Do You Want To Know A Secret?

So where was I?
Oh yeah, no one knows everything there is to know about me……

Shockingly I’m not shocked by this. You don’t accumulate close to (or over) 40 filled journals if you don’t have things you feel that you need to keep to yourself. I’ve never gone back and reread anything I’ve written in a journal. I have no desire to do so either. I’m almost positive there’s very little worth saving in any of them. I might have one journal’s worth of insights worth saving to reflect on at a later date. So why don’t I just throw them all out? Good question. The answer is I just can’t throw them out. It would free up a whole area in my already small closet but I just can’t throw them out. I feel sorry for the person who has to deal with all of them when I die. Out of respect for whoever that person might end up being I’ve come close to throwing a few of them out. But then I have a thought, throwing them out would be like ditching a friend.

When I can’t say it at least I can write it.
I can’t let that go that easily.

Most people would consider me a talker. O.K. EVERYONE who’s ever known me would call me a talker. It’s not something I’m really proud of believe it our not. Especially when someone says, “WOW you can talk a lot.” (By the way thanks to Bill for being the last person to point that out. I hate you and your stupid chicken hearts.) There’s a good reason why I’m “such a talker.”

It’s a major defense mechanism for me.
I’m sure you’ve heard, at least once, that talkers really have a lot to hide, although I prefer to say keep to myself. This is extremely true for me; especially with people I don’t know or feel I don’t know well. If I talk first, and keep talking you won’t have the chance to ask me anything too personal. You’d think it would be a good plan if you were the one doing the talking but honestly, I get to a point where I wish I would shut up. Yet I rarely will.

During my week in Portland I was mistaken as a major extravert, by several people. I had to laugh, to myself of course, when I heard this. No one knew that I sat in silence for almost a week before hand to prep myself for orientation. Very few people noticed that by Wednesday I keep finding ways to go back to my cabin just to have some quiet time. No one knows that I spent most of the trip to Spokane, which included a rather long detour, sleeping, or rather recovering from such a taxing week.

My “extroversion” is just covering up how introverted I am.

I come from a big family. (S)he who yells loudest might be heard. We have 6 different conversations with 6 people sitting at the table. Everyone easily goes into their own world while becoming part of other people’s worlds. We can have 6 conversations while playing a board game together, with one of us talking on the phone to someone else, while eating lunch, while swapping goods and discussing the remodeled bathroom. It really is a fun family dynamic, even if it does make an outsider want to run for the hills.
I have so much fun with my family sometimes that I do wish I could do it every day. Then I remember….
They exhaust the hell out of me.

I didn’t want to go to my prom. I wouldn’t have if certain people didn’t drag me. I did have a good time but I would’ve been just as happy sitting at home.

I went to the charity ball once in college, for all of the same reasons as my one middle school dance. I had a much better time than I did at the prom. Of course, appointing myself event photographer for my group certainly helped. It was one of the only times in recent memory that I didn’t think, “I could have just as much fun by myself.”

I went to only one dance in middle school. I only want because I thought I might regret not trying it at least once. I hated it. Going to the diner after was fun but I could’ve had the same meal any other day at the same diner. In fact, I have and had a much better time than I did after the dance.

Yes, I realize I just gave 3 very similar examples but not much differs in different situations. My point is I prefer to be around people I know. A small group of people I know. I knew most of the people at the charity ball and would call them friends (unlike the other 2 examples) but I still stayed with the group I arrived with. Small groups work best for me with people I know.

What about group projects you ask? No matter if I know my group members or not my philosophy is pretty much as follows, get out of my way, leave me alone, when I want or need any other input I’ll ask. Most importantly let me do the work I need to do,

I’m pretty sure if I didn’t think about the possibility of regretting something later on I’d never leave the house. I know if my desire to see different places wasn’t as strong as it is I would never leave.
But I wasn’t always this way.
So what changed?
I’m not really sure however the fact hadn’t changed that I’ve gone from being O.K. socially, maybe not perfect but I could get by, to being one step away from desiring to be a hermit.

Yes, the life of a hermit does have a certain appeal to me.

