In my last post, I talked about the image that I saw in myself. I mentioned that throughout H.S. I dated guys because it boosted my self-esteem, but only to have it crushed when I would realized that I still was not good enough to be seen by the ones that I wanted to look at me.
I simply was not made to be beautiful.
After High School graduation, my folks moved on to a new house in a new state, and I was forced to follow. I had never even traveled this far north before and now, everything I had worked for (my reputation, my friends, my hangouts, my job..) it was all taken away. I was starting over again. I was starting fresh. And after the summer was over, I would start college.
If it wasn't soccer, then pool was my game. Not swimming, billiards. I knew that if I could find a pool hall in this town then I could make some new friends (aka. dates to fuel my self-esteem again). I was used to getting guy's attention, in an environment where I was the only female available.
Naturally, I would go in alone. I would scan the room for prospects and then would proceed to start playing a game - solo. It wouldn't take long before I would have a partner for the next game. I looked at them like they were suckers, paying for my games, my drinks, my attention, my FUN...but down deep inside, past my stubborn pride, I knew who the real sucker would be. Because without fail there was always that one guy that I would spot, and immediately I would know that he was much too good for me. Even if he wasn't marriage material, his looks said that he would never even second glance at me. That pool hall in Illinois was the first to break that rule. And I quickly found myself in too deep before I knew it was happening.
The physical attraction was so intense that all my virtues of waiting for marriage, was quickly being forgotten. What would hold me back in the end, was my own insecurities. I was still afraid that something about my body would turn him off of me.
Jesse was one of those special guys. I still have fond memories of him. He was just as confused as I was, but in a whole nother way. Jesse was a self-confessed sex addict. I wasn't really sure what that meant when he told me, but I knew that I must be just another set of legs to him. When I wasn't working the late shift, I would tell my parents that I was, and then sneak off to see Jesse. I was afraid of him, and afraid of me, but I also wanted to indulge and push the limits a little bit. Jesse was what people might call "cut" he had the pretty face to match the muscles too. And I knew by the way he talked, that I was just one of many women that had noticed his beautiful body. That fact left me feeling insecure, even in our flimsy dating relationship that we were in. I wanted more from him. I wanted to be special to him.
Jesse wasn't a Christian. Far from it, in fact. When I told him that I was going to a Christian college, he asked me if I was going to be a nun. (uh...no.) My connection with God was still a very high priority, and although my selfish desires had clouded my good intentions; I still really wanted to share my faith with Jesse. We talked in depth about his search for a higher power. I could tell that he longed for something more to this life. Even with the sheltered view that he had of the world, he knew that without something good, all that's left is the bad. He was searching for God. He told me that he was waiting for a "sign" to believe. Sadly, I had to say good-bye and go to school. Jesse had decided to join the Job Corp. I had hoped that I would be that "sign" he was looking for. Instead, we went our separate ways sad and slightly annoyed with one another because of the faith based coversations.
I was in the middle of my second semester sophomore year, when I got an unexpected letter delivered to me. It was Jesse. He had called my parents house to get my address. I was shocked and very excited to hear from him, especially knowing to what great lengths he went to get in touch with me. "You must have made a lasting impression with me," he said. With every word I read, all I could think of, was he couldn't be talking about me, because I'm nothing special. But then I knew what it was that made him believe that I was. Unfortunately, there's nothing that I could quote from Jesse's letter to would show you what I can see when I read it. But through all the recorded memories and by the way he spoke about our last moments together I can tell, I was special to him. I was special in the same way that music is to a deaf person, or touch to a blind person. I allowed him to feel the one thing that he'd been missing.
I began to slowly piece it all together lately. It was something I had forgotten. Amongst all the diet planning and workout scheduling throughout my year, I had missed the point again. In fact, I drive myself crazy when I try to live up to my standards of beautiful.
I can't make myself beautiful. I can't make myself special to anyone.
But God can.
And when I allow His light to shine through, He does.
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(Fun Fact: I am fascinated by the meanings behind names. I looked up the meaning of "Jesse"- you should try it. Tell me what you find. That is his real name by-the-way.)
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
What do we behold?
I've always wanted to be beautiful.
Everyone does. I know that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but the "beholders" that I want to impress have been far more beautiful than what my eyes have seen in my own refection. I assume that they see the same when they look at me. This belief along with my genetic OCD has led me down a relentless path; the pursuit of personal perfection.
It was early on when I started to feel inferior in my physical qualities to other girls my age. In kindergarten, my friends and I role played "Star Wars" on the playground. There was just three of us; John Mark, Jessica, and I. For anyone who knows about the original series will realize that there is only one girl part to choose from. I thought Jessica was beautiful, but she was my friend and I was happy with being friends with her. I absolutely adored John Mark. He was my Mr McDreamy, and I wanted to be as special to him as he was to me. But just looking at him and at our mutual friend Jessica, I knew that would be unlikely. After all, who would ever fall in love with Darth Vader?
Even after I stepped up and stepped out of my so-called "tomboy" phase, so that people would have less reason to be confused about my gender, I still knew that I would always be a mediocre woman at best. At night or when I was alone (which was mostly at night) my OCD would kick in full force and would wreck havoc over my entire body in search of imperfections. To put it simply, I'm a "picker". Every bump, every spot, every rough spot, or speculated problem area on my face and body would need to be smoothed out, because it could not be allowed to be there. I already felt ugly (or uglier that most)and blemishes of any kind would only make that worse. I wanted to do something to change my physical appearance. I wanted to perfect it in every way possible, and "picking" was my only way of handling that kind of hate that I had for my body. It didn't ease my anxiety or frustration, but it gave it an outlet so that I could survive.
