Home on the Range

Posted on by stilllearning2b

UNDER THE TEXAS SKY

I grew up in Texas.

The trucks in my high school’s parking lot were adorned with gun racks. Animal control had to be called to our neighborhood to capture baby wild boars that our neighbor had housed in his garage when he accidentally shot their mother. It turns out that wooden doors are no match even for a young boar. Venison was a common addition to the lunch boxes in the school cafeteria. Gun cabinets were viewed as essential furniture, their importance falling in place somewhere between a sofa and a table.

I grew up in Texas but I guess you could say Texas didn’t grow up in me.

My parents were more hippie than cowboy. I was raised in a peace-loving anti-gun household. I developed a wariness of guns. I stayed far away from them and felt anxious if one was in sight.  This was a problem since it was Texas. Most of those gun cabinets in my friend’s homes? Yeah, glass fronts to show off the weaponry. I wasn’t fearful of all weapons. After all, I did become a fencer. But guns triggered (sorry, couldn’t resist) a fear in me that I chose not to confront.

Hippies Use Side Door
Yup. We had one of these but ours was blue.

And then I met Brock. My fiance is ex-army. He grew comfortable with shooting during his service. Since then, he has taken several gun  courses to improve his tactical training and to supplement what he practices/teaches with sticks and knives. He is good with a gun – he can send the target to the back of the range and when it returns, it will have a tight circle of holes in an intended area. He never pushed me, but he wanted me to become more comfortable around firearms. I agreed. I knew that my fear stemmed from ignorance. I also was in the early stages of confronting my fears, and this seemed like a natural step.

If my mom has read up to this point, she is probably shaking her head and wondering where I went wrong. Sorry, mom:) You may not want to read the rest…

Shooting Range

For the first year we were together, my exposure therapy was simply watching him clean his weapon after returning from the range and handling an unloaded gun. Last year, I took my first trip to the range. I was nervous, but mainly curious, as I stood in the lobby/viewing area watching the shooters behind the layers of bullet proof glass. I was okay while I slipped on my hearing protection and safety glasses. I was fine until I opened that second door that led into the range and my body reverberated with the sound of a shot. It was visceral. My body startled and shook with every blast. It elicited a primal fear in me. I wanted to exit that door and never look back.

But I stayed. My whole life, I have been wound tight, jumping at noises and physically reacting to stressors. When I experienced so much loss from deaths in high school and trauma from the divorce, this tendency was heightened. I realized that the range was a huge desensitization opportunity – a time for me to be exposed to a sound and feeling that scared me yet carried no negative repercussions. I just stood there against the back wall for a time, watching and listening, still jumping at every discharge. And then Brock motioned me up to the booth.

He showed me how to tell that the weapon was unloaded and had me dry fire a few times to get used to the grip. He then helped me load it and coached me on how to breathe and fire. My mind emptied as I pulled the trigger for the first time. The recoil, although I knew it was coming, still surprised me. I reset and slowly shot the remaining 7 rounds. I don’t think I ever even made the paper target dance, but that was okay.

Yesterday was my third trip to the range, this time with a gun that is sized more for me. The sounds of the range barely bother me now, but I still struggle with relaxing while I shoot. I have a tendency to pull the barrel up as I depress the trigger. Interestingly, this only happens when the weapon is loaded.

I am reacting out of anticipation rather than reality. Yup. Still learning that one.

By the end of the session, I was starting to find the balance between a secure grip and an overly tight one. I was learning how to hold on and relax at the same time. I am still no sharpshooter, but at least more of my rounds hit my target rather than the ones next to me. I am still not comfortable with guns but they no longer have power over me in the same way. By facing my fear, I have gained some control over my reactions. I’ll never be a marksman and I’ll never have a gun rack in my car, but I also feel like I don’t have to avoid guns altogether. Not everything has to be all or none.

So, I guess now that the girl has moved out of Texas, a little bit of Texas has moved into the girl. You probably still won’t want to call on me in the event of a zombie apocalypse, however. I’ll leave that one to those who can actually hit the target:)

TARGET: ZOMBIE!

A quick note on gun control:

There are some who feel that the solution to society’s ills is to arm everybody. Others believe that the answer is found in disarming everyone. The reality? Neither option is a panacea and both are reactions born of fear. We want to control the bad things that happen. But the reality is that we cannot. And that is often scarier than any gun could ever be. There are no easy answers and there are no quick fixes. But I think we can all benefit from recognizing and confronting our fears rather than allowing them to speak for us.

