"Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. The fearful are caught as often as the bold."-Helen Keller
Finally I have an answer. After a few phone calls and voice mails to my doctor's office, his assistant left me a voicemail this afternoon confirming what I already suspected-"all your results were very normal." No under active thyroid, no diabetes, no nothing. Kind of a miracle considering how horrible I felt and the symptoms I was experiencing. Maybe it really was nothing but stress combined with the heightened awareness that sensitives have regarding any minor changes in their bodies. It could've all been a by-product of the fact that, like it or not, sensitivity means we just can't handle as many of life's demands in the same way that the rest of the world can.
It took a lot of courage for me to go to that doctor. I was scared. I almost didn't go. But something within me was convincing enough to have me put aside my fears and get an answer. So, now I have it. "N" was right. It was probably just the stress of an MBA program on top of 50-60 hour work weeks.
I'm lucky this time. I still have a green light and the opportunity to keep living my "normal" life. The only reminder is the $185 dollars that my insurance didn't cover because I haven't met my $700 annual deductible. Thankfully my company's medical expense reimbursement account picked up the tab. I'm not complaining. I have a piece of intangible freedom in the form of a second chance.
A second chance that I've decided I'm not going to gamble with. Destiny may be a choice, an achievement, and determined by the manifestation of our thoughts, but that doesn't mean it can't stand to be revised. No more pushing. No more striving beyond the limits of what my sensitivity tells me I can handle from day to day, month to month, or year to year. No more ignoring the warning signs and telling myself to "toughen up" or "get through it somehow."
Tomorrow I begin another re-write, as I've done a few times before. I might have to rip out a few of the draft's pages, let the wind carry away a few others, and add a few unplanned scenes. Danger and uncertainty exist whether we choose to face it or ignore it.
One relinquishes control and the other leads you to the creation of what you wish to see. And the only thing I wish to see is a life that I don't have to look back on and wonder where it went.
THE END (for now)..........
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Saturday, November 13, 2010
The Truth Behind Confessions
This week I discovered a great story in the form of a randomly chosen Lifetime movie. Completely chick like I realize, but sometimes I find it amazing how our intuition can reveal the answers to our inner struggles through artistic expressions. On the surface, Confessions of a Go Go Girl doesn't seem like a film with a viable message. The title can give the impression that it's just another producer's chance to make a quick name (and buck) by highlighting the economy's best self-selling money maker: sex, or at least the promise of it.
Confessions is a meaningful surprise however, much in the same way that Jerry Bruckheimer's Coyote Ugly was. The heroines are remarkably similar in some ways-both artists with a dream who become someone they're not in order to pay the bills while they pursue it. In the process of becoming someone they're not they discover their true selves and grow an innate skill that they need to help them accomplish their dreams. Violet is from a blue collar background who uses her sense of self-sufficiency and ambitious drive to take a leap of faith, eventually winning the support of her father. Jane is from a background of privilege, who suddenly finds herself without the support of her family once she decides to pursue a career that they feel is impractical.
Both of these characters soon find themselves in worlds beyond their previous comfort zones. They begin to hide the new persona they're becoming from those individuals in their lives who would find it shocking and unimaginable. But more importantly they begin to use those new personas as an excuse to hide the truth from themselves, as those alternate identities become crutches that prevent them from becoming who they really want to be. Violet and Jane could be any one of us. We all use something to hide from ourselves. We take on a new identity that is the complete opposite of the script that we've followed for so long in order to free a piece of our soul that can't seem to speak the lines.
Sometimes we end up losing ourselves in that "pretend" persona. We forget why we tried it on for size in the first place. We're no longer just pretending. We are that image because it gives us a sense of something that we somehow couldn't give our former self. That's when we're forced to be honest. We have to sit down, look ourselves in the mirror, and ask why we created that persona in the first place.
For me the truth behind that confession isn't that hard to discover. It probably isn't for many of us, once we take the time to take a look at the reflection we've been ignoring for so long. I chose not to believe in myself because I placed more value in the opinion of someone else who said I shouldn't. I created my persona and then became it in order to have a surefire means of achieving "success" so that I wouldn't have to face the possibility of failure.
But the person I failed was my true self. Belief in who you are doesn't come from what others think you should be or the kind of life they think you should be living. You'll be chasing after the wind forever if you think that's where your answers are going to come from. You'll continue to sacrifice your potential in exchange for placing more value on what you'll never grasp. Success by anyone's definition but your own feels exactly like failure. It's empty and meaningless-a downward spiral that turns you into a dishonest performer.
Becoming who you should be starts with one decision and only one decision. The decision that says I believe in the inner reflection that someday others will get to see.
