June 2010

Charlie was charming and funny when he was sober 
but if he had a glass of scotch in his hand you would 
soon hear the story of how his father ripped the pocket 
off a new shirt his sister had given him when 
the dad spotted a pack of cigarettes in it. 

Charlie left town 
and never spoke to his father again. 
But he re-lived that torn pocket with acrimony and tears 
every time he finished a third glass of scotch.

I learned from Charlie 
that bitterness is an acid that eats its container. 
No matter what happens, get over it.

Roy Williams, The Wizard of Ads

Ouch.  this one is harsh.  But there is some truth to it.  It might not be easy..."getting over it" for many certainly is not as simple as saying, "I'm over it".  But to truly work at getting over it, or past it, or resolve it, or releasing it, or unburdening oneself.  Resentment burns.  Badly. It punishes its owner, and there's no justice or righteousness in that. "Getting over it" may take prayer, reading, journalling, talking, processing, rituals, screaming, and who-knows-what-else, but it is worth it, I tell you.  It's worth it.

"Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned"

Buddha

Rod Minaker, our resident anger expert was interviewed by Maureen Scurfield for an article published yesterday in the "On 7" version of the Winnipeg Free Press on "Wrath". 

Identified by Scurfield as a "teddy bear of a guy" (a "bang on" understanding of the colleague we respect and enjoy), Rod's take on anger is:

"Wrath is a condition of feeling powerless," says Minaker. "A lot of men cover up their hurt with anger. We need places to be vulnerable, as guys," says Minaker. We also need places for women to be angry because they cover up anger with hurt." And, both sexes with repressed anger problems don't identify the heating anger until it's boiling out of control.
Minaker's sessions show people how to identify that anger at an early stage, and gives them the tools to work with it before it blows sky high. Many people voluntarily go on to do one-on-one counselling to work on their issues.

Rod understands that men and women experience and process anger differently.  He gets that angry feelings are really hard for anybody to talk about...and he is incredible at supporting people to be vulnerable to do that talking.
It is lousy to have that simmering feeling in the belly or in your chest, to feel it rising and feel out of control.  The flushed face, the tension that creates clenched fists or an offset clenched jaw, the raw energy that threatens to explode is tough to feel.  It is even lousier to calm down, and to feel shame at memory of the look in the eyes of your wife or your child, as they cringed in terror at you.  And the shame is hard to feel, which makes it easy to bark once more at them, finding a way to blame another for your behavior--it's tough to face what is really happening. Don't wait until  you are mandated to deal with your anger...look at it now.  Read a book, talk to someone, get a workbook, take a class...whatever it takes to get you feeling like your anger works for you, not against you.  Take a closer look at the whole article.

Let go of the coal.

Inspiration can come at the strangest times in unexpected places.

I was at Pita Pit yesterday to grab a Falafel pita (on whole wheat with spinach and hummus--yum!) to share.  The pita maker was a tall, thin young woman in her late adolescence..hair was severly assymmetrical--brush cut on one side, and long on the other meaning that she cocked her had sideways to keep it out of her face as she worked.  She had fat snake earrings currling through her ears, and a few other miscellaneous piercings on her face.  I rushed to judgement about who she was.  My bad.

As she was making my pita, I saw some words on her forearm.  Curiousity got the better of me, and the lightness of being I felt by only having adminstration in the afternoon gave me the unexpected courage to ask her to show it to me:
I asked her, of all the things she could have on her forearm, why she would have chosen these words.  She lit up and became very conversational, telling me about how she can be hesitant and fearful of new ventures.  These words were tattooed where it was obvious and clear to remind her to "go for it" and grab life's opportunities as they came.  She was going to be taking social work in the fall to work with youth to help them be able to face fears and grab a healthy future for themselves.

She responded to my odd request to let me take a pic of her forearm--thanx for that, and for inspiring me yesterday.  I honor your ambition and goals, and your commitment to support yourself to get there!

Thanx for the Friday afternoon pick-me-up!

“My lifetime achievement in my opinion is really the slow acquisition of the ability to be vulnerable and needy, and to be able to accept love as well as give.”

