Day Ten and it is a Good Day

I'm taking a class on Jewish Leadership, a six week class being offered by the Chabad Jewish Center of Longmont and tonight's class pretty much blew me away. In the class, we're studying six figures in Jewish history, starting with Hillel and moving through quite a few people I've never heard of, despite a lifetime of study and engagement in my tradition. Hillel is well known to all, as are his examples of humility and equanimity, not to mention this quote: "If I am not for myself, who will be for me. And when I am for myself, what am 'I'? And if not now, when?" Despite this quote being so much of my growing up, attending Jewish summer camps, hearing these words now, at this time in my life, blew my mind. Hillel's personal history and struggle with the balance between humility and his own sense of his large capacity, is one that I can identify with in my own small way.

Tonight I learned about a man I'd never heard of before, Rabban Yochanan ben Zakai, a working man, who left the world of commerce to begin a lifelong devotion to study at the age of 40 and then appointed to take over from Hillel upon his death. It was suggested he was 55 when this responsibility was bestowed upon him and what did he do? He split town and headed to Galilee to take the Torah to farmers and laborers, not because he was shirking responsibility, but because he felt wanted to convey what he'd learned to the people, continuing Hillel's tradition of openness and accessibility. His sense of lineage, prophetic awareness and then the courage to act in unison with those two elements, struck me as very meaningful and in a very specific way.

Rabban Yochanan ben Zakai, like Hillel, and I suspect like the rest of the figures we'll be studying for the next month, share something I'd like to bring into my life and in particular, into this chapter. Both of them acted with a unity of purpose and action and with a remarkable lack of the 'personal.' And this is a very powerful reminder for me that no matter how personalized my situation might seem to be, to be able to pull back long enough to remember that my situation is just one of many, important, but not more so than the rest.

I'm chewing on this idea, that one could be so engaged in the living of a purposeful and mission-based life that pausing to reflect on my spiritual or personal progress would not be a part of the process, or at the very least, an after thought. Hmm...this flies in the face of two generations of self-focused pursuits, the time in which I've grown up and pursued my interests, whims and have informed my career choices.

Wonder what it would be like to flip the coin, but to still keep Hillel's words and Rabban Yochanan ben Zakai's prophetic awareness at the center? I think that is what I'm working toward.

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Tonight is my tenth night of writing this series, "Water Flows Underground." Today is a good day and I'm grateful for the experience and the comments, as well as the lessons I'm learning. Heading to bed early tonight and taking a deep breath to move into day 11 and beyond.

Facing my Overdoing Demon

I may be sounding a bit psycho-babblish tonight, but let's be real. I'm exhausted. The past three weeks have been my own personal tsunami and I'm feeling the wear and tear of sleepless nights, tensed up days and way too much caffeine. All while continuing to function at my part-time job, as well as finishing up a contract project and continuously, and I mean continuously, looking for work.

I'm an overdoer - when I do, I overdo, or as is more commonly referred to - multi-task. For most of my life, my pendulum has swung, and pretty much stayed, on the overdoing side of things. And not just one state of overdoing. I've reached a high capacity of multiple overdoing and again, for most of my life, I've been able to get away from it.

Not any more. Problem is that one of the things I've realized about us chronic-multi-tasking overdoers is that we chronically neglect ourselves. At the core of my overdoing self is a state of the constant audition, but only getting as far as the first or second call back. The self-neglect is inevitable - if I'm doing for many others all at the same time, how can I possibly do for myself?

And just because I have the capacity to do many things at once doesn't have to translate into actually doing them. Just like with the budget we're working on for our household, if I don't prioritize which activity has the most importance and which of the others can support and strengthen the top one, then they all get the same level of attention, which is stretched too far and too thin -- again, like how I've been living financially.

I'm certainly not alone in my overdoing-ness. Every mother I know, and plenty of fathers, regardless of income level or background, are comrades in overdoing. It comes with the territory of the care and feeding of small beings, and from what I understand, it doesn't stop once they're all grown up.

Which brings me to tonight. Why tonight? Because tonight I finally went back to my yoga practice, after almost a week of not being able to pick myself off the floor and get my ass in the studio. And in the midst of coming into "awkward pose," I realized how important it was to stop. To just stop. The crisis is passing and what is left of it will be easier to handle with one simple step. Stop.