When I would get made fun of, or brushed aside by my peers, I always ended up thinking to myself, "What's wrong with me?" Because, I knew the "me" inside wasn't bad. I knew that I loved Jesus, and that nothing made me happier than to help another person. I was smart. I was kind. I had good manners. And I could be funny, if people would just give a chance to smile. If beauty was on the inside, then I should have been all that my Mom had told me I was and more, but it wasn't my Mom's attention that I was longing for.
I dated a lot as a teen, but was never in an ongoing exclusive relationship. I was able to get the attention of several guys. I liked that. It made me feel good about myself. But that good feeling was always short lived, when I realized that the reason they liked me was because no other self respecting girl would give them a second glance. Then I would remember the guys I did like, how untouchable they seemed to me. The "us" would always be just a dream inside my head.
My biggest crush started in junior high. Garret was good looking and everyone could see that. He had the charm and personality to accompany his good looks. But what really made him stand out to me was his knowledge of and pursuit after God. His love for my lord was what made my heart jump when he would look my way. For the whole 7 years that we were around each other, I never had the courage to show him how I felt. In fact, when he would strike up a conversation with me, I would act as if his presence around me meant about as much as deciding what's socks to wear that day. I would do anything not to look foolish or to be publicly embarrassed. I would like to say that Garrett and I were friends, but because of my feelings about myself, I kept my distance from him.
Always my dates would end up trying to pressure me into some kind of sexual action with them, and I enjoyed the attention, but the feeling of attraction was never mutual. By the end of my H.S. years I had concluded, that I dated unattractive guys (both inside and out) because I was unattractive and that's all I could get. That's all that I deserved. I should learn to be content to live within my own physical limitations. Fairness or my own feelings about the matter are irrelevant to the situation. That's just life.
The college years began to prove me wrong.
--------------------------------------------------
second half coming soon
Everyone does. I know that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but the "beholders" that I want to impress have been far more beautiful than what my eyes have seen in my own refection. I assume that they see the same when they look at me. This belief along with my genetic OCD has led me down a relentless path; the pursuit of personal perfection.
It was early on when I started to feel inferior in my physical qualities to other girls my age. In kindergarten, my friends and I role played "Star Wars" on the playground. There was just three of us; John Mark, Jessica, and I. For anyone who knows about the original series will realize that there is only one girl part to choose from. I thought Jessica was beautiful, but she was my friend and I was happy with being friends with her. I absolutely adored John Mark. He was my Mr McDreamy, and I wanted to be as special to him as he was to me. But just looking at him and at our mutual friend Jessica, I knew that would be unlikely. After all, who would ever fall in love with Darth Vader?
Even after I stepped up and stepped out of my so-called "tomboy" phase, so that people would have less reason to be confused about my gender, I still knew that I would always be a mediocre woman at best. At night or when I was alone (which was mostly at night) my OCD would kick in full force and would wreck havoc over my entire body in search of imperfections. To put it simply, I'm a "picker". Every bump, every spot, every rough spot, or speculated problem area on my face and body would need to be smoothed out, because it could not be allowed to be there. I already felt ugly (or uglier that most)and blemishes of any kind would only make that worse. I wanted to do something to change my physical appearance. I wanted to perfect it in every way possible, and "picking" was my only way of handling that kind of hate that I had for my body. It didn't ease my anxiety or frustration, but it gave it an outlet so that I could survive.
When I would get made fun of, or brushed aside by my peers, I always ended up thinking to myself, "What's wrong with me?" Because, I knew the "me" inside wasn't bad. I knew that I loved Jesus, and that nothing made me happier than to help another person. I was smart. I was kind. I had good manners. And I could be funny, if people would just give a chance to smile. If beauty was on the inside, then I should have been all that my Mom had told me I was and more, but it wasn't my Mom's attention that I was longing for.
I dated a lot as a teen, but was never in an ongoing exclusive relationship. I was able to get the attention of several guys. I liked that. It made me feel good about myself. But that good feeling was always short lived, when I realized that the reason they liked me was because no other self respecting girl would give them a second glance. Then I would remember the guys I did like, how untouchable they seemed to me. The "us" would always be just a dream inside my head.
My biggest crush started in junior high. Garret was good looking and everyone could see that. He had the charm and personality to accompany his good looks. But what really made him stand out to me was his knowledge of and pursuit after God. His love for my lord was what made my heart jump when he would look my way. For the whole 7 years that we were around each other, I never had the courage to show him how I felt. In fact, when he would strike up a conversation with me, I would act as if his presence around me meant about as much as deciding what's socks to wear that day. I would do anything not to look foolish or to be publicly embarrassed. I would like to say that Garrett and I were friends, but because of my feelings about myself, I kept my distance from him.
Always my dates would end up trying to pressure me into some kind of sexual action with them, and I enjoyed the attention, but the feeling of attraction was never mutual. By the end of my H.S. years I had concluded, that I dated unattractive guys (both inside and out) because I was unattractive and that's all I could get. That's all that I deserved. I should learn to be content to live within my own physical limitations. Fairness or my own feelings about the matter are irrelevant to the situation. That's just life.
The college years began to prove me wrong.
--------------------------------------------------
second half coming soon
Thursday, July 7, 2011
In this moment
Inspiration doesn't tell time. It's almost 4 AM while I type this. My kids have been spending some time away at Grandma's house for swimming lessons, and it has given Drew and I a much needed break to regroup ourselves. I've spent some time watching non-Disney movies, cleaning house (while it can actually stay clean for more than 5 minutes) and other similar activities. But the best use of my time has been spent going on walks or driving a little ways to a quiet spot, to think and pray. Prayer and meditation has a way of putting all our stressers and worries of our past, present, and future, back into perspective.
Realizing, all we have is today.