William Shatner,
TV and movie actor
on accepting a Lifetime Achievement Award
at the Banff World Television Festival,
June 2010.

Shatner went on to add:

“My lifetime achievement is being married to ...[my wife, Elizabeth], and every day reminding myself that sustaining a marriage is in itself the achievement of a lifetime.

This was part of a larger journey he had:

“My life was a series of pools of loneliness [from] which every so often I was able to emerge with some companionship, and subdue that dreadful feeling that had dogged me for much of my life,” he said. “And frequently even with the kudos I was receiving, I was not happy with the private part of my existence. But slowly I changed. The drill that life puts you through can make you or break you, and fortunately I became more comfortable with relationships and slowly evolved in reaching out to friends and family.”

From The Globe and Mail

Sigh.  Yesterday was the Manitoba Marathon.  And I wasn't in it. Next year.

The Manitoba Marathon is an annual Father's Day tradition that I LOVE.  I'm not a full marathoner, but I have loved meeting the challenge of a half marathon. I had to pull out of the half last year because of a toe injury, so I was determined to run this year. I trained. Not well, but well enough. I had what it took to take part in the festivities of the day. 

But it was a hard full week last week, and a hard full week this week, and I knew it. School was finishing with its usual flurry of marking, and there were lots of extra things on the schedule. And then I got sick. Not flat in bed sick, just feeling worn out and cold-symptoms sick. And I had to figure out what to do.

Registration closed the Tuesday before the Sunday and I struggled with my decision. I trained for this, I wanted this, and I’m not a quitter. (Sometimes to my detriment.) I knew I could pull it off, but at what cost to me, and to my duties the following week? Melanie, my mother receptionist reminded me of what happens when one ignores signs of illness and pursues a heavy schedule. She was right. 

So I didn’t register for the marathon. I decided that wisdom would take precedence over determination.

But I was not going to let my decision ruin me for the marathon. I was up and out bright and early, and enjoyed the whole thing from the sidelines. That actually is a lot of fun, too. 

I enjoyed the runners. They were competitive. They were friendly. They were appreciative. They were enjoying themselves, talking with each other. At mile 9 some were already struggling—their determination is something I’ll carry with me this week.

I enjoyed the volunteers. Of all kinds. The official ones were great, managing traffic etc. Those managing refreshments and sponges had endless cheerful enthusiasm and encouragement. They were having FUN…when there was a gap in runners, they’d laugh and joke with each other. There were very unofficial volunteers...people who took it upon themselves to make the run more pleasant for the athletes.  The karaoke was terrible...but was awfully fun! The energy of all those that helped out was infectious…I’ll carry that with me this week.

There were about 4 runners who were on the course long after the “course closing van” rolled by, closing the course. That van was ahead of them. They were no longer on the official course. Officially they received no support. Unofficially, they got great support…the volunteers hung around waiting for those that refused to give up. And they had grit. They didn’t give up. When we would cheer for them, they’d smile, wave, and find it in themselves to break into a trot. When they slowed down to a walk, they still kept walking, head held high, determined. I don’t know if they finished the whole thing or not. But I do know they hung in there longer than many would have. I admire their grit…I’ll carry that with me this week too.

Thanx Winnipeg, for all that you gave me yesterday during the marathon! I will be there next year!

...of June 18th. Made it.  Another anniversary of the ones I've loved and lost, remembered, and mourned has passed.

The days leading up to the 18^th have an increasing sense of dread, as the memories rise closer to the surface than they are at other times of the year. It’s a bit of a relief to get past the 18^th again, though the desire to pause and remember on this day for me is strong.