As I came out of the posture, the second part of this stopping became clear. It's not only to create a budget, but to create a budget with a clear intention, one with a higher purpose than relieving financial worries. A budget with a purpose. Call it faith-based, call it New Age-y, I don't really care. What I'm tapping into is realizing that unless our family budget is part of a larger picture, it is too easy to let it slip and slide.

As of tonight, day 9 of my 30 day "Water Flows Underground" series, I have given myself to permission to stop doing anything and everything that is not directly related to the following four things:

• My kids
• My marriage
• My health
• My finances

In other words, I'm going to transform myself from multi-tasking to unchartered territory (at least for me): mono-tasking. That means, I'm no longer available for all the extraneous activities that sap, confuse and distract me from focusing on the above, including things I thought I wanted to do before this recent tsunami hit our household. I'm ready to let those things go because I have to draw the line in the sand, or the snow. If something doesn't fit into the above, I'll be taking a good long look at whether it is worth doing. 

One of the aspects about chronic financial stress is that it impinges my ability to make good decisions, whether it is a rash purchase that was supposed to make me feel better, but instead only makes me more depressed. Or taking a job or a project purely for the money, without taking the time to see how it relates to the above four categories. 

As I continue to navigate the sticky swampy job market, I'll be bringing my own criteria to the table in deciding whether a job is worth pursuing or taking - is the job good for my kids, my marriage, my health and my finances. And the job can't be just good for one of those items, it has to be good for all of them. And if it isn't, then the opportunity will have to be placed on the other side of the line. 

The same thing goes for our budget. If something we've been spending money or thinking about spending money on isn't a yes to all four categories, then the answer will have to be no. A budget is a boundary that protects my family.

And this is where the psycho-babble comes in. This drawing the line in the snow or sand or mud, is all about the same thing: boundaries. I believe completely that the more I'm able to establish firm and loving boundaries within my life, with the people I love and in situations I find myself in, the more I'll be able to apply those boundaries financially. That's my goal.

If I say no to a committee I've been invited to join, or a board position with a worthwhile cause, or take a leave of absence from an activity I used to participate in, don't take it personally.

It's not you, it's me. It's just that I'm working on my budget. For life.

Have a Little Faith

I saw a dear friend today. We’ve been friends for over a decade; have raised our kids together, collaborated on a number of creative and work-related projects. We drank vanilla spiced Chai and talked about the state of our lives, as the snow softly fell outside. We’re both baffled by how difficult things have become and how the two of us, usually really industrious women who can find a solution to almost any problem, feel like we’re continuously running uphill. We talked about how the job search is the hardest we’ve ever seen in either of our professional careers and the endlessly creative ways we’re coming up with just to make ends meet, and barely at that. We shared stories of being told by hiring managers that while our resumes are impressive, our track records solid, they’re looking to hire a ‘superstar,’ or a ‘guru.’ We both understand that this term usually translates into someone younger than either of us. We find comfort in our talking like this because if the work search is this hard for two women who have never had a problem finding working in any economic environment, just imagine what it must be like for those whose careers have been limited to doing one thing for many years and who now have to reinvent themselves? And both of us have come to the same conclusion – time to step back into the reinvention chamber because it’s obvious that the only ones who are going to come out of this depression/recession financially alive are either those who are benefiting off this awful situation or those who have perfected the fine art of reinvention.

I’ve been reinventing myself since I started acting at 15 years old. It started in ninth grade when I accepted my first acting role: Annie Sullivan in William Gibson’s “The Miracle Worker” at Culver City Junior High. I’d never stepped on stage for anything other than a fifth grade choir concert where I promptly passed out from not breathing. But I loved the story of Helen Keller and especially loved the tenacious Annie. I was articulate and passionate and that seemed to be enough to cast me.

The thing about acting that grabbed me was the inventiveness of it all. Words on a page, spoken out loud with emotion, memory and intention. Add to that lights, costumes and a sense of creating a particular shared set of moments in time? Magical. It was never about the performance, about being the center of attention, which I’ve always been ill at ease with. For me, theater was about taking life and making it more so, good, bad, funny, tragic, and then offering it to a live audience who could filter it all through their own individual experience lens.

