mumble jumble

warning….a rambling post….

i have been a bit discouraged lately.  since i started my therapy, i have felt a strong compulsion to paint.  i keep getting these images in my head that symbolize what is going on in my soul and i feel compelled to capture them in some form.  the problem is that i have only been painting for a little over a year.  though i have piddled with art my entire life, my main skills have always been in the area of sketching.  i have never messed with color or paint until recently.  i have so much i want to do but lack the knowledge of how to do it.  i feel like a toddler, so much desire yet lacking in the know how.  i have finished one that i am fairly pleased with but the one i am working on now just sucks.  i can’t decide if i should hang with it or just trash it.  it was meant to be a gift for a friend but at this point i would rather dig a hole and live in it for the rest of my life than give it to her.

then there is the writing.  i write all the time.  i blog.  i journal.  i write bits and pieces for this and that but i have no momentum in any one thing.  that pisses me off too.  i’m going to paris in december for work and i will be spending a couple of extra days with my friend who is an editor. the plan was to have something significant to show her.  now i am thinking i will go empty-handed.

why do i do this?  sometimes i wonder if i subconsciously block myself.  could it be a fear of failure? do i not finish things so that i won’t have to hear that i suck at it?  or am i just feeling down on myself at the moment?  who knows….

speaking of my trip to paris.  can i just say that my soul needs to be there for a while?  i need to hear and speak french.  i need to sit at a cafe and drink good coffee.  i want to spend time with friends over a good meal and an even better bottle of wine.  i will be away from my kids and even from my husband some.  i’m looking forward to the time.  looking forward to reconnecting with old friends, tasting again my “other” life.

i joined an indoor soccer league.  yeah, this has nothing to do with anything else i have said.  didn’t you read my warning at the beginning?  anyway, i had my first game last night.  wow, it was fun.  hard though.  i work out 4-5 times a week and i was still sucking wind.  i haven’t played soccer in years.  it used to be my sport but i haven’t had a chance to play since college.  the funny thing is i am the only gringo on the team.  it doesn’t bother me though.  i’m used to being the only native english speaker.  that’s my life in france.  and apparently that is my life here.  i like it.  so much more interesting.  i did okay last night.  didn’t embarrass myself.  had a couple of really good moments but i need some practice, some de-rusting if you will.  it has been fun rediscovering things that i loved doing growing up.  it brings a bit of healing as well.

there is so much i want to say.  so many things i want to talk about, ramble on about….but this is a post not a conversation.  i guess i will just end your agony and say goodbye…

later friends….

opening a can

i need a fun post today.  nothing heavy.  nothing controversial.  just something light.

i kid a lot about kicking ass.  my first reaction to the pain of my friends is “why i’ll kick ______’s ass!”  and i most of the time the sentiment i am feeling really is that.  when i get mad, when others hurt my friends, all i want to do is ball up my fist and open a can of whoop ass.

now before you go and add violence to my list of needs to be covered in therapy, let me just say that it has been years since i have actually kicked some ass.  whether that is a result of maturity or of the purchase of my punching bag is yet to be determined.

i grew up fighting.  yes, i know.  i am a girl. but when you grown up in a west texas, one of the things everyone learns to do is fight.  my dad put boxing gloves on me at the age of 7 and taught me how to defend myself and hit without breaking my hand.  he told me in no uncertain terms that i would never get in trouble for defending myself.  that promise would be tested often in elementary school.

i will never forget my first fight.  i was in the 2nd grade.  at recess, i noticed a big circle on the far side of the soccer fields.  i ran over to see what the fuss was all about.  what i saw made me see red.  there in the middle of the circle was a girl, about my age, who was crying.  some bully was calling her names and making fun of her.  without even thinking, i shoved my way through the crowd and in a furor of righteous indignation pushed the bully away from the weeping girl.

as the girl made her getaway, the bully’s friends began to chant “hit her. hit her.”  he looked at me, sneered, pulled back his fist and before i knew it my nose was stinging and my eyes were watering.  i stood there stunned for a moment and then turned to walk away.

i guess you can’t really call that a fight.  i have no idea why i didn’t hit him back.  i think i was in shock that someone had actually punched me.  i can assure you that was the only time in my life that i didn’t fight back.

