Words of Green

Official website for author Tammy Green

Recovery

The Problem With Compassionate Empaths

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The term “empath” may be familiar to you in reference to the Myers-Briggs scale, indicating someone who is intuitive or feels things. However, if you’re an empath, it’s likely that you already know it.

I was an empath even as a small child but didn’t know it for many years because I wasn’t conscious of the term. It took me much longer than usual to realize that other people felt differently from how I felt, and that not everyone could understand my internal experience (or even wanted to). Eventually, however, I did realize this, and have spent the past decade trying to understand not only my own experiences, but empaths as a whole. Now, as an empath with several years of experience, I’m aware that there are advantages to being empathic. However, there are also pitfalls to empathy that can make life difficult for those who have this psychological trait. So, what are the cons of having heightened emotional awareness?

1) Overwhelming emotional experiences

One of the biggest challenges for empaths is learning how to handle the intensity of their own emotional experiences. This is due to a phenomenon called emotional contagion. Emotional contagion is defined as “the tendency to automatically mimic and synchronize facial expressions, vocalizations, postures, and movements with those of another person”. In other words, empaths are likely to involuntarily take on the emotions of those around them. Empaths are able to accurately sense and distinguish between other people’s feelings, but it is difficult for them to prevent themselves from becoming overwhelmed by strong emotional experiences that are out of their control.

2) Lack of boundaries

An empath has a hard time differentiating between their own emotions and the emotions of others. This can lead to intense personal relationships, where they feel like everything is shared, but it can also cause them to neglect themselves because they think other people are more important than them.

3) Sensitivity to stimuli

Being an empath means that you are sensitive to stimuli of all sorts. They can be sensitive to light, sound, taste, or smell. Also, they may have a difficult time going out in public because of loud noises, unpleasant smells, and crowds of people.

4) Physical symptoms

Being an empath makes it hard for you to distinguish between your own emotions and those of other people, which leads to physical symptoms of diseases or other ailments. This can cause them to think they are sick even though they are perfectly healthy.

5) Mental overload

Being an empath means feeling everything that’s going on everywhere, which leads to mental overload and being overwhelmed by emotions. They have no way of selecting what to feel and the emotions can become too much and can cause them to shut down. Also, if the emotions and feelings of others are constantly coming into their area, it makes it very difficult for them to stay in a positive mindset. They may feel like they’re drowning in negativity and sadness, when there’s no reason for them to be sad. Mental overload and constant bombardment of emotions from those around them can also lead to emotional burnout and develop into severe anxiety for the empath. It’s not uncommon for empaths to also suffer from PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) as a result of all the emotional damage they’ve accumulated throughout their lives. This can also result in an imbalance of serotonin, the feel-good chemical that helps keep our moods balanced. Without it, stress levels rise and depression becomes more likely. The best thing empaths can do is protect themselves with meditation, visualization techniques, and other protective methodologies. They can also avoid letting others take advantage of them, practice self-care routines, and even use their abilities to help heal others.

In conclusion, compassionate empaths are sensitive to energy and emotions. They can easily become overwhelmed by the negative feelings of others, which is why it’s important for them to monitor their exposure levels. In this article we’ve explored what a compassionate empath is, how they may experience life differently from other people, and some ways compassionately empathic individuals can protect themselves from being over-exposed to negativity.

To learn more about the adventures of a real-life empath, grab a copy of my book HERE.

Photo by Jessica Delp on Unsplash

Embracing Vulnerability

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Shame and guilt are two emotions that occur together often. They both stem from our sense of right or wrong, but they come at it differently. Shame is about what we think other people might think of us; guilt is more about hurting ourselves. When you feel ashamed it’s usually because you’re thinking of what someone else thinks instead of yourself. You might be thinking “they’ll know I’m ________” or “they’ll know how _______ I am.” Guilt, on the other hand, comes more from the inside out; if something ever makes you feel guilty it’s because you hurt yourself with some sort of an action (or inaction). Sometimes shame can make you do things that harm your self-esteem like binge drinking, but for the most part, guilt is what we feel when we do something that hurts ourselves. Add in feelings of weakness, and you have a recipe for low self-esteem, low self-respect, and unworthiness. Shame, guilt, and weakness are often linked because sometimes shame comes from feeling weak or less than average. It can be hard to separate them though because sometimes people cover their feelings of shame with guilt by making themselves feel guilty for being ashamed in the first place.

When I was younger, I was terrified of being vulnerable. It wasn’t just the fear of being made fun of or ridiculed by other people, although that definitely played a role in my fear. It’s also the fact that when you’re weak for too long, you start feeling useless and broken.

Understanding the differences between these emotional states leads me to my next point: embracing vulnerability.

Vulnerability is when you are open with your feelings, without fear of judgment, even when it’s icky or awkward or makes you want to run and hide in embarrassment. It can be scary because letting go of any sign of weakness means that you risk being exposed to vulnerability with other people. But isn’t that kind of the point? Isn’t there some wisdom about no risk being no reward?