Everyone has secrets and things they want to keep to themselves. But there’s a group of people who let their secrets become bigger things. They let them grow into walls.

I’m one of those people that let their secrets become walls.
The walls became a fortress.
The fortress became the only place I can really be me.
But the fortress has a moat.
The moat doesn’t allow anyone else in, as reinforcement.
But here’s the thing about my fortress……
I want other people to know who I really am.
Too many people have let me down for me to do that easily.
If you hang in there you’ll see who I really am.
Hang around long enough to prove to me my walls can crumble.
You just might like who I really am, even more than you like who you think I am.

*A similar version of this post first appeared on an old blog on October 28, 2008

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Do You Want To Know A Secret?

I took part in a 9 month SEEL program (Spiritual Exercises in Everyday Life). I wasn’t too sure about it at first. It sounded like a good idea but a commitment I doubted I could or would keep up. My roommates had committed to it so I did to, going against my many reservations.

One of the SEEL requirements was to meet with a spiritual director once a week. As much as I’d been interested in spiritual direction and had come close to organizing it on a few occasions, this was the part of the program I was the weariest about. What would I talk about? Would I be comfortable in such a situation? Would I be able to keep the commitment? Would I be forced to keep it up even when I couldn’t? Would I be able to have a director who I didn’t already have a relationship with? The last question was the biggest one for me. It almost kept me from the retreat.

Almost.

Towards the end of the year I sat down with something on my mind that I didn’t know I had even been thinking about. As I often did after I got comfortable with the process and it’s just one of the things that just speaks to how great of a director I had.

I told her about an outing I had with my housemates and how angry it had left me. It wasn’t a huge event, in fact now I don’t even remember what it even was, it was just an activity that had quickly turned into community time, not hard to do with 4 people really. Whatever it was I do remember having fun at whatever it was, so did everyone else. But feelings of anger overrode the fun, especially after the fun was over. Don’t you just love how life works like that?

As I kept talking I started to realize how angry I really was about the whole situation. In fact the outing wasn’t very fun for me at all just stressful. I just pretended to be happy so I wouldn’t be the downer in the group. And true to form I got louder and louder, most people cry during spiritual direction, I get angry and talk through gritted teeth, yes, I did leave her office with a sore jaw on many occasions.

I realized I was angry because I had been living with these people for almost a year, yet I still had to explain to them what needed to happen so I could be part of the fun. I felt that I should have to explain myself to people I was supposed to be so close with after being together for so long. And, I thought, at that point, I didn’t need to anymore. That was a point of my anger, but it certainly didn’t end there

The truth is this wasn’t the first time, nor do I expect it to be the last, for something like this to happen. But there was one very distinct difference about this time.

My best friend wasn’t there.

Now I’m not saying she’s always been there when I’ve been in a tough spot and needed help. We do have our own lives. When I say, she wasn’t there I mean I couldn’t talk to her. Every time I’ve gotten angry about this before I’ve vented to her, immediately after, and she’d provide common sense to my mania. I was mad because no one seemed to care that I was “left behind” in some capacity. I know now, thanks to my director expecting the same results from my housemates, or just one of them was unfair. My best friend has watched (and helped me) adapt to my surroundings for years. So much so that it’s become second nature for her to make adaptations as well. The extra thoughts and explaining doesn’t have to be there. It’s one of the gifts of having begun your friendship at 5 years old. No matter how close I felt to my housemate’s time was not on our side. Expecting less than 12 months of friendship to have the equivalency of a friendship of almost 20 years was more than unfair. Naturally I see that now, given the time to reflect.

During a pause in my rant one sentence blows a hole in my brain. “They don’t get it and they never will.”

As much as I knew this was true I must’ve been in lifelong denial, until that day. Maybe I thought that I could change things, because I’M different. I can make people know things that others can’t. I’M ME.

Can’t I do the impossible?
No.
I’m not God.
I can not do the impossible.
At least not on my own.

I have to take a moment here and say that my spiritual director can speak to my hidden aggravation. She herself has a neurological disorder; she might say condition or even blessing, which people just don’t understand unless they have it themselves.

