Leaning Out - Six Weeks In

My last post was a celebration of my decision to work a new schedule: four days on, ten days off. It was also a send off for myself, into unknown territory. Like all of the big, life-enhancing changes I've made over the years, this one started with a leap of faith. I didn't know for sure if I would still make enough money to cover my bills. I didn't know if I would feel more creative, feel more rested, feel more centered (which is what I hoped). I just knew that what I had been doing wasn't working. I watched my beloved mentor, Robyn thrive in a slow-lane, work-less life. And I decided to join her.

The first two weeks I had off, I felt drawn to home projects - things that I'd put off, some for years. In 2006, I installed shelves in my closet, but didn't have the right tools. So the screws anchoring the shelves in place along one wall were never stable. It was one of those little things that gnawed - not a significant part of my day, but there, annoying, day after day. I fixed that.

I got a sewing machine, tired of hemming by hand, especially as my eyesight changes. Plus, I wanted to make my own COVID masks so the inner lining would be soft and comfy. I ordered anti-microbial fabric for the outer layer and the filtering inner layer. Then I cut up an old, cotton pillow case, washed a thousand times, and used that for the lining. I measured and adjusted for my face size and shape, then my husband's. We have masks now that are so much easier to wear.

I fretted in those two weeks, that I wasn't writing. I've had a book in mind for many years, self help, teaching others what I've learned about self care, what I share with my own clients. I was convinced I had undiagnosed ADD made worse with menopause. I wondered if a little Ritalin or Adderall might help me focus. I wondered if maybe it was time to let go of the idea of writing a book. Maybe it would feel better to stop struggling to get my thoughts onto the page.

Despite the fretting, I honored the promise I made to myself to spend my time off following where my heart led me. I napped. I played video games. I read. I watched British television. I didn't know at the time that I needed those first two weeks to tend to the house projects that had been pulling for my attention, resting and entertaining myself between painting and drilling and sanding. I needed two weeks not to think, but just do the kind of manual labor that leaves you sweaty and happy, because things actually get finished.

I needed time to stop thinking, planning, tracking, and responding to emails, phone calls, and texts. In the quiet that followed, I could see clearly how distracted and fragmented my time had become. No wonder it was hard to focus. I had been like a pinball, pinging from one bumper to another, all the dinging and ringing making it hard to think.

Just before my third stretch of ten days began, I had an online visit with a psychiatrist to help determine whether I really have ADD. My test results had been inconclusive. I might have a very mild case. Not enough to warrant the risk of taking medication. 

In our talk, he wanted to know why focus felt so important now after 56 years of managing life pretty well. I explained I have wanted to write a book about my work. I told him what I've been teaching clients about self love and how it is healing insecurity and anxious attachment wounds for my clients. He was very supportive. He said, "I hope you find I way to get it done. We need that book."

Sometimes, a little encouragement is all it takes. On my next day off, I sat down with Scrivener, a tool I had heard so many good things about - especially for people who need help getting their thoughts organized. I wrote an outline, and turned the headings into chapters. The next day I took all the writing I had done in the past - several beginnings without endings, and I put them in a folder to refer to and draw from. On the third day, I took out my calendar and calculated how many words I would need to write per day to finish a first draft in a year - 400 writing only on my days off. On day four, I wrote the introduction. Days 5-10 I wrote more than 400 words each day - sometimes 600, sometimes 1000. 

When I found myself going off on a tangent, I copied the meandering paragraphs into the "Notes" window, beside the main writing window. I had no worries about losing something important. It now had a home where I could find it later. And then I kept writing. I have never felt so focused before.

Each day I'm not seeing clients, I pick up wherever I left off. I've never been able to do this so consistently before. Scrivener is a big part of it. But bigger are these long blocks of time without interruption, knowing I have auto-responders on every form of communication, so I don't have to check compulsively to see if anyone needs me. I float along these slow moving rivers of time, writing, napping, exercising, cooking, gardening, cleaning, and not much else. 

I feel zero pressure to get anything done because there is plenty of time. I can sew until I finish making my new Ukulele case. Did I mention I got myself a Ukulele to help with some arthritis? No? Oh, well that happened too. 

I can write till my 400 or 1000 words are done. I can walk the neighborhood for an hour or longer when the air quality is good. Or I can pop on a 20-minute YouTube workout if I need to stay inside. I can nap every day - essential as the summer heat lingers into fall, and my hot flashes flare at night.

I don't feel like I have ADD now because there is time to sit with one thing until it is done or until I am at a good stopping point. On the days I see clients, I am utterly present for them. Nothing is pulling at me. I cook up a bunch of food on the Sunday before work starts, so I can grab lunch or snacks on my breaks. I have time to take care of myself in ways I didn't even know I needed before.

Today I checked my total word count in Scrivener, 14,684 words completed. I expect the first draft will be between 80,000 and 120,000, so I'm more than a tenth of the way in. And it feels easy so far.