I know for me personally, I have a lot more success in communicating what I need when I’m able to talk about my feelings surrounding what’s going on instead of burying them underneath layers of shame. It also helps me maintain stronger relationships with the people around me because they feel like they can trust me more rather than having an emotional connection that is partially real and mostly a facade.

Most people try to cope with the feelings of shame and guilt by trying to ignore or cover them up. When we feel these emotions, our first instinct is often to try to suppress them rather than dealing with the source of the discomfort they cause us. However, this doesn’t make shame go away; in fact, it only makes it worse because now there are two conflicting thoughts inside your head!

Here are five ways you can start letting go of negative feelings of shame, weakness, and guilt:

1. Nothing is bad or good but thinking makes it so. Are you feeling shame because of something that happened in your past? Do you feel guilty about an action you took? If so, stop labeling the things that have happened to you as “good” or “bad.” It’s easy for us to get caught up in thinking that one thing is inherently bad while another thing is good. This is not the case. The only thing that makes something bad or good is how we label it and think about it. All action has a consequence: this is not good or bad, but what you do with it can be good or bad.

2. No shame, no blame. There is absolutely no shame in the fact that you have acted in a way that you yourself consider to be detrimental. Blame implies that there is someone at fault, and who’s fault is it when nobody else was involved in your actions? What happened, happened. You are not responsible for what others do or how they react, but only for your own actions and reactions. That being said, you are responsible for your own emotions as well as all the consequences of your action stemming from those emotions.

3. It’s okay to be wrong. In fact, it is great to be wrong sometimes. It is a good thing to be proven wrong if you have been acting on faulty assumptions. But there are times when nobody can prove you wrong because none of the conditions for your action were ever met (meaning that the possibility of being proved wrong does not exist). The downside of having completed an action based on faulty assumptions is that you have to live with yourself afterward. There are no other consequences. Know your boundaries and when to switch over from “I think” mode into “I know” mode because once you move into the latter, all further discussion becomes pointless.

4. We all make mistakes. You are allowed to make mistakes. You are even obligated to make mistakes because a mistake is nothing more than another way of doing things. Productive people learn from their mistakes and adjust. Unproductive people simply repeat them and blame everyone else for their failure. One way to begin learning from your mistakes is by thinking in terms of “failure modes.” Failure modes are more than just slips and lapses; they can include mistakes, incorrect assumptions, poor organization, lack of knowledge… anything that contributes to a less than optimal outcome. The way to begin learning from your failures is to take the time to find out what you did wrong, why it happened, and how you can avoid doing it again in the future.

5. Feel the fear and do it anyway. Of course, it’s natural to feel a bit nervous when you’re about to put yourself out there. A little fear can even be a good thing, as it keeps us sharp. Learn to see the upside in failure. Every failure contains valuable information that can be used to avoid or minimize failures in the future. Being vulnerable is daring to be ourselves. by sharing our stories instead of hiding them away, we are encouraging others to do the same. We are talking about our lives, what gives us joy and meaning, what breaks our hearts. What’s the antidote to vulnerability? Nothing! So go ahead, try something new…see what happens… break free from being so scared of life. Don’t be afraid to love this much.

Vulnerability is one of the strongest things you will ever do. Being vulnerable means expressing your true emotions openly. Just because you made a mistake once doesn’t mean your entire life deserves to be thrown out the window! Have faith in yourself and trust yourself enough to know that you can get past this feeling. As William DeFoore said in his book, “There’s no way around this stuff—no shortcut, no get-around, no back door. It’s always going to sting a little when we tell someone about our stumbles. It’s worth it, though, to experience the freedom that comes with sharing these stories because only when we own who we are can others love us for who we are.

Check out my book, Living Without Skin: Everything I Never Knew About Fierce Vulnerability at www.livingwithoutskin.com to learn more about my own journey with vulnerability.

The Book Is Here!

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Living Without Skin: Everything I Never Knew About Fierce Vulnerability is finally here! Click on Buy the Book in the banner above to get your copy today, or find it anywhere books are sold!

Feeling vulnerable is frightening.
Being fiercely vulnerable is phenomenal.

Most of us spend a lifetime trying to avoid pain and insecurity while overlooking the power we inherently possess. What would you do differently with your life if you knew you were failsafe at birth?

If you’ve ever felt vulnerable, weak, or like a complete failure, you can transform those feelings into fierce superpowers.

Life can leave you feeling raw, naked, and skinless. Learning to live without skin can turn you into the superhero of your dreams!

Prepare for an extraordinary and sometimes humorous journey that begins with a child’s imagination and ends with an ordinary adult’s transformation on unexpected paths.

You’ll discover how embracing vulnerability can help you:
– Learn how to find and wear the skin you were created for.
– Uncover the core of your individual insecurities, and transform them into strength.
– Connect internally and externally to humanity-defining power in a personal and public environment.
– Heal from trauma so it isn’t passed to the next generation as culture.