I went for a long walk the other day, and odd thoughts popped into my head as I remembered the time years ago when my loved ones died:

• Dr. Resident (can’t remember his real name) coming in to tell us there was no hope. He hated giving bad news…that was clear…his awkwardness had a sweetness and compassion to it that I’ll always remember. I’ll also remember his fly was open…an odd thing to remember, but just as gales of laughter can dissolve into tears, it actually works the other way around. As Dr. Resident would come in and out of the room, we would notice that it was still open (nothing obscene, but just the concept is embaressing) and our tears would be interrupted with tense giggles. Thank you, Dr. for those inadvertent moments of comic relief. It kept me from going over the edge of despair at a time when I had things I needed to get done.
• I remembered the physical ache in my chest, that I couldn’t figure out. Was it a pressure that felt like it was going to explode? Or implode? Or perhaps both? Grief hurts…not just emotionally, but in a real way.
• I recall the way my brain got fuzzy and stopped working like it usually did. I remember having trouble being interested in anything. I couldn’t focus or concentrate. Thinking that usually came easy now seemed impossible. I remember wondering if I seriously was losing my mind. Was I ever going to be able to function? I couldn’t read…well, I could read, but the words and paragraphs didn’t come together to make sense, and I would reread it, hoping I could do it. I remember starting with the Reader’s Digest…seeing if I could do 2 pages at a time, and slowly working my way back up. 
• I remember the loss of purpose, and aimlessness I had after my loss. What was the point of anything? I scrambled ridiculously to recapture some meaning, to fill this enormous hole in some way, however inadequately…I decided I would try something new. One afternoon, wonton soup became my mission in life. Only I didn’t have bok choy like the recipe called for. I didn’t know about bok choy, had never used it, and the nearby store didn’t have it. I became frantic to track down bok choy, needing to get this soup ready, like it was the last big task in life. In a ways that is only now quite funny, that wonton soup became something so significant—a frantic need to feel a little less out of control, to have something go right, to have something go well—the wonton soup was completed! I haven’t made it since.
• I remember that weeks after, someone made a joke and I laughed. The first time, a gut splitting peal of laughter that was a genuine response to something that hit my funny bone. And then I stopped and cried, and felt terrible, irrational guilt. How could I ever enjoy something when 2 that I cared so much about were dead? And I began to figure out how I would reconcile a life that continued even those the lives of those I loved did not.
• I remember my prayer for months and years after…asking, in advance, for God’s understanding that when I hit those pearly gates, there were 2 that I was going to make a beeline for, to give them a hug. Only after that, would I approach my Maker.  I assume God will be compassionate and "get it"
  

 I can function on the 18^th of June now…have been able to for some years. I compartmentalize, knowing very much it is the day, but putting it off to the side while I meet with people experiencing their own struggles, and witness the bravery of my clients. I can do good work. I make phone calls, write notes, respond to emails—I think genuinely able to engage with the tasks of the day, thought the day’s significance is never far away. The flowers Melanie has put on my desk remind me she hasn’t forgotten either. I get an email or two of those who remember with me…and then the time comes when I can turn my full attention to the importance of the day.

Yesterday, as I do every year, I went to the florist to purchase flowers for the grave, I struggled, as I always do each year, to maintain my composure. I’d rather not distress the florist by dissolving into tears, so I work to have a balance allowing myself to acknowledge the sadness that necessitates this purchase and distracting myself when tears threaten to spill over.  

The sky wept with me as I spent time graveside, remembering what was, and wishing for what might have been. Asking myselfs all the “what ifs” that I do every year, and wishing it were different.  It felt right that it was raining.

And I woke up this morning and it was the 19^th of June. Made it. The loss is still there, but the usual layer of scar tissue is back over it. Places to go, people to see. I am OK.

...on a cloudy day.

A dear friend remembers my loss years later with daisies that show up at my door annually.  Bright, pure, innocent daisies that tell me she understands my grief that lingers years later.  Beautiful, alive daisies that tells me she cares, and remembers.  Daisies that have showed up at my door during years when she was unemployed and strapped for cash.  One year, daisies  appeared at my door, sent by her the day before she got married. Daisies that have shown up on my door annually on this day, sometimes on sunny and cloudy days.  But always on those days, my soul is cloudy and these daisies bring a welcome dose of hope that feels a little like warm sunshine.

Loyal acts friendship mean so much...it's profound to know one is being thought about by others.

"When two people are at one in their inmost hearts, they shatter even the strength of iron or bronze; and when two people understand each other in their inmost hearts, their words are sweet and strong like the fragrance of orchids".  