maybe because i was a tomboy.  maybe because i had a bit of a temper.  maybe because i had a savior complex.  maybe all of the above made me never back down from a bully.  matter of a fact, if any of my friends got bullied, they called on me and i took care of him or her.  i wasn’t known as a mean person at all, just one who could and would defend herself and others.

i guess i haven’t changed much.

i still stand up to bullies.  it looks different now.  neither of us walk away with bloody noses but i’m not afraid to say what needs to be said.  i don’t like anyone picking on those that i love.  now that i am a mom, i have had to soothe the inner beast on several occasions and allow my sons to stand up for themselves.  that has been a real challenge.  they have to walk their own path, face their own bullies.

my guess is that my ass kicking days are over but the fierce loyalty that calls it to the surface is still alive and well.

hitting the wall

i have hit my first wall in counseling.  up until this point, everything we have talked about, though difficult has been very healing.  i have cried a lot of tears, felt a lot of emotions but through it all i have not hesitated to continue walking.  until now.

i’m the person who minimizes everything that has ever happened to her.  i never want to play the role of a victim.  i never want to let on that the things that have happened to me in any way affected me.  to me that is weak and i want to be strong.  in the total scheme of things, what i have lived is much less severe than what others have lived.  i have friends who have been horribly, violently abused.  my heart aches when i think of all they have been through.  compared to them, what i have experienced IS minimal and less traumatic.  i never want to talk or act in a way that makes a bigger deal of my past than it is.  i thought i was being reasonable.  my counselor thinks i am denying.

so i’m having trouble saying a few things.  i’m having trouble admitting that maybe what went on in my home was more than just dysfunctional, it was abusive.  there i said the word.  abusive.  why is that so hard for me?  why do i want to candy coat it?  i want to let you know that i truly believe that my parents were ignorant.  they were just acting out of their own woundedness.  my dad is a child of two alcoholics.  my mom was abused by her father.  they have a lot of baggage and it was inevitable that some of it would be unpacked on my sister and me.

as i squirmed through my last session, my counselor looked at me with such compassion. she wants me to call a spade a spade and i can barely get the words out of my mouth.  i think what i need to realize is that the point is not to assign blame so that i can justify the choices i have made in my lifetime.  the point is to see why i am where i am today.  what causes me to hide from intimacy?  what walls do i build to keep myself safe?  what beliefs have i absorbed that aren’t true?

this journey is all about freedom.  i want to be free.  i want it more than i want to be safe.  and like Jesus himself said, “the truth shall set you free.”

oh that i would have courage to look at the truth….

afraid of normal

last night hubbie and i were watching a documentary on the seven wonders of the ancient world on the history channel (crazy sat. night eh?).  the first sight they covered was the pyramids in egypt.  smiling mischievously at hubbie, i asked these questions.

“have you ever climbed a pyramid?”
“uh no,” he replied looking at me like i was insane.
“have you ever ridden a camel?”
“again. no.”
“have you ever taken a cruise on the nile and visited the valley of the kings?”
by now he is just looking at me with scorn in his eyes.
“have you ever made out with an egyptian?”
“no.  no.  and no.”
“well i have, ” i said smugly.

after my series of questions, i had to go get my photo albums.  for the next hour or so, we perused my anything but normal childhood.  you see, i grew up traveling the world.  my dad is in a profession that kept him on the move internationally.  from about the time i was 7 years old, he began taking the entire family with him.

united kingdom. holland.  egypt. brazil. argentina. italy. singapore. bali. norway. greece. israel. egypt.   hong kong. all by the time i was 16.  i was screwed.  the wonder lust was injected in my blood and i have been thirsty for travel every since.

as i think about potentially moving back to the states, i feel a panic invade my system.  can i live a “normal” life?  here i am living in a suburb, in a house for the first time since i was a kid.  for a decade, i have been living in france, learning another language and culture and jet setting any chance i got.   if we come back that could all come to a screeching halt.  finances might be tight for awhile.  our jobs would no longer require travel.  and with only two weeks of vacation, how can one do anything but use it to visit family during the holidays?

will i shrivel up and die?  or will i find a different kind of contentment in a more rooted lifestyle? will it be good to know my neighbors for an extended amount of time?  would my kids like growing up and graduating with the same group of friends?  what would it be like to actually own a home and decorate it the way i want?

