Menopause and Infertility

So hey there loves.
Yesterday was menopause day, aka CD 366. One full year with no period.

The past year has been filled with chin pimples and fading hair, skin that is thinning everywhere, showing the impact of gravity and estrogen loss.

As someone who lived, it seemed, cycle to cycle for so many years.  A late cycle would bring hope then torment and sadness. The year before last was a year of long periods, of wondering more than once if maybe, just maybe........ but then a panic would set it, what if? and what if I had a loss? And I think that might have happened but I did not check with sticks or temping... just waited things out.

Once, my first long cycle, I was sure I was pregnant. And the mixture of emotions was profound.  Amazement.  Fury. Hope. Fear. and then, when the bleeding started, such immense loss.  And then, the next time, I mostly felt loss, that I was officially out of the zone of possibility, no way for a good outcome even if... and to feel my body changing, to see it changing.... well, some changes are easier than others.

So today marks perhaps the first day of not wondering.
A feeling of in between. No longer that.  Not yet wholly and fully this.

Maiden, mother, crone. and the middle one holy moly mo-cro.
I am both.

not a day goes by where I don't feel wonder, even if it is wonder and madness.

So here we are.  in the middle of the middle.

Parenting and anxiety

I wish I could scribble in this space, a big wad of crossing lines of different thicknesses, thorny with barbs, wire maybe, all tangled up.
My anxiety
and Della's
and the non linear cycles they create.

Parenting is hard when it is easy. We have the most wonderful spirited, smart, sensitive child.
And those very things also predispose to anxiety, and holy fuck
hers and mine tango
and
it sucks beyond measure.

My panic disorder is finally ordered thanks to medications and EFT, TFT, EMDR and WTF.
But my child shares my triggers, has her own, and her anxiety triggers mine.
So off we go, into some form of hell.

A new therapist for her, interview on the 15th of April.
A new therapist for me, April 9th.
Empathy and compassion
exhaustion and blues
my adrenal glands probably look like craisins.

Got some great advice I am trying to apply: observe not absorb.

but it is like a tuning fork is struck and we share a harmonic frequency,
and the ground starts to shake, and the skies open, and I feel lost in it, to it.

***
so here we are.  thriving so much of the time, but the time when it's hard is like an eclipse when the ancients thought the world was ending even if the harvest had been mighty.

the end of the year

so here we are at the end of the year, and I am thinking about what i have learned. I learned I need to create, in ways that feel creative to me, as I am doing the work, letting the work through me, it is not optional. it is nourishment. it is essential. I have learned that too much work is not the blessing it may appear to be, but can impact everything in ways that feel like suffocation. that right work in right amounts is delicious. i have learned that my body and mind are brave and that my panic was/is pain trying to express itself. be heard. be understood. be accepted. and pushing it down and away is impossible. pull up a chair and listen, katekate. That is what it needs. after panic I need rest. full rest. sleep or distraction. I need to refill. i have learned I am not good at that. I bullshit myself. I am excellent at that. time to trade a little of my excellence in bs into excellence in self care. unapologetic. simply necessary. i have learned that I need connection that is simple. and I need conversations that are complex. that I need beauty that is simple. and beauty that is beyond imagining. I need to make space(s) for myself and within myself to hold who I am growing into, so I don't take the shape of an old container like a pot bound plant. I define the shape by my growing. i have learned that loving others is what I am here to do. and that others includes me. i have learned that doing my best work means telling the truth, even silently to myself. i have learned that I can speak, and that the listening is not up to me. but that I can speak in ways that make it more likely to be heard. I have learned that my enthusiasm can be a deterrent. too much. and the best I can do is laugh and call it what it is, and know that it is a filter. if I am too much, then maybe the work is not the right work, or the person is not the right fit, or the time is not right. my enthusiasm is a gift. but so is my conscious awareness of others. let me bring both together more harmoniously in the new year. i have learned that my changing body does not mean I have to reject myself because I am no longer familiar. it is an invitation to renew my own familiarity with this place I call home. recognizing I am in a time of rapid and chaotic transition. my needs will change as fast as my topography and my chemistry, and i need to cultivate self compassion, curiosity and fluidity in adapting. I have learned that love can be deep and distant, can be simple and complicated. that I can love and be loved and not understand or be understood. and that understanding is simply not as necessary as acceptance. If I wish to be accepted as myself. i need to accept others as themselves too. it goes both ways. both. in and out. out and in. like breath. i have learned that my mosaic of friends and family create the reality of my support system. that no one can hold the whole of my needs and no one should. I have learned to be a better piece in the mosaic of others'. I cannot be everything to anyone else either. i have learned that i know shit about parenting and my history of abuse and codependence makes this so so hard as I dance the crazy impossible certain to fail dance of conflict avoidance... but am doing my best with a smart sensitive spirited sprite whose energy outpaces mine like an Australian sheep dog. i am learning the difference between reacting and responding. this, my friends, is slow painful learning. i have learned how much of my life is tethered by a self I tend to so rarely. the one who is me. not the roles, the duties, the actions, the work. but this kateness, this one. this one who sits and writes and words come out like salty water of tears of joy and relief, face turned upwards toward whatever is out there, that connects with all and the everything, including all that is in here.

