Pissing Contest of Pain

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Tiger has a funny habit on walks. Whenever we encounter another dog (especially if it is a male, dominant-type animal), he begins to pee on everything around. He reaches his leg high, sometimes almost losing his balance, just to aim the stream as high on the tree or post as possible. It’s as though he wants to send the message that he is the big dog and none can top him.

It’s a humorous habit yet one with deeply ingrained motivations.

We humans don’t tend towards literal pissing contents (well, except for that one epic battle that occurred in the boy’s bathroom in my kindergarten class!) but we are no strangers to the impulse to be the top dog.

Sometimes this competitive drive propels us to reach new heights in business or fitness. Sometimes it can be a powerful motivator to do better. To be better.

Yet we also engage in pissing contests that hold no promise of anything better.

We compete to compete even when doing so holds us back.

We want to be the best even when being the best means that we aim to convince others that our pain is greater. That our suffering cannot be beat. That our torment tops all others.

Pain is such a strange thing – universal and yet personal. Subjective. Well known and yet unknowable.

We have a strange drive to want our pain to be understood.

So we share.

And then others share.

Often times, we empathize, recognizing another in pain and reaching out in solidarity.

But sometimes, especially when the pain is still acute, we respond with defensiveness. Frustration at not being understood. Believing that their pain is but a trickle compared to the torrent surrounding us.

For those who have been betrayed, this need for their betrayer to experience their pain is strong. Powerful. Even all-consuming.

We respond by holding on to our suffering. Claiming it. Owning it.

Adding to it until its edges cannot be seen.

We reach that leg up high, releasing the pain for all to see.

It is ours. And ours alone.

I have become so aware of this pissing contest of pain in the comment section of The Huffington Post. It seems like readers want to top one another with their tales of woe with no intent of letting go.

Some stay there, content to won the pissing contest. Their pain is the worst. Their territory clearly marked by signs of suffering.

Others become aware that it is a winless contest. That everyone’s pain is their own and that no one will be fully able to feel yours and, more importantly, no one else can remove yours. That you are more than the sum of your sufferings and that despair is not the badge you want to wear.

You learn that the true release of pain comes with acceptance, not competition.

Tiger continues to be driven by his instincts long after the well has run dry, holding his leg high for an invisible stream. We have the ability to outsmart our drives, to keep our legs down and to continue to move forward. It’s not a contest. You don’t win by tallying the most pain.

You win by letting go and moving on. Even if someone’s pissing on the post behind you.

Related:

Adhesion

Trigger Points

You Shouldn’t Feel That Way

Are You a Mental Hoarder?

 

 

Hamstrung

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I have runner’s legs.

That’s not necessarily a good thing.

My hamstrings, hips and IT bands are perpetually tight, pulled taut from a combination of balled muscle and stuck fascia. Not only does it hinder my ability to touch my toes, it also leads to biomechanical issues and pain, especially as I get older.

Prior to this fall and its associated craziness, I was making good progress on my legs. I had committed to 30 minutes or more of yoga daily, with an emphasis on loosening the lower body. I was looser. Freer. My body learned to work together as the binds began to unravel.

And then the move happened.

And yoga didn’t.

So now I have runner’s legs.

And mover’s back.

The tension spread when I wasn’t watching, migrating up from the hips, along the spine to settle between the shoulder blades and around the neck.

It’s all connected. I turn my head to the side and I feel the pull all the way down to my hip.

So back to yoga I go.

Hamstring work has always been a challenge for me. They resist. They struggle. When we engage in a battle of wills, they always win.

The harder I push, the more they grip, the golgi bodies responding out of fear to protect the delicate tendons beneath.

There are tricks in hamstring work, techniques to encourage the muscle to relax and lengthen.

These same tricks work for our minds.

Much like the golgi bodies buried within our muscles send signals to protect the surrounding tissue from overstretching, our minds respond to too much pressure by sending out panic signals that encourage gripping. Holding on to whatever is causing the pain.

Constriction.

Status quo.

We can stay there or we can learn how to outsmart those signals and encourage letting go.

Breathe

Any effective hamstring work has to start with the breath. When your breath is restricted, tight, your body receives a signal to hold on. To everything. When the breath is full and complete, the body and mind relax and feel safe releasing a bit more with each exhale, trusting that the next inhale will come. Everything is connected. You can soften your hamstrings or calm your mind with nothing more than a few moments of mindful breath.