Once I shut up, with her assistance, she went to work. The grand sum of her wisdom was this,
“Stop trying to get people to understand what they aren’t going to. It’s not within their capabilities to understand anything. They have no idea what it’s like to be you for a day and how much more work it actually is. If they knew they’d be exhausted and wonder how you do it every day. Stop trying to get them to understand, because they just aren’t, and that’s just going to leave you angry, and you have no time for that.”

It wasn’t a long walk home after my session but I certainly did walk a little slower. I was also thankful for the fact that I had to walk home rather than drive. The walk had become so routine that I could get home with big things on my mind and have everything somewhat processed before I walked into the kitchen, depending on the speed I chose to talk of course.

I wouldn’t say that my session was some kind of breakthrough, although it did feel like it at the time, and somewhat heartbreaking as well. The shock and revelation was that someone, other than me, was able to put into words, and tell me, what I’ve felt to some degree for my entire life. Several family and friends will tell you I’ve always been articulate. However there are still lifelong thoughts I am still learning to articulate.
I’m pretty sure without that session I’d still be trying to articulate that particular thought.

Among friends I’ve been known for my boundaries, among other things too, I hope. Among family I’m known for my lack of. This I am more certain about than the previous statement since I get reprimanded for it often. As I’ve gotten older the word “boundaries” is being replaced with “walls” more often.

So, I start to think.
Is there a connection between my “walls” and my desire for people to just “get it?”
YES!

If that wasn’t a self-question to lead myself into denial than I need some help of the mental variety. Being that I was fresh of a spiritual awakening session I did myself a favor and cut the bull, or caught myself before I got too far into it.

I have so many “walls” which I will now refer to as a secret because in the most primitive parts in my brain I know people won’t understand. I keep secrets from everyone, friends, family, coworkers, my parents, even my best friend. Why? Because I know they just won’t get it. I know I won’t be able to stand explaining all the details so I keep most of them to myself. Life can get hard enough as is I don’t need to invite more mental stress into my life, which letting everything out will do.

Everyone feels the need to belong to something somewhere, and often with someone by their side. My reality is I need to make a place for myself to belong rather than put myself into an established group. I don’t belong (strictly speaking) in normal society because I have to deal with more than they do. I don’t belong with people “in my situation” because they do understand (to an extent) what I have to go through on a daily basis. The problem with my being with people “in my situation” (for me personally) is that things quickly become a one up contest. I express a problem. They relate and give it a twist. I try to make things clearer. Their interpretation with a twist follows that. The conversation can continue on like that for days. The problem with the little twists are that more often than not it’s “I have that too, but worse, listen to this….” It leaves me feeling guiltier for not making the best of the situation than feeling like I’ve been helped, supported, and more importantly, listened to.

There was a night in college that will always stick out to me. I had a rough day, for whatever reason, whatever it was it just pushed me over the edge. I’m a bottle it up and then explode kind of girl, in case you haven’t already picked that up. I was lying in bed crying when my roommate came home. Seeing me in obvious distress she dropped her stuff and got on the bed next to me. The end of the conversation came when she told me that maybe if I let people knew how I felt more often I wouldn’t end up feeling like I did at that moment (or any other moment like it before or after this one). I looked at her like she was clueless, because to me, in that moment she couldn’t be more so. “If you only knew…..” I thought. She meant well, and did help me out somewhat, but that didn’t lessen my urge to want to slam my head into the wall so hard that I’d end up in the apartment next to ours.

There have been times that I’ve let people know everything going through my head.
Not one of those people is my friend today. The minute I tell them everything, that they asked to know, I’d like to point out they turn tail and run. I can’t say I blame them but they did ask. You’d think they’d make an effort to hang around for a while. But if people did that divorce rates for people with disabilities or parents of children with disabilities wouldn’t be so high. It really does take a certain kind of person to hang around and they don’t hang around every street corner waiting for some who might need them.