What does this have to do with my life right now? I’m reinventing myself through this process of self-scrutiny in the public eye, not that dissimilar to being on stage. Life is very heightened right now, from the deep lows to the highs and all those in betweens that seem to provide some safety net for the emotional pendulum I’m on.

One of the most difficult parts of walking away from acting 20 years ago was how much I would miss the craft of creating characters, of defining the specifics of that character’s life, not in relation to mine, but as distinct as possible. I grieved that this skill I’d honed would be put in a drawer to never to be used again.

But in my second year at Naropa’s Writing and Poetics department, I realized something. I was working on a character history for a story and as I was defining the time, space and place, it hit me that all those years in theater were now being used as a writer. It was like opening a closet and finding a long lost favorite sweater to wrap yourself up in and I was so happy to consciously welcome a huge part of my life back into this part.

What does it take to reinvent oneself? First of all, it takes the deep belief that no experience is for naught. Every job I’ve ever had, every industry or organization I’ve worked is something I can bring to this present moment. Reinvention is about self-flexibility and if there ever was a time in my life where my skills needed to be flexible, it’s now. Just as an actor rehearses the same words in hundreds of different ways until just the right one is landed on; just as a writer revises a piece until all the words flow together in just the right tone and meaning, so I have to retune myself for this time, this job search, this financial turbulence. What worked the last time I looked for work will not work now because it is a different market. What financial solutions I’ve come up with the past are not ones that are working now.

To reinvent one self is to bring all that with me, but to adapt it for what is needed today. That’s what it will mean for me to get beyond the bare sense of survival I’m struggling with right now and into a place of thriving. And in the act of reinvention, when the door is wide open, what will be waiting there?

Trust. I have to trust that things will get better. And they already have. Our house is warmer, better lit and we’ve made a renewed commitment to keep making it better, within our means.

Hope. Reinvention is all about hope because it points to the belief in possibility.

Love. I’ve found such kindness in the last week, since I began this series, from the weatherization crew, to another mom at our kids’ school whose been reading the blog and who gave me a big hug on Friday, to time with new and old friends.

Faith. Spiritual, religious, whatever you call it, but I have deep faith in the innate goodness of people. Faith is what I have in myself, my husband, our ability to learn from and rise out of our situation. Faith is my safety net, my in between that carries me from good to bad and helps me stay whole.

My friend and I finished our time together and I think we both felt better. Our commiserating on our mutually stressful situations was not just another complain-fest. We’ve had plenty of those. This was quieter, different. We share this hard and heart-felt space because we care deeply about each other and about what is happening to us, to our friends and to our country. And we also believe in one another, deeply. We both know that we’ll get through this and in another three, six, nine months, we’ll be wine and looking back with a shared, ‘whew, we made it.’ And we’ll clink our glasses because we believed in ourselves and each other enough to know that we could.

We all need someone to believe in us, so we can believe in ourselves a little bit more, or enough to get us through another day. Sometimes that’s all we need. A little faith, with lots of trust, hope and love as our in-betweens.

Wanting the Best for Our Kids by Living Within Our Means

When you're a parent, the world of money takes on an entirely new meaning. After many years of pretty much making and spending money on myself and doing so with not much planning, budgeting or awareness, becoming a parent to three children has put that pattern to the test. We want the best for our kids and I've fallen for the false idea that this equals not always spending within our means.

The reality of raising children is that it will cost you money and lots of it. Just the bare essentials of food, clothing, shelter and medical care rack up every month. When the pressure to have, to do, and to live in a certain way is pervasive, as it is in our culture, it's hard to raise children with a responsible or healthy idea toward money.

To give myself credit, I talk a great deal about money and how we spend our money to our kids. They see me clip and use coupons at the market and they know Mama's rule about 'never buying retail.' They're used to waiting until the shirt or pants they liked at the store goes on sale two weeks later, which I always tell them it will and which I'm always right about. They're even getting used to having to spend their own money on the little incidentals that they want, as well as learning to save for the bigger things.  When our oldest wanted to take horse back riding lessons this fall, I told her she had to earn half of her way for them. We made a list of the extras she could do and little by little, including selling her own things at our summer garage sale, she saved up enough to meet that goal. And was darn proud she'd done it.

