*8 Things: Anti-Power Messages

I really like Magpie Girl's *8 Things lists.  Yesterday she posted about 8 messages she is trying to counteract in order to stand in her own power more and to enable her daughters to do the same.  Teasing out those old tapes that keep us from risking growth over security, the messages that keep us stuck, can be a long and painful process.  I've identified many of those messages and hopefully begun the process of counteracting a few.  Here are some that I'm working on - and like Magpie Girl - they aren't just for me, I'm doing my best to give my daughters other messages, messages that help them stand in their own power and take the risk to grow.



1.  No pain, no gain. 
2.  Never let them see you cry.
3.  Don't be too smart or no one will like you.  
4.  Emotions cloud your judgment. 
5.  Never tell a family secret.
6.  Good girls don't.
7.  Boys are better than girls.
8.  God = male.

While I could write a paragraph or several on each of these messages, they are pretty clear in their succinct form.  And they represent just a few of the paradigms I'm working to change in my own life while giving my daughters more options and a broader view.  We try to honor emotions, have open and vulnerable conversations within and outside the family, listen to our bodies and make healthy choices, develop our abilities and talents to the fullest, keep open to possibility, and recognize the divine all around us and in each one of us.

In July, I'm going to be trying something new, something that will probably pick up on some of these themes.  I'm taking a challenge to write about something I believe EVERY day during July.  If I manage to do it - my monthly output here will increase about four fold, but I also hope to be able to figure out and articulate what I believe about a range of topics.  More details soon.....

Adjusting the Temperature

Over at Renegadeconversations the other day, Ronna put up a post called "I'm not in charge of the damn theromostat!"  It's a great piece, and it's had me percolating on several different levels for several days now.

I bear scars from the thermostat wars.  My mother radiates heat from her body, drips sweat from her hairline, and gets irritable in temperatures over 75 degrees.  My father must have ice water running in his veins.  He wears long-sleeves, jeans, boots and a hat in the middle of August in West Texas, and I didn't know his pickups had air-conditioners during my formative years.  We had central heat and an evaporative  "swamp-cooler" system that kept us comfortable in all but the hottest and most humid weather.  But comfort was relative - and in my house, everyone could not be comfortable at the same time.  I was the thermostat pawn.  During the winter months, Dad would usually start things.  "Go turn the heater up", he would say.  Dutifully, I'd adjust the dial, bumping up the temperature by a few degrees.  But it wouldn't be long until Mom came fuming into the living room hallway as if she were on fire.  "Who turned the heater up?  It's burning up in here.  I'm dripping!  Turn that thing down!"  And so, ever the dutiful daughter, I would trot over and bump the dial down, this time trying to find a happy medium between the two preferred set-points, usually a no-win situation.  My feet were always cold.  In the summer, without central temperature control, things were a bit less contentious because the only adjustment to be made involved the speed of the air being circulated.  But after a hot day outside in full dress, Dad was often cold in the evenings under the higher fan settings.  And although I don't think he won the war, he did win the summer nights battle, relegating all of us to sweltering and praying for a breeze, because we didn't run the AC at night.

I survived those wars and live in gratitude for central heat and air with a programmable thermostat, plus a husband who is a bit more compatible with me than my parents were with one another.  But physical temperature is not really the point at all.  Ronna's post made me think about how I adjust what I say, how and whether I share my feelings, how I behave based on what will make everyone around me comfortable.  So often, just like I did with the thermostat as a child, I will try to position myself at the perfect in-between, creating comfort for everyone around me.  My tendency to do this increases with the threat of conflict.  I'll do anything to keep it comfortable for everyone else, no matter how much it makes me sweat, or how cold my toes are.  If it will keep you happy, I'll hide my own discomfort, my true feelings.  I'll tone it down and cool it off.  Or I'll warm it up even if there is icy rage sitting in my chest.  Just to keep it comfortable.  To keep someone from yelling at me about the temperature.  Or at least I've operated that way in the past.

But I'm with Ronna - and I'm ready to stand up and shout - "I am not in charge of the damn thermostat!"  If you are too hot - take off a layer or move away from the heat.  If you are too cold, go put on a sweater.  But I'm done with adjusting my own internal thermostat in fear of making someone uncomfortable.  I'm tired of being the uncomfortable one.  I'm going to start taking responsibility for maintaining my own temperature, paying attention to my body and turning up the heat when things need to see a little action, or cooling it down a notch when it's time to chill.  And I'm going to work on not feeling responsible for managing the comfort level for anyone else at the expense of denying my own feelings.