Perchance to Dream

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I woke up at 2:30 this morning with pulse racing and limbs twisted under the covers. I had been having a dream where I was trapped in a house with some unknown person that I felt protective of and my former neighbor and her baby (as they were in 2002 or so). Outside the house was a postapocalyptic scene, and I think there may have even been zombies (that’s what happens when you binge on Walking Dead:) ). I remember panicked dashes across the house to get to safer areas and shooting the zombies outside.

English: A zombie

None of that was the scary part. At some point just before I awoke, my ex made an appearance. I don’t even know if he was a zombie or a ‘good guy’ trapped in the house. His arrival was enough to pull me out of my dream and leave me unsettled.

Dreams are such strange things. As a kid, I used to have very vivid and memorable dreams. Some were repetitive and told overarching stories of strange characters (I remember a walking, talking frog with a shirt and no pants, in particular. don’t ask.) where as others would come and go in a single night. I had many dreams that seemed to be premonitions or interpretations. I used to listen to these. I remember waking from some of those meaningful dreams and heading out to my monkey swing in the backyard (kind of my ‘go for a run’ substitute as a kid) where I would swing and spin as I pulled apart the dream, searching for clues. My early nightmares were of the typical monster variety and would send me to a pallet next to my parent’s bed for comfort as I worked my way back into slumber.

Monkey swing:) I used to read and eat popsicles on mine simultaneously. Yup, that’s talent!

As I got older, the intensity of my dreams decreased but the frequency remained the same. I would wake shaking the remnants of a vision from my head several times a week.What’s interesting to me now in retrospect is the theme of the dreams. Not long after my ex and I were together, I started having very vivid dreams every couple of months or so where he cheated on me. I would wake up filled with rage, the sight of his slumbering form next to me making me want to lash out. Perhaps it was due to the lack of a monkey swing to properly analyze these dreams (or more likely my mind’s inability to face the content head-on), but I never did put any merit in those visions. Nonetheless, those were tough days that followed those dreams. I would alert him to my nightmare and he would respond by being especially gentle and affectionate. Even still, it would usually take hours for the residual anger and anxiety to leave my body. It’s strange. Those dreams are the only time I felt anger towards my ex while I was with him. I was just too bone-headed to listen.

Mozart Dancing

After he left, I didn’t sleep. The anxiety gripped my body and caused it to shake, its own tarantula dance, as though I was trying to rid myself of his poison. I spent weeks sitting on the edge of the bed, my eyes fixated on a point on the wall, my mind inhabiting the nightmare that had become my reality. Eventually, I agreed to medication – dosages that would cause a horse to enter a permanent coma barely eased me into slumber. I had only a single dream that entire fall. In it, I was near some benches at a whale watching facility in the Pacific Northwest (where I planned to move at the end of the school year). A male was sitting on a bench, facing away from me. I approach him and place my hand gently on his shoulder. He turns, and I discover it’s him.

Those nightmares stunned me enough I wished for my childhood pallet next to my parent’s bed. He had become the monster, yet he looked like the man I had loved. Variations on the that dream persisted for the first six months. Until finally, they began to fade.

A depressed man sitting on a bench

I remember my excitement when I awoke one morning and realized that I had dreamed of another man – a guy I had been dating. I was thrilled. It was like calling in the Ghostbusters, his appearance sweeping my ex into the vacuum canister.

I weaned myself off the medications that first spring. I left the primary sleep aide until last, fearful that the demons of the night would reappear. For the most part, they haven’t. In fact, my dreams are now few are far between and most are quite innocuous. My ex rarely makes an appearance, but when he does, I still react with panic.

Most importantly, I never have dreams where Brock is unfaithful. I don’t have dreams that cause anger or anxiety that lingers. But if I ever do, you better believe that I’ll listen. And maybe install a monkey swing:)

 

Float

Posted on by stilllearning2b

float

Ghosts of Christmas

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Christmas can be such a polarizing season. Some people are enraptured by the sights and sounds, while others, lamenting what they have lost or never had, fall into despair. Why is it that a holiday can have so much power to drive our emotions? Why are some okay with their lives from January through November, but then feel despondent about their lot when the month clicks over to 12? Why do others allow stress to accumulate throughout the month, only releasing it with the ribbons on Christmas mornings? How is it that a holiday that emphasizes togetherness creates intense loneliness in so many?

It’s simple, really. There is no other time of the year as fraught with expectations as Christmas. And loneliness, stress, and disappointment hitch a ride on those expectations, sliding into our minds undetected. We can choose not to welcome them. We can use awareness to exorcise the ghosts of Christmas’s past and future, allowing ourselves to embrace the present and whatever gifts it brings.