Do we all have our own money personality? Sometimes I think we do, and it is from being a parent that has made me think this way. With my three, each exhibits a completely different relationship to money. Case in point: the gift card, usually something that is sent for a birthday or Chanukah. Same gift card for each, same amount on it. But each child relates to it differently. The oldest usually spends exactly what is on it, tax included. The twins? One will always pick out something that costs more than the gift card and the other will always extend her the credit to pay for it, as well as have something left over on the card for later purchase. Did I teach them this? Not sure, but it definitely makes for an interesting trip to the store.

But when financial difficulty hits, the first inclination as a parent is to protect, and in my case, to pretend that everything is just fine. Which I did for the month of December and into most of January. And fine in this case meant that I didn't splurge on an early December birthday or on Chanukah, but I also didn't take the hard look at the early signs that things were going astray. 

And in the past few weeks, I've tried really hard to not pass along my growing sense of panic and worry onto them. I've also spent a great deal of time thinking of what kind of financial parent I want to be. As I'm readying myself for the 21 Day Financial Fast, I've begun to talk to them about what the next three weeks will be about. They didn't like the part about no window-shopping, but overall they seem to be all right with the idea. 

I've been looking for some useful tools to help me be a better teacher to them and came across Lisa Reid, author of Raising Kids with Just a Little Cash. Reid's take is living in a frugal manner is the best possible way to raise kids realistically prepared to enter the world when they leave our nest. Here's a great example she writes:

"What do our kids learn when we wear $30 shoes and we pay for them to wear $135 shoes? We love our children and want them to be happy, but we send mixed messages when we protect them from real world decisions about money that we, as parents, must make all the time in our lives." 

Reid goes on to suggest that as parents, we need to include our children in budgetary decisions:

"Kids of all ages seem to respond well when they are included in the family "business". They can understand that thrift has some beneficial consequences for them, too. Make it easy on yourself and ask for their help."

I didn't grow up with any real sense of what things cost, or how to plan a budget or even how to balance my checking account. I had what I needed, we lived well, but not flamboyantly. My mother loved to shop and bought stylish outfits that often got 'hidden' in the closet with instructions to pretend they were old when my dad would notice them for the first time. It was a game they played which they both agreed to. When I left their home and went first to college and then into the "real" world, no one ever sat me down and said, this is how you create a budget. 

I'm learning it late and will now make sure my three kids have the proper financial education they need. And thanks to Lisa Reid's common sense advice, they'll be included in knowing what our family budget is and what role they play in making our family business a success. 

I know they're learning a great deal now, in the midst of our own financial meltdown. I don't want them equate money with stress, I want them to have an open-eyed and mindful approach to money throughout their entire life. In order for this to happen, I have to step up and let this financial stress, being viewed very closely, not to mention being experienced by three watchful set of young eyes, elevate me to becoming a much  more responsible financial role model, as well as the equally important message that we will get through this as a family. 

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Tomorrow: Budget Planning 101. 

Deep Cleanse of the Financial Kind

Like many people I know, I like listen to NPR while I'm driving. I find it good driving company, comfort and keeps me tethered to the larger dysfunctional world, rather than just to my own weedy backyard. Yesterday, I tuned in to hear Michelle Singletary, Washington Post personal financial columnist and best-selling author talk a bit about how her 21 Day Financial Fast was going. I was interested given that Ms. Singletary is a national figure, and all that goes with that level of achievement. She needed to go on a financial fast? When I got home, I logged onto Ms. Singletary's column and read the following:

"I'm inviting you to take a 21-day financial fast in which you will buy only necessities. The fast is really about curbing the need to consume. It doesn't matter whether you're a good steward or a spendthrift; all of us consume more than we need."

I like how this fast begins - no guilt, blame or judgment. Anyone, regardless of financial conditions can benefit from taking a look at how we consume. I also appreciated, as Ms. Singletary shares, that the program is faith-based and one long put into practice at her church, the First Baptist Church in Glenarden. The basic premise is a good one - those who are good financial stewards support those who, for whatever internal or external reason, are not.

The program entails buying only the bare necessities or as Singletary calls them, essentials:

• Food and medication.
• Personal hygiene products.
• Clothing items required for work - she stresses: "not because you think you need a new outfit for work. Make do with the clothes you own."
• School supplies - Good thing, I bought in bulk at the beginning of the school year and also put together a back-up stock pile for the entire year, so were clear on that one.
• Cleaning products - I rely mostly on baking soda, vinegar and water, so I'll limit this to toilet paper and laundry soap. 