I don't think I'm alone. I think most of us feel scattered and fragmented between the demands of work and family. I think we are so tired that when we have time off, all we can do is stare into a screen, reaching for the dopamine hit of likes and hearts or falling into the rabbit hole of the latest political shit show. I think we are tired and lonely for our very own company. I think we have become afraid to listen to our own thoughts, knowing we might find out just how exhausted and dissatisfied and utterly off track we feel. 

I know you may not have the same choices I have - to schedule your time as you might need to. Our society is not structured for the wellbeing of its members. We still live in a world of vasselage - working according to precepts developed to keep the coffers of kings and lords filled - though the kings and lords today are called CEO's and shareholders.

By living differently, I hope I am doing more than just taking care of my own self. I hope I am gently fomenting rebellion. It doesn't have to be so hard. We really don't need more stuff. We need more time, more connection, more kindness, more slowness.

Be gentle with yourselves, my loves.

Gossip, Snark and other Relationship Poisons

In my family, we talked about other people all the time. My mom complained about my dad to each of us kids. My dad did the same about my mom. We kids complained to our parents about the other parent or a sibling. We complained to our siblings about our parents. An unspoken but deeply held family rule: don’t be direct.

When one or more people in a family are insecure, avoidance (especially conflict avoidance) is bound to show up. I brought this behavior pattern into my professional, social, and romantic relationships because, for me, it was normal. I complained to my friends about my love interests. I complained about one friend to another.

I didn’t think of my behavior as gossip. I didn't think about how I was “poisoning the well,” manipulating other people's opinions, and contaminating feelings between other people. Like a fish who doesn't know she is wet, I didn’t know my family pattern was contaminated. It seemed normal that one ever really trusted each other, and each of us knew that we were being judged when we weren’t there.

I also never learned to be direct, to express my true feelings, or to set effective boundaries. The really big loss, though, is that I never learned how to reestablish love and trust when I hurt someone’s feelings. I didn’t learn that relationships become stronger, intimacy deepens and trust grows when people can openly talk about hurt feelings, jealousy, bad moods and all the other normal reactions we have as humans.

I had no idea how healing and connecting a heartfelt apology could be when given sincerely and accepted with love. In psychobabble, we call this "repair," and when done well, it is the superglue of relationships.

It took a lot of therapy, some great friends, and a very patient husband to teach me how to be direct and kind, to say, “this isn’t working for me,” without shaming or blaming others. It took the blessing of a dear friend letting me know I had hurt her feelings and giving me the chance to tell her how much sorrow (the root of the words, “I’m sorry”) I felt, learning I had hurt her, to experience the sweetness and relief of her forgiveness. To this day, she is one of my most cherished friends.

There is another gift in being direct. It’s more subtle, but equally powerful. It’s the gift of realizing that when we talk about others, labeling, criticizing, or analyzing, we are really projecting (talking about ourselves without realizing it). When my mother complained that my father never helped, she was implying he was a jerk. But what she never said was that she had always felt alone and unappreciated, not just by him, but in every relationship she ever had.

I know this feeling because I learned to behave like my mom in my own relationships. I did everything around the house, hoping my husband would notice and understand the secret code: do for me as I am doing for you. He wasn’t raised with the code and didn’t know it. With the help of my therapist, I learned to ask for help directly, without any of the irritation or frustration that was my own projection:

If I have to ask, it means you don’t really care. This confirms my belief that I am not lovable. Now I feel shame, and I am mad at you for "making" me feel shitty.

Of course, the craziest thing happened. When I asked, “Can you vacuum today or tomorrow?” he cheerfully said, “Sure.” That was it. There was no drama. It was my fuming, my irritation, my assumption he was a jerk, and my unconscious belief that I was unlovable that led to our previous fights about chores.

He didn’t mind helping. He minded being treated like he was a jerk.

The deeper lesson for me was that my being lovable was separate from him being helpful. This is key for those of us who were loved conditionally. Growing up, I was loved when I pleased my parents. Anticipating their wishes and fulfilling them without them having to ask was a survival tool. If I hadn’t mastered that, I would have been shamed and blamed.

If you were raised in a family with insecure attachment patterns, it might be difficult to be direct. You may find yourself shaming and blaming others when they disappoint you (maybe just in your head). This is a rich opportunity to look for the underlying belief you might be holding about yourself. It might be a chance to practice being honest and kind, asking for what you need or want without snark. It might be an opportunity to express hurt or disappointment and see if the other person can offer you a genuine apology.

Of course, this is difficult, even scary when being direct was against an unspoken family rule. It may be easier to take this risk with support, or to try in smaller, easier ways with people you suspect are more secure and more able to manage direct communication. Maybe it’s not so much what you do differently, but just a shift in awareness. If you are talking (or thinking) negatively about someone else, what’s really happening inside of you?