Step out of your old skin. Be your own fierce hero.

A Little More Haphazard Blogging

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It seems as good a time as any to check back in here, especially since my last post was in November, 2020. I feel pretty confident that none of us were sad to see THAT year go. As we came through the beginning of 2021, it appears many of us were just trying to find stable ground again – emotionally, spiritually, and physically. I certainly was.

I have finished writing the book, Living Without Skin. I decided to shoot for the moon when asking for endorsements, and I sent requests to Brené Brown, Glennon Doyle, and Elizabeth Gilbert. I assume we’ll be “talk-on-the-phone” friends by next year anyway, so I wanted to get a jump on building our relationships. Of course, I didn’t get a response from most. However, Brené Brown’s team actually did respond – with a PERSONAL response vs just a canned “No”. So, clearly the first signed copy will go to Brené (who will likely never know how close she came to being famous by endorsing my book).

“Hmmmm…I’ve always wanted to write a book.” Are you thinking that? Do you have a great story? Dreaming of having a different career? Thinking that writing a book must be glamorous and an ideal job? Um, no. It’s a J-O-B! Writing, in and of itself, is a lesson in slicing open your heart and bleeding all over the paper. And, unless you’re famous and you have a publishing company doing all the legwork, putting that book together and actually publishing it is WORK! So, it’s been a labor of love, and definitely a check mark on the bucket list. I am unequivocally proud of it, and of my truth that I managed to tell.

Stay tuned for more information on ordering your copy starting August 1, 2021. We’re halfway through 2021 with many of us gratefully recovering from 2020. Let’s make the last half of this year amazing! Onward.

Rip

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The year of ripping, of goodbye, death, of the word “cruel” and being able to say “you are not who I thought you were”, the year of sickness, when the whole world stopped. The year I broke open, and my guts spilled out onto the paper, into the earth, when I learned that spirit is larger than body, and bodies are fragile. Everyone this year tells me ‘your words resonate with me’, and minds are twisted – the veil between good and evil is opened. The year that slammed me into humanity/humility, stillness, laughter, softness in the corners found underneath the shadows and the swords. Skinless and raw, with scabs that have somehow become scars, and scars that have become beautiful mosaic tattoos on my soul. The year of feeling someone else’s pain, sitting with it, holding a hand, wiping a brow, cupping a face while a hurricane boils inside me. The year of drowning in powerlessness and worry while flowers bloom, the ozone clears, the air is cleaner and fresher than ever before in my lifetime, sadness and joy weave and wind throughout soul and heart like serpents and doves. The year of evolution, revolution, mixed with flour and butter and honey-the best birthday cake ever made for the earth, and I learned through loss what love really means. The year I found my place, and I belong.

A Life Affair With Sobriety

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Today I celebrate 25 years sober. In a week, I’ll celebrate 52 years of age. It’s a good marking point for reflecting on a life affair with sobriety. I managed to survive the first 17 years without alcohol by honing my sarcastic and comedic skills. I coped with the shit show of my life by being funny. I took my first drink at 17 with friends in a car on a back road, and my life changed in an instant. That giant, empty hole inside was filled instantly. I was immediately beautiful, successful, and intelligent. I was worthy. I was loved. I was important. Mind you, nothing about my environment had changed, but finally, something outside of me made me feel whole.

I started college at 17 due to the way my birthday falls, and not because I was academically ahead of my peers. It was the first time I had been entirely responsible for myself in choosing things about my life, such as curfews and friends. I made the most of it immediately. I chose friends who were much more street smart than me, and I made it my business to catch up in the shortest amount of time necessary. I quickly learned that I could continue to function in my life while binge drinking on weekends. I continued to live this way through college and my first and second adult jobs. I managed to buy a home on my own, and made it through several promotions at my third job before I realized that my drinking was a problem.

My friend called me the day after a night out together and told me to go check my car. I asked why. She stated that I hit a car and drove off laughing. I was shocked. At this point, I knew that I always blacked out when I drank, but I never thought I would do something morally wrong while blacked out. It shook everything I knew about myself as I could have easily hit a living creature and drove off and I would never had known. I went outside to check my car and it was damaged. I was devastated. Who in the hell would I be without alcohol? All of the confidence, esteem, and success that I had earned thus far was to alcohol’s credit. I was 26 years old and having an identity crisis about breaking up with alcohol.

Through my job, I voluntarily admitted myself into an outpatient rehab program. I remember two things: 1) my counselor told us to look to the left and look to the right of us.  One in three of us will stay sober, and 2) I had to go to 90 Alcoholic’s Anonymous meetings in 90 days, and I had to have a form signed for my counselor at each one for the first 30 of them. An introduction to AA was the best gift I got from a treatment program.