It seems like such a simple concept, but ironically it took my formerly abusive father's example to open my eyes to it. It was Mother's Day weekend, and the kids and I packed oursleves in the van. We were off to spend time at my parents house just to be there for my mom and make her wish come true. Drew was unable to go with us because of work. I always end up regretting going to see my parents by myself, so I was not looking forward to making this trip alone again. Family always brings out the worst in people, and knowing what I know now concerning the orgin of my addictions and same-sex attraction, only fuels the fire for hostility in me.
I have to put on a face. I have to make my indifference to the past seem real. I must accept the hugs and kisses from the man who actions still haunt me today. There's an obvious injustice that I am forced to ignore, because I want to be respectful of my family.
The weekend went as well as could be expected. We all went to church on Sunday, and afterward met up at my brother's house for lunch. When the meal was over it was time for the kids and I to pack up and say our goodbyes. The trip seemed without any significant incidence. We appeared to be leaving everyone on a high-note for a change. I was thankful for that, but didn't want to waste time waiting for the winds to change before heading home. Then just after I shut my driverside door, my dad came up to talk to me. I began to feel my face and body tense up, not knowing what to expect. Quietly, only audible to me, he said,"Kayt, I just wanted to tell you...I'm very proud of you and the life that you've made with your family. I just wanted... to tell you that." I nodded and forced a smile and subtle quiet "thank you" came out of my mouth. Then we all waved good-bye one last time and I drove away.
I had to make a stop again about a mile away to fill up with gas. When I pulled up next to the pump, I was already fuming about what my dad had said. "Just WHO does he think he is??! What does he think that crap is gonna do?! Does he really expect me to FORGET about all the s*#@ he's put me through?! Like that one little gesture is gonna make everything ok between us! He hasn't changed...NOTHING's changed."
I went inside the station to pay with cash, and the whole time....I had this unexplainable ache in my chest. Some guy followed me out of the building asking me for change, and I gave it to him; which had me calmed down again while I put my seat belt on. As I started to get on the highway, I realized that my poor reaction to my dad's words had made me the bad guy this time.
I like road trips. They give me a lot of time to think. I had three hours to reflect upon my father's words to me. By the time I was getting onto my exit, God had sifted through my pain and bitterness to show me the heart that exists; a heart that can still love and understand.
I realized that my dad came to my door to say those heart felt words all on his own. Nothing prompted him. There was no need for apologies that day; he hadn't done anything wrong. But still, he went out of his way to tell me that my life meant something to him. He was proud of me. He didn't have to tell me how he felt, but he did. And I had spent all this time on the road resenting him for his kindness. I had been looking at the past and considering what might be the future, and forgetting what was happening in the now. He did all that he could in that moment. In that moment, he was the best father I'd ever known.
Believe it or not, I was still reluctant to share this story about my dad doing something right on here. I'm still getting the hang of this "forgiveness" thing. But I am beginning to see that the big picture is in the small things.
I tell my kids to clean up their room once in awhile. Every time I do, you can see it in their faces how overwhelmed they feel by looking at the mess that lies before them. Understanding this same feeling of defeat before the start, I come to their aide with some comforting advice. "Don't look at the whole room. Instead, just pick up one toy at a time, and put it away until there are no more toys to pick up." I know that it's nothing profound to most of us, but to a small child with a messy room, it was relief from a hopeless situation.
I feel that same relief when I look at my recovery and my relationships with others that way. There have been many times where I would want to ask for forgiveness for my sinful thoughts or bad decisions, but felt reluctant to even talk to God, because I knew that my history spoke for itself and my repentance would not last. So what's the point in trying? I was defeated from the start. Those feelings of hopelessness would lead to hating myself, feeling trapped, and suicidal thoughts. I was jealous of those who would speak of their addictions in the past tense, not knowing how I could ever be in that position with the way I am. But my father showed me the way. Just by taking one day at a time saying,"In this moment, I am doing ok. In this moment, I'm doing it right."
Forget about the past. Don't worry about the future. All we have is this moment.
And I can do my best in that.
Realizing, all we have is today.
It seems like such a simple concept, but ironically it took my formerly abusive father's example to open my eyes to it. It was Mother's Day weekend, and the kids and I packed oursleves in the van. We were off to spend time at my parents house just to be there for my mom and make her wish come true. Drew was unable to go with us because of work. I always end up regretting going to see my parents by myself, so I was not looking forward to making this trip alone again. Family always brings out the worst in people, and knowing what I know now concerning the orgin of my addictions and same-sex attraction, only fuels the fire for hostility in me.
I have to put on a face. I have to make my indifference to the past seem real. I must accept the hugs and kisses from the man who actions still haunt me today. There's an obvious injustice that I am forced to ignore, because I want to be respectful of my family.
The weekend went as well as could be expected. We all went to church on Sunday, and afterward met up at my brother's house for lunch. When the meal was over it was time for the kids and I to pack up and say our goodbyes. The trip seemed without any significant incidence. We appeared to be leaving everyone on a high-note for a change. I was thankful for that, but didn't want to waste time waiting for the winds to change before heading home. Then just after I shut my driverside door, my dad came up to talk to me. I began to feel my face and body tense up, not knowing what to expect. Quietly, only audible to me, he said,"Kayt, I just wanted to tell you...I'm very proud of you and the life that you've made with your family. I just wanted... to tell you that." I nodded and forced a smile and subtle quiet "thank you" came out of my mouth. Then we all waved good-bye one last time and I drove away.
I had to make a stop again about a mile away to fill up with gas. When I pulled up next to the pump, I was already fuming about what my dad had said. "Just WHO does he think he is??! What does he think that crap is gonna do?! Does he really expect me to FORGET about all the s*#@ he's put me through?! Like that one little gesture is gonna make everything ok between us! He hasn't changed...NOTHING's changed."