plus there is this little thing of visiting the only country in the world i haven’t seen–my own.  the grand canyon.  the southwest.  the midwest.  maine.  so much my eyes haven’t lighted upon yet.

so i wonder.  wonder if i could live a normal life.  wonder if the wonder lust would leave me edgy and discontent.  wondering if i should just embrace a new chapter and see what adventures this one has to offer.

normal.  hmmmmmm.

our story

12 years ago today, i dressed up like a princess in white, put a veil on my head and walked down an aisle on my dad’s arm.  today is my anniversary.  wow.  12 years.  how is it that i have been married that long?

i thought for your reading pleasure, and as a way to let you get to know me better, that i would tell you our story, the story of me and hubbie.  ok, maybe i just want to remember as it seems fitting to do on a day such as today…

i was beginning graduate school and a friend invited me to church with her.  that is where i met hubbie.  he noticed me immediately and i noticed someone else.  it took about 3 months for me to figure out that the guy who had captured my attention was a total loser.  hubbie was persistent, always showing up where i did and finally nabbing a place next to me at a superbowl party.  it was there that i noticed him for the first time.  maybe it was the fact that we both were crazy about the Cowboys.  maybe it was those damn puppy-like brown eyes.  next thing i knew he was asking me out and i was saying yes.

our first date was a Dallas Mavericks basketball game.  now before you boo, you must understand that i am still a tomboy at heart and i love sports!  he scored big points with that idea.  (no he didn’t score that night, get your mind out of the gutter people!)  we ate pizza, watched the game and got to know each other.  i walked away that night thinking that we wouldn’t ever go out again. he walked away convinced that we would.

that next week, i had a week off from school.  a group of friends and i decided to go skiing and of course hubbie went too.  i have to give the guy credit, he pursued me with dogged determination.  by the end of the weekend i had decided to give him another chance.  though he wasn’t like the guys i usually dated, he was much kinder and less egotistical, i was finding myself more and more attracted to him.   i couldn’t commit to exclusive dating but i could at least give him a few more chances.

the next year of my life was an emotional roller coaster.  without focusing on my junk too much, let’s just say that i was a commitment phob.  i was falling in love and i had no idea what to do with that.  i was used to dating, having fun and then casting boys off.  this boy wasn’t going anywhere. this boy wanted to marry me.  i would get scared, pull away and then find myself being drawn in his direction again.

finally he proposed.  i said yes.   2 months later i broke it off.  i freaked out.  got scared.  ran away. we broke up.  we tried to be friends.  we tried to just date till i was ready.  eventually we just had to part ways.  or so i thought.

after dating a couple of other guys, i came to the conclusion that i wanted to be with hubbie regardless of how much marriage frightened me.  i went crawling back and he graciously accepted me.  a year later we got engaged for a second time.  (let me just answer your question…different ring).  this time there was no freaking.  still a bit of fear but an assurance that he was the one i wanted.

my hubbie has put up with much.  he has been patient.  he has been forgiving.  he is by no means perfect.  we have struggled much in the past couple of years but he has never wavered in his commitment to me and our marriage.

today i celebrate him.  today i celebrate us.

so far so good…

ok drum roll please…..

after a week of dieting, and i do mean dieting, i have lost 5 pounds.  now before you freak out and tell me that isn’t healthy, i have to confess that 2-3 of those pounds are the ones i gain every month for a certain number of days, if you get what i am telling you.  so my guess is that i lost 2-3 pounds of actual weight.  i’m pretty excited.  i can do it!

it was hard though.  i went to a birthday party at an indian restaurant and i nearly drowned the naan with my saliva but i didn’t give in and eat any.  i haven’t had one drop of alcohol.  no rice or potatoes.  the only food that has crossed these lips in over 7 days has been lean proteins and veggies.  ta-da!

and can i just say that it does feel good, that i do feel better.

one more week to go with this strict part of the diet.  after that i get to start adding in those dreaded carbs but in moderation.  i can even go back to a glass of wine a night if i want.  (the beer may have to wait awhile!)  the plan is to continue limiting bad carbs until i attain the weight i want. eventually i will get to the maintenance phase where i will supposedly be so disciplined that i will eat all bad foods only in moderation.