Fast forward six months. I met my future husband across the room at an AA meeting. I thought I had finally arrived. I was living like an adult, and doing adult things such as home ownership, getting married, starting a family. I was doing it all without alcohol. I was scared to death of life, but I put on my big girl pants. I showed up and stared life down whenever it roared. I did it. I had a great job, a new family with a husband and two stepchildren, a nice car, and a new home. I spent so long faking it until I thought I had finally made it. I attended AA meetings with my husband, and I didn’t drink that day.

Fast forward four years. I always wanted to be a mother. It was time. I was 30 and the clock was ticking. It took a year to get pregnant, and my daughter was born when I was 32. I have never known anything like the feeling I had when I looked into her eyes for the first time. I saw the past, present, and future in one glance at her face. I fell into a love that rocked my whole world. I attended AA meetings with her in a baby sling, and I didn’t drink that day.

Fast forward 9 years. Life happened. I was bored. My marriage was boring. My job was boring. Everything was ending in a wall, including my marriage and job. I had started two businesses, bought a big house, enrolled my baby in an exclusive private school, and watched my husband move to the opposite end of the state to start a business there. But I was empty again inside. My life imploded. My businesses were failing. My husband was staying away from home more often. The payments on the big house were getting behind. My health was not good. There was no light at the end of the tunnel. I attended AA meetings while crying daily, and I didn’t drink that day.

Fast forward 3 years. I put myself through school for a second degree after my businesses failed. I moved myself and my daughter to a smaller home after the divorce was final. I began working again in a different field and began another small business. When my ex-husband told me angrily that I could date whomever I wanted, male or female, I discovered a new truth about myself. I embarked upon dating again, this time I was dating women. I attended AA meetings, and I didn’t drink that day.

Fast forward 9 years. I met the love of my life, and I married her. My beautiful daughter, whose eyes hold the universe, started college. Many family of origin members have distanced themselves from me, and many new family of choice members have become prominent in my life. I still have the small business that grew from my failures. My ex-husband and I have a friendship today of which most would be envious. My daughter’s siblings, my oldest two children from the marriage to her father, are a wonderful presence in my life. I work in a job that I love, and am beginning a brand new career doing something I have always loved. The hole inside me is fuller than it’s ever been, and I am the most complete me that I’ve ever been. My life is good, and I remember all the joy and pain of almost half of it. I attend AA meetings, though not as often as I should. Today I didn’t drink. Happy 25 years to me.

What fills the hole inside you? Living life on life’s terms doesn’t get easier with age, or sobriety. Aren’t some days unimaginably perfect?  And aren’t some days absolutely unlivable? Know that this, too, will pass. Good or bad, it will pass. Focus on today. Lean into the wonder or the suck. You can do anything for one day. Let tomorrow take care of itself. Don’t give up. Ask for help. The miracle is waiting for you. Your tapestry is waiting to unfold, and I can guarantee it’s beautiful.

Community

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It’s a word typically used to describe a characteristic of a group of living beings. It’s been used in many different, and quite varied, settings. “Homeless community”. “Church community”. It’s a way that people categorize themselves, identify themselves, and label themselves and others, good and bad. Some communities carry a negative connotation. Some make people appear more esteemed than what’s warranted in reality. A very simplified definition of the word “community” is a group of living things sharing the same environment. At the most simplified interpretation of that definition, it implies that every living being is in a community with another living being. We are all in. We all belong. Yet, we don’t. As humans, we instinctively try to find a pecking order where someone appears to exist at a higher tier than another, for whatever reason. A rich person feels superior to a poor person. Someone with a roof over their head is superior to a homeless person. Someone with a lighter skin color is considered by some to be superior to someone with a darker skin color.
Why? Why do we use the very thing, community, that brings us all together to separate and debase other living beings? I make up that we – all of us – are insecure about our own place in community. I submit that we have an inherent fear of not belonging, not being included, not being seen. I believe that many of us greatly curb and scale back our own individuality in order to fit into expectations and perceptions of a specific community. We are conditioned from birth to conform, fit in, modify behavior, believe so that we can belong. We teach our children to do this because it’s what we were taught. And the cycle continues.
“Be quiet.” “Use your inside voice.” “Don’t speak to me in that tone.” These are all things I personally heard during my childhood. However, it’s taken me 51 years to love the fact that my loudness walks into a room before I do. I was reminiscing with family a few days ago about the time when I was five years old on a routine Friday night sleepover at my grandfather’s home. I was already in bed, as was he, when I asked for a glass of water. Exasperated, he told me no, that it was time to go to sleep. I responded, “All I want are my rights.” Who could have known what a prophecy that would become? It’s my earliest memory of randomly pissing off family members with my words and actions. 46 years later, it’s evolved into an art form. I’ve managed to alienate a mother, a sister-in-law, a brother, innumerable aunts and uncles, and cousins by simply being loud, opinionated, and unapologetically living my truest, most authentic life. And that’s just my kinfolk. Just imagine how quickly I can piss off people who aren’t related to me.
That has most assuredly impacted my space in community. Some have thrown me away. Some have taken me in. Here’s what I’ve learned along the way about community.