Ghosts of Christmas Past

When I was young, I spent Christmas with both my parents. As with all families, we had rituals and traditions. I remember my mom making pineapple ham and my dad coming in from a bike ride, the smell of sweat blending with the scent of the pine needles on the tree. I remember the Christmas eve church services, with me squirming between them awaiting the tradition of opening one gift that night upon our return. I can picture our rides through town, viewing the lights in the trees and luminaries that lined the streets.

And then we were two. My parents divorced and my dad moved across the country. It took us some time to find our stride. Those first couple years felt empty; traditions carried out even though a critical member of the team was missing. We tried to keep it the same, fought against the inevitable change. It didn’t work. It never does.

Eventually, we created our own traditions, some carried through and some newly invented. We had a family friend join us for celebrations, her energy completing the triad. We took trips. We celebrated with other families. Sometimes we had money. Often we did not. But it didn’t matter. We let go of Christmases past and, in doing so, created wonderful Christmases in the present.

Scan 1

This was one of my favorite Christmases. My mom obtained and wrapped a refrigerator box and a washing machine box and assembled them to make a stocking. I was shocked when I woke up that morning and, at 16, it took a lot to impress me. Our family friend joined us and they both had fun laughing at me as I crawled through the endless “stuffing” that filled the stocking and surrounding wrapped gifts, many of which were inexpensive. This was a great example of how creativity and attitude matters more than money.

I’m thankful for those childhood experiences. They taught me to be flexible and to work within the present reality. As I entered into married life, my husband and I followed a similar model. We were lucky enough to be “adopted” by various families over the years. On some Christmases we traveled, and some we did not. Sometimes we saw family; more often we were devoid of blood relatives. Each year was different. And each year was wonderful in its own way.

Christmas
At my ex-in law’s on Christmas in 2001.

If you have children, realize that your attitude towards the holiday is more important than any traditions. If your family has changed, it is futile to try to recreate the Christmases of the past. But that doesn’t mean that your Christmas cannot still be wonderful.

Ghosts of Christmas Future

Not everyone is haunted by the past. Some people’s expectations are fixated on the future. It is easy to allow expectations to build. We expect Uncle Bobby to act differently than he usually does and we get stressed when his good behavior fails to manifest. We picture perfect children, gleaming and squealing in glee. We envision a table piled high with delectable goodies worthy of Martha Stewart’s kitchen. We allow our minds to ponder what glorious gifts might lie just beneath the wrappings. We watch movies filled with perfect families and see commercials pushing items, implying that they will make your life perfect as well.

christmas dinner at my mom's house

These daydreams may be pleasant, but they have a dark side. Unless you are visiting Martha, the spread will not be perfect. Your kids will inevitably allow grouchiness to overcome them by afternoon. You will probably not find the winning lottery ticket in you stocking. In other words, Christmas will be real. It is easy to become disappointed when we allow our expectations to grow well beyond our realities.

The ghost of Christmas future is often hardest on those who are or feel alone. The divorced parent who does not have custody over the holiday. The single person without family in town. At no time can you feel more alone than during a holiday that celebrates togetherness. But, you are only alone if you allow yourself to be. Let others know you do not have a family to celebrate with; the offers will likely come. Some of my best Christmases were spent with the families of friends or employers. If you’re willing to speak up and be vulnerable, you will find an open home and open hearts. They may not be family, but they are family for the day and sometimes that is enough.

Volunteers

If you prefer not to join another’s celebration, look for volunteer opportunities through church or Meetup.com. Helping others is a surefire way to get your mind off your own troubles. It may feel as though the whole world is paired up or celebrating with family, but that’s just the message, not the reality. You have choice in the matter. You can choose to suffer or you can choose to smile.

The Gift of Christmas Present

This year, my home will be full of family, yet none of them are related to my fiance or me. There is no tree in our  living room, nor lights on our house. I will be serving a vegetarian spread with nary a ham hock to be found. The kitchen will be messy and the plates will be mismatched (and chipped!). But there will be laughter and games. Friendship and smiles.

It won’t be like the Christmases of the past nor will it be a celebration in an imagined future. Rather, it will be the Christmas of now. Exactly as it should be. Let go of the ghosts lamenting the past and brush of those whispering of an imagined future and be with the Christmas of the present.

I wish you and your loved ones a happy (and real) holiday:)

Keep Dancing

Posted on by stilllearning2b

dancing