Face, But Don’t Force

When I first started doing yoga, I couldn’t find the right balance to use. I would either back off in difficult poses, afraid of facing the pain or I would meet it head on and engage in a game of chicken.

Neither works.

In order to let go of the pain, you have to face it. Acknowledge it. Greet it. But greet it gently. Just like you don’t respond well to a stranger running up to you, your discomfort won’t like a harsh welcome.

It will hide.

Instead, recognize it. Accept that it is there in whatever form it takes today. And then allow it to soften.

Be Patient

My hamstrings and I have a different perception of time. To me, a few seconds in a forward fold is plenty. To my legs, however, that’s just the first note of an entire concert. I’ve had to learn to operate on their schedule in order to see any progress.

Even when that means holding a single pose for 10+ minutes.

It’s amazing what the mind will kick up when I’m holding a pose.

It throws up excuses.

Reasons to hold onto the pain.

The trick is not to listen.

And breathe.

Releasing mental anguish is no different. We want it to be pulled from our lives in one great swoop, a magician drawing a scarf from a hat.

It takes time. Instead of the magician, picture playing Operation, a steady and careful hand patiently removing each offending piece, careful not to trigger the alarms.

It seems crazy that our minds and bodies want to hold on to what is causing us harm.

But they do.

You see, that’s a known pain. It becomes comfortable.

Whereas letting go risks the unknown.

And that is the scary part.

Consistency

This one hamstrung me this month. I stopped my daily practice and the pain crept back in. It’s subtle, so you don’t notice at first as you acclimate to the ever-increasing amplitude.

Until you do notice.

It’s so easy to think we’re done. Healed. All offending tissues have been softened and all issues resolved. But much as AA teaches that an addict is an addict for life, we are all healers for life.

It’s a daily process to remind ourselves to let go.

That it’s okay to feel suffering and it’s okay to release it.

It’s alright if you forget. Just acknowledge where you are today and breathe.

And begin again.

 

Nothing More to Say

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I was catching up with an old friend the other day when she asked the inevitable question about my ex.

“Do you think you’ll ever see him again?”

“Well, actually, I have,” I replied and proceeded to give her a brief synopsis of the encounter this past April.

“I would have yelled in his face,” she shared, her tone and body language suggesting residual anger. “How did you resist?”

I thought about it for a moment. On that day, I had no desire to approach him, much less confront him. All I wanted was for him to go away. But it’s more complex than that, as a particular post starting brewing soon after. Apparently, I didn’t want to talk to him there but I still had more to say.

One of the most painful aspects of a tsunami divorce is that its abruptness takes away any opportunity for discourse. I remember feeling so angry and so impotent at my voice being stolen.

In my early attempts at reaching him, I still believed that I would receive a response. Fear and anger fought for top billing in my mind. The following email was sent less than 24 hours after I received the text:

I’ve been mentally composing this for hours to try to not make it sound too angry. Coming home to a “dear John” letter and finding that you had cleared out while I was away fueled my fire again. I just keep thinking that your last employer got a sit down meeting when you quit while I got a text. You have been telling me, through words and actions, that it was okay & then this? You say you want to be supportive, but I can’t see that right now. I can’t think of a more painful way to do this. I can’t believe you stranded me across the country with this news, with no money, and the responsibility of the dogs. I may well bounce back, but this has shattered me to the core. I gave you time & opportunity before – why do it like this? I would like to think that your love & respect for me would override your cowardice. Please show me that respect now by talking to me – it is time to stop hiding.

You will need to come back soon from wherever you are so that we can disentangle our lives. As much as you may want to shirk responsibilities, we have a house, etc. that we need to make decisions about and I guess we need to file paperwork. I don’t know my plans yet, but can’t stay in the home we built together.

Days passed. Phone calls and emails were not returned. I was starting to understand that they never would. As the depths of the betrayals became clear, my anger grew. I entertained fantasies of tying him down and screaming at him; I wanted to force him to face the pain he created. I sent another email, copying what I thought was his girlfriend.

Uganda is an interesting choice.

You were right about two things: you are a coward and you certainly did let me down.

You can never run away from who you are or the knowledge of what you have done. Even Africa is not far enough.

I wonder how long it will take Amanda to see you for what you are?