big love and gratitude

Time is a funny thing, isn't it? It goes too slowly or too quickly. And then suddenly it feels like I drop out of the maelstrom and months have passed.

There is no single day that passes when I don't think about this space. How it has held me, saved me, kept me from going insane. How you, the you that read back then, and those of you who stop by and say hello, the friends I have made, and the blogs I still visit from time to time to see if there is any new news... you are a family to me. A family that understands things that no one else really can, and I want to say thank you.

I am not going anywhere, just feeling very big gratitude right now.
For not having to go this alone.

THANK YOU
big love,
Kate

ISO

Hello loves! Looking-- seriously-- for an only child IVF girl of color -- preferably smart and spirited, to become a penpal with Della. Della is now 7, and would love to find someone to talk with who is like her in ways that her class mates are not.

Her class mates all are white.
They all have siblings or have siblings about to appear (literally, any moment).
And none that she knows of are IVF babies.

So-- anyone know anyone?  Let me know! An older girl is fine too. And "girl" does not need to mean girl parts. 

THANK YOU!!!!

7

Somehow through miracles bigger than I will ever understand, Della is 7 today. She is immense and beautiful. Smart and funny. Snarky and tender and spirited. She is magical and complicated. Sensitive.
She is not yet independent or resilient or patient or empathetic. She is an only child who wants and believes she needs full immersion intensity, attention, interaction, responsiveness. School is hard, structure is not hard but noise is, and chaos, and no space for quiet. She arrives home tired and hungry. And needing to be internal. So in she goes, but near by.  barks out needs: Toast!  More toast! while her screen saves her with magical worlds the way mine once did with the original Star Trek and no I am not kidding.

I have rarely known anyone so often and deeply disappointed and disapppointable. Or someone with as lovely and contagious a smile and laugh and true silliness.  She knows we are here,  but aches for us to be closer. No longer wants kisses, will negotiate for hugs.

parenting in the time of consent is curious.  Yes it is your body but we NEED to wash it.

and me, oh I am missing the snuggles. I am missing being the throw pillow that held her weight even if not her attention. And as I try to reconnect with my own independence. My own patience. My own resilience. I am strung deep and hard into empathy and anxiousness, my desire to avoid discomfort a true pathology that gets in the way of joy and experience.  And I am navigating like a new driver with a standard transmission, too many pedals, too abrupt a change causes a lurch or a stall or a fearfilled rolling backwards as I forget all I know, emergency brake, flashers, ignition, my ability to walk or sit still or wait or think. there is a perpetual immediacy that I feel in parenting, and am learning (SLOWLY) to create gaps.  longer and longer.  between a thing and a response while still being responsive.  I can say, let me think about that. I can say, hm. I'm not sure.