As I sit here writing this post, I am acutely aware of the guilt and unease washing over me just from typing the words above.  The voices are saying "wow, that sounds really selfish and egotistical of you, you really don't care a whit about other people, do you really think anyone will like you if you act the way you are describing?"  And those voices are strong.  But here's the rub.  What I'm saying isn't coming from a place of selfishness and egotism.  It's coming from a deep pull to be authentic and open and vulnerable.  It's coming from a place of compassion that empathizes deeply with the discomfort of others.  It's coming from the voice of the inner self that says I must own who I am, what I believe, how I feel in order to bring my gifts into the light and use them for good.  I am not advocating running over anyone or being mean or selfish.  I'm just going to be me.  I'm always working on being the best, most authentic, most compassionate and loving me I can be - but if me doesn't work for you - then I need to leave the responsibility of that where it belongs - with you.  I'm not a little girl anymore who has no choice but to respond to the conflicting demands of her parents.  I am a grown woman with deep thoughts and real feelings that I need to honor, even if no one else does.  I don't need for anyone else to tell me if the temperature is just right.  I know it for myself and I am the only one who can adjust it for me if it's not right.  My hope is that in learning to do that for myself - I create an environment where others can do it too and we can all manage our own thermostats and stop yelling at someone else to adjust the temperature to our liking.

Spreading the Love

I got my first "blog acknowledgment" today, from Angie Cox.  There are rules apparently, so here I go, although I'm not always a big rule follower.

Rule 1:  Thank the person. 
Well Angie, thank you!  I'm honored to be on your list of favorite blogs.  Angie describes me pretty well in her blurb about my blog - and that description made me laugh.  For someone I've never met, she has me pretty well figured out.

Rule 2:  Ten Things I Love:
1.  The house to myself in the early mornings while everyone else is still asleep.
2.  A steaming hot mug of coffee during above solitude.
3.  The laughter of my 7 year old when she is being tickled.
4.  Being in the car by myself on a long drive.
5.  Sunshine.
6.  The Alps.
7.  Old town Vienna.
8.  Cuddling.
9.  An ice cold diet coke on a hot day.
10.  Freshly mowed grass as the sun sets in the summer.

Rule 3:  Pass It On.
This is a bit difficult (see I told you I don't like to follow the rules).  I'm supposed to pick my 10 favorite blogs to pass this award along to.  And I've avoided making this list several times.  I have an aversion to choosing in any way that might look like I'm playing favorites or where someone might possibly feel left out.  And I don't want to guilt anyone into participating in something they don't want to participate in.

So.... here's the deal.  Most of the links on my sidebar are blogs.  A few are full-fledged sites, but most are there for the blogs written by some fabulous individuals.  I LOVE all of these blogs.  But in honor of the spirit of the game, I'll pick a few blogs of women who were strangers just months ago who have become an important piece of my life over the last little while.  If they want to play, they are welcome.  If they want to just soak in the fact that they are changing lives with their virtual presence - that's perfectly okay.  Every one of these women has commented on my blog and responded to my comments on hers.  They have become a significant part of my support system and they give me the courage to continue to find my voice.  And since Angie passed this on to me - I'm not passing it back - that would just be a silly yo-yo - but SHE is definitely on this list:

Elissa Elliot at Living the Questions
Julie Daley at unabashedly female
Lindsey Mead Russell at A Design So Vast
Jena Strong at bullseye, baby
Ronna Detrick at RENEGADEconversations

And from my real as well as virtual world - two of my favorite people.  One who blogs regularly and one who should -- and both of whom my life would be much less rich without:

Jeanie Miley and Strand Girl

So - if you find yourself on the list and want to play along - consider yourself invited.  If you don't - no guilt, no pressure.  Only love and gratitude for what you've added to my life.

Father's Day Confessions

Much of what I write slants in the direction of feminism - from my political leanings and my ideas about social justice to my ever shifting theology. Claiming my feminine strengths, finding a balance, wishing the world did not require "manning" up, finding the feminine side of the divine, hoping my girls grow up with a different paradigm than I did consume much of my writing time and energy.