I went inside the station to pay with cash, and the whole time....I had this unexplainable ache in my chest. Some guy followed me out of the building asking me for change, and I gave it to him; which had me calmed down again while I put my seat belt on. As I started to get on the highway, I realized that my poor reaction to my dad's words had made me the bad guy this time.
I like road trips. They give me a lot of time to think. I had three hours to reflect upon my father's words to me. By the time I was getting onto my exit, God had sifted through my pain and bitterness to show me the heart that exists; a heart that can still love and understand.
I realized that my dad came to my door to say those heart felt words all on his own. Nothing prompted him. There was no need for apologies that day; he hadn't done anything wrong. But still, he went out of his way to tell me that my life meant something to him. He was proud of me. He didn't have to tell me how he felt, but he did. And I had spent all this time on the road resenting him for his kindness. I had been looking at the past and considering what might be the future, and forgetting what was happening in the now. He did all that he could in that moment. In that moment, he was the best father I'd ever known.
Believe it or not, I was still reluctant to share this story about my dad doing something right on here. I'm still getting the hang of this "forgiveness" thing. But I am beginning to see that the big picture is in the small things.
I tell my kids to clean up their room once in awhile. Every time I do, you can see it in their faces how overwhelmed they feel by looking at the mess that lies before them. Understanding this same feeling of defeat before the start, I come to their aide with some comforting advice. "Don't look at the whole room. Instead, just pick up one toy at a time, and put it away until there are no more toys to pick up." I know that it's nothing profound to most of us, but to a small child with a messy room, it was relief from a hopeless situation.
I feel that same relief when I look at my recovery and my relationships with others that way. There have been many times where I would want to ask for forgiveness for my sinful thoughts or bad decisions, but felt reluctant to even talk to God, because I knew that my history spoke for itself and my repentance would not last. So what's the point in trying? I was defeated from the start. Those feelings of hopelessness would lead to hating myself, feeling trapped, and suicidal thoughts. I was jealous of those who would speak of their addictions in the past tense, not knowing how I could ever be in that position with the way I am. But my father showed me the way. Just by taking one day at a time saying,"In this moment, I am doing ok. In this moment, I'm doing it right."
Forget about the past. Don't worry about the future. All we have is this moment.
And I can do my best in that.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
When push comes to ...ask?
Hello, I know that you tried to contact me - thanks for that. I've been in kind of a bad place lately. I'm married and have always been involved with the church, and so I am selective with whom I talk to about my feelings and problems that I face. A support team is important to me because I have seen how secrets have kept me scared and in the dark within my past. Recently, those that I would call upon when I needed some encouragement have been preoccupied, living their own life, to continue to help me with mine. I understand why they need to focus on their families and themselves, but I am concerned ... Where do I go now?
It's not that I'm a needy person, but that I am worried that without support being there, I will forget the "why" I needed them in the first place. I'm beginning to understand why people seek out paid professionals for help. I, however, do not have a surplus of money to put towards this. With the state that my relationship is in with my spouse at the present time, it wouldn't feel right to use his earnings on myself like that anyway. Any suggestions?
It's not that I'm a needy person, but that I am worried that without support being there, I will forget the "why" I needed them in the first place. I'm beginning to understand why people seek out paid professionals for help. I, however, do not have a surplus of money to put towards this. With the state that my relationship is in with my spouse at the present time, it wouldn't feel right to use his earnings on myself like that anyway. Any suggestions?
Monday, June 13, 2011
status update
I apologize if you have been checking on here and noticed that I haven't written anything new in two weeks. Spending time alone and reflecting can stir up some dust sometimes, and I can see that metaphorically, my life seems rather dirty right now.
One of my goals in writing this blog is to be completely honest and open to myself and others about my thoughts, feelings, and events that take place.
I don't feel as if I can do that in the place I'm in right now. Give me some time, I'm sure that I will come around to talking about all my "secrets" again. Thanks for your patience.
One of my goals in writing this blog is to be completely honest and open to myself and others about my thoughts, feelings, and events that take place.
I don't feel as if I can do that in the place I'm in right now. Give me some time, I'm sure that I will come around to talking about all my "secrets" again. Thanks for your patience.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Reflection: "alone time"
Garrett was in my dream last night. I finally confessed to him, after all these years of keeping it secret, that I had a crush on him in Jr High and High School. ("Crush" seems like such a small word, because to me with all the memories of my feelings for him, it felt more like love.)
I told him that I knew I was kind of a dork then, but now... He took it really well, but also a little matter-of-fact. Whether it made a difference to his perspective or not, it felt good to just get it off my chest and out into the open. When I awoke, that good feeling crossed over too. Even if it wasn't the real thing, I got what I needed out of it. I let go of my secret.
"A pool of water won't reflect unless it's absolutely still." -Unknown
Dreams are sometimes reflections of ourselves. When we dream, we reflect upon our day, our week, our life. Anything from insignificant details like how we floss our teeth or what we wore to bed, to grander thoughts like meeting the love our life or the fear we have about losing a family member; these images and/or ideas that plague our mind will go on to create elaborate stories within our subconscious.
Lately, I've been watching a show consumed with dreams and the possibilities that entail through their interpretation. "Medium" is a TV series in which the title alone will raise the red flag with some people, but I find it to be entertaining. Beyond the main character's obvious psychic ability to connect with the dead or those in trouble, her powers are most seen while asleep in the bedroom. She foretells the future with her dreams, or sees the past in her nightmares. But what I really find fascinating in all of this, is that just like anyone else's dream, what she witnesses while she's asleep is not always reliable for finding meaning. They may still contain a reflection of herself entangled within. Her humanity gets in the way of seeing the truth.