I Ching

Rod Minaker just finished another group with people better prepared to deal with issues that stir up anger in their life.

Many of the people that take our Transforming Destructive into Constructive Course have little alternative but to take it as part of dealing with a criminal charge or an employment situation.  With people who "have to be there", I would expect grumbling and dissastisfaction.  Our last class was full, and on our evaluation sheets under the question:  "If the course did not meet your expectations, please explain why" there was only one comment from all of the respondents:  "The course exceeded my expectations.  I came in knowing I would learn and I left learning more." 

It was inspiring to read the comments written by the participants.  One person wrote: "This course is very informative, even if you were not told to go to it, very informative."  They described how the strategies that are reviewed were already proving to be helpful.  Rod is described as "great", and he has great examples, videos to make the material come alive--to be engaging and interesting. 

I will leave the final word to one of the participants:  "I know that I have to reach out and work on myself everyday."  Wise words for us all.

I was talking with Nicole Dube of Global News today as she was doing a piece on fighting via SMS/text messaging.  She let me know that recent stats suggest that cellular devices are now being used more for texting than for voice communication (aka "talking on the phone").

That means that cell phones are being used more for short telegraphic 140 character messages than for real conversations. Conversations with laughter, anger, tearsm, warmth, distance coldness, varying volume, hurt in the voice, pure joy in the voice. Now...just words in print.

Instead brief half sentence conversations that don’t give any indication other than the words themselves about the context—the mood of the speaker, then intention of the communication, the spirit behind the message.

Talk about being set up to be misunderstood, huh? And we’re doing more and more of it all the time.

As we talked about the issue of fighting via texting, we quickly identified several issues:

• How easy it is to be misunderstood:  So much of conversation is non verbal…what is said in between the words. The “how” of what is being talked about, not just the “what”. When I argue with someone face to face, I can see how the other person responds to what I say, they can hear how I say it—when my voice gets quiet, when I am upset or teary, how much energy my body carries. When I argue with someone on the phone—something I avoid doing, I can’t check with them to see how they are hearing me, what their response is. And while they can hear my voice inflections, they miss so much of how I’m trying to say something. With text, even that is lost. Nicole talked about sitting down with friends trying to guess at what a text “really means”
• The clumsiness of telegraphic communication: Trying to explain something in a message that fits into a text is like trying to draw a detailed picture with one of those big fat crayons. While the crayon isn’t useless, it doesn’t color in the lines very well, you can’t draw detail, and subtle nuances are impossible. Ditto for texts.
• Easy doesn’t mean more effective:  It’s easy to be honest, even brutally honest in a text. People can text things they would never say if they were looking at the recipient in the eye. It’s easy to say what you mean when you can do it without having to watch the other’s reactions, and you can ignore their response for as long as you want. But does this work? I haven’t met a person yet who finds texting more effective than talking with each other when it comes to real communication. Texting is an easy way out to say what needs to be said—but quite frankly, won’t work nearly as well. It takes guts and courage to bring up a sensitive topic in a face to face conversation—but generally in life, isn’t the payoff comparable in size to the investment? Texts are great to ask hubby to pick up milk, but not to deal with a relationship issue.
• Texting can stunt relationship skill development: One of the greatest gift parents can give their children is a stable home with 2 parents who are in a loving committed relationship. Those relationships require a skill set where each partner has learned to collaborate, negotiate, communicate effectively even when upset, express love openly and honestly, etc. etc. Marriages like this required effective communicators—and that requires lots of practice in real situations in real relationships all during childhood, adolescence and adulthood. Texting can rob people of the chance to be fully present with one human being and really connect them, even when difficult—to follow a conversation through, to see the effect of one’s behavior on another.  The ability to relate effectively to someone in the intensity of an intimate relationships develops over years and lots of practice—texting can take away from those opportunities to practice.
• Texting cheats the recipient of a full response:  When you text someone in an argument, they respond…and the venue of texting constricts their answer in a way that likely won’t allow a full explanation that allows the other to feel heard and understood.
  