Parenting means parenting me too.  this weirdness of finding out all the areas I've glosssed over with make do skills.  la la la avoidance. la la la.   well hello there unfinished business, guess I will scooch over and make some more room for you at this big ole table of other things I need to address.    learning and learning and relearning. not always comfortable.  no, that's a lie.  not comfortable nearly ever.   I reposted something on FB today, a great quote posted by someone who posts great quotes. 

Robert Kaplan

“You know, sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Just literally twenty seconds of just embarrassing bravery. And I promise you, something great will come of it.”
Benjamin Mee, We Bought a Zoo

 I cannot promise the same.  Something great may not come of it.  But as I am learning my tiny brave steps.  my tiny insane moments of courage.  I can say that they are their own tiny greatness.  Look, I can say, look. I am trying.  I am pushing beyond what I knew or know. I am thinking of things differently.  I am willing to try to change.   Panic still has fun with me. A recent Lyme diagnosis has not been resolved with doxy. I wonder as I move forward who I am and what will stay, what will go. and how I will adjust to what my body feels like whatever that turns out to be. the same way I wonder who I am and what will stay in the wake of so many years of struggling with panic. I know I am still here. but also ever evolving. ever changing.

Last night, I tucked a sleeping Della into bed after reading, and I felt teary.  A deep ache for time passed and passing.  the preciousness of it all. and the impossibility of the adage to treasure and remember every moment. Some moments suck and are not treasured. Many go unnoticed in the act of being and doing and folding and working. Almost none can be remembered for me.  I know I held that baby full time for nearly a year. And yet, my memory is nearly a dream. the curve of her cheek. her ear. Her eyebrows. the way her chin dimples. Now stretched into a strong 7 year old who cartwheels in the living room, dances, and cries every single time she needs a bath. That, at least, remains the same. A touchpoint that connects the beginning to the now.

 

Offering Solace

This space, as you all know, has saved me more than once. Helped me find myself when I was lost, sat with me in the muck when all I could do is sit. Helped me by letting me know I am not alone. A lot has changed, the blog based community has shifted, and I know so many of those with whom I was journeying have left the land of blogs and moved into other spaces, online or in real life.  But for me, this is home. When I think of where I found myself it is here. And when I think of you all, I think of friends who know the inner workings of what it means to struggle, with identity and challenging bodies, and plans that don't work, and many that go sideways.  Today I want to share a story that is not mine, because it sliced down into the raw in a way that I had not allowed in a long long time. And I wanted to share, for those who can listen. If you have resources and current blogs or facebook groups where Katie can find community please share with me in the comments or with her on her facebook feed (link below).  This is a candid video she shared, live, on facebook after her ectopic pregnancy burst her tube. And I want her to find the support I had. The love I've felt.  The not aloneness you all have offered me.  

*** 

So.

Life - as we all know-- is filled with the soft and the hard, the sweet and the bitter, the lost and the finding. And sometimes someone's story cracks me open in a way that reminds me of the power of telling our stories, raw and beautiful and true. So that others can heal, so that maybe we can too, so that we can speak the unspeakable, and we refuse to be held down by the weight of the untold or maybe even untellable secret wounds.

Saying that we are hurting when we are hurting is one of the most powerful ways to remind ALL of us of our humanity. Our compassion. Our fragility and grace and strength and resilience, all at once, breath by breath, miraculous.

I found Katie Lasky on facebook not so long ago and I am not sure how. But she is a gift and a voice to be heard. And shares a story to be honored.

I warn all of you, that this video is hard. And those of us who have experienced pregnancy loss, tread lightly in your own spaces and make good choices for your own hearts. 

And there are now fundraising links for Katie and her family on her FB feed. 

https://www.facebook.com/katie.lasky.92/videos/10158941679880080/?pnref=story

As above, not always, as below

So here we are.
April.
Snow still up over my boots, but a serious melt happening right now. The sky is full of clouds saying rain soon, rain soon, rain soon, as if that is a surprise. The earth is heavy with water right now, while on the other side of the earth, this rain, this snow, this water would be traded for gold.