Confessions is a meaningful surprise however, much in the same way that Jerry Bruckheimer's Coyote Ugly was. The heroines are remarkably similar in some ways-both artists with a dream who become someone they're not in order to pay the bills while they pursue it. In the process of becoming someone they're not they discover their true selves and grow an innate skill that they need to help them accomplish their dreams. Violet is from a blue collar background who uses her sense of self-sufficiency and ambitious drive to take a leap of faith, eventually winning the support of her father. Jane is from a background of privilege, who suddenly finds herself without the support of her family once she decides to pursue a career that they feel is impractical.
Both of these characters soon find themselves in worlds beyond their previous comfort zones. They begin to hide the new persona they're becoming from those individuals in their lives who would find it shocking and unimaginable. But more importantly they begin to use those new personas as an excuse to hide the truth from themselves, as those alternate identities become crutches that prevent them from becoming who they really want to be. Violet and Jane could be any one of us. We all use something to hide from ourselves. We take on a new identity that is the complete opposite of the script that we've followed for so long in order to free a piece of our soul that can't seem to speak the lines.
Sometimes we end up losing ourselves in that "pretend" persona. We forget why we tried it on for size in the first place. We're no longer just pretending. We are that image because it gives us a sense of something that we somehow couldn't give our former self. That's when we're forced to be honest. We have to sit down, look ourselves in the mirror, and ask why we created that persona in the first place.
For me the truth behind that confession isn't that hard to discover. It probably isn't for many of us, once we take the time to take a look at the reflection we've been ignoring for so long. I chose not to believe in myself because I placed more value in the opinion of someone else who said I shouldn't. I created my persona and then became it in order to have a surefire means of achieving "success" so that I wouldn't have to face the possibility of failure.
But the person I failed was my true self. Belief in who you are doesn't come from what others think you should be or the kind of life they think you should be living. You'll be chasing after the wind forever if you think that's where your answers are going to come from. You'll continue to sacrifice your potential in exchange for placing more value on what you'll never grasp. Success by anyone's definition but your own feels exactly like failure. It's empty and meaningless-a downward spiral that turns you into a dishonest performer.
Becoming who you should be starts with one decision and only one decision. The decision that says I believe in the inner reflection that someday others will get to see.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
2 am and Dutch Apple Pie
Last night I couldn't sleep. This isn't anything new, especially for someone whose mind likes to keep thinking even when it's time to turn out the lights. One of my good friends from the company I worked for before "Chips 'R Us"-a breast cancer survivor-is back in town. She decided to communicate via her niece on Facebook that she wanted to meet at one of the watering holes we used to frequent. Well, I got the message too late of course, but said that I would love to meet for lunch or "something" before she leaves. It was 2 am. Unfortunately in the backwoods the bars close by 1.
Part of being a sexual assault survivor means that you have a tendency to develop an unhealthy relationship with food at times. Earlier in the day I had baked a dutch apple pie for the upcoming week's possible dessert consumption and had left it to cool on the stove top. I knew better to touch it, especially in the middle of the night, but I was bored and feeling empty so I ate a piece. Or was it two? It was good, but it wasn't the type of satisfaction I was really looking for.
This friend of mine, she's a fighter. Courageous. Funny. Obnoxious at times. We used to call ourselves "The Outlaws," along with another lady we became friends with. "B," "S," and I were there for each other-through the difficulties we faced at our jobs, the difficulties we faced once we punched out each day, and through the life changes we would soon face. We had fun making each other laugh, staying up late at each others' houses knocking back a few drinks, watching obscure movies, and gossiping about the people in our lives. We even came up with names for all the bosses at our job-"Sponge Bob," "Toby Keith," "Stuart Little," and my personal fave, "Peppermint Patty." We were a triad of smart, sassy, playful trouble and we didn't care. The one thing we did care about was each other-something that hasn't really evaporated between the numerous moves and separations.
It's been almost three weeks and the doctor's office hasn't called yet. Either the results of my lab tests came back inconclusive/negative or they're retesting my vials just to make sure. I'm feeling a lot better. No more exhaustive fatigue, only a slight chest pain every now and then when I get upset, and the hair is starting to stay put. As "N" said a week ago when I told her, "oh, that's just stress. It's good to go (to the doctor), but you've been doing too much with work and school. C'mon you're active." I hope she's right. I think she is. I'm leaving a message with the office to make sure, but I've learned to have faith in the judgment of strong intuition over logical reason.
Still I can't help but wonder. Especially at 2 am with my slices of temporary comfort. 2010 has been a mysterious year. A year mostly marked by a lot of reunions and a return of things I once cherished. Some of those returns have revealed new mysteries, confirmed old truths, reflected what I've forgotten, and served as arrows towards a synchronized direction.