Real conversations of meaning and depth don’t generally work by text. The tough stuff is tough enough without the confusion and brevity of texting. Save texting for simple tasks and unambiguous support and encouragement. Save the tough stuff for when you can look each other in the eye.

 

"I killed who she could have been,"

said David, who sexually abused his cousin for 12 years. 

He goes on to say that the woman he abused contacted him through her therapist a few years ago, and she had a conversation with him.  She wanted to let him know that she forgave him.  David said he had trouble with that, because he felt that what he did was unforgiveable.  That was a powerful line to witness.  Wow.  He gets it.  He understands the devastation of what he did.

I work with many people who have experienced the trauma of childhood sexual abuse.  I have rarely worked with those who have been the abusers. Today on CTV, the Oprah Show had  Oprah interviewing those who have been in treatment for sexually abusing children.  She asks them what they have done--she asks them to say it--to be specific about the ugliness--and they are. The focus is on educating parents to prevent their children from getting hurt. However, there was a much larger component that I think was quite healing to hear (which is surprising given the topic and interviewees)...the comments of some viewers said they found value in abusers taking responsibility for their actions, demonstrating greater understanding of their actions, recognizing the long journey of healing for those they hurt, and not minimizing the danger they have posed and may still pose to others.  Some of the comments of the child molesters demonstrate that while they are on their way to healing, they are not all the way there yet--at times their therapist would gently facilitate them to increase their honesty.  It was gutsy for Oprah to ask the questions she did and it was gutsy for the molesters to answer her honestly. 

Oprah is able to help the men discuss the sinister side of seduction of children who are molested (Unfortunately she implies that generally children don't experience the abuse as traumatic at the time because they are pulled into it by someone they care about, who wants them to "feel good"...the evidence, and certainly my experience says that it is more complex than that--many children are very hurt, even in the moment, by sexual abuse).

This is a long interview which won't interest many readers.  It may be an interview that is too harsh for some to hear who have been hurt--this may hit "too close to home"--don't listen to it if you have been sexually violated as a child and you haven't had lots of support to process it. It is an interview that is explicit and hard to listen. It is not for the faint of heart. But there will be some that will find it healing--to know that there are perpetrators who have been willing to work hard to acknowledge what they have done, are willing to make themselves vulnerable across a nation as part of educating parents to protect their children. 

Oprah doesn't have it set up to allow embedding the entire video here on the blog...but you can go to her website and view it. 

It was huge for Elizabeth Gilbert, the author of Committed:  A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage, to acknowledge the delight she and her sister had when  her mom gave up her job at Planned Parenthood. It was the 1970’s, and her mom, involved in cutting edge work to empower women, had 2 kids with chicken pox and an important conference to attend out of town at the same time. 

Elizabeth’s dad refused to take time off work for 2 days to make the situation work—so Mom Gilbert did what many women have done for centuries…made it work herself—she quit. While she would work again, she would never again have a career. “As she explained to me later, she came to feel she had a choice: She could either have a family or she could have a calling, but she couldn’t figure out how to do both without support and encouragement from her husband. So she quit.” (p. 181)

On her processing of her decision:

“Needless to say, it was a low point in her marriage. In the hands of a different woman, this incident could have spelled out the end of the marriage altogether…But my mother is not one for rash decisions...it appeared to my mother that [divorced] women had maybe only replaced their old troubles with a whole new set of troubles….she still happened to love my dad; even though she was angry at him and even though he had disappointed her deeply. So she made her decision, stuck with her vows, and this is how she framed it: “I chose my family”

On her own reaction:

Frankly, we were delighted when our mother gave up her dreams and came home to take care of us. Most of all, though, I believe that my sister and I benefited incalculably from Mom’s decision to stay married to our father. Divorce sucks for kids, and it can leave lingering psychological scars. We were spared all that….a sense of constancy in the household allowed me to focus on my homework rather than on my family’s heartache…and therefore I prospered.

On her aknowledgement:

But I just want to say here—to lock it forever in print, if only to honor my mother—that an awful lot of my advantages as a child were built on the ashes of her personal sacrifice. The fact remains that while our family as a whole profited immensely from my mother’s quitting her career, her life as an individual did not necessarily benefit so immensely.