Even though, I'm not a psychic or a prophetess with an ability to dream the future, I still wake up from a dream or nightmare that makes me spend some of my day gnawing over events after I wake. I wonder..."What does this dream say about me?"
"Reflection" is a mirroring of oneself, or a situation.
It's good to spend time in "reflection". Some people call it meditation, others might call it quiet time. I like to call it my "alone time". No matter what word you use, this time set aside for self-examination to gather your thoughts together -to reflect upon your life or day thus far, is as necessary as the air you breath in maintaining a healthy mind and a focused life.
It's important to me that I spend time asking all the deep hard questions, such as: "Why do I do the things I do?" or "Why do I believe that way about that?" Or sometimes just trying to figure out what is going on inside me that made me react with such strong emotions to a certain situation (i.e. a fight with my husband, a phone call with my mom or dad, or a friend who doesn't see things the same as me.)
I understand that just like looking for a deeper meaning in a dream where many times there is none, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar in life as well. Sometimes bad grades in school are just from poor study habits. Sometimes a fight between a couple is just a childish power play or raising a fist in the name of "fairness". But sometimes...many times, there is another reason hiding somewhere between the ordinary and the simple explanations.
We hide the darkness that we fear lives inside. We hide it not because we're worried about the after life, but because showing it (it= failures, faults, temptations, fears, dreams, and doubts) might ostracize us from friends, family, and the society circle that we live in. We even hide it from ourselves, believing that our acknowledgement of "it" would make it more real. And ignoring it might make it go away. We worry that our humanity might get in the way.
A time of personal reflection is good, but keep in mind that the mirror image of oneself is not a clear one until we reach out for a second opinion.
------------------------
Next post will be a continuation of this one.
Your comments will help. Thanks!
I told him that I knew I was kind of a dork then, but now... He took it really well, but also a little matter-of-fact. Whether it made a difference to his perspective or not, it felt good to just get it off my chest and out into the open. When I awoke, that good feeling crossed over too. Even if it wasn't the real thing, I got what I needed out of it. I let go of my secret.
"A pool of water won't reflect unless it's absolutely still." -Unknown
Dreams are sometimes reflections of ourselves. When we dream, we reflect upon our day, our week, our life. Anything from insignificant details like how we floss our teeth or what we wore to bed, to grander thoughts like meeting the love our life or the fear we have about losing a family member; these images and/or ideas that plague our mind will go on to create elaborate stories within our subconscious.
Lately, I've been watching a show consumed with dreams and the possibilities that entail through their interpretation. "Medium" is a TV series in which the title alone will raise the red flag with some people, but I find it to be entertaining. Beyond the main character's obvious psychic ability to connect with the dead or those in trouble, her powers are most seen while asleep in the bedroom. She foretells the future with her dreams, or sees the past in her nightmares. But what I really find fascinating in all of this, is that just like anyone else's dream, what she witnesses while she's asleep is not always reliable for finding meaning. They may still contain a reflection of herself entangled within. Her humanity gets in the way of seeing the truth.
Even though, I'm not a psychic or a prophetess with an ability to dream the future, I still wake up from a dream or nightmare that makes me spend some of my day gnawing over events after I wake. I wonder..."What does this dream say about me?"
"Reflection" is a mirroring of oneself, or a situation.
It's good to spend time in "reflection". Some people call it meditation, others might call it quiet time. I like to call it my "alone time". No matter what word you use, this time set aside for self-examination to gather your thoughts together -to reflect upon your life or day thus far, is as necessary as the air you breath in maintaining a healthy mind and a focused life.
It's important to me that I spend time asking all the deep hard questions, such as: "Why do I do the things I do?" or "Why do I believe that way about that?" Or sometimes just trying to figure out what is going on inside me that made me react with such strong emotions to a certain situation (i.e. a fight with my husband, a phone call with my mom or dad, or a friend who doesn't see things the same as me.)
I understand that just like looking for a deeper meaning in a dream where many times there is none, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar in life as well. Sometimes bad grades in school are just from poor study habits. Sometimes a fight between a couple is just a childish power play or raising a fist in the name of "fairness". But sometimes...many times, there is another reason hiding somewhere between the ordinary and the simple explanations.
We hide the darkness that we fear lives inside. We hide it not because we're worried about the after life, but because showing it (it= failures, faults, temptations, fears, dreams, and doubts) might ostracize us from friends, family, and the society circle that we live in. We even hide it from ourselves, believing that our acknowledgement of "it" would make it more real. And ignoring it might make it go away. We worry that our humanity might get in the way.
A time of personal reflection is good, but keep in mind that the mirror image of oneself is not a clear one until we reach out for a second opinion.
------------------------
Next post will be a continuation of this one.
Your comments will help. Thanks!
Monday, May 16, 2011
Retreat!!! Run for your lives!
Attention Facebook: I am leaving the women's group (of a place that will remain unnamed), because
1) I know bunkus about "Bunco"
And
2) I have a fear of intimacy with other women.
Recently, I was invited to a Women's Retreat that our congregation is promoting. Last year, I didn't go because of the cost of the trip. But after being comfronted about the possibility of going to this years, I remembered that money was never the real issue; Fear was.
What am I scared of?
When it comes to emotions like fear or surprise, you feel it first and experience the sensation in your body before you understand what it is that made you feel that way. This is no different. I wasn't sure why I was so hesitant, but then every time the cost would be mentioned for the trip, I would automatically tense up. Ir's because, I knew that the conference alone was not costing nearly a hundred dollars. The women speakers would only charge close to half that. The gas and hotel stay would take up the rest. And suddenly there it was again - the fear inside me. I was scared of staying in the hotel room with the other women.
When I realized the source of my reluctance to go, it didn't make very much sense to me. I've been to countless sleep overs and slumber parties...all-nighters, you name it! And I remember feeling cautious about myself, because I had been labeled certain ways before, but I'd never felt this terrified.