But here is the confession: I live a VERY traditional life. I've been faithfully married to the same man for almost 16 years. We've been together since I was 22. I have two daughters, whom I've stayed home to raise since my oldest was born 11 years ago, leaving my career as a computer programmer, where I had worked hard to establish myself. I do most of the cooking and cleaning and laundry and doctors visits and carpool. For many years we went to church every Sunday, without fail, unless we were out of town or sick (this morning, I'm sitting at my computer instead, enjoying the quiet of the house before everyone else is up). I volunteer at school. I've been a girl scout cookie mom. I do however, draw the line at sewing! There is nothing wrong with any of these things. I am not ashamed of them. But unless you know me in real life, you might get an idea from the words on the screen that my life looks a bit different than it really does.

But, there is a bit more to the story. When my first daughter was born, my husband and I made the decision, together, that I would stay home with her for a while - an indefinite period of time. I HATED my job during that time and did not see my work situation improving much. So staying home was an option I took - gladly. And it was the hardest thing I have EVER done. The next year proved to be a time that stripped me bare and left me puddled in a heap on the floor. My life came untethered and I found myself completely adrift. Looking back at that time, I can see how it laid the foundation for where I am now, by ripping me away from my moorings and forcing me to remake my life. I had no idea how to be a mother. Courtney's birth ripped me apart, both literally and figuratively. My marriage almost fell apart. I lost my identity, an identity I had worked for with unrelenting focus since 5th grade. I had no support system. I had no idea who I really was or what I was doing. I had to dive deep and I had to grow up.

And through that process, I found myself. I discovered what it means to nurture. I began, for the first time in my life, to make friends with other women. I learned to embrace the rhythms of the days and the seasons. I nourished my family, physically and emotionally. I learned I had untapped resources that were of value. Eventually, I re-framed my own life, and began to see more accurately my own personal myth and the value in my story. I braved a 180 degree change in my "career path" and now am on the cusp of doing what I am really designed and equipped to do instead of sitting behind a desk working on a computer all day. I found the feminine by taking a route contrary to what most radical feminists would prescribe. I found wholeness somewhere among the laundry and the dishes.

And there is another aspect to the story, that today, needs acknowledgment. I could not have done any of this without the support and encouragement of my husband. While our role division appears traditional, he is the least traditional man I know. He can and does cook and clean and do laundry. He nurses sick kids better than I do. He wanted another girl the second time around, because he feared a son of his would get picked on for not being "macho" enough. He believes our girls can be anything they want to be, and he encourages them. Just last night, at the dinner table, he facilitated a discussion with them about not settling for a man who would not or could not take care of himself. He told them not to knuckle under to social pressure to get married. He will teach them to be strong, independent women. He does as much to raise feminist daughters as I do.

And he has been an unfailing support to me during this period of remaking my life. He has not once complained about the juggling of schedules, he has given me time and space to study and grow, he has been a true partner as a parent, and he has loved me and encouraged me even when I wasn't completely sure of myself. My life would look very different without him by my side. So on this day created to celebrate fathers, I celebrate the father of my daughters, the man I love, the partner I would not trade. Thank you my dear, for who you are. Happy Father's Day!

After the Whirlwind

I'm glad it's Friday. It is finally time to take a breath. The first big breath I've had in a while. School has been out for two weeks today for my kids, but today marks the start of summer for me. And I'm seriously considering napping for several days straight.

The last couple of years have been a whirlwind. I started grad school in August 2007, saying I would only take one class a quarter until I got both my kids in elementary school. The first two quarters, I did just what I had intended, taking 3 hours every 10 weeks. Busy, but very doable.

The next quarter - I signed up for 2 classes, a regular class and a weekend intensive - Counseling Diverse Communities. And that point, my world began to fly apart. The diversity class proved to be one of the most intense experiences of my entire degree program. And during that term, I also signed up for a week intensive summer course in Taos, NM - Sexual Counseling and Therapy. By the beginning of year two - I had 18 course credit hours under my belt - a full load in most graduate programs - and the foundations of my world had cracked and every bit of ground under me began to shift and hasn't stood still since.

The next year, from August through July, I took 33 course credit hours. An insane load - almost double the full time load in most programs and six hours more than our program recommended. That left me with 3 classes this past year and my practicum and internship experience. I finished up my internship in April, graduated in May, toured Europe for the first time just two weeks ago, and then came back and worked a full week of VBS (vacation bible school -- for the uninitiated) in a leadership role that I did not ask for nor anticipate.

To say I'm dead on my feet doesn't even begin to describe it. VBS always wears me out. More so this year, partly because I was completely unprepared. And partly because I've really outgrown some of the things about my current community of faith. So amidst the usual chaos - I also was dealing with my own lesser strengths and a not insignificant amount of cognitive dissonance.