You have taken away 16 years of my life, my dogs (true innocents whose lives are now completely changed), my home, my financial security, and what I thought was a wonderful marriage. You stole my youth, my innocence, my love. You hurt me in the ways in which you knew I was the most vulnerable. I refuse to let you have any more.

At least I can be at peace with who I am and the decisions that I have made.

I will not attempt to contact you again unless I find out this week that I have contracted an STD from you. That would be one more thing to weigh on your conscience.

Your betrayal and lies have pierced me to the core. I have never felt such pain, such sadness, such anger. The one I trusted and adored deceived and abandoned me.

I held back in that message. I expressed a sanitized version of my pain and anger. It wasn’t enough. The words I needed to say still ate away at me. Awake at 3:00 a.m., I composed another message, part of which is included below.

You were right.

You were right. I will never understand. I will never understand how you could be so cruel to someone you once loved. How you could repeatedly lie, even to direct questions for many months and years. How you could say goodbye at the airport, knowing it was for good, yet telling me that the week would go quickly and we would see each other soon. How you could continue to act like everything was okay (making plans for the future, sending loving texts, saying you missed me, having sex, even putting your $#&^%^@ dirty clothes in the basket before you left town), all the while knowing what you had done, were doing, and were planning to do. How you could betray my trust: financially, sexually, and in every other way. How you could make me feel sorry for you (sick in Brazil?) while you were *^$#*%@  your girlfriend all the while and spending thousands of dollars from OUR account? How you could continue to lie in your text (talk to you in a few days) and letter (I didn’t drain the account) to string me along as long as possible. Every piece I find out is a knife right through the gut (and trust me, I have found out quite a lot)…. You not only stole my present, you robbed me of my past: I can no longer look back on any of our relationship with any degree of fondness. Was any of it real? I don’t want to understand what you have done because in order to understand I would have to be deceitful and despicable too. I could never do the things you did.

…You are wrong to think that you can run away from your past – the house of cards has collapsed and it will follow you. You are wrong to think that this will make you happy. You were wrong thinking that I would continue to fall for your lies. You are wrong thinking that you can block out what you have done – it takes more than shutting me out of your e-mail. You were wrong to block out your feelings that led to this. You were wrong to think that you could handle this on your own. You were wrong to abandon our dogs in the basement and me across the country with no money to return. You were wrong to destroy 16 years with a *%#@($#  text message. You were wrong to steal money from our accounts – I guess fraud alert doesn’t work when it is from within the home. You were wrong to ask me not to contact your work; I certainly don’t owe you any favors. You were wrong to have sex with me, exposing me to unknown risks. You were wrong to seek my sympathy. You were wrong to pretend, to lie, to hide. You were wrong to do this to me.

I feel raped. Violated. Dirty. You have shamed me with your lies and your deeds. I was living with and loving an illusion, carefully crafted to take advantage of my trust. What did I do to deserve this treatment? Love too much, trust too much? The level of cruelty you have shown is astounding. The only word for it is “mindf***” – from kindness to cruelty, protection to persecution, connection to abandonment. There are no words that adequately describe the vileness of your actions. Everything you have touched is poisoned.

You know what’s sad? I still find myself wanting to share things with you.

We were such a good team, a good partnership. Unfortunately, a marriage takes two to make it work and only one to destroy it. You certainly destroyed it, and in the process, destroyed part of me. I will never be able to love or trust as innocently again. You stole that from me.

You cannot rest easy. Your creditors will find you. The IRS will find you. From what I have seen, the law may even find you. You cannot run from your health issues – did you even get your lab results? You won’t have health insurance soon. How long will your employers put up with your deceptions? They won’t like creditors, lawyers, law enforcement calling them. You better hope Amanda stays put – it seems as though you are going to be rather dependent upon her soon. I wonder what lies you have told her? You have no one else to support you – you have pushed them all away and betrayed their trust. You are alone.

Are you still interested in the devil and angel tattoo? Make sure to leave off the angel – we know who you’ve been listening to.

I felt somewhat better after sending it. I was able to express my anger and pain, but the problem was that I didn’t know if he ever read it. As the court cases (bigamy and divorce) approached, I held on to the thought that I would get a chance to take the stand and speak to him as a captive audience. When neither case allowed that to happen, I felt cheated again. Perhaps that was one of the core reasons why I chose to write and share my story. Even if he wouldn’t listen, others would.