I don't want any of you to misunderstand me. I'm not saying that I'm scared of feeling tempted to have dirty or lustful thoughts. That is always a concern for me in my present mental and emotional state, but that is not what scares me. Even after coming all this way: from believing I was born to be a man; to embracing motherhood with the ability to be a good wife, knowing that God has fashioned me in that way. I still feel like an outsider when I'm in close-quarters with other ladies my age and older. And there is nothing more intimate in our daily schedules than to sleep within the same room with one another.
I don't have an answer to this one....
I'm open to hear YOUR thoughts on how to better understand this.
1) I know bunkus about "Bunco"
And
2) I have a fear of intimacy with other women.
Recently, I was invited to a Women's Retreat that our congregation is promoting. Last year, I didn't go because of the cost of the trip. But after being comfronted about the possibility of going to this years, I remembered that money was never the real issue; Fear was.
What am I scared of?
When it comes to emotions like fear or surprise, you feel it first and experience the sensation in your body before you understand what it is that made you feel that way. This is no different. I wasn't sure why I was so hesitant, but then every time the cost would be mentioned for the trip, I would automatically tense up. Ir's because, I knew that the conference alone was not costing nearly a hundred dollars. The women speakers would only charge close to half that. The gas and hotel stay would take up the rest. And suddenly there it was again - the fear inside me. I was scared of staying in the hotel room with the other women.
When I realized the source of my reluctance to go, it didn't make very much sense to me. I've been to countless sleep overs and slumber parties...all-nighters, you name it! And I remember feeling cautious about myself, because I had been labeled certain ways before, but I'd never felt this terrified.
I don't want any of you to misunderstand me. I'm not saying that I'm scared of feeling tempted to have dirty or lustful thoughts. That is always a concern for me in my present mental and emotional state, but that is not what scares me. Even after coming all this way: from believing I was born to be a man; to embracing motherhood with the ability to be a good wife, knowing that God has fashioned me in that way. I still feel like an outsider when I'm in close-quarters with other ladies my age and older. And there is nothing more intimate in our daily schedules than to sleep within the same room with one another.
I don't have an answer to this one....
I'm open to hear YOUR thoughts on how to better understand this.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Memoirs of a suicide victim
What time can't do, love will.
Remember the expression, "There's not enough time in the world"? There's never enough time in a day, in a week, month, or year; it seems, to get done what you want to accomplish and still have those moments to breathe in deep. And yet sometimes you enter a period of life when the days seem eternal, keeping you prisoner to the skin you're living in.
I had an uncle David. The memory will forever be imprinted inside my head. The feelings of hurt, helplessness, and hatred toward his actions have left their scars on my heart.
I'd like to say I knew him well, but I didn't. Most of my memories of my uncle consist of him sitting on my grandma's couch and smoking a cigarette before heading off to work at the hospital. My mom had talked about him while I was growing up, and that is where most of my knowledge of uncle David stems from -hearsay. What I heard was eye-opening.
David's dad (my grandfather) died while he was still in high school from a heart attack. David complained to my mom many times that his dad had been abusive in his anger to him. My mom, of course, denies that anything horrible ever happened inside that home. She remembers her father to be a respectable and loving man. My mom also let it slip to me later on that my uncle had thought himself a homosexual at one time, possibly having male lovers...no one would know for sure. David grew up in the church, but it had been over 20 years since he stepped inside a church building. He had tried to find help, to find counsel with the minister of the congregation when he was a teen and confided in this man about his emotions and homosexual attraction. My mother tells me that things seemed to be looking up for him after that. David was becoming more involved in the youth group and appeared genuinely interested in conquering these "obstacles" in his life, until... he was betrayed.
David signed up to be a part of a routine mission trip to another country. A mission trip that all other three of his siblings had taken before him, but one thing would stand in his way. The preacher (his confidant) was listed as one of his three references on his application. He ended up writing a letter that not only "outed" David as a struggling homosexual, but also strongly recommended that he should NOT be allowed to go on this trip. David somehow got wind of this letter and what had been said, and immediately closed the door on the church forever. Later, he would have a fiance' and she would end up leaving him because he didn't engage in sex with her before marriage. It was told to me that all she really wanted was a baby from him anyway. But all this happened before my time. Still, my mom had no idea just what kind of connection she was personally orchestrating between my uncle and I through her gossip-like stories.
I would never have the guts to approach him about these stories until I was well into my third year in college.
Every year at the Christian college that I attended, they would have a break in the spring that would not be called Spring Break. They called it Week of Evangelism (aka Week of E.). Many students would just go home or do their "own thing" just like any other school break. But some would go on various student lead or sometimes professor lead trips to help out other churches in other countries or in other states inside our own. My grandmother was sick, and had been spending a lot of time in the hospital, so I decided to go see her. Knowing that my uncle David lived with her, I considered using this opportunity to open up those doors of conversation that no one in my family had dared to. I wanted to help. I wanted to tell him that I understood. I wanted to express the connection that I felt that I shared with him all these years. Mostly, I wanted him to know that he was loved, because I always got the distinct feeling that he never felt that from anyone else in his life. My heart was in torment to talk to him. I needed to go. So I did, and I took a friend with me (Drew).
Uncle David had been threatening suicide for a couple of years. My mom would cry on the phone to him not to talk like that, but I doubted that anyone by this time was taking his words very seriously. When I arrived at my uncle's doorstep to spend the night, he greeted me at the door by saying that my grandma had passed away while I'd been traveling to get there. My heart felt crushed in that moment. All these thoughts of regret of time lost and opportunities to call or write to her that I had passed up, felt suffocating.