And Elizabeth Gilbert’s pleading conclusion:

If I—as a beneficiary of that exact formula [of a 2 parent household with a mother who sacrifices herself for the family] will concede that my own life was indeed enriched by that precise familial structure, will the social conservatives please (for once!) concede that this arrangement has always put a disproportionately cumbersome burden on women?....And might those same social conservatives—instead of just praising mothers as ‘sacred’ and ‘noble’—be willing to someday join a larger conversation about how we might work together as a society to construct a world where healthy children can be raised and healthy families can prosper without women having to scrape bare the walls of their own souls to do it? (p. 184-85)

To all the parents out there who have made costly personal choices to keep your family intact and provide your children with a stable two parent household, I salute you. Some of you have turned down job transfers, incredibly cool opportunities, chances to join clubs and teams that would have been good for you personally but incredibly stressful for your marriage and family. You have voted for your family, and you have voted for your children’s wellbeing. I suspect that while you see the benefits of that choice in your children and your household, there will be days where you measure the cost to your own soul and wonder if anyone else knows what you paid.

To vote for family over oneself is for some an oxymoron…as for many, doing something good for family is doing something good for oneself. When the wellbeing of family is so closely tied to one’s own wellbeing because of the sense of connectedness we have with our families, it’s not hard. 

Sometimes, though, it involves breathing deep and slow, swallowing hard, and making tough choices. The easy choice is not always the optimal choice. Today, I honor those who have thoughtfully carefully and thoroughly and have made the choices that are wise and courageous. Choices that benefit the little ones in your lives, that give them the stable base that will set them up well in life to move confidently forward.  That's a big deal.

And I pray for a world where women won’t have to disproportionately makes so many of those decisions that are for many, so very difficult and painful to make.

Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage, is a book I've recently devoured.  Written by Elizabeth Gilbert, author of the runaway bestseller, Eat, Pray, Love, it looks at her struggle to figure out how to reconcile her relationship to the institution of marriage (something she had sworn she would never again enter into, but the Department of Homeland Security in the US suggested was necessary if she was to continue her relationship with foreign born Felipe). I found myself turning over the corners of several pages regarding ideas I thought were significant and thought provoking.

I heard about it from a friend who knew a pastor who, after reading it, decided that if he could only recommend one book to a couple who was about to get married, would recommend this book because of the thoughtful way it “pokes” at our assumptions of this most significant relationship, the most intimate and important one of our lives. 

Actually, that was one of the points it made…how significant do we make it, and do we overwhelm the marriage relationship with expectations it was never intended to carry. Does this relationship snap because it carries a stress heavier than it is able to?

Gilbert travels extensively during her quest to “make peace with marriage”, noting in her travels, the curious look she gets when she asks an old Hmong grandmother in Vietnam, “Is your man a good husband?” The woman looks at her, asking her to repeat the questions, it not making sense to her. 

The best answer she could come up with was this: Her husband was neither a good husband nor a bad husband. He was just a husband….[she]had never been taught to expect that her husband’s job was to make her abundantly happy…Her marriage fulfilled its role, performed its necessary social task, became merely what it was, and that was fine…By contrast, I had always been taught that the pursuit of happiness was my natural (even national) birthright…profound happiness, even soaring happiness. And what could possibly bring a person more soaring happiness than romantic love?....a recent survey of young women found that what women are seeking these days in a husband—more than anything else—is a man who will “inspire” them, which is, by any measure, a tall order. As a point of comparison, young women of the same age, surveyed back in the 1920’s, were more likely to choose a partner basedon qualities such as “decency”, or “honesty”…But that’s not enough anymore. Now we want to be inspired by our spouses! Daily! Step to it, honey!...That our very job description as spouses was to be each other’s everything….For the first time in my life, it occurred to me that I was asking too much of marriage. Perhaps I was loading a far heavier cargo of expectation onto the creaky old boat of matrimony that that strange vessel had ever been built to accommodate in the first place.(excerpted from pages 41-49, bolded marking mine)

That got me to reflecting on the number of couples I have worked with where one partner states, “I’ll never be enough. I can never do enough, say enough, or do it right enough. I’ll always fall short.” These are people that care about and love their spouses, but are so worn out from the feeling of failure and of falling short that they pull away in despair. There is a giving up with the feeling of “If I can’t do it right no matter how hard I try, why try?” 