So here I am.
Kate.
Snow still up over my boots, and life happening both above and below ground. Above ground, I turned 50. Della is growing fast, and teenagering already, and Doug is nearly ready for his seasons away at camp.  And I am not ready for that, not really. But here we are.

Below ground, I feel a little more stable. New medication holds the wolves of panic at bay. And I am returning slowly slowly to something that feels more like I used to. At least more like I used to.  But different. I'm different. And I can feel the change in my bones.

I do not want to live wary. (I choose this word, not warily)-- I do not want to live in fear.
I don't. I don't want to live waiting for the wolves to come and steal my happy, steal my autonomy, steal my sense of safety.  I don't want to feel as if my grip is tenuous. I want to feel strong and rooted and ready and able.
And I am shoring those up, digging deep, nourishing myself, and trying not to freak the fuck out when a windstorm comes and shakes the whole thing down and down and down.

I want to tell you about parenting and how, at 50, I am still panging with whateveritis that hurts when pregnancies are announced, and when little ones are passed, arms to arms, and the beginnings, so sweet, leave a longing.  I want to tell you we talk about adopting and how, here I am, knees and soul creaky, imagining and not being able to imagine. Not with this child, not in this lifetime, and then I feel bad for feeling that. As if I should be open.  But my openness is to not knowing what will come. Right now my heart is open in the direction of a family member needing extra love. And maybe that is what I am built for, yes, extra love-- here and here and here and here.

I want to tell you I am working hard at work that pays me with people I love. And I want to say that that is enough. But it isn't. I want to be creating more, writing, learning, self-directing.  My financial fear is still in place, month by month, we make it. Have more than most on the planet, and yet, we are of that group that is one emergency away from catastrophe. So for now, I kiss the ground in gratitude, and make lists of things I want to do when I have time, when I allow myself time.

I want to tell you I am taking care of my body, eating well, and walking and spending time outside. But my last two foods were potato chips and potato chips, and I walked to get them at the kitchen counter but I don't think that counts.

I want to tell you that I am flourishing in this post infertility era, this mid life, this amazing life, and I am and I'm not. there is no post-infertility. there is no post loss. there is life after, yes, but it is never "post", it does not recede. it rides shotgun. and I have come to realize that is what this is. a companion of sorts, a thing that is part of my experience that is not undoable.

I want to stay and write all day, I ache for this ache ache ache for this
but now, the timer is going off, the one that keeps me on track (HA HA HA HA HA)
and, coincidentally, also means my egg is ready to eat. the one I have boiled and will peel and will imagine it is anything other than what it is.

sending love

to all of us who are hurting: I send love.
to all of us who are feeling that we or our families or loved ones are at risk: I send love.
to all of us who fear for the safety of others: I send love.
to all of us who have fear: I send love.
to all of us who feel despair: I send love.
to all of us who feel alone: I send love.
to all of us who feel hopeless: I send love.

may love win.
may love win.
may love win over hate and bigotry. may my family be safe. may we all be well.

Crosstalk

anxiety sometimes feels like hunger
sometimes it feels like the stomach flu beginning, a head swimmy dislocation, impending doom
sometimes it feels like drowning or being caught aflame

I am surfing it as best I can. Back on medication to lessen the moment to moment intensity. Doing highly unpleasant therapy in hopes of digging the roots out, but feeling I am battling kudzu, roots cross linking faster than I can dig.

I go from vaguely optimistic to truly tormented to exhausted and depleted and back again.
anxiety leaves grief in its wake.

sadness just is the underlayer, and I am trying to remain open to the messages that all of these things are bringing, but I am just missing my joyous self, my lightheartedness... I am missing me.

I am much better back on the medication, and sweater season will help me camouflage the extra weight that comes with increased stability.