My uncle David snapped me out of my grief, by telling me that he would understand if I wanted to turn around and head back now, or to stay with my uncle Steve instead of him.
I wanted to say, "Oh you silly man, don't you know? I'm here to see you. God sent me to you."
No, I really wanted to laugh hysterically (because I was feeling a little hysterical). Instead, I smiled and said, "Of course not. I'm here to spend time with you too."
I spent the whole week at his tiny apartment. We went to the funeral together. We went to the grave site together, and all of the special arranged family events, but none of it seemed like a good opportunity to approach him about his life or mine. I don't know what I was waiting for. Perhaps a sunbeam from heaven, or a dove landing on his shoulder. I was scared. What if the stories were just stories? What if he denied it? What if he got mad?
I knew something was wrong. He kept wanting to go back to her grave over and over again. It was more than just grief and tears that needed to be released. I think he was envious of her. We finally shared a moment in his car together one night before I had to leave. I told him that it was ok to be mad at God for letting his mom die. I wanted him to know that it was alright and normal to feel that way. He told me that God doesn't control these sort of things. He said that these things just happen and God can't do anything about it, so why would he be angry with Him? I shook my head, because I knew that was not true. I said, "Nothing is impossible with God." Then I got more out of my comfort zone by singing a special song to him that I wanted to share.
I'm not sure if anything I did or said meant anything. I left that Texas town feeling confident that God had a purpose for it all. He had sent me there, and I had followed his leading.
Three days later, my phone is ringing off the hook and I just want to take a nap in between classes. but the message finally got to me that day. It was a Wednesday; I'll never forget it. They told me he shot himself not in the head, but with the barrel pointed straight at his heart. I remember thinking, how poetic of him, and then how bastardly selfish of him. Then that frustration turned toward God saying, "What the heck, God?! What was the point??" My feelings for my uncle continued to go south. I felt like I wanted to kill him (if he wasn't already dead). So many swear words come to mind, but I won't list them here.
I was so angry with him, and I still am a little. But those claws started to retract a bit when I heard of the lack of care and respect that his family was showing him. Even in death, he was receiving second-hand love. Even in death, they gave him little if any respect. The comments that were made were mostly about his debts that he left behind. And I can't even imagine what his life was like. Is it really any wonder that he felt so motivated to take it? Is it really?
I've felt suicidal before, but only in the heat of the moment. I can only imagine (thank God) what it must be like to live in that moment all day, every day. And I don't know what else to say about all of this.
Except love heals. No one is to blame for anybody's suicide, but just because we are not to blame doesn't keep us from falling victim to its destruction. Love can be the prevention.
Sincerity of that love can mend what time of constant wear and tear has made broken. Notice I said "can". But if there's something that can be done....
For those that want it, here's a special challenge (I am challenging myself too) make a list of people, write it down, those close to you and those not so much, who are way over due for some attention from you or from anyone. If you are having trouble then just think of someone who is angry all the time. People tend to be grumpy for a reason. Think of those people in your life that might as well be the hanging on the wall or the doorstop, because they seem so unimportant. I understand we all need to be loved, but I think what you and I forget is that many of us have our sources of love, while many others have their many sources of heartache and affliction.
If you are that person, and your life feels like a prison. I can assure you that there is more than just help out there for you.
There is love.
Back to the challenge: You've got your list. Memorize it, pray over it, sleep with it ....Invest yourself in these people. Before anyone will believe that they are important in your life, you must believe it yourself.
The next part is simple but not easy, because we all have our busy lives with our busy schedules...families, work, etc. But remember how important that love is to you in your own life and maybe that will help.
Last Step: Plan out time each week to show that love to someone on your list. This could mean a phone call, an email or special text ( written letters tend to last longer though -Hint Hint) a hug, a talk at lunch, ..be creative/ but be real. If you are stumped on what to do, than I would suggest you think about what would mean the most to you. What would brighten your day? Yeah, do that.
Love heals.
Let the love begin.
(If anyone would like to contact me: kaytmasterson@gmail.com) Also, for info on suicide prevention or causes you might be interested in visiting http://www.twloha.com/ .
Remember the expression, "There's not enough time in the world"? There's never enough time in a day, in a week, month, or year; it seems, to get done what you want to accomplish and still have those moments to breathe in deep. And yet sometimes you enter a period of life when the days seem eternal, keeping you prisoner to the skin you're living in.
I had an uncle David. The memory will forever be imprinted inside my head. The feelings of hurt, helplessness, and hatred toward his actions have left their scars on my heart.
I'd like to say I knew him well, but I didn't. Most of my memories of my uncle consist of him sitting on my grandma's couch and smoking a cigarette before heading off to work at the hospital. My mom had talked about him while I was growing up, and that is where most of my knowledge of uncle David stems from -hearsay. What I heard was eye-opening.
David's dad (my grandfather) died while he was still in high school from a heart attack. David complained to my mom many times that his dad had been abusive in his anger to him. My mom, of course, denies that anything horrible ever happened inside that home. She remembers her father to be a respectable and loving man. My mom also let it slip to me later on that my uncle had thought himself a homosexual at one time, possibly having male lovers...no one would know for sure. David grew up in the church, but it had been over 20 years since he stepped inside a church building. He had tried to find help, to find counsel with the minister of the congregation when he was a teen and confided in this man about his emotions and homosexual attraction. My mother tells me that things seemed to be looking up for him after that. David was becoming more involved in the youth group and appeared genuinely interested in conquering these "obstacles" in his life, until... he was betrayed.