I'll add to this list one of my own essentials that come from living in the suburbs:

• Gas or bus fare to school, work and job interviews, or to buy the above essentials.

Singletary's other major rule - NO PLASTIC. She's not talking about your choice of grocery bags, but in credit card. Happily, this isn't much of a problem for me because my use of plastic has been pretty limited for a while, even before my current financial situation occurred. Singeltary is applying the same fasting rule to debit cards, which she feels hold the same psychological place as credit cards: "A debit card is a cousin to the credit card, and it poses a similar problem -- it allows people to buy stuff with cash they really don't have. People are quick to swipe their debit card, only to learn later after getting an overdraft notice that they didn't have the cash in their bank account to back the purchase in the first place." Very interesting, so I guess when I start this fast I'll be leaving my debit card in my desk drawer.

How to get started? Like all good fasts, you need to prepare and Singletary breaks down the pre-fast steps into the following:

BUDGET. Making a budget means having to look squarely in the face of our salary to expenses ratio. I'm terrified at what the truth will reveal. But, as she gently nudges her readers to ask themselves, "How's not having a budget working for you?" Don't need to think twice on that one - It's not. Singletary then gives a great outline of basic budget know-how, or in other words, knowledge I should have acquired a long time ago. And the budget guidelines she provides will shed some serious light on issues that haven't seen financial sunlight for my lifetime.

THE DEBT DASH PLAN. I really like this one. Basically, rather than trying to deal with all the debt at the same time, a very overwhelming process and one that usually doesn't work, Singletary advises that you start paying off the balance of the lowest balance credit cards one at a time, then move onto the next and then the next. This is definitely a digestible bite for me.

What I appreciate about Singletary's approach and why I'm most likely to follow through on it, is her balance between practical, common sense financial advise, the inherent kindness in her message. After reading her column, and hearing her talk, as well as reading the stories of the people who have tried this for the first time, or as a regular financial cleansing, I feel inspired, instead of guilty. I also feel that this is something I can realistically commit to, like writing in my blog for 30 days.

If anyone is game for trying this with me, or to learn more about Michelle Singletary's writings and the 21 Day Financial Fast, visit http://www.michellesingletary.com/ and definitely check her out on Facebook, as well as her column in the Washington Post. Send me comments to let me know how your fast is going for you and of course, this series will serve as the sounding board for how it's going. From my limited experience of food fasts, it will be a roller coaster, and I'm bound to go through some serious highs and dips in my money-based blood sugar levels.

Okay, so I'm ready to take the plunge and try this. I'll be starting on my 21 Day Financial Fast on Monday, February 8th, giving us the weekend to get our budget and debt dash parts in place. It's only 21 days of my life and what have I got to lose? Gotcha!

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To follow up on last night's post, our much beloved and used minivan, Redda, is now posted for sale on Craigslist. Redda was a reliable and safe means of transport for us for 7 years and needs some serious TLC, so if you know someone who has a good mechanic, is into working on cars, or needs some parts, send them this link!

Celebrate the Negative or How to Kick My Own Butt Before Someone Else Does (again)

When I started this project, 30 days of daily blogging about my financial condition, I wasn't expecting anything to magically go away. All I'm working toward is a bit more self-knowledge and writing is one of the only ways I know how to navigate my way through a fairly stressful time. Since I started this series, I've received some really wonderful notes of support from strangers and from long time friends and that has been lovely and very comforting. Like getting a slew of great reviews and then wham, the first bad one comes in. The thing about writing a blog about something is that it doesn't really allow for the old adage of never reading your reviews.  And I suppose I expected that I might get some disapproving comments that what I was sharing was too personal, or to "woe is me" in tone. It's part of the project and the process. And on this 6th day of "Water Flowing Underground,"  I'd like to celebrate that I have in fact received my first negative comment and it's a doozy! The comment came from someone we all know VERY well - Anonymous - and I'd like to use tonight's post to share it with you:

Anonymous said...