But here is what i know:  even in this shitty space, I am still me enough to see beauty. To stop and notice beautiful ordinary things. To paint raw edged paintings that speak of transformation. I am still present and loving.  And it noticing these moments, I am pulling myself forward, hand over hand hopeful still
still hopeful.

a friend's new blog

My friend LJ is midstride parenting an infant, and she started a blog that is so fabulously raw and honest, here.  go,  read it.  seriously.    https://malleableforms.wordpress.com/

blame it on the moon

New moon and suddenly I feel like I have something I can blame, an external Thing that has nothing to do with me.
A moon, phasing....
These past weeks have been so tender-- so filled with tears. I am sure this is a cleansing of some kind, and I am keeping with my intention to bring curiosity to it, but the tears.
holy wow
then, like a sore tooth, I poke at it-- how about this? how about facebook? how about this video? how about this song? and yes, tears. and yes, tears.
and so why am I poking it?

there is this thing happening, this thing, this thing of anxiety and also of releasing. I am practicing both. Practicing how to live with this anxiety until I resolve it, and practicing how to live with releasing. How to allow the tears. Knowing they are temporary. Sometimes, nanoseconds. But this is a grief thing happening too. As if I am letting off little tiny bits, here, I say to the universe, please, take this.... and this.... and this.... a million little exhalations of stored up sadness.

And i am laughing some too. Sometimes flat out, sometimes wry.
short moments but moments and with each I realize how unfamiliar laughter has become. oh Kate of the booming shake the rafters laugh.
that will come, I know it.
it will.

broadening, deepening

I wanted to post an update on the panic attack tango.
There's been this tectonic shifting happening in my emotional landscape... slow and deep. Things are moving in ways I did not think possible.

I am currently medication free after having really bad reactions to the last few I tried, and finally, just realized that now was not a time I could afford to feel that bad while trying to feel better.  I've dived deeper into therapy-- different modalities than before-- and, rather suddenly,  the sadness spigot was turned on. And the anger spigot. Nothing Big and Dramatic except there is a now a presence where there was an absence.  Tears come a lot now, often, but not for long. Sadness comes a lot now, but not for long.  Anger comes now, but not for long. Each comes and goes, comes and goes, and with each has come such an incredible richness.

Panic attacks are still triggerable- so I am not CURED (angels singing)-- but I am developing a different relationship to it/them.

I know it will not kill me (because it hasn't) and I know it will not stay forever (because it has always passed)-- so now, when it happens, it is horrible.  But then, it is horrible and then, eventually, it is gone again. And I am still here.

I am not feeling cocky, trust me.  This is about reveling in the differences, the changes, the widening, and deepening, the shifting, and the trust.  The trust that I will live, and it will go.  If this lasts? great.  If not? I am so grateful for the break. So grateful.

Online Journaling Workshop!

Coming up on June 3,4, 5 (or download to do when you wish)– I’m excited to be offering a guided journaling workshop!
This is about reclaiming parts of ourselves, long misplaced, buried, forgotten.
This is about inviting ourselves to feel more whole.
This is about mindfulness and presence, awareness, and forgiveness and shame-release.
This is about letting go, even a little, of our fierce grip on some of what keeps us from being able to move forward into who we are becoming.

DETAILS
** 5 guided journaling exercises posted on a private page on my heartwork website over the course of 3 days.
** Each exercise could take as little as 10-minutes
** “ Journaling“ could mean writing or not, art or not, but something “external”, not inside your head, usually works best.
** Participate in real time or download for later.
** A totally optional private, temporary, Facebook group (prompts will be posted there too)
** Sliding scale. 0-$20 via paypal .

This is intimate work, and to make it work as well as we can, we will not be sharing the content of our journals. We can talk about process, feelings, context, but the privacy or our writing or other forms of expression is to allow more complete freedom and unselfconsciousness of both exploration and expression.

This may be for you if you are feeling ready to let go of some old shit, while staying safe, present and mindful.
But this is not for you if you feel at any time it’s not for you. Yes, it is that simple. Trust you. Trust you. Trust you.

+++&+++>      This event has passed and it was awesome.  Interested in learning about upcoming workshops? Sign up for my mailing list on www.kate-johnson.com

good cry

confession:  today I had a good cry.
confession#2: I am actually not sure if I have ever had one before.