Without realizing it, or intending to, one spouse can unconsciously require their spouse to perform a certain function for themselves. This is unintended and not malicious, but it is also unfair, and unworkable. 

It’s not fair to ask another person to fulfill you, to be the one responsible for you to be happy, satisfied, and feeling OK. And not realistic or possible either. When a person NEEDS a spouse to perform a certain role in their lives for their own wellbeing, the relationship has been set up for failure.

I said "set up for failure", not "destined to be a failure"...with work, these unfair and unrealistic expectations can be made conscious, and a person can work to establish strategies to deal with the parts of themselves that have set this up.  These strategies can deal with these wounded parts in ways that are set up to be effective and life giving, allowing the relationship to be freed from these toxic demands.  This opens the relationship to new possibilities and freshness that wasn't possible before.  This work includes people looking inside of themselves and between themselves and their spouse.

A marriage can be enriching for each spouse, and it can be a place of healing as a person feels supported and loved. But it was never intended to be a place where the one’s spouse is the sole factor in one’s wellbeing. 

I love this poem:

"Let there be spaces in your togetherness, And let the winds of the heavens dance between you. Love one another but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup. Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf. Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone, Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music. Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping. For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts. And stand together, yet not too near together: For the pillars of the temple stand apart, And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow."
— Gibran Khalil Gibran (The Prophet)

Pain is a funny thing.  It can be hidden and sneak up and catch a person unawware.

Years ago, back when I was young and foolish, I went to bed really really late one night...and had to get up really early for work. The night was going to be short…almost more of a nap than a night’s rest, it seemed like, and so I thought I wouldn’t bother taking my contacts out.

 

These were not the sort of contacts that were meant to be in my eyes for sleeping. I knew that. But I figured that a few hours wouldn’t bother, and it would save me a few minutes at either end of the night—giving me an extra 5 minutes of winks.

Bad. Decision.

As I rolled over in the night, I musta opened my eyes a bit. I found out later that my contacts moved with my eyelids over very dry eyes, scratching my eyeballs, creating corneal abrasions...I understand that corneas are the most sensitive surface of the body. I can believe it.

My right eye hurt. Bad. Really. Bad. 

My short night of sleep now disappeared into no sleep as I needed to go to the hospital, because while I didn’t know what was wrong at the time, I knew that I was in some serious pain.

I couldn’t believe how much my right eye hurt. It really hurt. I knew it was my fault, and it was unnecessary, and silly, but mostly I just couldn’t believe how much that eye hurt. After some hours at the emergency where I paced back and forth in distress, the eye doctor did his thing and came up with his diagnosis. He said that the both eyes had some damage, they would heal themselves in just a couple of days, the right being worse than the left. I knew that. He didn’t have to tell me—my right eye was telling me that very clearly.

He said he could put an anesthetic in my eye that would stop the pain…but it would make my eye completely defenseless, and so he would have to patch it for my protection. So…he wasn’t willing to do 2 eyes, rendering me sightless (because I think he didn’t trust me to keep the patches over both eyes for that long)—therefore, anesthetic only on one eye.

My right eye was begging for relief…it hurt so much. I didn’t care about treating the left eye. It wasn’t bothering me like the right. So he put the drop in my right eye. Instant relief.

For the right eye.

But now the left one hurt.

Not as bad as the right one had, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t still hurting--quite a lot.

I hadn’t noticed the pain in the left eye, until the right one had subsided. When the initial pain of the worse eye was treated, it created room on my radar to feel the left eye pain. I ended up staying home from work that day, trying, largely in vain, to get some sleep. While the excruciating pain of the right eye was gone, the substantial pain in the left eye was significantly bothersome.

Ouch.

It happened again this weekend.