  • I’ve always had a voice. I had to learn how to use it effectively, and become indifferent to how others expected me to use it.
  • I exist to pull others into community, even while I am discarded from it.
  • I don’t have to agree with others to love them, and I have the capacity to love them even while they are hurting me.
  • Family is not blood. They are relatives. Family is who stands beside you through the good, the bad, and everything in between. Pay attention to who those people are and appreciate them.
  • My pain always has a purpose.

I’ve paid close attention the last few years to the community around me. I’ve become selective about what I allow into my life. I exist in several communities today. I am part of a recovery community, activist community, female community, gay community, family community, animal parent community, empathy community, empty nester community, real estate community, medical community, writing community, and spiritual community. Not a single one of these communities defines who I am. I used to be part of a relative community, church community, soccer mom community, single parent community, student community, corporate community. Not one of those communities ever defined who I am. Most importantly, I’m hyper aware of the simplified community to which I belong.
Humans are such funny creatures. We need to belong. We need it like the very air we breathe. We seek it out in the oddest of places such as gangs, drugs, bars, recovery rooms, and other places when we are discarded from one where we thought we belonged. And we find it. Whether or not we survive it is a different story. We always find it.
I’m grateful today for community, a group of living things sharing the same environment. I’m even more grateful for those who gift it freely to others. I aspire to be someone who creates community. If you are non-residenced, non-Caucasian, non-Christian, non-affluent, non-gender identified, non-female, non-male, non-straight, non-gay, non-married, or any other thing that makes you feel like you are separate, you belong here. I encourage you to stop being “non”.
Find your voice.
Include everyone.
Love regardless.
Pay attention.
Use your pain.
Be who you are, and know that you are valued. You belong. You are my community, and you have a place here.

The Importance Of Picking A Damn Good Baby Daddy

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Dysfunction in my family of origin went unnoticed by me until I started college. Silence in my childhood home was only interrupted by the most mundane of conversations – “what’s for dinner?”, “Unload the dishwasher before I get home.”, “Get your shoes before you miss the bus.” My mother had a new arts and crafts hobby each week. My daddy found as much as possible to do outside to get out of the house. I read books…a lot. Country music played on the radio in the background. The only thing I ever remember us doing as a family was square dancing. (True story. It was a small town. It’s part of my past just like braces.) Even that involved couples, so really we only rode in the same car to the event.
We didn’t take family vacations. We didn’t attend sporting events together. We didn’t attend church together. We didn’t play board games around the dinner table. We existed as individual islands within four walls. I had no idea that families actually did things together until I was invited to the homes of different friends, and I witnessed family discussions, planning, devotions, etc.
When my ex-husband and I met, we discovered that we both had similar stories of broken homes, disappointment, and addiction in our families. Both newly sober, we were determined to break the cycle of brokenness. And we did, for a time. We created a home and a family for his two children, and planned a future for us, them, and possibly more children. We worked hard on ourselves individually so that we could be as emotionally healthy as possible in a family of our own. We made mistakes. We made amends.
More than ever before, the dysfunction in each of our families of origin was prominent. As our recovery taught us, we learned to accept, take what we needed from it, and leave the rest. Some of the time, old ways overrode new ways. We made an effort, and we didn’t quit when we stumbled.
Somewhere along the way, we lost the “why” of us among the living of us as a family. Our time on the path together was ending. We were sad, disappointed, and confused about the situation in which we found ourselves. As most wounded people do, we took a few emotional shots at each other. We tried to blame, and finally accepted. We realized that it was time for us to move on individually. After watching my own parents go through a horrible, ten year battle of a divorce, I was determined that was not going to be our fate. He didn’t want to recreate the divorce of his parents either. So we found a place in the middle, and we went about the business of unbecoming a family.
We were a couple for 15 years, married for 14 of them. Each of us struggled to learn who we were without a spouse again. He now had three children, all of whom I considered mine. I had loved the older two for most of their lives, and I birthed the youngest. They were never my “stepchildren”; they were simply my oldest two. Trying to imagine myself as a single mother of one instead of a family was the hardest part. He struggled financially as the economy was in a recession. So did I.
His mother was still my mother. My dad was still his. Family of origin related to a divorce is awkward. Holidays are hard. We celebrated separately. Sometimes I celebrated with friends.
Life goes on. He met someone new, and wanted to introduce her to our daughter. I wanted to tell him I was dating women. Outside forces tried to create chaos between us, but we eventually remembered who we really are. We yelled a few times over the phone at each other. We calmly discussed the children at other times. He asked about my dad. I took his mother to dinner. He created a beautiful life with his girlfriend. I dug deeper and deeper trying to learn who I was. The children grew.
In 2013, he was involved in a serious accident that almost took his life. He was crushed from the waist down and in critical care at the hospital near my home. As I told my daughter, I could see fear take over her eyes. When I asked if she wanted me to go with her to the hospital, all she could do was nod.
And then I knew. I knew what family was. I knew I needed to be there for her, for him, for our older two children, for his mother, his father, his stepmother, his girlfriend, and his siblings. I knew, in that one split second, that family isn’t made with marriage certificates, divorce decrees, custody agreements, or even DNA. Family is made when you care more about someone’s well being, and the well being of those they love, than you do about yourself.
Love is so many different things at any given time on the planet. Romantic, young, exciting, new love is the easiest, most addictive love. Married, bill-paying, mowing the lawn love is a little harder. Strange, awkward, after the divorce, caring, not romantic love is virtually nonexistent. And I knew. I knew this family is the legacy we are leaving our children. This non-traditional, outside the box, crazy, loyal, suit up and show up family is the gift that we gave to our children.
His accident brought all of us back together for what is real. My older daughter spent weeks sleeping at my house so she could spend days with her dad in the hospital nearby. His mother and I went to dinner more often. Since then, each of our lives has taken twists and turns-sometimes hairpin curves unforeseen.
He has taken steps to fulfill his lifelong dream of living on a mountain. His girlfriend has recently beaten stage IV cancer. His parents have both passed on, along with one beloved nephew. I have earned a second degree, loved and learned, watched some of my own family of origin walk away, and married again. He and his girlfriend, together with my wife and I, have attended college graduations, weddings, and other family events with our children. All four of us have survived our youngest daughter’s teen angst and torture together. We have cried over the phone together, and we have celebrated joy together. He sends a text every year on my recovery anniversary, and on Mother’s Day. I try hard to be diligent about doing the same. I am grateful for the friendship and care that he and I have forged through the years. We most assuredly did it better than our parents.
Recently, my wife was diagnosed with cancer. I reeled, swinging hard from one emotion to another. The phone rang. I answered from the sofa sitting next to my wife. He said, “I saw she was at the cancer walk today. What’s going on?” I spoke haltingly, with false courage, about her diagnosis. And he knew. He knew about family, about caring for someone else’s well-being. He knew about the legacy.
My entire life is littered with the remains of the mistakes I’ve made. I’ve chosen things, people, and places for all the wrong reasons at various times in my life. But the time that it really mattered, the time that it meant family, I picked a damn good baby daddy.