I feel bad for you but I'm curious why you feel this is everyone's fault but your own. Why can't you and your husband have full time jobs? Don't blame the economy 'cos its always been this way especially with your husband. Sell the expensive bikes you have and the expensive cameras. while its hard to sell in this market everything has a price. Tell your husband to get his job back at the Cheesecake factory. At least that paid the bils. Why do you expect people to give you any more money when nothing has changed. You have not exhausted all options, just the ones you want to do. If you sell the bikes & cameras for half of what u paid you'd have alot of money. Quite frankly, given your situation, why were they purchased in the first place? 

What's interesting about this post is the amount of really personal information being used in this flame. Obviously this person knows me, know my husband and has some very pointed ideas about both of us and our lives.

When I logged on today to check if any comments had come in from last night's post, I was happy to see that there was one. When I saw the above comment from my dear friend Anonymous, a different set of feelings emerged.

At first I thought, oh dear, what have I done? And not to myself, but to my beloved husband, who is very private and not at all comfortable about my writing about this particular time in our lives. And then I went through the comment over and over again, picking up the clues that this person knows us very well: the facts about Jack's camera and his bike, the fact that he waited tables at the Cheesecake Factory when the twins were babies and that our financial life has always been less than steady or secure. I spent a good part of the afternoon thinking, who is this person? I cataloging friendships from LA to NY to Colorado, those who have fallen off for one reason or another. The poster referenced money given - could it be someone we owe money to?

My initial response was to delete the post and save myself the humiliation of others seeing this person's overtly personalized attack. I felt vulnerable. But then I decided to respond and here's what I wrote:

I would love to know who anonymous is, especially since you seem to know so much about our particular situation. I take full responsibility for our situation and would ask if you choose to make such sweeping comments about us, that you at least show your virtual face? As for the camera, sort of the O.Henry story - since my husband is a photographer, selling his camera would be kind of like shooting himself in the foot. But thanks for your comments.

I have to admit, I was shaking as I wrote this. But I took a deep breath and continued, because I had a few more things I needed to say:

I'd also like to add that both the 'expensive' camera and bike were gifts, not purchases that we would have made, given our circumstances. I've been looking for full time work for a year now, after having full time work for my entire adult life. And trust me, being a part-time adjunct faculty member at any college is more than full time work, but thanks anyway for the job advice.


I'm happy to engage in lively discussions, but I'd like to encourage honesty, kindness and ask that you check your judgments at the door, unless you've been where we are.


As a note, I'll be asking folks who choose to participate in this blog to disclose their identities, rather than hide behind the virtual anonoymity of this contributor.


The point of this experiment is to open myself to support as well as constructive criticism, but online slamming is not going to be part of it. Author's discretion and all that fun stuff.

I proceeded to change the settings so that I'll be able to more closely moderate comments before they are published. And then I read the post one more time and the following sentence jumped out at me:

You have not exhausted all options, just the ones you want to do. 

I read the sentence over and over again and you know what? Anonymous had a point, even if it was bookended with nasty intent. I had to honestly ask myself - have I exhausted all my options? No, I haven't. Who has? I began to think about what else I could be doing to help shift the financial tide and I realize that this statement is prompting me to make an inventory of what I have that is of monetary value that I don't really need anymore and here's my starter list for what will be Craigslisted or consigned:

• Our van that has been sitting in the back of the garages for about a year
• Refrigerator (yes, Anonymous, we are getting a new one thanks to our weatherization audit - can't WAIT to hear your comments on that, but you'll have to have an identity to do so)
• Books, books, books - Amazon.com here we come!
• My chic, but now too big thanks to yoga, clothing to the local consignment store

And yes - big drum roll.....

• The 'expensive' bike that was a gift? That will have to be the husband's decision, not mine. 

You see, Anonymous, despite the fact that last night ended and today began with tears, as many of the last few days also have unfolded, I don't stay down for very long. Sometimes it's the way the sun comes up over the eastern horizon while I'm drinking my coffee that starts the bounce back to good. Sometimes it's the sound of my kids' sleeping sighs that does the trick. And sometimes it's finding the good in a comment that is really only meant to cause hurt and shame.