David signed up to be a part of a routine mission trip to another country. A mission trip that all other three of his siblings had taken before him, but one thing would stand in his way. The preacher (his confidant) was listed as one of his three references on his application. He ended up writing a letter that not only "outed" David as a struggling homosexual, but also strongly recommended that he should NOT be allowed to go on this trip. David somehow got wind of this letter and what had been said, and immediately closed the door on the church forever. Later, he would have a fiance' and she would end up leaving him because he didn't engage in sex with her before marriage. It was told to me that all she really wanted was a baby from him anyway. But all this happened before my time. Still, my mom had no idea just what kind of connection she was personally orchestrating between my uncle and I through her gossip-like stories.
I would never have the guts to approach him about these stories until I was well into my third year in college.
Every year at the Christian college that I attended, they would have a break in the spring that would not be called Spring Break. They called it Week of Evangelism (aka Week of E.). Many students would just go home or do their "own thing" just like any other school break. But some would go on various student lead or sometimes professor lead trips to help out other churches in other countries or in other states inside our own. My grandmother was sick, and had been spending a lot of time in the hospital, so I decided to go see her. Knowing that my uncle David lived with her, I considered using this opportunity to open up those doors of conversation that no one in my family had dared to. I wanted to help. I wanted to tell him that I understood. I wanted to express the connection that I felt that I shared with him all these years. Mostly, I wanted him to know that he was loved, because I always got the distinct feeling that he never felt that from anyone else in his life. My heart was in torment to talk to him. I needed to go. So I did, and I took a friend with me (Drew).
Uncle David had been threatening suicide for a couple of years. My mom would cry on the phone to him not to talk like that, but I doubted that anyone by this time was taking his words very seriously. When I arrived at my uncle's doorstep to spend the night, he greeted me at the door by saying that my grandma had passed away while I'd been traveling to get there. My heart felt crushed in that moment. All these thoughts of regret of time lost and opportunities to call or write to her that I had passed up, felt suffocating.
My uncle David snapped me out of my grief, by telling me that he would understand if I wanted to turn around and head back now, or to stay with my uncle Steve instead of him.
I wanted to say, "Oh you silly man, don't you know? I'm here to see you. God sent me to you."
No, I really wanted to laugh hysterically (because I was feeling a little hysterical). Instead, I smiled and said, "Of course not. I'm here to spend time with you too."
I spent the whole week at his tiny apartment. We went to the funeral together. We went to the grave site together, and all of the special arranged family events, but none of it seemed like a good opportunity to approach him about his life or mine. I don't know what I was waiting for. Perhaps a sunbeam from heaven, or a dove landing on his shoulder. I was scared. What if the stories were just stories? What if he denied it? What if he got mad?
I knew something was wrong. He kept wanting to go back to her grave over and over again. It was more than just grief and tears that needed to be released. I think he was envious of her. We finally shared a moment in his car together one night before I had to leave. I told him that it was ok to be mad at God for letting his mom die. I wanted him to know that it was alright and normal to feel that way. He told me that God doesn't control these sort of things. He said that these things just happen and God can't do anything about it, so why would he be angry with Him? I shook my head, because I knew that was not true. I said, "Nothing is impossible with God." Then I got more out of my comfort zone by singing a special song to him that I wanted to share.
I'm not sure if anything I did or said meant anything. I left that Texas town feeling confident that God had a purpose for it all. He had sent me there, and I had followed his leading.
Three days later, my phone is ringing off the hook and I just want to take a nap in between classes. but the message finally got to me that day. It was a Wednesday; I'll never forget it. They told me he shot himself not in the head, but with the barrel pointed straight at his heart. I remember thinking, how poetic of him, and then how bastardly selfish of him. Then that frustration turned toward God saying, "What the heck, God?! What was the point??" My feelings for my uncle continued to go south. I felt like I wanted to kill him (if he wasn't already dead). So many swear words come to mind, but I won't list them here.
I was so angry with him, and I still am a little. But those claws started to retract a bit when I heard of the lack of care and respect that his family was showing him. Even in death, he was receiving second-hand love. Even in death, they gave him little if any respect. The comments that were made were mostly about his debts that he left behind. And I can't even imagine what his life was like. Is it really any wonder that he felt so motivated to take it? Is it really?
I've felt suicidal before, but only in the heat of the moment. I can only imagine (thank God) what it must be like to live in that moment all day, every day. And I don't know what else to say about all of this.
Except love heals. No one is to blame for anybody's suicide, but just because we are not to blame doesn't keep us from falling victim to its destruction. Love can be the prevention.
Sincerity of that love can mend what time of constant wear and tear has made broken. Notice I said "can". But if there's something that can be done....
For those that want it, here's a special challenge (I am challenging myself too) make a list of people, write it down, those close to you and those not so much, who are way over due for some attention from you or from anyone. If you are having trouble then just think of someone who is angry all the time. People tend to be grumpy for a reason. Think of those people in your life that might as well be the hanging on the wall or the doorstop, because they seem so unimportant. I understand we all need to be loved, but I think what you and I forget is that many of us have our sources of love, while many others have their many sources of heartache and affliction.
If you are that person, and your life feels like a prison. I can assure you that there is more than just help out there for you.
There is love.
Back to the challenge: You've got your list. Memorize it, pray over it, sleep with it ....Invest yourself in these people. Before anyone will believe that they are important in your life, you must believe it yourself.
The next part is simple but not easy, because we all have our busy lives with our busy schedules...families, work, etc. But remember how important that love is to you in your own life and maybe that will help.
Last Step: Plan out time each week to show that love to someone on your list. This could mean a phone call, an email or special text ( written letters tend to last longer though -Hint Hint) a hug, a talk at lunch, ..be creative/ but be real. If you are stumped on what to do, than I would suggest you think about what would mean the most to you. What would brighten your day? Yeah, do that.
Love heals.
Let the love begin.
(If anyone would like to contact me: kaytmasterson@gmail.com) Also, for info on suicide prevention or causes you might be interested in visiting http://www.twloha.com/ .
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