What’s The Number?

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What’s the number?
How much does integrity cost?
Jesus loves the little children.
What number does the GDP reflect when it becomes acceptable to mock a disabled human publicly?
The insidious implication that protectors of a nation are suspicious.
The blatant introduction of national enemies into infrastructure.
All the children of the world.
Boys will be boys, #metoo, school shootings, fake news.
Politics masquerading as Religion. Power wearing a God costume.
What decreased percentage does the national unemployment rate hit when a large crowd of people and a leader publicly humiliate and laugh at another woman’s trauma?
The celebration of clique and hierarchy among humans.
Red, brown, yellow, black, and white.
What kind of trade deficit is appropriate when we just overlook a self-proclaimed evangelical’s famous quote “grabbed her by the pussy”?
What’s the bottom line for deregulation when the selling off of our national parks and public lands get a thumbs up?
Is there a 1:1 exchange ratio for the number of dead Syrian children to each dollar increase in the S&P500?
They are precious in His sight.
Kids in cages in exchange for good growth on those retirement accounts?
The manipulation of a nation to discredit what one can see with their eyes, and to ignore what one can hear with their ears.
A daily insertion of a dystopian environment into a great nation, creating doubts of who is good and who is evil.
Worst of all, the division of a nation. The slow rot from the inside, the disintegration of families, the infectious disease of people against people.
The obliteration of human compassion, the death of respect for humankind, the elimination of kindness.
Jesus loves the little children of the world.
What’s the price tag exactly for it to become acceptable for a human being to be inhumane?
What’s the number?