But I've realized a few things through this entire process:

~ School makes me as happy as it always has - I LOVE to learn - I LOVE the classroom experience - and I already miss it.

~ I can write. Academic papers, commentary, more creative pieces. I've had great encouragement for my writing through these past few years; something I didn't really anticipate.

~ Hope and healing through the telling of our stories makes up a major part of my life's work. I'm excited to get started.

~ I haven't had a solid two week break since I started this process.

~ My kids are fulfilled where they are - and that's okay, even if it no longer fills me in that same way.

~ I can be a baptist and honor the goddess in me at the same time. And the choice I make today doesn't have to be the choice I make tomorrow.

~ I could have never made this journey alone.

But most of all - right this very minute - I am looking forward to absolutely NO obligations for the next two weeks... except for the things I've already added to my calendar this afternoon.....

Ten Things I Know

Traveling stretches and changes me in ways I never imagine before I leave.

Certain places resonate with our souls, and we know them instantly when we set foot in them, even if we've never been there before.

On the other side of fear, I always wonder what there was to be afraid of.

Summer activities should never start before 11am.

It's impossible to give yourself a real hug.

Every once in a while, almost too good to be true works in my favor.

Friendships are worth the time and effort. Pets are questionable.

Solitude can be hard to come by when school is not in session.

I can trade a certain amount of solitude for the laughter of my children and be happy.

I wish my mother had a big red plate.

Around the World and Back Again

I'm home. And after a couple of days delay, back at my desk, looking for words and wondering where to start the story. The theme running around the blogs these days seems to be movement, shift, process, journey -- the stretching of boundaries in order to grow the Self. It's funny how the energy flows among and between us all, seeming to create these themes in waves. Well, stretching and movement, shift and change, widening of boundaries certainly provide a framework for my own travels.

We arrived back in the U.S. on Tuesday, home on Wednesday, and this morning marks the first day my body clock has some idea of what time it truly is. Travel across time zones exhausts the body, and this trip exhausted my mind. It takes a bit to recover from the exhilaration. Re-integrating into my "r"eal life means dealing with the aftershocks from the seismic event of parental absence. Grounding my kids and holding them until their world stops trembling means reaching down for something deep inside of me in order to find the energy somewhere beyond my own aching bones. Today, finally, the tremors have stopped and we all feel steady on our feet again.

But travel, and all that comes with it, has shifted something deep inside of me.

First a bit about the trip. We traveled with a group from Lucerne, Switzerland up into the southern tip of Germany, through the Bavarian and Tyrolean countryside, to the hills of Salzburg and the cosmopolitan landscape of Vienna. We toured castles and cathedrals. We walked across bridges that have been in existence longer than our country. We stood where Mozart and Wagner, Jung and Freud, kings and tyrants have trod. We marveled at the breathtaking scenery and sat mesmerized at the recreation of a desperate plea for salvation that has turned into a recurring act of worship. We listened to amazingly intelligent and informed guides recount layers of history I didn't even know existed. We ate and drank in excellent company in the shadows of the Alps and the Vienna Opera House. And we did our best to soak it all in.

The whole of it simply overwhelmed me at times. I had a minor breakdown in Salzburg, so completely inundated that I literally shut down. I had to take a look at my limits and how my inability to ask for what I need pushes me into a space inside myself I do not like to go. I recognized in myself how important times of solitude and quiet have become and how my Self runs dry and becomes depleted without those times. I became more in tune with my ability to hold toxic judgment at bay and accept and integrate true connection. I faced how my need for external validation keeps me stuck in situations that only damage my soul. And I realized how much the connection and community I do have, both physical and virtual, keeps me grounded and how much I missed it while I traveled.

Taking this trip involved taking a risk and pushing the boundaries, for me. To many, a trip like this would be nothing, no big deal, a simple adventure or a pedestrian occurrence. But for me, it was a milestone. A marker in the journey of how far I've come from a West Texas farm girl who only knew the world was bigger than the states surrounding Texas because I watched Dan Rather or Tom Brokaw on the evening news. Moving across central Europe, seeing my deep history mirrored in faces but speaking in tongues, standing on the layers of history, lifting my eyes toward the divine in sacred spaces leaves me without adequate words. I experienced something deep. And I felt calm and assured and grounded, not uncomfortable or foreign or afraid. And I want to go back. I will.

There is more, these are only the highlights. I have a feeling I will be processing the meaning of this trip for a long, long time. So if you are interested, stay tuned. For now I have an alpine mountain of laundry to do.