I've cried in a billion different ways, but I never would have categorized any of them as good.
except, maybe, the hope-fueled flying penguin debacle.

I always fight it.
Always.
Today I just let it happen.
And you know what? It felt kind of good to not fight it.

but this time was different. Like I was ready to let something go. Or at least let it rise up and be seen (by me, in the privacy of my own aloneness)


So, this to say, hmmm.
Shifts shifting shiftily...subtle but not.

ok then

Ok then.  What the hell was that? Apparently it was my usual panic attack hell + a new layer of total hell in the form of a bad medicine reaction.

On the advice of a dear friend and honorary medical professional by experience (thank you A) who recognized a bad reaction when she saw it, I gave myself permission and stopped the new med and felt like myself again by saturday night. Feeling like myself was pure heaven.

Today I saw the psychopharmacologist, and she graciously agreed that the new med was Not For Me.  Whoot.  I do not need more crazy.

So- a new tact-- specifically a trial of inderal, which I took long ago for social anxiety and liked it. So who knows? I have no idea if it will keep me from triggering into crazy land. I can only hope it will and wait for reality to test it (no time soon please).  The fear of the fear is really debilitating. And I wish I could say otherwise, but I would be totally lying.  I have never, and I do mean never, felt so debilitated. Not by colitis. Not by acute grief even. Because in the midst of the colitis. In the midst of the grief, I knew I was still kate.  When taken up with panic, I lose connection with myself. And that, my friends, is some extra scary stuff for me and probably most people.

I am worried, of course, that it will not work. And that I will get triggered and and and and... and then be on that bad ride. But at least it is a bad ride. Not a bad ride covered in an extra coating of crazy. And I know that is better than my 24 hours of sheer hell from friday to saturday night.

I want to thank all of you-- both here and facebook friends-- for being so incredibly understanding, kind, supportive.... and while I do feel vulnerable talking about this, I think it is really important.

Here I am-- dealing with this nearly invisible thing that pulls me down. And while there is nearly nothing as lonely, I know, I KNOW I am not alone.
How many others have their version of this?  Maybe not panic attacks. Maybe more generalized anxiety (oh my heart goes out to you), or depression (oh loves), or mania, or secret eating, or shopping in hopes to get the Thing that will change everything for the better. Make the aching stop. Make the loneliness go away. Make the feeling of otherness vanish. The Thing that arrives on wings of self esteem and gold dust. Or maybe it is secret shame. Regret. Even longing. Whatever pulls us away from our centers and into the big scary land of insufficiency and out of controlness.

We all have secret wounds. Secret battles. And as we move through the world, when we are strong, I invite all of us to send out compassion to the unseen. The unknown and unknowable in all of us.

surfing

So tonight I am surfing a resurgence of anxiety.
I'm just off an old med, and coming up the curve on a new one, and apparently, the universe decided to have some fun with testing my new chemical balance and created a close-range trigger.

This is panic attack stuff, with a frosting layer of anxiety about the anxiety. It is a crazy thing, being abducted by aliens crazy.  My brain and body feel hijacked, and I become both a sufferer and an observer.  I know that I will be fine, but it does not matter what I know. I feel horrid. Tender, raw, reactive, vulnerable, at-risk in existential ways.

I like feeling together and competent. I like feeling happy and good. I like focusing on the positive. I like looking ahead with happy anticipation. Anxiety is like a kick in the gut. I know I have written about this before, but it is my right now, and I wondered if I wrote about it as it is happening if I could pretend to gain some control over it. Or at least ride it out doing something I love (writing) in a place I love to write (I can't whistle), to people whom I love (Hi Shelagh!).  So here we are.

My brain feels buzzy as the chemicals ache to run their usual course, but my new medication keeps the chemicals from flinging themselves totally out of control.  My new medication kind of traps anxiety, at least initially, in a cage in my solar plexus. It actually rattles there. But with smaller triggers, it rattles and then abates, leaving me watchful but not overtaken. This trigger, today, was the perfect one for me-- direct triggering-- and instead of staying a rattly feeling, I felt the whoosh of chemicals down my arms, through my torso, and up behind my face, my scalp, and the immediate dislocation and desire to fall asleep Right Now, which is probably adaptive.