"B" and "S" have returned for some reason. Signs of change, "spiritual aid," and "endings" have been popping up all over lately. I miss the carefree aspect of our former closeness, but I know these ladies are strong. They know how to maneuver themselves through adversity and come out more than "ok." Change may be inevitable, but you don't have to let it destroy your potential to become something more than what you were.
Support can always be felt, even if it's just a set of vibes that somehow wakes you up in the middle of the night, craving a few slices of dutch apple pie.
Part of being a sexual assault survivor means that you have a tendency to develop an unhealthy relationship with food at times. Earlier in the day I had baked a dutch apple pie for the upcoming week's possible dessert consumption and had left it to cool on the stove top. I knew better to touch it, especially in the middle of the night, but I was bored and feeling empty so I ate a piece. Or was it two? It was good, but it wasn't the type of satisfaction I was really looking for.
This friend of mine, she's a fighter. Courageous. Funny. Obnoxious at times. We used to call ourselves "The Outlaws," along with another lady we became friends with. "B," "S," and I were there for each other-through the difficulties we faced at our jobs, the difficulties we faced once we punched out each day, and through the life changes we would soon face. We had fun making each other laugh, staying up late at each others' houses knocking back a few drinks, watching obscure movies, and gossiping about the people in our lives. We even came up with names for all the bosses at our job-"Sponge Bob," "Toby Keith," "Stuart Little," and my personal fave, "Peppermint Patty." We were a triad of smart, sassy, playful trouble and we didn't care. The one thing we did care about was each other-something that hasn't really evaporated between the numerous moves and separations.
It's been almost three weeks and the doctor's office hasn't called yet. Either the results of my lab tests came back inconclusive/negative or they're retesting my vials just to make sure. I'm feeling a lot better. No more exhaustive fatigue, only a slight chest pain every now and then when I get upset, and the hair is starting to stay put. As "N" said a week ago when I told her, "oh, that's just stress. It's good to go (to the doctor), but you've been doing too much with work and school. C'mon you're active." I hope she's right. I think she is. I'm leaving a message with the office to make sure, but I've learned to have faith in the judgment of strong intuition over logical reason.
Still I can't help but wonder. Especially at 2 am with my slices of temporary comfort. 2010 has been a mysterious year. A year mostly marked by a lot of reunions and a return of things I once cherished. Some of those returns have revealed new mysteries, confirmed old truths, reflected what I've forgotten, and served as arrows towards a synchronized direction.
"B" and "S" have returned for some reason. Signs of change, "spiritual aid," and "endings" have been popping up all over lately. I miss the carefree aspect of our former closeness, but I know these ladies are strong. They know how to maneuver themselves through adversity and come out more than "ok." Change may be inevitable, but you don't have to let it destroy your potential to become something more than what you were.
Support can always be felt, even if it's just a set of vibes that somehow wakes you up in the middle of the night, craving a few slices of dutch apple pie.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Dealing With the Dark Side of Empathy
Empathy opens the door for a variety of energy. A lot of it could be classified as "negative." When I say "negative," I mean in the sense that an empath often notices and even attracts the suffering of others. They often get people they know and even complete strangers opening up to them about what they think is wrong in the world or the complaints they have about their current situation(s). We want to help and offer support and compassion. Happiness usually doesn't need that. It's already achieved what it needs to. Its feet have long since jumped from the springboard of support it once gathered inspiration from.
There are times that I still get frustrated when I hear nothing but "problems" or let myself be affected by the sorrows of the universe. A majority of the time I don't though. I actually find myself wanting to hear what's really going on beneath the masks of pretend. If anything, I can at least listen, nod in sympathy and feel that the other person has somehow been comforted by just being able to express themselves. Part of the frustration sometimes is feeling like you can't do or say anything that's going to make everything all right. I think it's important to realize that you can't control someone else's destiny. The important thing is to just be there-silent or not so silent-the same way that the sun always finds a way to keep rising and setting each day.
Sometimes you don't realize that the energy that you're picking up or receiving isn't from you. You don't know how to separate yourself from it, and so you internalize it as if you were going through the same exact pain. You can begin to wallow in the negative, thinking that you are somehow a "bad person," have a "doomed existence," or can never achieve a real state of being thankful for your life.
A few things I've learned to do is talk myself through those feelings, take a few deep breaths (sometimes only in my imagination), and find a way to release or shield the energy. At one of my accounts, I have an Assistant Manager who is on anti-depressants and anti-anxiety pills. She's a single mom, with three kids who have some medical problems of their own. To say that she's the happiest, emotionally steady person on this planet would be a lie. She's a good person underneath all that, who's trying really hard to make her life work. I can read her uneasiness, tension, and emotional instability each time I see her. She talks to me a lot. The energy from her words and her voice is pretty strong. It's the kind of "negative" energy that can make you feel as though you've been thrown up against a wall. It's the kind that makes you feel as though your strong sense of self has somehow vanished and any voice you can muster is completely inadequate.