To The Stranger I Once Called Mama

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The only one who had a plan and a purpose for me was God.
My destiny was to never be enough.
I entered your journey as a mistake – my life a burden to yours.
You wanted me to become your real-life doll. Dolls were never my playthings. My playground was the ball field, the barn, a gravel road that I could explore.
You wanted to bend me to your will. My brain was too inquisitive, asking “why” too often for your comfort.
The lace dresses and ribbon bows in which you draped me were chains. I couldn’t breathe sitting still, being quiet, looking pretty. Outside, the sun and dirt begged me to come play. Barefoot in jeans, scraped knees, dirty fingernails – my lungs gasped for air.
I’m sorry I couldn’t accept the God you pushed toward me. It wasn’t big enough to hold me. I needed a whole Universe to teach me where to find a higher power.
Get out of your hair. Obey without question. You wanted me to need you. I did, for all the things you could never give.
Trust you. Believe you. Fit into your life only where it’s convenient. You wanted me to validate you, but I was just a child.
You wanted me to love you unconditionally, but you are thorny and drew blood when I came near. You were a perfect study in “Go away, Come here.”
You wanted me to respect you, but you could never teach me how.
When I became an adult, I wanted to blame your youth, immaturity. Now, you know better. You still choose pride and ego over a relationship with me.
Now, you want to be proud of me, but you are unable to see the heart in me that is good.
You are aging and your mortality grows nearer. I imagine you want to see yourself in me – an instinctive pull to reflect on the genetic contribution you made to the world.
You are sold on the picture in your mind of who you think I should be. Your limited vision is a chrysalis, but I am already a butterfly as multi-faceted as sunlight on a dew drop.
The only one with a plan and purpose for me was God.
Until
I gave birth to my own daughter.
I didn’t know how to be a mother.  Thanks to you, I knew how not to.
Do the opposite of what you did.
Love her without reason.
Celebrate her just because she exists.
Tell her that being present in her life is pure joy.
That’s how I learned to be a mother.
I know the thrill of participating in her world.
She knows without doubt that she’s every dream I’ve ever had.
I know the absolute bliss in watching her walk into her destiny.
The life from you to me to her is as different as night and day.
Seeing the light in my daughter’s eyes makes me understand the depth of the void in your life. Seeing her fulfill her own purpose and plan is a promise from the Universe.
Do you grieve? Do you even understand your casualty?
I’m sorry that the box you live inside locks out the light of your daughter. I’m sorry you can’t see the magic and divinity that I am.
It’s not a loss to me anymore. It’s a loss to you, knowing you chose to let me go.
The only one whose plan and purpose mattered for me was God.
My destiny was to be so much more than enough.

Happy Holidays From The Cheap Seats

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Holiday season is here.  Break out the turkeys, casseroles, Christmas carols, gifts, and family.  We all picture the cozy family gatherings viewed through a frozen, candlelit window pane amidst snow softly falling. We don’t ever imagine the actual train wreck it is for many of us. The reality is, for those among us in recovery, those among us who are LGBT, those of us who are desperately trying to establish our own truths about our identities as adults, that family ends up being a place where we don’t belong. Aunt Edith is going to whisper (loudly) all the latest gossip about cousin Ned’s latest stint in rehab so that everyone within a 50 mile radius can hear it. Another relative is going to ask gay cousin Jim what happened to his last “friend”. Granny is going to get pissed because the rolls are burning and no one can be bothered with helping. And God knows that someone is going to bring up politics. 

My approach was always to laugh it all off. It’s an interesting approach considering that *I’m* the gay, recovering alcoholic in my own family. I’ve turned Aunt Edith’s comments into humor. I’ve distracted the conversation away from the pain of a recent breakup with a joke. I’ve responded to Granny’s ire with a suggestion of happy pills for everyone. What I’ve learned is that my humor keeps me popular in my family. I’m able to stay safe within the role assigned to me early on. I’ve also learned that my soul dies a little more when I cover up my authenticity with humor. 

I’m sure that I’ve never fit into the role in which I was assigned within my family. I tried hard for a very long time. I did the next indicated, expected thing throughout my youth and young adulthood. I made good grades in school, did my assigned chores at home, went to college, pledged a sorority, dated guys, graduated, got a job, bought a house, got married, started a family. 

I discovered that around age 26, I didn’t drink like others around me. I drank to fill a hole inside me, and alcohol worked. Until it didn’t. When I got sober, I remember a family member saying to me “Don’t mention that you’re sober around these people we’re going to meet.” As if it was something that was shameful. I was conflicted because my heart and soul felt clear and right, but my family didn’t know what authenticity looked like on me. Later, at around age 40, I suffered an economic setback when the housing bubble burst. It left me broke, unhealthy, divorced, and confused. I didn’t know who I was without everything I’d built to that point. I literally went to AA meetings for 3 years crying and trying to stay sober and parent my daughter single handedly. I felt embarrassed to tell my family that I had failed at life. It ended up not really mattering because no one asked. I found support, love, and nurturing in my sober recovery group when my family was absent. Later, at around age 44, I discovered why past relationships felt confusing to me when I learned that I was gay. Interestingly enough, the people I was most afraid to tell were my family. It took a year and a half for me to come out to the three people in my family to which I felt closest. There are a few who love me without reason. There are some who still feel the need to tell me they disagree with my lifestyle. There are some who are just more comfortable when we don’t discuss it. Even after that, expressing and living my personal values from a political viewpoint has further alienated loved ones from me. I’ve accepted that I’m not for everyone. The  difference for me is that I don’t pretend to be something I’m not anymore. I am flawed, honest, real, strong, loved, human, and authentic. I am proud of who I am today, and I have nothing to hide. I have a 100% survival rate from the pain I’ve suffered, and I’m a better person for it.

Since then, I look back over the last 50 years of my life, and I compare the person I was as a child to the woman I am now. I hold up a magnifying glass to myself daily and I inspect myself carefully for the nuggets of truth about me that feel right and clear. I pay attention to my intuition and I choose to live in my truth today. My history of not choosing that path has proven that my heart and soul depends upon my own authenticity. I don’t cover my pain with humor, and I speak up, even to family, when something is done or said that contradicts my personal “clear and right”. 