I do try and make small efforts to let people in but the response it never what I thought it would be, even from people who said they’d like to just know what’s going on in my life. Typically, if I get anything in response to my “letting in” its anger or accusations of trying to get people’s attention or pity; in fact, I’ve gotten that so many times that it doesn’t even bother me anymore. If someone feels that way about my honesty than that’s their business not mine, all I have to do is live my life. The other most popular response I get from people is “I’m sorry.” More often than not it’s worse than getting people’s pity, although they have been known to walk hand in hand as well. However, “I’m sorry,” is worse than having to deal with people’s accusations.

What people don’t get is I don’t want “Sorry.” I don’t need “Sorry.” What I really need is your help. That’s what I really want to. If you can’t turn to your friends for help, then who are you supposed to turn to?

I was determined to think of one person who knew everything about me, not including myself of course, by the time I got back to the house. As I got closer I would walk slower and slower. It was taking me longer to think of someone than I thought it would.

There isn’t a single person on the planet who knows everything about me.

To be continued………

*A similar version of this post first appeared on an old blog on October 17, 2008

 

Owning It

After all my thinking I’ve come to a realization.

I think.

And it wasn’t even a result of all the thinking.

Instead a statement from the oddest of places.

“I can’t believe I get to live in this body”

You could practically hear my brain scream “THAT’S IT.”

I can’t believe I get to live in this body.

Not

I can’t believe I have to live in this body.

Which is pretty common statement when you have CP, because if your body doesn’t always do what you want it to do it’s not always your favorite thing and you resent it every once and a while. It’s a part of poor body image that no one ever considers; your image is poor because your body is often at times, well, poor.

Anyway.

It’s not that I had a poor self-image, other than the teenage years and whose self-image is great at that time anyway, but there were times I wished things were different. Mainly why I wasn’t naturally gifted at most things that interested me. I didn’t want to work as hard as I had to to do anything, which included working out.

I knew what I had to do to maintain function. I’d been told it countless times. I didn’t listen. I didn’t want to. I didn’t care. I wasn’t like all the other people I’d been told about. I was different.

I was in denial.
(Am I saying that I spend 20+ years denying that I have CP? Probably, yeah.)

Then I had my wake up call.

And rolled myself off to fix my mess.

Part one was surgeons.

Part two was all me.

And I thought I knew how it was all going to go.

I may talk a big game but I’m still in the early stages of figuring this all out.

I thought I’d recover from surgery, just like I have from all of my other surgeries, and return to some sort of status quo I’d been living with, and hope I’d have a good chunk of time before I had to repeat the pattern.

Because that’s how CP works.

WRONG.

I felt (and still do) so different with my new hips. I have my good (when I could tell my jeans wouldn’t fit) and bad days (when my jeans didn’t fit) with them. At first it was difficult to adjust to them. My brain recognized the correction but often couldn’t get it together to work with it. Even though it was/can still be frustrating it’s amazing.

I’ve come to a level of acceptance that makes every day fun in some aspect.
”Let’s see if I can do this.”

Some days I do.
Sometimes it takes more work.

It’s O.K.
It’s me.

I’m still in shock that this body is mine.

It’s really cool.

Work with what you have & own it.

Keep raising the bar.

You’ll keep surprising yourself.

*A similar version of this post first appeared on an old blog on February 25, 2011

Let’s Talk About Porn

Having a blog and a podcast is an interesting experience. Granted I didn’t think I’d be podcasting for that long. I thought it would be a sprint rather than a distance event, which this venture has now seemingly turned into.

I wanted to share our latest recording, and for a few reasons (1) it’s an important topic, (2) I didn’t feel the need to write down what I’ve already said, (3) I want your feedback on the topic.

I’ve talked about inspirational porn before but being able to have a mainstream TV show address it in a relatable way opened a door for me to be able to see the topic in a different way.

speechlessabc_fanpodcast_v02

Listen to H-E-R–HERO

How do you feel about inspirational porn?
Where or how do you think started inspirational porn?
Do you think inspiration porn started with Tiny Tim or someone else?
Did it start with the saints or maybe the life of Jesus Christ?
Do you think we’ll ever be able to get rid of inspirational porn altogether?