Sometimes she appears to be in lighter spirits, but seeing as how I have a "knack" for bringing out the "real" in people, she's usually on a complaining soap box during most of our encounters. That energy can make me feel uncomfortable. A few times it's caused me to be in a bad mood afterwards. A few times it's made me wonder if she liked me and made me feel as though I was doing something wrong. Those feelings are still there, but they're not as inwardly strong as they used to be. I realized that I was picking up on her "negative" energy before she started expressing what she felt. That energy wasn't me. It had nothing to do with me. It was hers.
When she talks, I listen. My eyes and facial expressions probably get sympathetic and understanding. The few words I do get in might be encouraging or supportive. I might be the only one she feels like she can talk to when she needs to. I might be one of many. To me it doesn't matter. In my mind I've put up a self-made shield that allows me to still feel that "negative" energy, but to associate it with its source, not its destination. That energy is still internalized, but only while it's attached to her words. Then it's gone because I choose to release it. I know in my mind and in my heart that I can relate to what she's feeling-to her energy-but not allow myself to become it. After all, I'm not playing her in a theatrical production or an on-screen version of her life. And even if I was, I would only become that energy while "in character."
Empathy is far from a curse. No one who has made a difference has had it easy. If that were the case, we wouldn't need kindness, compassion, or understanding at all. Support and community would be non-existent.
Without empathy, we wouldn't feel. We wouldn't discover what is real and change things into what they need to be. We wouldn't be capable of becoming the unspoken whispers of our hearts.
There are times that I still get frustrated when I hear nothing but "problems" or let myself be affected by the sorrows of the universe. A majority of the time I don't though. I actually find myself wanting to hear what's really going on beneath the masks of pretend. If anything, I can at least listen, nod in sympathy and feel that the other person has somehow been comforted by just being able to express themselves. Part of the frustration sometimes is feeling like you can't do or say anything that's going to make everything all right. I think it's important to realize that you can't control someone else's destiny. The important thing is to just be there-silent or not so silent-the same way that the sun always finds a way to keep rising and setting each day.
Sometimes you don't realize that the energy that you're picking up or receiving isn't from you. You don't know how to separate yourself from it, and so you internalize it as if you were going through the same exact pain. You can begin to wallow in the negative, thinking that you are somehow a "bad person," have a "doomed existence," or can never achieve a real state of being thankful for your life.
A few things I've learned to do is talk myself through those feelings, take a few deep breaths (sometimes only in my imagination), and find a way to release or shield the energy. At one of my accounts, I have an Assistant Manager who is on anti-depressants and anti-anxiety pills. She's a single mom, with three kids who have some medical problems of their own. To say that she's the happiest, emotionally steady person on this planet would be a lie. She's a good person underneath all that, who's trying really hard to make her life work. I can read her uneasiness, tension, and emotional instability each time I see her. She talks to me a lot. The energy from her words and her voice is pretty strong. It's the kind of "negative" energy that can make you feel as though you've been thrown up against a wall. It's the kind that makes you feel as though your strong sense of self has somehow vanished and any voice you can muster is completely inadequate.
Sometimes she appears to be in lighter spirits, but seeing as how I have a "knack" for bringing out the "real" in people, she's usually on a complaining soap box during most of our encounters. That energy can make me feel uncomfortable. A few times it's caused me to be in a bad mood afterwards. A few times it's made me wonder if she liked me and made me feel as though I was doing something wrong. Those feelings are still there, but they're not as inwardly strong as they used to be. I realized that I was picking up on her "negative" energy before she started expressing what she felt. That energy wasn't me. It had nothing to do with me. It was hers.
When she talks, I listen. My eyes and facial expressions probably get sympathetic and understanding. The few words I do get in might be encouraging or supportive. I might be the only one she feels like she can talk to when she needs to. I might be one of many. To me it doesn't matter. In my mind I've put up a self-made shield that allows me to still feel that "negative" energy, but to associate it with its source, not its destination. That energy is still internalized, but only while it's attached to her words. Then it's gone because I choose to release it. I know in my mind and in my heart that I can relate to what she's feeling-to her energy-but not allow myself to become it. After all, I'm not playing her in a theatrical production or an on-screen version of her life. And even if I was, I would only become that energy while "in character."
Empathy is far from a curse. No one who has made a difference has had it easy. If that were the case, we wouldn't need kindness, compassion, or understanding at all. Support and community would be non-existent.
Without empathy, we wouldn't feel. We wouldn't discover what is real and change things into what they need to be. We wouldn't be capable of becoming the unspoken whispers of our hearts.
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