Some old ancestor of mine probably learned taht right in the middle of the crazy, they would run in circles and make noise and be loud and attract lions. But if they just went to sleep, their brain would reboot and they would not wake the real or proverbial lions.  I think now, when I am super stressed, this desire to take myself out of the game through immediate sleep must have roots that kept my line alive up until now. 

So the first rush of panic comes and then a wave of sadness comes too. Sadness that the panic is "back".  It is as if when it is gone for a while, I dream it possibly gone forever. And when it comes back, I wonder -- why????? how much? how often? how long will it stay activated?  and Anxiety is abusive. And I am scared of it. And that is the second layer.  My response to it is one of fear.

I like to feel like I am in control of.....? everything I guess.
And feeling / knowing / facing that I am not is scary. I wonder if I am competent and capable enough to be able to handle what comes.
I wonder if I can do what needs to be done or if I will freeze, or disassociate from my injured self so far that I will not be functional.

All this to say, I am in a momentarily but deeply sucky place right now.
I am trying to bring my curiosity but really I have impatience and fatigue and a sincere desire to never feel like this ever ever ever again.

thank you for listening.

I'm an April Fool.

4 years ago my tender soul was totally punked by this BBC April Fool video.
I'm reposting it to remind me of the very best parts of myself.
The parts that believed this could be true in spite of all I know.
Go little penguins go!

cookies and otherness

I wish I had a clever name for this, this blue funk that happens just after a mild rush toward selfness. I get this feeling of AH, things are Coming Together, and that is often followed by a time of increased tenderness, increased feelings of loneliness, of otherness, of oddness... of being outside myself a little...

as if, in the act of centering, i slingshot myself out again into the wild dark.

so, a night of crappy sleep, and crazy dreams, and a wintery sunny morning where i let myself get too cold as if discomfort was what I deserve.

what the heck?

So yes. here i am. bundled up after a very hot shower...
contemplating cookies.

two dots and stitch fix

so today I got my first stitch fix box. 
I am not sure if I will do it again or not.

in case you've never heard of it, it's a curated set of 5 pieces of clothes chosen for you to try and (they hope) buy. you can do it once or on subscription. you put in sizes, answer questions, maybe offer a pinterest board for them to see to calibrate your style... and you cough up $20 for styling that can be applied to your purchase.

So for me, this was a $20 exercise in trying on a new way of exploring options outside of my usual usualness....  trying new kinds of clothes on my new kind of body. and I was hopeful that I would learn some things about what feels good right now.

I sent 4 things back but I netted one pair of black pants.  nothing earth shaking there-- no fashion break throughs, no new ideas, no wild deviations...
but wow.... the surprising delight of right fit.

hm

right fit.


and also I learned how cool it is to say nope nope nope nope to all that did not fit. I spent zero energy trying to imagine how to make anything work, what alterations would be needed. just a fabulous unclingy nope and back into the box things went.

yesterday, coincidentally, i tried on my businessy clothes.  all of them.  and have about 7 things left. I realized that this is my body right now. this is my life right now. things need to fit.
The rest went into a donation bag to be someone else's right fit.

**
Two dots

the two dots thing is similar in that I have never been a game player. I actually *hate* games. I do not like to play, do not like winning or losing. I just do not like them.
I started with flow a few years ago and realized there was satisfaction in problem solving. in competing against myself. in trying and learning and trying and learning
two dots: I fail and fail and fail and fail and fail and fail
and I am not a lesser human being.
I am not a failure.
I am simply not winning the frikken game.
Sometimes I do. then, in the way of life, the next level is harder and I begin again and at first and for a long while I fail and fail and fail...

and even though I fail and fail and fail and fail and fail,  I am still not a lesser being.

How cool is that?