moderation is the key.

it has to be possible, right?

portland anyone?

i just got back from portland.  i had never been there before though i had heard much about it.  i was there with hubbie for almost a week.  in an effort to break out of my normal post themes, i thought i would share a bit about my experiences there.

portland is an eccentric city.  with its mixture of austin-like hippies and backwoods rednecks, it is a place where everyone can just be who they are.  i have never seen so many people covered either in tattoos or flannel.  we met some people who don’t own cars, eat only locally grown food and wear only recycled clothing.  then, i saw men with beards down to their waists carrying  fishing poles on their way, i hope, to some undefined fishing hole.

we went for work but we got to stay with some friends who at one time lived in spain.  since we lived in neighboring countries and worked for the same organization, we have gotten to be good friends over the past few years.  this family has decided to move back to the States.  they picked portland because it was a city that was known for its “european” feel.

our friends took us to all the hidden neighborhoods in the city.  we saw the area where the “creative class” hung out.  studios and coffee shops were the norm in this area.  all types of art were on display.  random and modern would be the best adjectives to describe the style here.  a good reflection of portlanders i would think.   downtown is beautiful as well.  it is a walkable city with free public transport in certain areas.  my favorite part was the block long, 4 story high bookstore called Powells.  it was heaven.  i wandered in one morning and didn’t find my way out until late afternoon.  surrounded by words.  not a bad way to spend the day.

oh and i can’t forget the pubs.  portland is known for its beer and you can damn well bet that i tried just about all of them!  one of the most interesting set of pubs in town is known as the Mcmenamins. they are brothers who restored deserted schools, churches and retirement homes and made them into pubs, theaters and hotels.  they really are a sight to behold.  one minute you are walking in the wine cave listening to live music and the next you are headed toward the cigar room where you have to order a scotch and smoke a romeo and juliette.  we drank our way through explored three of these pubs. i really have never seen anything like them.

we even went to church in a pub on sunday morning.  the little church rents out the space on sunday morning then stays for lunch when the pub opens at noon.  it was a refreshing kind of service filled with students and young families.  the pastor was laid back and discussed the Bible as opposed to preached from it.  Everyone was welcome to participate and it was interesting to see church be interactive.  i liked it.  i liked that i could sit around with about 30 people who really wanted to explore what it means to live out their faith in practical ways and then drink a beer with them.  i think Jesus was probably like that.  i would love to have gotten a beer with him.

i’ll admit, we are thinking of moving there.  we aren’t sure if we are going back to france.  we looked at boston with the same eye, the one the asks “could i see our family planting roots here?” we don’t know.  boston had a better feel to me.  it felt more like france.  i sensed a greater connection there.  but who knows.  we have investigated the boulder area as well.  i’m a person that is torn between my artistic and athletic sides.  i want urban but i love nature.  how does one choose?

in the meantime, we rest.  we try to get perspective.  we let everyone breathe for awhile.  there will be plenty of time to make decisions.

head south to the beach

its official, i’m on a diet.  i know, i know, i talk about losing weight on this site all the damn time. well this time it is happening.  i have officially gained almost 10 pounds since coming back to the states.  this country will be the death of me if i don’t do something about it.

south beach here i come.  yep, i know it is a diet that already had its heyday.  but i like it.  i need the good recipes to cook.  i need a plan.  ”just eating healthier” ain’t getting the job done.

the first two weeks are going to be a bitch.  basically you spend that time trying to detox from all the crap, especially sugar.  i won’t get to eat any bread, pasta or other white carbs for two weeks.  no domino’s friday night pizza night.  no chips while sipping on a margarita.  no beer while, well while doing just about anything.  basically the rule is if you crave it you don’t get it.

two weeks of hell.

but it will be worth it.  after the two weeks i get to add back in some of those dangerous carbs but in moderation.  wheat breads and pastas.  wine.  sweet potatoes.  good stuff.  healthy stuff.  i will spend the majority of the diet in this phase, trying to lose those 10 pounds (and maybe an extra 5 if i’m feeling crazy!).

phase 3 is maintenance.  the diet tries to teach lifestyle change.  i need that.  i turn 40 this year and if i am not careful i will get that dreaded middle age spread.  i refuse.  i will fight this with my dying breath.