Thank you, Anonymous. Your post made my day because it provided me with another opportunity to look more deeply in the mirror and find the nugget of help that was buried in your post. I was struggling a bit with what I'd write about tonight, so I'm always grateful for the content. Lastly, your post reminded me of why I keep the following quote by my bed and which I recite before going to sleep and upon waking:

Breathing in, I calm my body.

Breathing out, I smile.

Dwelling in the present moment

I know it is a wonderful moment.

-- Thich Nhat Hanh

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I'd like to recommend a very moving post by fellow Naropa-alum Merete Heather Mueller entitled Holding the Moth: Notes on Helping Others Through Depression and Hardship, posted on Elephant Journal. Mueller's clear writing really opened my eyes to how one's own difficult circumstances can stressfully impact one's friends, family and colleagues. It was a gentle reminder that while it is important to be honest in how I live my life, I also have to understand the importance of giving those around me some space. As Mueller points out, our inherent response to those we care about who are struggling is to try fix and the realization that sometimes we just can't fix that which has to find its' own resolution. That realization can sometimes make us turn away. And there is learning in that turning away, as long as we eventually turn back.

Be good to yourself and one another. 

Breaking Point?

February 3, 2010

When do we reach our breaking point? And what makes us reach it?

Today would definitely qualify as being my red-letter, camel that broke my back, breaking point day. Today would be the day I'll call my George Bailey day. Not the standing on the bridge before jumping in to save Clarence the wanna-be angel George Baily day. Today would be the entire sequence that came right after that, when Bedford Falls turns into Pottersville. 

And I guess this is a good thing. But before I get to the good, I need to figure out the bad.

Today I asked a very hard question. I asked someone who I love with my whole being and who loves me in the same way for help, help of a very particular kind. And the answer was no. I think I knew the answer was going to be no, but the saying it and the hearing it couldn't have been more painful.

I wrote a letter first, explaining the circumstances and how difficult it was for me to ask. I had to put it into writing because I couldn't let known the break in my voice, the despair in my being. I didn't want to reveal my fear. It was the right thing to do because in writing the letter, I was able to preserve a certain level of dignity and to create space and time to digest the information.

When we finally connected on the phone, the loving concern on the other line was genuine and that was a really good feeling. As the conversation continued, the concern turned to well-intentioned questions about what we are doing to get us out of our current situation. I calmly answered them, feeling like I was at an intake session for social services. Somewhere between the answering of the phone and the questions, the no was there all along. I finally stopped answering the questions and asserted we've explored all our options and that I wouldn't be having this conversation or have sent the letter if we hadn't. The call of last resort.

I almost made it through the conversation without losing my cool and bursting into tears. But again, in this 30 day challenge to honestly bring myself to the public page and more importantly, to my life, I had to be honest. I expressed my disappointment, my growing sense of isolation and stress. I expressed my anger at what it is to turn to who you think is the last person you can turn to and for that person to say no.

The phone conversation ended uneasily, murmurs of "I'll talk to you later," instead of "I love you."

It was time to pick the kids up from school just as I finished the call. The bell rings and the school doors opens. My oldest emerges, walking and holding her best friend's hand. She sees me and immediately begins to feel my expression out and I quickly put on a happy face and gave her a big hug and kiss. She soon gets distracted with her sister's after school candy, which I happily let them have - anything to take the focus off the soon to be permanent furrow between my brow.

I take a deep breath and take it all in. Somewhere in the exhale, which I'd say was the first real breath I'd taken in days, I began to think how often and how easy it is to say no to all the little things in one's day. I'm great at saying no to my kids, my husband and especially to myself. I think about the other ways I say no: when I look the other way at the fourth or fifth person I've driven by whose holding a sign asking for help, having already given to the first, second and third. How I've been saying no to dreams put on hold, my writing, my singing, this blog, so many aspects of my life throughout my life.

Breaking point? Yes. To the point of no return? No. No! That's the good part of the breaking point, the combined place and time where everyone, including those who love you the most and especially me, gets to say no, with love and compassion. And the good news is that there will be more breaking points and that might really be the meta-purpose of this whole stressful stint.

And even with this understanding, I'm still hoping for the other part of my George Bailey day to happen. You know, the part after George, despite his perceived financial ruin and public humiliation, realizes he wants to be very much part of this world and rushes home to Mary and the kids and when Clarence finally gets his wings? That's the kind of happy ending I'm looking for today.