The fallout of speaking up for one’s own authenticity is that sometimes it distances one from family. In all fairness, they simply don’t know how to respond when the space where I used to fit is now empty and a new person stands before them. Some of them still see my heart as they’ve seen it all along. Some walked away. I walked away from some who intentionally choose not to see me. I didn’t realize, in some cases, that the last time I spent with some of them was, indeed, the last time I would spend with them. 

Today, every day means something to me. Every person to which I give my time is important to me. I choose to give my time and attention to those who want to give their time and attention to me. I choose to live as authentically as I know how to be in this moment, holidays and every day. 

I am most assuredly non-traditional. There is no snow falling softly outside my window. There are no unloving, hurtful comments at my holiday celebrations. We did not have turkey and stuffing at our family holiday gathering. My daughter, at age 18, has learned to be bold in expressing her own authenticity, and I couldn’t be more proud of her. Holidays feel clear and right. Happy Holidays from my family to yours.

Lessons In Training For A Marathon (Or Learning To Write As Art)

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“How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.” We’ve all heard the cliché describing the undertaking of anything that seems overwhelming. So it is with signing up for a writing course when you’ve never written anything for publication. Except it isn’t. Does fear of vulnerability, exposure, or failure exist at the prospect of eating an elephant?

Much like deciding to begin writing for actual readers, I set a goal four years ago to run a half marathon. I began training for it a full year in advance. I couldn’t run a complete mile without stopping when I began training. I hired a coach to help me make a plan, and reach my goal. My plan began with running one mile by running for thirty seconds and walking for two minutes in intervals until I reached the set distance. I thought I would die. 

At around the same time in my life, I heard encouragement from friends who read short excerpts of things I randomly posted on Facebook about how I should write for a career. I decided to set a goal of learning how to do so and exploring ways to make it financially viable as a retirement career. I didn’t really DO anything to make a plan for reaching that goal. But I thought a lot about it. 

Lesson learned: Setting goals for things that seem impossible create hope for dreams that could come true. It’s never too late to do it.

Three months into training for my half marathon, I had developed a routine for my weekly training miles. I would awaken at 4:30 a.m. on the days marked for running, and I would quickly dress and head out the door to get an hour logged. I had progressed to three mile sessions with running intervals of one minute runs and 1:30 minute walks. I joined a couple of running groups locally, and I signed up for local races. During the races, I learned that my average pace of 14 minutes per mile was dismally slow compared to others in my group. I felt discouraged and worked hard to improve. Most days sucked and it wasn’t easy.

My writing goal was still lying on the ground with no wings or plans to grow any.

Lesson learned: Making a commitment requires daily work. Following through is most important when the suck factor is overwhelming.

Six months into half marathon training, I learned that my consistency in following my routine was paying off. My pace had improved to 13 minutes per mile, and I discovered that I loved running in the rain. It felt exhilarating! My training plan began to include a long run on the weekend of varying distances of more than three miles that I was logging on a given day during the week. Most days sucked and it wasn’t easy. Occasionally I had a great run, and I was encouraged. But I was petrified of trying to run a longer distance than three miles. I will never forget the feeling that I had when I finished my first 10K! I was on top of the world, and I felt like I could do anything!

Oh, hello, writing dream. I’ll catch you later. I’ll pen a few poems here and some random thoughts there and call it a day.

Lesson learned: Hard work delivers a payoff. Naming a dream is not the same thing as working for a dream. 

The night before the half marathon, I was petrified. I’m not sure why. Maybe I thought I would die, or fail, and everyone would see that I’m a fraud. I’m not a real runner. I was still running intervals! That race was hard. Parts of it sucked. I felt discouraged. I questioned myself and my reasons for doing it. I finished my first half marathon in three hours and 15 minutes. I was most assuredly a real runner, and I had the heavy metal to prove it! I was invincible!

Writing? What writing? I’ll just wait for more inspiration.

Lesson learned: If I make a decision, I can make a plan. If I make a plan, I can be accountable. When I am accountable, the dream happens.

I set a goal to run a full marathon by the time I turned 50 years old. I signed up for the actual race almost a full year before the race date. I was petrified. I hired my coach again to help me make a plan and get there. I will be 51 years old one month before the race. I am training now. Most days suck, and my pace is actually slower than ever. Occasionally I have a great run, and I’m encouraged. I know what to do. 

I set a goal to begin writing for actual readers. I applied to Elephant Academy to learn techniques and make a plan. I know what to do. I have to devote time consistently to learning and practicing. I have to endure the suck to get to the great parts, and I am encouraged. I have to make a plan, and I have to be consistent.

Lesson learned: To reach any dream in life requires knowledge of elephant eating. Follow instructions. Be consistent. Practice. Endure the suck. Appreciate the great. One bite at a time.

How big is your elephant?