so here i stand.  i will lose weight dammit!

till death do us part…

today hubbie and i had a hard talk at the airport.  it was one of those conversations that reminded me that though we have come a long way in the past year, we still have a long way to go.

he worries i will never be content.  i worry that he is too content.
he thinks my expectations are too high.  i think his aren’t high enough.
he sees me as dissatisfied.  i see him as angry.

we have walked a tough road.  we have seen the best and the worst in each other.  there are moments when things feel normal, when i remember the easier times of our marriage,but then there are times when i can’t see past the last year.  my head starts to spin and i wonder if we are making any progress at all.

i know the tortoise won the race, but i would much rather do this at the hare’s pace.

before you all starting writing me “cheer up” comments, know that i am not depressed, not discouraged.  one thing is true right now, we are looking honestly at ourselves and our marriage maybe for the first time.   there is much shit to work through.  i am doing what i can to work through my individual shit so that i can be more whole in this relationship.  i have hope.  i do see progress.  things are not perfect.  they never will be.  guess that is what you get when two messed up people try to make a go of it.

i guess the good thing about today’s conversation was that it was proof that we are not giving up. it is when we stop talking that i should begin to worry.

so i press on.  for better or for worse, right?

a confused feminist

there is no question that i have feminist tendencies.  most would describe me as independent, strong, and confident.  when women’s issues come up around a dinner table, i am one of the first to pipe in and share my opinions.  for the most part, i think women have been undervalued, unappreciated, oppressed and taken advantage of.   i think history is on my side.  i think employment and promotion stats are on my side.  i think abuse rates point in my favor.  i could really get on my soapbox about porn, sex trafficking, and the lack of women’s rights in certain parts of the world.  all these topics stir up in me a passion and desire to go out and kick some ass!

if i am such a feminist, then why do i myself not value some of the things that are considered “feminine?”  this is the question that has come up a lot in my therapy.

my dad didn’t know how to respect and value women.  he talked down to my mom.  he thought she existed for him.  he would control every area of her life from what she did with her free time to what she wore.  i heard all kinds of biting comments while growing up directed at my mom.  as i got older, they turned in my direction.

“you have to wear more makeup if you want a guy to like you.”

“guys don’t like smart girls.  it intimidates them.”

“women aren’t supposed to work outside the home.  their job is take care of their man.”

“it is your job to do whatever in bed that your man wants.  you have to keep him happy if you don’t want him to wander.”

“emotions are weak.  nobody likes a dramatic woman.”

basically what was communicated to me was that i existed for the sole purpose of pleasing a man, and not with my personality or intellect, but with my body.  the consequences of this are multi-faceted.  in some ways i bought into his distorted message, in others i rebelled against it.  the result is a very confused feminist.

i bought into his body image message.  i’m obsessed with not gaining weight.  i don’t want my husband to ever look at me and say “if you loved me, you would lose weight.”  i feel compelled to wear makeup, look nice and have a trendy haircut when in reality i am more of a “natural” girl. even though my husband swears he likes me more “as is”, i still reach for that makeup kit each day.  on an emotional level, i hid anything that looked weak.  i was even told by a colleague “i like you because you think like a man.”  i never overreacted, became emotional in public or emphasized emotion over logic.

but with most of it, i became the opposite of what my dad tried to form.  i excelled in school.  i was great at sports.  i went to college.  i became a strong woman in my marriage, insisting on a true partnership and letting him know in no uncertain terms that i was more than just a body to f*&k.

the problem?  i’m a complicated mixture of true and false.  what parts of me are what i am naturally and what parts are those created in the environment i grew up in?  for example, i’m extremely sensitive and tender.  i’m an artist and i feel things on a deep emotional level.  it is a part of me that i have closed up, locked off and prevented anyone from seeing.  it makes me feel like i am living a lie.

in my feminism i bought into the lie that we have to become more male to be accepted and in the process gave up intricate parts of who i am.

i’m working on that.  i’m letting people into those vulnerable parts of who i am.  it is hard.  i worry that this “me” won’t be as well liked as the “me” i spent a life time constructing.  but i feel like i can’t be this fake person anymore.  i can’t let my dad’s voice be the one who speaks the loudest. who God made me to be is special and unique and is to be embraced, not morphed into something lesser.