By the time I was finishing the book, I was ready to write to him again, this time from a place of more compassion born from time and perspective.  Since I did not have an email address (nor did I actually want to attempt to contact him directly ever again), I included the letter in the book.

…I still have such a difficult time reconciling what happened to the man I loved. I wish you would have gotten help years ago. I would have joined the fight with you. Instead, I’ve been forced to fight against you. I wish I would have noticed how far you had strayed. I wish I had managed my anxiety better. I wish we could have worked together on our marriage the way we worked together on everything else. The results have been so tragic.

None of that matters now. We’re here. Wishes won’t change that.

You have brought me the greatest joys and the greatest sorrows in life, but I am not dependent upon you for either. I am responsible for my own happiness in life; I choose to make my life meaningful and joyful, regardless of the hell you dragged me through. I refuse to be defined by or limited by your choices; I am only limited by myself. July was my rebirth. But it was a terrible delivery.

I really hope that, wherever you are, you’re okay. I hope that you are making choices that do not harm you or anyone else around you. I hope that you are taking responsibility for the harm you’ve done. I hope that you are shedding whatever demons overshadowed you and that your true self is able to see the sun again.

…Your actions shocked and hurt me more than you can probably imagine. I’ve changed. Possibly so much that you wouldn’t even know me now. Your choices pruned me back to the core, but I have been able to grow new branches from the wounds. Life is beautiful.

I hope that you have been able to find beauty in your life and that you can help bring it to others.

With that letter, I thought I was done. Until I saw him this past spring. WIth my upcoming nuptials on the horizon,  I realized that I still had more to say. I wrote the controversial post, A Letter to My Ex On the Eve of My Wedding for the Huffington Post.

And then I was done. That last letter was the final catharsis, releasing him from me. I no longer feel as though my voice has been stolen. I no longer feel the need to be heard by him. I have said what I needed to say and I no longer care if it has been received. I am at peace now.

I have nothing more to say.

 

Forgiveness 101

Posted on by stilllearning2b
Forgiveness Mandala by Wayne Stratz
Forgiveness Mandala by Wayne Stratz (Photo credit: Nutmeg Designs)

Forgiveness. That word is often tossed about in hushed and almost reverent tones. It is the holy grail of one betrayed. Have you forgiven yet? We feel pushed to reach that nirvana, yet we are unsure how to navigate the labyrinthine path that leads us there. Nor are we even sure that we would recognize our destination once we have arrived. The trouble is that forgiveness will take on a different facade for every seeker and the path will vary depending upon who is stepping upon it. Even though forgiveness is an individual journey, there are some universal guideposts that can help you navigate your own way.

Understand What it is Not

Someone has wronged you. I get it. I’m not trying to take that away from you. Forgiveness is not a pardon. It is not excusing actions that are immoral or illegal. It is possible to accept the past, acknowledge the wrongs, but not be help prisoner by the actions of the object of your anger.

Blur

Forgiveness has always reminded me of one of those optical pictures where you have to relax your eyes and unfocus in order to see the image hidden in the pattern. If you look too hard and focus too much on absolution, it will remain hidden. Think of forgiveness like a shy kitten. If you lunge towards it and try to grab on, it will run away every time. Relax and soften and let it come to you.

Time

Forgiveness takes time. You can’t schedule it like an event upon a calendar (trust me, I tried).  The time needed to forgive will differ for everyone. It doesn’t mean there is something wrong with you if it takes you longer than it did your friend. Be patient and allow it to unfold on its own schedule. I know, it is easier said than done, but that is the nature of this elusive beast.

Keep Living

Luckily, while you’re waiting for the forgiveness fairy, you can keep living. Don’t put your life on hold. Move forward and move on. Surround yourself with people that bring you joy. Play. Laugh. That ember that still burns inside does not weigh so much that you cannot move despite it. Live as though you have forgiven.

Gratitude

Gratitude and anger are mutually exclusive. Be mindful of what you have and (brace yourself, this is the hard part) what you gained from the person that you need to forgive. I know, your hackles went up. “That ^#%^&? How can I be grateful??  He/She did _______ to me!!” True. I’m not trying to take that away from you. You have a right to be angry. But you also have a right to see the good. Look for it.