No…not the sleeping in my contact creating eye damage thing. I’m a little like Anne of Green Gables that way: “That's the one good thing about me. I never do the same wrong thing twice.” Once was enough to prompt me to never make that error again—that much pain makes me a quick learner. ;)

What happened again this weekend was the “you only realize the other pain once the first one dies down” thing.

This weekend I spoke with someone I hadn’t spoken to in years…someone who was near and dear to me at one time. However, she became lost to me at a time in my life when I lost so much. It wasn’t an insignificant thing to lose her friendship—but it was just that the other losses were so much more significant, it hardly made it on the radar.

But this weekend, when I had reason to speak to her about a matter, I heard her, and laughed with her, and had a chance to enjoy her.  I realized in a way I hadn’t ever realized, how hard it was not to be friends with her. How much I missed her. How much I had lost when I lost her.

And I felt like I grieved that loss for the first time.

Which was weird, because, like I wrote, it happened years ago.

I’m not the only person this has happened to though. I have had clients wondering why, after losing a spouse, they find themselves crying more the second year than the first after the loss. 

The second year is when a person notices the other secondary losses…she feels “out of the loop” as the group of couples that they always used to hang out with don’t include her when they purchase the tickets for the theatre, or she has little contact with his golfing buddies who no longer stop by their place for a beer after their game. Or when it snows, all the shoveling is up to her. Or how hard it is to open the can of pickles without help, or put the storm windows in, or how it seems hardly worth it at all to bother to make a stir fry—because the other family members won’t eat it, but when he was around, his appreciation for it seemed worth it. The secondary losses are real and painful, but often not immediately noticed.

That happens with a job…losing the paycheck and the meaning it gave was the big loss. Months later, a person begins to realize how they missed the annual fall event, or wonder how a fellow co-worker is doing, or misses the hilarious antics as recalled by another co-worker.

That happens with almost any loss, that it can be a “loss that keeps on losing”. The ripple effect of a loss can catch one unawares, and suddenly, in the middle of what is otherwise an ordinary day, one is quickly reminded of the effect of a loss. 

No easy answers on this one, just a quiet aknowledgement that when the little secondary losses hit, they may not have the raw agony of the initial pain, but they sure sting.

Yesterday' America's Got Talent show had an act that auditioned for it that caught my ear.  I love a capella singing at the best of times, but this one melted me.

It's not easy to be a military veteran, trying to assimilate back into North American culture after having witness the atrocities of war, after being in an environment of constant danger for months on end, after having to make life and death decisions in a split second, after being apart from all the comforts of home and exposed to conditions of people living in extreme poverty and oppression.  A lot of veterans struggle with aculturating once they get back home...some of them more visibly then others.  New Directions is a homeless shelter in Los Angeles which specifically serves the homeless veteran.

A group of veterans from that organization formed a choir--they have successfully fought back from homelessness.  In response to the question, "What do you hope to achieve by appearing on America’s Got Talent", their spokesperson stated:

We want to let all the other people know, all of the other veterans, especially the active duty armed forces that it’s OK for a warrior to seek help.

This group is inspiring and magical...caught a lump in my throat listening to them, enjoying their music, and celebrating their triumph.

What the experience at "America's Got Talent" means to them is:

What it means to us, is that there was a period of time where you might not wanted to see us coming. But the fact is now…This shows what change can do , and that people can change.

I think their group would agree that it's not only OK for a warrior to seek help, but it's also OK for the self-sufficient business executive to seek help, it's OK for the tough auto-mechanic to seek help, it's OK for the tough-as-nails climb-to-the-top ambitious female lawyer, it's OK for the mother of 3 preschoolers who has trouble finding a moment to herself, and it's OK for all those who-want-help-but-are-concerned-it-will-have-them-seem-weak-or-whiny to seek help.  It's hard to seek help, but if it's OK for warriors, it can be OK for you, too.

If you need help, it's OK to seek it.

It's easy to be cynical, and wonder where this world is going.  Every once in a while we find encouragement that there is hope, that things will get turned around back towards wholeness and healing. 

Watch.