate your locker with that!

The Floor:

You know the scene in the 1991 film, “Terminator 2?” There’s just endless road, lurching forward, ominously predicting how cyborgs were going to kill all of humanity? Well, that’s how I viewed the hallway floor as I went about my art project back in the day. It’s was smooth, polished green, and it seemed to keep going, always with the threat of tripping you up.

It appeared to be more menacing than the lineup of endless lockers. After all, there was no personalization here. To quote the band, REM’s lyric, just “three miles of bad road.”

Fantastic. Higher education.

I couldn’t quite get a handle on the hallway floor, this buffed, jade-green surface, for which many a times, I’d tripped and fallen, splat, onto it. Being uncoordinated didn’t help; slippery Minnesota winters, trudging in pools of melted ice further also created obstacle courses, en route to the lockers and classrooms.

But, overall, I suppose what got my attention was how the floor represented the path, life’s path. It just stretched before us, yes, tripping us up from time to time. There would be falls; there would be injuries. Graduating from high school would not- and could not change that.

So, hit the ground running, hit the polished hallway floor running, hit whatever pathway we encounter running, sooner or later, well, life happens.

Breast cancer, for me personally, was just one bit of evidence to support that theory. Although, yes, I was always uneasy with my breasts, no one ever told me, as a young person, that this experience would be part of my hallway floor, my path, the ongoing stretch of life set before me.

Sometimes, disease, illness, loss and death are the floors we must walk on.

Exit Sign:

As that high school student, drawing the hallway, my vantage point had an Exit sign within my sight line. Nothing extraordinary about it. You’ve seen one Exit Sign, you’ve seen them all.

It was positioned to my left, so, I proceeded to draw it in the top left corner of my paper. A simple, slightly rectangular box, with “Exit” written in it. Not much to write home about.

I thought my little sign was adorable. It made a statement. And it wasn’t just, “Go! Get out of here!”

No, rather, it was, “This is the way out.” Simple, less violent, no teenage stampeding, crushing bodies trying to escape the hell of high school.

I was enduring high school. Most of us do. It’s a time fraught with angst, bullying, rejection, awkwardness and lonely insecurity. So, naturally, we’d probably do anything we could to escape that.

All things are subject to change. It’s a universal truth, Inevitably, life does change, some way, somehow. Signposts, signaling an Exit here or there, prompt us to acknowledge and remember we will move on a have different experiences.

For me, personally, high school would end and an era of eating disorders, in their full expression, would begin throughout college into my young adulthood. And then other transitions arrived: marriage, my writing career, loss of one parent, caregiving to another… and cancer.

No one could prep me with a big enough Exit Sign for THAT one.

Yet, here I am, supposedly, in Survivorship mode, navigating the uncertain reality of what the ultimate Exit may mean. Yes, I think about how I once so innocently drew that little sign on the top left side of my paper, never entertaining how much thought I’d give it later.

But eventually, you and I do give our personal Exit Signs a lot of thought, don’t we? Something ends, something “phases out.”

And we need to start over again.

Vanishing Point on the Horizon:

Back during that high school art project, as we sat at the end of the long hallway, there was the destination apex, where, supposedly, our two seemingly, parallel lines met at a vanishing point on the horizon.

When it came to the literal high school hallway I drew, that was represented by a large window at the end of the smoothly polished jade-green floor.

A window- well, there’s a metaphor, huh? Let’s look outside. What’s beyond it? What does the world look like, from here?

The trick, in drawing the beast, was that, on sunny mornings, blinding sunlight would stream through. You had to be careful, looking directly at it. No one here was a wise Native American elder, practicing the ritual of staring at the sun until his/her retinas burned out, while simultaneously, achieving an enlightened vision.

Hardly. Remember, we’re a bunch of teenagers. One needs to lower that expectation a bit.

Still, as I averted my eyes, trying to capture the window, noting how the entire end of the hallway was Madonna’s white-hot set in the “Lucky Star” video, I couldn’t avoid one simple truth:

There is more.

Perspective.

We don’t always see everything when we think we should see it. That, I guess, is what hindsight is for. When you and I are finally mature, wise, compassionate enough to handle the deeper truth in life, then, the vision revelation often comes…

“Oh, so that’s what that was.”

If we try to force things, before we’re ready, we can burn ourselves out. Our retinas may be intact, but something else can be destroyed, if not seriously damaged.

We’re not ready for “it” yet.

Hopefully, we will be someday. But today- now- is not that day.

And, until we are, we need to keep learning the lessons our spirits were assigned, our cosmic homework.

We don’t get finished, actualized, enlightened, all, in one fell swoop. It’s a series of smaller vanishing points on the horizon, smaller, “Oh, so that’s what that was” revelations.

One after the other.

“Draw what you see, not what you know:”

This quote was uttered daily by my high school art teacher and it sticks with me, to this day.

In the drawing context, the point she was trying to hammer home with us was to not get ahead of ourselves. Yes, we may know there’s an ear or a flower in the still life’s vase, but are we actively experiencing drawing the shape and the line of what is before us?

No, we, instead, want to go full steam ahead and draw what we believe is that ear or flower. We’re not in the moment, experiencing it with our pencil. We are assuming instead. Assumption rarely leads to great art.

Going beyond art class, my teacher’s wisdom is the gentle reminder to experience what I’m going through, not make assumptions about what I may or may not encounter. I have yet to master this skill; I can be a bit of a control freak, wanting answers.

Cancer was a doozy for me, therefore, in that department. I don’t know, I REALLY don’t know, what the future will look like. Sometimes, I’m uncertain about my present.

And the past? Well, I’ve had to face it and challenge myself with what truly happened. That’s more painful than just assuming the tale I’d like to believe.

So, yes, I’m currently in a state of challenging the past, present and the future. Although I’d like the tidy, fairytale, “happily ever after,” I have to face and live “what IS.”

I need to draw WHAT I SEE, AND NOT WHAT I KNOW.

And, the irony in doing so is this: I discover, learn and know more from practicing the “what IS.” Truth over story.

Eventually, when you and I face what we see, we, inevitably, stumble upon something. Some personal revelation. Some lesson.

I’ve read some affirmation statements, encouraging us to rejoice, to make the best of things when we find ourselves stuck in a hallway, known as our life circumstances.

Don’t worry. Soon, a door will open and ta-dah. Chin up. That kind of thing.

I don’t know how realistic that advice is. Some hallways are quite brutal. Waiting is the equivalent to agony.

Perspective: “two seemingly parallel lines meet at a vanishing point on the horizon:”

Not all of us draw our high school hallways, trying to get the accurate look of 3-D dimensions from lockers, doors and floors.

But ALL of us can achieve perspective. What do the issues, events, people and places mean to us?

What vanishes from prominence? What emerges as predominant?

No two perspectives are exactly alike. They are fingerprints; they are snowflakes.

A challenge, perhaps, is to recognize that, to find meaning from it. To face what intersects, what disappears and what remains visible.

Perspective. More than just an artistic term.

Copyright © 2019 by Sheryle Cruse