Remove the Ego

We all find humor in the self-centered world of the 5 year old, yet we really haven’t evolved that much from kindergarten. When things happen around us, we have a tendency to believe that they happened to us. For example, your child comes home and immediately is defiant and argumentative. Your defences go up and you perceive your progeny’s behaviors as an attack. If you take a moment and breathe and remove yourself from the equation, you most likely realize that the instigation for the behavior is probably something that happened at school minutes or hours before. Spouses are no different. Perhaps you weren’t really a target after all, just collateral damage.

Humanize

We are familiar with the concept of putting someone on a pedestal when we idolize them. We essentially do the same when we demonize a person. It can be easy at those extremes to see a person as two-dimensional, flat. We conveniently remove those characteristics that do not fit our perception. The truth is that we are all human in our messy and sometimes contradictory three dimensionality. Allow yourself to see the human side of the object of your anger. Let your own humanness peek out as well.

Start With Yourself

It is amazing as you take the journey of forgiveness how much changes as your perspective moves. You may be surprised that the target, the object of your wrath has shifted to yourself. We don’t like to be angry at ourselves; it feels traitorous, so we often project it on another. Like with everything, you have to begin with yourself. Soften to your mistakes. We all make them. Be gentle with yourself yet firm in your intentions. Let it go. It’s okay.

How will you know when you have reached your destination? There is no placard that says, “You are here.” No one stands at the gate and hands you a medal. Perhaps forgiveness is best described as peace. I hope you can find your own nirvana. Please leave breadcrumbs for those who follow behind.

You can read about my own journey to forgiveness in Lessons From the End of a Marriage.

First Responder Mode

Posted on by stilllearning2b

 

Wounded arriving at triage station, Suippes, F...
Wounded arriving at triage station, Suippes, France from sanitary train. Selected by Scott. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I had dinner last night with a friend who recently experienced a significant break up. This also happened to coincide with her completion of an education program and the start of a new job.

 

She’s in first responder mode as she works to triage her life. The pain and heartbreak have to be pushed aside for the moment as she tends to exams and the demands of a new job.

 

It’s a state I identify with – the adrenaline fueled days and sleepless nights. The pressing demands overriding any fear or emotion. The tunnel vision that develops so that you can attend to one crisis at a time. The weird excitement that courses through the body, even in the face of loss.

 

I went into first responder mode when my husband left. I was facing overwhelming change – loss of a husband, home, dogs and health. Nothing was the same. I had never ending legal obligations between the divorce and the criminal trial. I had the same job, but the start of the school year was fast approaching and that is always a time of increased stress and adjustment.

 

I triaged my life. I set priorities and worked to accomplish them. There wasn’t room to feel sad. I let my focus narrow and I allowed anger to be my fuel. In an emergency, you have to be able to ignore all non-essentials to address the matters of life and death. You need to be able to act rather than feel. You don’t have time to worry about non life threatening issues or to attend to the bigger picture. It’s all about doing what needs to be done so that life continues for another breath.

 

Eventually, the emergencies pass and the first responder mode is not appropriate any longer. I remember my struggle to let go of my first responder and to allow a more holistic self-caregiver to take her place. Here is the advice I gave my friend last night based on my own experiences:

 

– It’s okay to not feel right now. You have to do what needs to be done to make sure your basic needs are met. It doesn’t mean there is anything wrong with you.

 

– Just like the reality of a medical emergency hits after the danger has passed, expect the reality of this to hit you once the initial crisis have been navigated. Don’t be surprised.

 

– Allow yourself to feel; don’t stay too distracted for too long. You’ve compartmentalized for the moment so that you can function. Those walls won’t hold forever. When you are ready, slow down. The fear of the pain is usually worse than the pain itself.

 

– Again, when you are ready, look for what you can learn from the relationship. When those nuggets come up right now, file them away for later when you are better able to analyze them.

 

– I know you want to be okay. But don’t let that desire cause you to pretend to be okay before you really are. There is no timeline, but if you don’t heal, it will eventually fester.

– It’s okay to ask for help. First responders rarely work alone.

 

– Be careful of the adrenaline; it can become addictive. Unless you want to live your life jumping from one emergency to another, you have to learn to let it go when it is no longer needed.

 

I know my friend will be okay. She’s strong and capable. In time, her emergency will resolve and she can leave her first responder mode behind.